Another trip to the Emerald Isle

Our trip to Galway, began with a 4p return fare circling the Knock airport for a number of times before the pilot decided to try landing (bump, bump, lurch, lurch) in wet slushy conditions – yes the 20 or so passengers arrived in snow!! Once through customs and out in the open, I enjoyed kicking the little piles of snow that had been swept along the paths but soon realised that 1 degree was a tad cold and stopped playing those childish games and followed the galloping Harry to the hire car. On the plane I had jokingly asked Harry if he had bought our Gaelic phrase book – by the end of the first day it was no longer a joke. This is Gaelic country, well in the rural areas anyway– all the street signs and road signs are in this ancient Celtic language, not even bilingual signs like in Wales. We did recognise Heineken, Guinness and B&B and did work out that ‘Go Mall’ means Slow or was that STOP? Thankfully, Galway residents spoke English as their first language so we managed to navigate to our hotel without too much trouble. Anyway by the end of the trip we had described the West of Ireland in three colours green, grey and brown.
Green – the hills to the north west of Galway around Newport, Westport (a little town with the same uniqueness as the one on the South Island) and around Cong. In this green haven was situated Ashford Castle (rather a mix of architectural designs from Gothic to modern) but essentially a very upmarket hotel, with nice grounds, golf course, lake where little robins looked for food and cats played happily. We also visited Aasleagh water falls, quite a small waterfall, as they go but picturesque under snow covered hills with very deep black water. Around this area we saw some jigsaw puzzle reflections in the still lakes, went to the bottom of St Patricks Clough half heartedly wishing we had come prepared for the 8k tramp up to the top following in the footsteps of St Patrick in about 400 AD.

Grey – the bleakness of the far west and on Aran Island. This is the first area of Ireland I can honestly say is nothing like New Zealand. Aran Island is described as ‘9 miles long and about 2 miles wide, and is mostly made of barren limestone rock and small fields which are surrounded by stone walls’. Pretty accurate description we say. I couldn’t help but sympathise with the early potato farmers transforming stoney land into little fertile strips surrounded by the stone walls made from removed stones. The paddocks are so small they have gaps to allow the few sheep, cows, goats and horses to meander between the paddocks. The island wasn’t affected by the potato famine as the fungi didn’t get to the island, but from tuberculosis which killed many of the people. There are 3 islands and we only visited the largest Inishmore. We sailed on a Catamaran – very busy for this time of year – and watched a ‘sea rescue’ practice as the Irish Sea Rescue helicopter lowered a man onto the boat, a stretcher and then both back up to the copter. We toured the island in a minivan with a group of international students from Dublin’s Trinity College (mainly American and French) and made stops to view derelict abbeys, churches (the smallest being 8 by 10 feet)and seals bathing in the sea. The most spectacular part of the trip was a visit to Oun Donghasa – a circular celtic stone fort high above the cliff tops – imagine stone huts with grass roofs being protected by a stone wall on one side but no protection against the prevailing winds from the Atlantic Ocean and about 100 metres above sea level. Spectacular scenery – unspoilt by any fences to stop us going to the edge of the cliff – but we weren't game enough. One young American rang his Mum and said 'Hi Mum, Guess where I am?', after a pause he says 'Oh what time is it' so we could imagine the response. Aran Island is also known as the birthplace of the Aran Sweater and there were a few shops selling these jerseys in intricate aran patterns. I hadn’t realised that it was on this island generations of woman invented these patterns and all had their meanings and each family had their own individual jersey with their own pattern on it – similar to a tartan I guess. The cable represents the fisherman’s rope, while the diamond represents success and wealth, the honeycomb – hard work, and the plaited cable the interweaving of family life. The double zigzag represents marriage and the ups and downs of life and so on. I spent years knitting these (not any more) but never knew they were anything but a pattern. On the way down from the fort we went into one shop and they had a hat that fitted Caramello perfectly – the shop owner (busily knitting another jersey, scarf or hat) – really enjoyed the thought that her hat was going to a little furry friend. However, remote these islands are the electronic age is helping to keep them alive – internet dating is bringing new blood to the islands and apparently keeping locals from being tempted to the bigger city lights of Galway and Dublin. South of Galway (The Burren) is also very grey with a rough and high coastline (Cliffs of Moher – where we watched a sudden squall accompanied by a fierce wind take Harry’s hat for a flight – there would have been a photo but I was laughing too much), Aillwee Caves (limestone caves – spectacular in that it was home to hibernating beers 1000 years ago). Brown - On two of the days we cheated and followed the map of a bus tour advertising day trips around Galway – we did catch up with the bus more than once and had the impression that there was at least one more car load of tourists doing the same thing as us. One of these days was the brown day – miles and miles of road just like the Desert Road – Scottish heather no longer in flower, mosses and snowy mountains in the background. We drove up through the Connemara National Park, enjoying the scenery and the wild sea below the cliffs. It is home to many of the scenes in the Quiet Man (a John Wayne movie which I had never heard of) and to Killary Fjord (Ireland’s only Fjord – and home to salmon and mussel farming – one night we went to an Italian restaurant and for starters Harry ordered mussels – he got 15 on his plate – and after seeing the sea farms we could see why he got so many at a reasonable price). There was an adventure ground near the fjord and one of the activities must have been wading through mud – there was a paddock with a rather large number of lost shoes). Kylemore Abbey had lovely grounds and gardens but some of it was closed due to winter so we didn’t venture into what is not a girls boarding school. At dusk as we were returning we passed a few more abandoned buildings (stone walls, but no roof – traditional Irish roofing is dried hay tied down – not a patch on thatched roofs and doesn’t last nearly as long) and Lough’s (lakes). It rains a lot in Ireland – puddles, puddles everywhere and rivers in flood but we were lucky with the weather. We had a managerie of weather all seasons in our long weekend (not really summer as I assume summer can get above 7 degrees) but we managed to stay dry with the rain arriving while we were in the car winding our way along the narrow, windy and teeth rattling roads. Surprisingly, it is quite a multi cultural region as we ate meals cooked by Italians, Malaysians, Indians and Thai and most of them had mastered Gaelic, English and their native language). It lacks the fish and chip shops and local corner pubs - but we didn't miss them.

Liverpool

Liverpool - a city of surprises. Even though it was described in one of the brochures as a 'vibrant city going through regeneration' and voted 'European Capital of Culture' last year we didn't have high expectations (did wonder if it would be another Blackpool) but the drawcard of seeing where our grandparents may have left their homeland and sailed off into the wide blue ocean was something we couldn't resist. So off we went on Friday evening. We came back thinking that Liverpool was a city we could live in (and as far as we go that is a real compliment). It's home to many a musician, has the River Mersey running through its middle, and a wonderful mix of modern and old architecture (though unfortunately the city may now be one of those to suffer greatly the economic downturn with high unemployment). We were staying a bit out of the city and so after a very good trip on Friday night (2.5 hours - Harry's workmates had painted pictures of being stuck in traffic around Birmingham for hours - we were so alarmed that we made sure that the thermos, books and food were in the back seat) we were ready to hit Liverpool.
The range of architecture was quite something (abandoned grain silos and warehouses, old buildings made into apartment blocks, new buildings of all shapes and sizes along the side of the river with the older ones (the Royal Liver Building, The Cunard Building and the Port of Liverpool building), new and old cinemas and theatres, the Gothic style Anglican cathedral and the new circular Roman Catholic Church). It could look all haphazard and unattractive, but the tall modern skyscrapers seem to integrate with the old and pedestrians could easily get everywhere by wandering around the buildings and along the path that linked the docks to the main shopping area. The war memorial was a garden in front of the town hall with a plaque and little garden for I think every recent war that has featured Liverpudlians. All in all - quite a compliment to the town designers. But they did have a river to work with - wide, deep and long. The city is a bit like Wellington really - a natural place for people to wander, eat, play and participate in events (museums, statues, visit of the Ark Royal aircraft carrier).

And the music - home to the Beatles, Gerry and the Pacemakers, Cilla Black (who used to wait at tables at the Cavern where the Beatles first played), Billy Fury, Billy J Kramer and hundreds of others I haven't heard of but Liverpool is proud of. We did the Beatles thing - and followed the story of this famous group around on a bus - saw the birth places of Ringo and George (poor enough to be born at home and spend most of their lives in two bedroom terraced houses) and John (living in a semi-detached with aunt and uncle but not allowed to play music except outside on the porch), and Paul also living in a terraced house - but a bit more up market and encouraged to play guitar and write songs. John's house has been bought by Yoko Ono and gifted to the National Trust (blue plaque commemorates that he has lived there - you can only have one of those if you have been dead 20 years - so Paul doesn't want one yet even though his house was recently purchased by the National Trust).

"Penny lane there is a barber showing photographs
Of every head he's had the pleasure to know
And all the people that come and go stop to say hello
On the corner is a banker with a motor car..." ... and beneath the blue suburban skies we drove down Penny Lane - I had images of a narrow cobbled stone lane, but it is actually a two lane suburban street with the banker, barber, fish and chip shop, newsagents still at one end of the street. We could imagine a young John skipping down the road at the end of the school day singing what could be future hits.
"Let me take you down, 'cause I'm going to Strawberry Fields.
Nothing is real and nothing to get hung about.
Strawberry Fields forever.
Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see.
It's getting hard to be someone but it all works out, it doesn't matter much to
me"....and Strawberry Fields was an orphanage run by the Salvation Army and John used to play with his mates, climb trees and presumably enjoy the company of those living in the large 19th century manor house that has now been demolished and the grounds quite overgrown with not an ounce of romance there.
"Eleanor Rigby picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?" ... and we saw the grave yard where Eleanor was buried in 1692 - a few generations older than John and Paul but obviously an inspiration. John and Paul met at the nearby church hall where John's band the Quarrymen were playing a gig.

It isn't surprising that Liverpool has a maritime history. The museum showed us details of the sinking of the Titanic, Lusitania and the Empress of Ireland, all in a short space of time and all taking the lives of Liverpudlian crewmen and immigrants. Our grandparents must have travelled to the city and lived in the somewhat appalling conditions until they could get a berth on a boat (thankfuly they didn't wish to immigrate to America or Harry and I might not be around today). There were stories of famine and disease (the Irish also landed in Liverpool to escape the worst of the potato famine), and after a while boat companies began to provide hostels for future passengers in the hope of providing some, if not much, comfort. I wandered the docks thinking about my grandmother at 5, looking up at those big ships and having no idea what New Zealand would be like but her mind frighteningly full of images while her tummy rumbled.

"Life goes on day after day

Hearts torn in every way

So ferry 'cross the Mersey

'Cause this land's the place I love

And here I'll stay" ...

and then it was over the Mersey for Sunday. We picnicked on New Brighton beach (the only ones) and watched others, fish and walk their dogs and visited the Black Rock museum (there wasn't much there except an exhibit on the Submarine 'Thetis' that sank due to human error and some cool views of the lighthouse and rocks). We then drove around the suburbs and coast line and said goodbye to Liverpool by walking around the Hoylake marine lake (in the cold and windy late afternoon we enjoyed - or should I say I - walking the narrow path between sea and the man made lake while skipping around the waves as they crashed around our feet).

Round and About

Saturday Harry was up before the sun and on his way to his second Birmingham Car show. He went up with a few guys from work and spent hours wandering the exhibits, seeing some demonstrations and arrived back in Bristol with 3 sunhats (advertising Audi, Peugeot and Toyo tires), some airplugs (worth keeping for the airshows) and some ideas about the new technology for the coming year. While he was taking photos of car (including Lewis Hamilton's 2008 Formula One Car) I headed back to Wales with Chris to the Welsh Village of Life (not before I spent 15 minutes scraping a weeks ice off the car windows and I think a shower of snow - I discovered short arms don't easily reach the middle of the window without leaning on a cold and wet car - where was Harry in the time of need?). We spent a few hours wandering around the little village - made by relocating (began in 1948) a whole lot of shops, homes, school etc from various parts of Wales, and then also to the walls of the castle, the manor house, woollen mill (first time I had seen a water powered woollen mill), boat house and Italian garden. It was fairly similar to a lot of other museums of this type but I did learn that in the 16th century manor house the staff used an iron for ironing the daily newspaper. Why you might ask? Not to flatten it but to make sure the ink was fast before taking it up to the Lord of the Manor on his breakfast tray. I suggested to Harry that this could be a Sunday morning occupation for him from now on but the suggestion didn't go down well. Anyway, spring is coming - the buds are budding and the little red robins are out and about picking up the seeds - good news for us warmer weather lovers.

On Sunday - after spending so much time on our feet we decided to hire some dvds from the library (White Christmas - Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye in the early 1950's, the Scots Flyer - a dvd about a cyclist achieving world records, and another which didn't overly enthuse me). But before that lazy afternoon we went for a Tor Hunt and found 2 not far from Bristol. The first wasn't open but was in memory of Lord Robert Somerset who was a nephew of the Sixth Duke of Beaufort and a general at Waterloo. It stands about 100 feet high and we saw a good view of it and the Tyndale Monument at North Nibley as we wandered down the very muddy, puddly, icy and snowy path beside the monument. Tyndale Monument was more spectacular as it was perched high on a hill (very steep muddy path up to the top) and it was open so we could climb to the top. It is dedicated to William Tyndale who translated the first bible into English in the late 15th century. However, our old friend Henry VIII didn't like him much and persuaded him to return to England from Antwerp. He agreed if the king would print an English Bible. By the time Henry published his Great Bible, Tyndale was already imprisoned by a fanatic and later killed after being tried for heresy in Brussels.