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In the spring of 1999 I made my first trip to Ireland. I was a young widow of six months making a pilgrimage to Doolin just to hear the music I loved so much — Irish Traditional. Traveling all alone, this was my first journey abroad, my first use of a passport, my first time renting a car on my own and even the first time I had ever stayed alone in a hotel and B&B. I spent two nights in Dublin where I made sure to visit the couple of sites that were important to me to see in person, and to go to a pub to drink my first Guinness in Ireland. The Guinness was great but I have to admit to feeling a bit awkward sitting alone in that pub. I remember there was a very nice woman bartender and she asked me what my plans were. When I told her I was driving to Doolin the next day to spend 8 days in West Clare she said, “You’ll like it better there, it’s beautiful and the people are so nice!”
The next day I picked up my rental car, a little Nissan Micra, and proceeded to drive on the wrong side of the road, sitting in the wrong side of the car, across the country with only a map and some basic directions given to me at the car rental. I had been somehow savvy enough to rent a car with an automatic transmission, something that is not a given here, and to wait to pick it up until I was heading straight out of Dublin into the countryside. This was in the days before the big motorways so driving across the country I had the opportunity to see the beauty of the countryside and to meander through every little town along the way. Driving on the wrong side of the road, in the wrong side of the car was scary in itself, but approaching my first ever roundabout was a challenge I had not anticipated. I had no clue what that sign with the circle and the little lines shooting out of it meant and I drove around in a circle at least twice before figuring out how to exit pointed in the right direction! In those days of no motorway, no GPS and very few cell phones, driving alone across a foreign land was a brave thing to do. At least for me, it took courage. It also took all day, but I finally made it. After getting my last set of directions from the tiny petrol station outside Doolin, I drove down a little road that headed straight into the mid point of town. When I came to a stop sign I sat a moment, trying to figure out whether to turn or go straight, surely looking confused, as I always do when I’m confused. I can’t hide it. Just then, an elderly man drove up next to me and said, “Janet?” It was Peter, one of the owners of the B&B I had booked! Being greeted by name as I entered Doolin made me feel very welcome and was taken to be a good omen. It turned out to be a great omen.
I had come to Doolin for the traditional music, which was everything I had hoped it would be. But the surprise for me was the beauty of County Clare, which I discovered each day as I drove all over North Clare with its magnificent Burren, breathtaking Coast Road drive, ruins, artifacts and caves. I just followed my nose and a few recommendations I’d get along the way and had days of discovery and, being alone, a kind of traveling meditation. Then I’d go back to the B&B to get ready for the music each night in the three pubs that were there at the time — Gus O’Connor’s, McGann’s and McDermott’s. Every night there was magic in at least one of the pubs, my favorite two being O’Connor’s and McGann’s. I sat alone, but during those music sessions, it never felt awkward.
My first visit to Ireland was like a dream I could never have planned. It was a pilgrimage, not a vacation, and I was mindful in every moment. I enjoyed the surprises each day and along the way, did some healing from the previous six months. West Clare energized me and gave me the confidence I needed to go forward in my life at that time. But I also have to admit to an undercurrent of loneliness and shyness throughout, when I had to push myself to just go out there each day and do it all on my own.
On my last night in Doolin, an American woman stood up in O’Connor’s Pub and sang the John Prine classic, “Angel From Montgomery,” and in that moment all felt familiar and safe – as though a tiny part of America, one of its best parts, had come to sit with me awhile. Just as hearing my name spoken when I first arrived in Doolin felt like a welcome to Clare, the place that would eventually become my new home — hearing that song at the end of my first visit, felt like a call back home to America.
RIP John Prine, one of the best parts of America. Victim of Covid-19.
Here’s a link to that great John Prine ballad, “Angel From Montgomery”:
On the Loop Head Peninsula, neighbors-bearing-gifts bring a sample of their catch-of-the-day! This was our delightful surprise yesterday evening when the friendly couple we met last week, as they walked their dogs up our quiet road, followed through on their promise to bring us some fresh fish. A pleasant surprise was much appreciated in a summer that has so far brought some disappointment. I’ve already written about the changes made to the Kilkee Cliffs, which I am still troubling myself over, but two other setbacks greeted us as well. First was the sad news that Eoin would not be experiencing any horseback riding at Pony Adventures Kilkee this year because it has closed up shop! Not only was this a disappointment for Eoin, who discovered a real love and enthusiasm for the ponies last year, but it was operated by two very nice people and we will miss their acquaintance during our stay this summer. The second blow came when I made my first trip to Doolin a couple of days after our arrival in Kilkee. Doolin is known for its pubs and their traditional Irish music and many years ago served as my doorway to County Clare, so it holds a special place in my heart. Although traveling these days with a young son in tow offers little opportunity for pub nightlife, two years ago I discovered a new reason to frequent the little town of Doolin – the Magnetic Music Cafe, which I wrote a bit about in an earlier post. Much to my dismay, and Eoin’s evil 10-year-old amusement, there is now a sign on the door stating that the cafe is closed for renovation and will not reopen until next summer! Oh, how I will miss its cozy atmosphere and the best rhubarb crumble I’ve ever tasted!
But if I’ve learned anything over the past two years it is that each summer I am lucky enough to spend in the Wild West of Ireland holds its own discoveries and delights. So instead of worrying over changes or disappointments, I am welcoming this summer’s unique surprises – like meeting friendly neighbors along our quiet country road! In fact, another great surprise of our summer so far was also thanks to a friendly neighbor. The man who is good enough to check in on our cottage for us while we are away granted me the best surprise I could have asked for – a clean, welcoming house complete with beds made, staples in the refrigerator and fresh-cut flowers on our kitchen table! I must admit that up until I set foot in the door of Teach de Búrca I had been absolutely dreading what horrors might be awaiting us inside a cottage that sat empty all winter long. But I was truly relieved and delighted with the lovely welcome we found instead!
And tomorrow Eoin will have his first tin whistle lesson and we’ll expand our horizons to Miltown Malbay, a town we’ve had little experience with up until now. Meanwhile, I’ll share a couple of photos that Eoin took today in The Burren and in Ballyvaughan, which remind me of the universal experiences of motherhood and the needs and energy of youth…
“Hey Mom, look how fast I can run!”
“Hey Mom, pay attention to me!”
If all else fails… climb on Mom’s back!
“Hey Mom, look how fast I can run!”
“Settle down Junior!”
A mother’s love.
The only thing spoiling the above view of the Kilkee Cliff Walk is my shadow in the shot. However, this is no longer the case.
Today was the first chance I had to take a much-anticipated and longed for walk along the magnificent, unspoiled Irish treasure that is the Kilkee Cliff Walk. I was very excited to finally have the opportunity to make my way along the meandering path that winds along a breathtaking vista of the Atlantic Ocean and the cliffs of Kilkee and leads up the steep climb to the highest cliff, unencumbered by tourist trappings, very little in the way of signage and – except for a couple of benches placed along the way, a plain, white, concrete building for shelter and tarmac on the main path – surprisingly little else in the way of modern “improvements”.
Now I will “risk my arm” and perhaps bring upon myself the ire of a few local people, but feel compelled to express my horror at seeing the changes, “improvements,” that were recently made to this beloved piece of Irish heaven. Although during the winter I had read in both the Irish Times and the local, Clare Champion (click the links and have a look at the stories) of some controversial and heavy-handed damage that was done to the area in the name of improvements and safety, I was unprepared for the real carnage. The once rough terrain of wild flowers and indigenous grasses that covered the ground along the path has been scraped away like a construction site leaving flattened mud, dirt, rocks and stones and exposed drainage pipes. Jutting up between the path and the beautiful view of the Atlantic in several spots along the way, were pipes imbedded in the ground, which I later discovered, once held signage, some resembling small billboards – apparently meant to tell tourists what they were looking at! But the biggest shock came as I approached the tallest cliff. I could not believe my eyes when I looked up and saw an awkward, plodding handrail running up the view along the once lovely, rustic path that used to take me back in time, as I huffed and puffed to the top.
The good news is that I’ve read that many of the locals are equally unhappy with this turn of events and that the missing signs are due to a blessed few who took it upon themselves to remove them, hopefully never to be seen again! The bad news is that I’ve read that much of the wildflowers and grasses that have been ripped from the ground may take as many as 30 years to return! And as for the garish railing, my fear is that once up, there is little hope of it being removed.
No doubt, there are some who would accuse me of having little understanding of the economic concerns of the area and the need for increased tourism.
A stretch of the path last summer.
But I would ask any of these people to please, prove to me that what once stood between the magnificent, unspoiled Cliffs of Kilkee and tourism dollars was a lack of tacky tourist trappings; a lack of signs blocking the view; or an overabundance of unspoiled terrain crowned with a magnificent high cliff once unadorned by a distracting railing to hold on to during the invigorating climb to the top.
Here is the cliff walk today:
Just what the view needed… more tarmac and signs.
Blogging from the Bog 