"It's a Good Day for a Guinness"

"It's a Good Day for a Guinness"
Originally uploaded by elsamart

I never did get all my photos up from our quick sojourn to Ireland the first week of October. You saw me put up videos previously on this blog and my youtube channel. The trip was quiet, beautiful weather (sun!) and uneventful but just fine.


Click on slideshow below for more pictures - -

Ireland 2010

Tummy-ache at Waterworks, Ireland

Unfortunately, throughout this Ireland trip I had a badly-sprained back that kept me in excruciating pain. Even though I hate them, I had 4 different prescription drugs I was on - which, incidentally, I had just thrown up right before this video - heheheh you can see I am pale and green - but what a trooper, eh??? he he he

Ireland Summer 2009

Yes, I am back-logged - - or shall I say 'back-blogged' on here. We've been having technical difficulties at home and very busy so I am barely getting up my Ireland 2009 pics (and more) on here!

Ireland this year was vastly different than my first trip there in May of 2007. This time around, we had P's daughter Ciara with us which kept us home-bound a lot more than our last trip (see previous blogs by scrolling through year 2007). Also, the 2 biggest reasons for this trip was 1). to visit and spend time with Patrick's aging 84 year-old mum and 2) to have a small Catholic Wedding blessing ceremony there that his parents could partake in as Patrick's mom won't be able to travel to the USA for our bigger ceremony later this year. Of course it was the wettest summer in decades. So wet that Patrick's folks commented that even Father (the priest) was in a grumpy and blue mood due to all the rain.

Finally, I had sprained my back badly the week before at work and was in intense pain - the flight over almost killed me sitting cramped up for hours. So, I was the entire time doped up on muscle relaxers and painkillers - not that it stopped me from doing any activity when possible(!)

Thus we spent the majority of time at their beautiful home in Warrenpoint, shooting photography and taking long, long serene walks around town, through P's old neighborhoods and where he road his Arabian pony. I loved the stories as I am an avid story-listener as much as a story-teller myself :)
Ciara had more of a blast than any of us. She goes every year there and is a superstar of sorts, being from America. She commented to me, "it's the few times she is really the coolest kid there" - as the children are enamoured of her accent, clothes, her dancing, etc etc. Also, it is relatively safe there so she can just go out and play in the park and walk into the town for an ice cream with the kids until dark - sadly, she can't do that here in San Diego. It's wonderful to see her enjoy her freedom and independence there.

Lastly I wish to point out for my family that it was hard not having them present for the Catholic Blessing - - although I am very grateful to have done it there for P's mother. She held my hand through the prayers and I felt (of COURSE) the tears of happiness and gratefulness welling up in my big eyes and then plop! fall down onto my silk skirt. After all was done she waved my hand in hers, scolding me in her brogue, "You're a big Softie, Elsa -- that's what you are!"

Click below on the slideshow for more!

Ireland09

Sitting Ducks, Northern Ireland

A gorgeous early summer morning at the stunning Silent Valley, County Down, Northern Ireland... August 2009

A Walk Through Irish Neighborhoods

Taking a walk through the neighborhood, Clonallon Road, Warrenpoint, County Down.

Love me Some Irish

I really think the kid is talented, at the very least entertaining - props from elsamart!

P loosens up at STIFF Concert

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While I have music and concerts on my mind, I decided to blog about a concert Patrick and I went to a few weeks ago at the House of Blues. It was one of his favorite Punk bands, Stiff Little Fingers, from his region of Northern Ireland.

The evening started out on a good note - while we were waiting in line to buy tickets there, a gal suddenly came up waving 2 and said, "I've got free tickets!" We were too slow (probably from shock) and the 20-something kid in front of us snatched them to find out a couple minutes later that there were 2 concerts going on that night and he was attending the other one. So his friend turned to us and said, "You can have them, they aren't for our concert." But the taller one who first snatched them literally held onto them for a few seconds and we could just see him greedily adding up in his mind how much he could sell them to us for. Please - the concert was around $20 bucks. And not selling out, so he wasn't going to make anything from us. The shorter friend read his mind, and ordered, "Dude - just give them the tickets!" Which he did - begrudgingly.

So we happily entered and ordered a drink while people-watching before the show started. One could see a few aged punks in the crowd of dressed-in-black alternative kids and T-shirt wearing men like P in their 40s. (note - I wore jeans and a dark t-shirt too, but I am sure I stood out by a mile he he he). There weren't many women there, let's just say.

I love Patrick's stories from growing up in Ireland and he commented to me that when he was about 12 or 13, the older boys about 16 would come up to all the young boys and demand to know if they liked and followed "Stiff Little Fingers". And if the 12 year old was naive or for some reason didn't like punk and answered, "no", then the older boys would punch and slug him. Let's just say that the Irish (especially those in Northern occupied Ireland) seemed very loyal of their region's great punk band.

At last the band came out and started - P, had, of course seen them a few times previously. I have to admit for some older guys they could strum some seriously quick guitar licks but it was not without raised eyebrow that the band looked vastly different than their heyday - see video above. The lead singer Jake even joked about it, "Now we're fat and 50!"

Still, the crowd really enjoyed it, and I am not above enjoying the music and atmosphere. Very interestingly was P pointing out the dynamics of the mosh pit. As the concert first started there were about 5 guys center and up front who were doing the 'pogo' jumping-up-and-down dance that punk invented. Halfway through the concert and with the alcohol starting to be felt they switched to moshing on the popular songs. As I commented to P having seen one mo-hawked, angry-looking 40ish punk, 'That one punk has been waiting all night to start moshing."

It was true. And here was where P pointed out the dynamics of the pit. He noted how no one really was pushing or slamming into Mo-Hawk because he was obviously OG (original) and not there to play. He was violent and probably wouldn't care if he hurt someone or got hurt himself. That said, the younger boys and 1 girl who were also moshing on an adrenaline high were running around in the small circle pushing each other excitedly - but not out for blood. Meanwhile, the rest of the standing crowd - like us - served as a barrier and anytime anyone fell out of step of the mosh circle, the barrier would just push them back in.

On the final encore of the night, SLF played P's favorite song (the video above) and in the blink of an eye he disappeared from my side to ....join the pit!!!! I was half-screaming and half-laughing as I stood on tippy toes desperately trying to keep an eye on his bobbing head in the circle of violence. "NOOOOOOO!" It was hilarious to see him do something I'd heard stories about when he was a teen but to see my man at 41 pushing and slamming into others and then eventually losing sight of him altogether was just awesome!! he he he

When he returned to me triumphantly he was breathing heavily, and soaked with sweat - I hate to admit that it wasn't just his sweat on him. When we got home Fred-the-basset was intrigued by all the different smells of sweat on his owner and heavily sniffed him from head to foot, thus also partaking in our entertaining evening of fine Irish punk music. :P

Ireland - Day 2 - Rostrevor

We awoke our second day very, very early due to jet lag. In fact, I have NEVER seen Patrick - notorious for NOT being a morning person - get up so early and encourage ME to hurry up!

First we had breakfast. I need to talk about Irish Cuisine. Well, this was not going to be like my trips to Italy where I eat my way through the Mediterranean. Que Va! First of all: the Irish aren't known for their cuisine. Second of all: I do not eat meat which cancels out the stuff that supposedly IS good. Patrick daily made himself a "fry" - I've never heard it put in that term but so it was. His parents knowingly stocked up on Irish bacon (thicker than the USA), ham, sausage and fresh eggs and baked bread for his stay. He fried himself a huge plate of...meat - I could barely stand to just look at it much less sit next to him eating it. He'd down it with a big cup of tea. Such a heavy, artery-clogging meal...yikes! That said the Irish eat it everyday and aren't overweight like Americans. I just know that our food here is stocked up on sodium and preservatives while in Europe everything is so fresh. Nonetheless, can I just say by day 3 I was sick of tea? I also understand better why the Irish and Brits have horrible, brown teeth - drinking tea and Guinness daily will do quite a bit of staining. In fact, one morning Patrick's mother commented upon my laughing out loud that my "teeth were like white pearls.."!!! She really said that!!! I replied that I do take good care of them. I don't understand something so easy to do is so neglected over there. (Right, P?)

Back to the food: I survived on tea, fresh bread, cheese melt sandwiches,flax seed, yogurt and cereal with fresh berries in the morning (they bought me Special K since they heard I have to watch my girlish figure) heheheh. So thoughtful.

That early morning was full of sunshine - although the air was bitingly fresh and nippy. But it was a beautiful morning and we knew better than to waste it since it could rain at any moment. Thus, on the road at 7:15 Patrick drove me to some of his old haunts from when he was a teen. We first drove to the nearby coastal town of Rostrevor and stopped at a small lake called "Waterworks". It was so early that there was an eerie, thick fog that moved quickly across the water. It was very beautiful but my camera definitely couldn't capture its haunting beauty. Then we drove further and took a long, peaceful walk in a large park with trails - appropriately named, "Fairy Glen". This was definitely one of the most picturesque and beautiful places I've ever traversed. I was absolutely charmed and perfectly happy exploring some of the trails and taking pictures of the gorgeous, huge trees (I LOVE trees) and the bubbling spring that ran parallel with the main trail. It was so early a Sunday morning that we pretty much had it to ourselves save a couple folks with their dogs :). One thing worth noting about the Irish is how they greet everyone (American is sadly too self-absorbed for this) and if there is nice weather they will comment, "Good morning to you, and what a nice one it is!" Isn't that just charming?


There are many forests as well in Ireland when there aren't the grassy fields I previously posted about. P drove me to a very beautiful forest spot called Yellowstone Park that had a fresh river gurgling through it and several picnic benches. He used to hang out there with the boys or bring girls there when "courting".:) It was also a spot where some of his stories of being surrounded and interrogated at gunpoint by Brit soldiers had occurred just because they were a group of lads hanging out there. I guess anything looked suspicious in those days and needed to be investigated. "It's just the way it was..." he mused. But, to me, it all sounded horrific as I pictured how it used to be only years before in that exact same peaceful spot of nature which now charmed me as a tourist. Just mind-boggling. And sad... If that weren't a lot of walking and exploring already (and before most had even risen yet to go to Sunday Mass), we then did a steep, half-mile hike up the slopes of Slievemartin to Cloghmore Stone. At the top of the grassy and tree-filled hills sits a very large misplaced boulder that was supposedly hurled by the Irish Giant Fion MacCool at the rival Scotts. I love good folklore! This gave a wonderful view of the waters of Carlingford Lough and the towns of Warrenpoint and Rostrevor that sit upon its shores far below. After a nice lunch with Patricks parents and their friends Ingmar and her husband Brendan ("A Protestant", his Dad felt I needed to be informed) at the "Whistlestop" in downtown Warrenpoint we later that afternoon then took another very steep hike up the Cooly Mountains that also overlooked Carlingford Lough - but opposite from the Mourne Mountains and rock where we were earlier that morning. The Cooley Mountains were more foreboding than the tourist and hiker-friendly Cloghmore Stone, that's for sure. For one, there wasn't even a trail to follow. We just walked straight up as best we could. Also, it was cold and extremely windy and full of rock and heather (making me think of my beloved classic novel, "Wuthering Heights" written by the Northern Irish novelist Emily Bronte).

It was quite a day with much hiking and exploring, thus when we had had enough sight-seeing we retired early that evening as we had a very long drive the next day to the western coast of Ireland.
Click on photo album below and watch slideshow!

Ireland Day 2

Northern Ireland - Day 1 - Warrenpoint, Carlingford

Okay, okay so that I may look back fondly years from now in this journal-blog of mine, I now prepare to detail my little adventure with the Leprechauns!

After flying into the Irish capital of Dublin, P and I rented a car and drove the 1.5 hours to County Down inNorthern (Occupied) Ireland where he is from. This is when I first was struck at the sheer numbers of fields dividing the country land and how green it all was. Soon we headed towards what used to be a barricade check-point with troops of armed British soldiers: the border between the North and the South. It was absolutely mind-boggling to me that Patrick not only grew up in the violent years of "The Troubles" of Northern Ireland but that his border hometown was right in the middle of it!

Warrenpoint, is a quaint, relaxing eastern seaside town of about 20k. It has evidently become very popular to settle and retire in and housing prices have soared along with the numerous new housing constructions. It has 2 piers and there is a lot of fishing done there. There is also a charming square with beautifully landscaped park and playground for children along with a bandstand that holds concerts in the summer. I was also surprised to learn there are quite a few golf courses throughout the land. I admire those that don't let the rain and cold stop them. Unsurprisingly, Patrick has a huge love of the sea as he grew up right on the water in a former 3-story hotel that he and his mother occupied while his father was often out to sea. Although somewhat strange that he should share such expanse alone with his mother, the undeniable fact is that he had an amazing view from his bedroom window high on the top overlooking the sea and his daily playground was the water. "I know every rock on that shore," he commented as he tossed a smooth rock, skipping it across the water with the ease of someone who grew up perfecting the pastime. It struck me that, of course, Patrick could only have become a world-traveling seafarer himself growing up in such a place and following the footsteps of his father and other men in his family.

After perusing the small town and shoreline, we drove to the very nice neighborhood that his parents now have settled in for 15 years. Completely different than the seaside hotel, this was Irish suburbia at its best. All pointed-roof houses were identically made from red bricks and impeccably landscaped - although I never did get an answer as to who does the landscaping when there aren't any Mexicans around to do it. Patricks 'mudder' (mother) was just as I expected: petite, generous, very hospitable and very Catholic. His American dad was the antithesis of his son: needing to be the center of attention and full of stories and opinions that had to be heard - he loves an audience and appreciated the engaging, polite one that I was.

After a most enjoyable hearty meal of vegetable stew and a loaf of fantastic freshly-baked wheat bread, we hit the hay for a bit before going to Saturday night mass with his folks. This was very interesting to me as I have enjoyed attending Catholic mass now in Mexico, Peru, Italy and Ireland as well as the USA. They do much less singing in Ireland - which made the mass only about 40 minutes long - no complaints to my jet-lagged self. The priest was young and I was pleasantly surprised to see he had a good sense of humour which he applied in his homily. Also, interesting to note was that they now use alter girls as well in Ireland (one would just assume they are too conservative and traditional to do so there, I mean, for Pete's sake - they barely made divorce legal in 1997!) I definitely got some stares there as there aren't many brown people or foreigners in the north - much less Latinos. I also didn't want to start any rough business for P by giving the wrong signals to the boys there in those smaller towns, so I was pretty frumpy and muted - NOT me at all - during my stay in the north.

That night we drove to a nearby medieval town of Carlingford to walk around and visit one of his old pubs. Patrick informed me there are younger, hip and modern nightclubs and bars now in Ireland but neither of us desired that as they are frequented by inebriated youth that have nothing better to do than start a fight. The pub we entered was small, old-fashioned and traditional with a low ceiling and mostly men. I laughed as I pointed out that I was the only one NOT drinking Guinness or a pint of some sort. Making me stand out all the more, he he he. Some things just can't be avoided after all, I guess. :) Click on slideshow below!

Warrenpoint, Ireland