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 |
7 comments:
E, many things to comment on, but when did you become a vegetarian? And, I'm glad p got to eat his fry. Sounds yum.
Then, the scenery truly is captivating. I love the stories and look forward to hearing more. Very cool. - D
I'm sorry to see the lamb tagged. I'm assuming it's the ranch's emblem?
This is a country I must visit one day and try to find some of John's family line.
Lovely.
They are marked so as to know who they belong to in case they get lost or break out of a field.
first of all I can't believe Diana doesn't know I don't eat red meat - hello!!!! I pretty much stopped right after college (and didn't eat it much thru college either).
Secondly, I can't believe all the discussion on the little graffitti tagged lambs!! hehehe
E, I thought you were referring to all meat (chicken too).
Elsa, loving your stories, but have to call you out on a few things! Emily Bronte was a British writer. I'll just let it pass as you were excited when recounting your trip and that was probably a typo. Irish literary history is rich, but they can't claim her.
As for this "wheat bread," do you mean the Irish soda bread? Yum, brings back memories. I loved it, and also lived on it for a week. By chance does P's mom have a recipe she would share?
And finally, how can you get sick of tea?? ;) Again, one of the things I also enjoyed while there.
Heather - you are right! it turns out it was the novelist sisters' FATHER, Patrick Bronte, who was born in Ireland. And the tourist authorities apparently have capatilised on it. I stand corrected :)
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