Meanderings

A bit of catching up. On Saturday last, Candee and I headed out to Clare Island, a beautiful island sheltering Clew Bay from the full force of the Atlantic. If one drives into Westport via Castlebar Road (from the northeast), two grand natural features dominate your eye. One is the Reek, the other is Clare Island. The island’s dramatic profile on the horizon is due to two large mountains: Knockmore and Knockaveen. We wished to visit the island, but were mindful of our trip via ferry to the Aran Islands off the coast of the Cliffs of Moher on our first trip to Ireland three years ago. The water was quite rough; Candee was fine, I lost my stomach for several uncomfortable hours. On Saturday, we surveyed the bay as we made our choice. The boat was bigger; the bay was not as angry, so we chose to go. Luckily, I was fine and we had a nice day walking the country roads of the island. I must say, island life is quite basic. A few pubs, perhaps a hotel or two, and always an opportunity to fish, hike, boat, camp out. However, not much else. We fantasized on our ramble about living here in Ireland and taking long walks on any day we chose, what a luxury that would be. Most islands have music or cultural festivals, but we’ve not been lucky enough to be present for any of them. But the local savage beauty has its own charm.

Sunday, we drove up to Donegal town. We visited some stores and had a lovely lunch, but the length of the drive precluded us doing much exploring along the coastline. I particularly enjoyed a visit to the Magee of Donegal department store. Such beautifully made clothing - topcoats, corduroy pants, sweaters, scarves, and fine Donegal tweed pants. In my Walter Mitty fantasies, I see myself striding Westport town in autumn, in a weathered pair of tweed trousers, lovingly careworn sweater, and insouciant wool chapeau, planning with friends our next foray around the Westport GC. Pocketa, pocketa…

You will see some pictures from our drive back. The castle belonged to the Earl Of Mountbatten, in direct line to the British Crown, who was killed by the IRA during the Troubles in the 1970s. He was in his fishing vessel in Sligo Bay when his boat exploded. The castle is truly impressive, placed on a high cliff, hard against the Atlantic . This vicinity, Mullaghmore, is where I took the picture of the palm trees, to quiet the skeptics in Florida who have doubted the presence of such trees in Ireland.

Finally, Tuesday, we once again set out with Padraic and Marion to the Museum of Country Life. What a wonderful facility. It comprehensively covers all aspects of rural Irish life from the period of the Great Famine (late 1840s) through the 1950s. Rural life is often romanticized, and there certainly were lovely aspects to the culture, but daily life could be shockingly brutal and hard. Large families, little food, poor shelter, little access to medical care, political subjugation. It is no wonder that emigration was so necessary a choice during these years. As a consequence, Ireland still does not have the population it did in the pre-famine days. The Museum is currently hosting an exhibition of the Cross of Cong in its first visit home to Mayo since 1839 when this extraordinary work of craftsmanship was placed in the Museum of Ireland in Dublin. It is generally regarded as one of the most significant pieces of art created in all of Europe during this time period. The cross was used in processions and is constructed of oak covered with sheet bronze and decorative bronze plates. It is covered in gold filigree, silver sheeting, and enamel. In its center is a large piece of rock crystal that used to house a fragment of the “True Cross of Christ.” As always, Padraic chose a beautifully scenic ride home. We again had a personal tour of the local countryside with a guide who provides that added personal perspective we don’t get just driving on our own.

Padraic has loaned me a book, “In Corrib Country.” It is a wonderful mix of fact and fancy, melding together the reality of many of the sites we visited on our “Toad’s Wild Ride” journey through the lough country with the myths associated with area. It is a mesmerizing read. With this as a resource, the whole Mayo experience is so much richer.


POST SCRIPT: A word to readers If you are out there and enjoying Tom’s commentary please register and respond (or go on anonymously and leave your name) - he’s beginning to think his readers of earlier years have tired of his blogging. So come on - if you are reading - let us know!!! Candee