Ireland, Blog 4

Ireland, Blog 4

South of Dublin

As Dan and I travel, we look for business opportunities:

1. Importing vowels to Poland

2. Introducing designer berkahs in Islamic countries (basic black can only go so far)

3. Makeovers for Eastern European women

4. Signs for Ireland

Even with a GPS and Dan’s infallible (?) sense of direction, we have had a tendency to get lost in Ireland—often because of inadequate signage.

We wanted to take the Military Road, over Sally Gap, through the bogs in the Wicklow Mountains. We kept driving and driving looking for all of the above to no avail. Finally I said to Dan, “this looks like a bog.” This was not a stroke of genius: there were no trees although we certainly weren’t above the tree line. The soggy land was covered with low vegetation and lots of crevasses. Finally after miles of driving over very windy, very bad (although very scenic), road we came to a main highway stating, “You are now leaving the Military Road/Sally Gap. We were right where we wanted to be, but without signs we didn’t realize it!

Our final destination was Glendalough and a monastery dating to the early Middle Ages. We joined a guided tour made up of about 30+ people who all belonged to a Catholic church in New Mexico and a family of Israeli Jews. I love interesting juxtapositions!

Actually the Catholics from New Mexico could very probably have converso blood in them! (If you don’t know, ask). When the rest of Europe was living in ignorance, the Irish monks kept learning alive. They had a strong connection to nature, and this setting was magnificent! In the ruins of what had been a cathedral was the tombstone of a man who died in the 18^th century at the age of 106. All I could think of was my mother.

After touring, we took a hike to two lakes through a forest of tall trees and leafy green ferns. Among the many wildflowers in bloom was a very pretty yellow one. When I asked its name at the visitors’ center and learned it was “Irish fleabane,”

I no longer found it so charming.

We spent the evening in a town called Wicklow. On the last Friday of the month (which was the day we were there), they have a night tour of their very famous jail. Actors in costume play various parts: the warden, jailer, matron, and 4 different prisoners. The jail, which existed from about 1702 until the early 20^th century, was completely authentic. We enjoyed a welcoming glass of wine, and then the jailer, in character, escorted us as if we were real prisoners. It sounds hokey, but it was a lot of fun.

I’ll have to tell you about today tomorrow. It is 10 PM, but completely light out.

“In winter I go to bed at night. I dress by yellow candlelight. In summer quite the other way: I have to go to bed by day…” For “in summer,” substitute “in Ireland.” Robert Lewis Stevenson’s “A Child’s Garden of Verses.”