Free Food for the Animals.

The first time we noticed things were a little different in Ireland may have been the second day, our marathon drive from Dublin to Portmagee, half way around the Ring of Kerry. We stopped at our first ring fort, called Staigue. The guidebook mentioned a two euro donation, but we arrived, two miles up a hill of the main road, to find a gate next to which sat a crudely lettered sign indicating that 2 euros should be paid to the landowner who was allowing access through his land. In this case, the landowner did not seem to own the land on which the fort sat, but just wanted something in return for tourists traipsing across his land all summer. Maybe the tourists didn't bother the owner at all; maybe he or she was just looking to make a quick buck. I wouldn't begrudge it; I often wonder still how people make a living in rural Ireland. We of course dropped our euros in the little tupperware and enjoyed spending time climbing on a lovingly preserved and restored ring fort with fabulous views of the sea and the mountains. Not to mention a few very cute lambs.

Of course in the US we have access problems for recreational features. Landowners would have an entire national forest closed to public access rather than allow some hikers to use a right-of-way through their land. Popular trails and climbing routes have been shut down because angry (greedy?) landowners, usally with giant mansions at the top of a hill, lock the gates. Long and protracted battles follow. In Ireland, having land with or near historical sites seems to be just a lovely opportunity to make some income.

At the bottom of the hill was an enterprise presumably developed explicitly for tourists who stop by the ring fort. A pub, restaurant, gift shop, WC, and exhibit hall. The guest book said it closed at 6, but when we pushed open the door sometime after that, we walked into a brightly lit room. Shortly the lady of the house appeared and told us, no problem, I'd be happy to make you a couple of sandwiches, and if you want to see the video go right ahead. No angry tirade about it being after hours and to get out of the house, can't you see we're closed? Just give me a second, and I'll fix you right up. And that was the tastiest tomato and cheese sandwich I had in all of Ireland.

Later that day there were the signs advertising "The most beautiful cliffs in all of Ireland." They looked official - white lettering on brown signs, just like all the other tourist sites. After we settled into our lodging for the night, we headed back in the falling sunshine, hoping to view the cliffs in the light of twilight. We pulled into the parking lot of a B&B and headed toward the path to the sea - "a ten minute walk," the sign had promised. How nice of them to let us park here, I was thinking, as a man with a little boy emerged and asked us if we needed anything. "We were just going to see the cliffs," I said. "Ah," he said, "come in. It will be 3.50 each, and I will give you binoculars." Aha. Another private enterprise. I have no idea how he swung those signs, but we handed him the 7 and added a local chocolate bar to make it 10. An easy buck, I guess, although he was still dealing with tourists after 8 o'clock at night.

The next real dose of landowner enterprise did not come until we explored the Slea Head Drive, at the end of the Dingle Peninsula. Rick Steves devoted multiple pages with precise distances and detailed descriptions to this short 47k loop. He mentioned forts that cost 2 euros, famine huts that cost 3, and so on and so forth. At the Gallarus Oratory, toward the end of the drive, both our guidebooks advised avoiding the visitor center (and hence entrance fee) built by the landowner to make some money,and driving on past to a closer parking lot. Amazingly, even Rick Steves failed to mention that almost every fee on this drive was really just a payment to an enterprising landowner. I have yet to figure out why the Gallarus owner was singled out, when they offered a fancy cafe, video, and WC, for no more payment than the much simpler operations we were about to reserve.

Stop 1: Dunbeg Promontory Fort. As we parked in the lot and I double-checked the guidebook, I discovered that both the fort and the nearby famine huts did not open until 9:30. Luckily we had been a bit slow in the morning and it was just now about 9:25. As we ventured over to the fort, one couple ahead of us, a local man stepped out of a cottage across the street, followed by his dog, and headed over to a small booth at the path to the fort. He called out to the couple in front of us to stop and pay and pick up an information brochure. He was clearly not with the OPW (government agency that ran many historical sites) - likely he was the landowner and realized he could make money by sitting in a booth, watching TV, and charging tourists to marvel at his property.

While the other couple rummaged for money, we managed to get in front of them, first down the path to the fort that day, the sea sparkling in front of us. As we entered the outer rows of the fort, two tiny donkeys lifted their heads up to check us out. True, I had seen sheep at the ring fort, but for some reason I was surprised to see donkeys grazing in the middle of a historical feature. As I was cooing over them, as is my want to do with animals, one of the donkeys walked straight towards me, evidently ready to be my friend. I loved it! I reached out to pet his forehead. Matt insisted that I was supposed to feed him; apparently the donkey preferred to be handfed rather than undertake the effort of tearing the grass of himself. And the noise those two made with their teeth!

While Matt explored the ruins, I mostly marveled at the exquisite scenery (does it ever end?) and fawned over my favorite donkey, feeding him clumps of grass. Towards the end I realized that he had in fact been after my purse the whole time;apparently the fabric ties looked might tasty to him. No mind; I can be bought.

We ventured across the road to the famine huts, where another local with his dog were just scurrying into the entrance booth. A sign on the booth proclaimed, "Free food for animals." What kind of animals, I wondered? No need to wonder - on the back of the informational sheet was a map of the famine huts and fields, noting which animals were in which.

Ponies, goats, sheep, deer. I'm sure I'm forgetting something. I popped my head into the famine huts for as short a time as possible to keep Matt somewhat happy, and then turned my attention to finding animals that would like to eat out of my hand. Some glanced at me disdainfully, while others came tromping over through the fields. Some ate daintilly, while others tried to gnaw my hand off as well. It took quite some time to get rid of all the food, after which Matt informed me that the man had told us to "bring back the change." Ah well. Boy did my hand smell, and not a sink to be found.

Still more private enterprise - a group of behive huts down the road where a WC that looked like a port-a-john from the outside actually featured a toilet, sink, soap, and running water. And the views!

What if out your front door was an endless expanse of sea, sun shining, clouds rolling in, grass advancing endlessly up the mountain? What if you spent your day inside a little booth, out of the fresh air, staring at a TV instead of your backyard. What is is like to be Irish now?

Maybe the local man lets you feed his animals to entice you to pay the entrance fee - after all, in Ireland there are many choices of things to see. Maybe he'd rather you do it and save him the trouble. Maybe he knows that American tourists love domesticated animals. Maybe enterprises like this exist in the US and I just haven't run into one.

But maybe it's just that in a land so rich with viewable history, the government does not have the time or the need to acquire all of the sites. Maybe the landowners just get to capitalize on the wealth of the country's saga. It's about time.

Driving on the Wrong Side of the Road

Well it's all in perspective, I guess. Deplaning in Chicago on our way back from Ireland, we heard an Ireland youth express delight at the prospect of driving on the wrong side of the road. The right side, of course. And I am referring to direction, not correctness, in this instance.

Matt received the lucky privilege of being my chauffer in Ireland, on the pretense of me wanting to save money. Renting an automatic would be at least an extra 100 euros, while adding an extra driver was also at least that much. So me driving would basically triple the cost of our rental car. Congenially, Matt agreed that he would be the guinea pig. I worried that it would not go well.

We'd been distressing over the car rental to begin with (or at least I was) because the websites all seemed to require a national driving permit good for anywhere from two to five years, and the purchase of collision damage waiver, excpet in some cases if you possess a World Master Card. Having recently moved to California, Matt's license had only been valid for about six months. And collision damage waiver was very expensive.

We decided to try to solve this problem by Matt getting an international driving permit from AAA and by me signing up for an AAdvantage World Master Card. Although I hate credit cards, at least I'd get a free flight out of it. After receiving the card I called Master Card to get a letter of rental car coverage, which was also requested by many of the rental car companies. They told me they would send it via email, and it arrived shortly with no mention whatsoever that was specific to Ireland or even any mention that it would cover anything. The text was full of "might" and "may." Shortly thereafter I received the card agreement in the mail, only to discover that the rental car coverage explicitly said it did not work in Ireland, along with a handful of other countries. As far as I can tell, Ireland has a super high accident rate and Master Card doesn't want to deal with it. I have no idea why some rental car companies told you the World Master Card was the only way to go.

So I freaked out again, I resorted to my final option. Renting from Enterprise in City Centre Dublin, not the airport, where for some reason collision damage waiver was included for only a couple extra dollars. It would be much more inconvenient, but I am all about saving money.

After spending a carless day in Dublin, thankfully, we headed to the Enterprise office early in the morning to get a good start on the day. Both google maps and the receptionist at the hotel had some trouble identifying exactly where the office was - it was definitely in one of two places. But the office was closed Sunday. So I called Monday at 8:05 am from the train station, and was given directions to the office. Head under the bridge, turn left, turn right, turn left again, I'm not sure what the street name is, and so on and so forth. And me without a pen.

We had already learned that street names are nearly pointless in Dublin anywhere because they change every other block. Neverthless, I pulled out my map and concluded that he had given me directions to the closer of the two possible locations. We're in luck, since we're carting our luggage on our backs.

We finally get there, and cheery young man greets us. Does not complain about the drivers license, ask for proof of address, or any other thing that could trip us up. Evidently all that worry was for nothing. When he takes us outside to the car, Matt asks him if first gear is to the left. Our helper looks shocked. "Oh dear," he says. "No, he's just making sure the gears aren't a mirror image of what he's used to," I say. "Oh, yes, first gear is in the upper left," he replies. But as we load the car, he adds, "Best of luck to you, then," with a twinkling, apprehensive smile - worried that his car won't be back in one piece, I suppose!"Cheers!"

And off we drove, with a bit of a lurching start, and me freaking out as the the passenger side corner of the car inched close to the cars parked on the street as we made a right.

But from there, it was really all smooth sailing. I had to remind Matt not to drive so far to the left a few times, as he was trying to avoid traffic on his side. A few close calls with bushes, and a few squeaks out of my mouth. That's about it.

For the most part, Matt's driving was not the issue; my navigating was. But that's another story.

Hawaii Pictures

Click to see pictures from EEE's and my trip to Hawaii.

Hawaii

Diamond Head

Puka Dog

The Fort at the Edge of the Sea

Matt and I had been alone at the worm hole, blessedly left to ourselves to savor the beauty and snap pictures to our heart's content (mostly Matt's, of course) without pausing for a person to move to allow us just the right angle, the open vista, the perfect picture.

We surmised that our experience at Dun Aengus would be different. The universally-acclaimed sight to see on the island, even by the crochety old writer and tour guide of "The Back of Beyond," who generally refused to take his wards where other tourists went. This fort was on the map, the center of the mini bus tours, and a whole herd of french school children was biking toward it ahead of us.

Throughout our travels, Rick Steves, through his book, had admonished us to avoid certain places between 11 and 2, or other such popular tourist hours, to avoid the crowds. We blithely ignored him, mostly as we enjoyed our whirlwind tour and had not the luxury to plan our sightseeing visits at a more leisurely pace. We had been lucky so far, often arriving at a place by ourselves and only running into a couple more along the way. There was a good crowd at the Rock of Cashel, but still we enjoyed much of it to ourselves, and I imagine I can barely fathom the faces it would see at the height of the tourist season.

The Cliffs of Moher also hosted numerous cars and coaches, but the fog enveloping the cliffs caused the tourists not to linger long. The newly placed fences along the length of the cliffs made it cold and univiting anyway. This was not the intimate, famously Ireland sight with no fences, no rangers, and no signs prohibiting unwelcome behaviors. It would not have mattered if we were alone at the Cliffs of Moher. The personal experience was not there anymore, anyway.

(Although the awe-inspiring National Parks of the United States feature many barriers and protective devices, many trails still enable you to enter the landscape and become part of it, of course often with others unless you venture still farther in. The Cliffs over no other option, no other hike. Just the appointed overlooks and walkways. In order to preserve one of the most beautiful sights in Ireland, they have taken away its grandeur. So is the way of the world.)

Back to the point at hand.

We hurriedly cycled our way from Gort na gPall, back to the main road and up toward the fort. We could see its rock walls on the skyline. To each side of us, the fields, cut by the rock walls, faded away to the sea. Old rock ruins and graveyards graced the side of the road. There was little time to enjoy it.

We passed the slow contigent of les ecoles, squeezed through a larger group at the foot of the fort entrance, and rolled our bikes into the bike parking lot. We showed our Heritage Cards that admitted us without fee, and skipped the exhibits in the entrance hall to make sure we had time to take in the natural sights (and beat the schoolchildren if possible).

We trudged up the long path, shepherded by yet more rock walls, up and up the hill towards the promontory fort. A semicircle with many rows of defense, the fort sat smack upon the edge of the cliff, walls coming to an end neatly at the edge. Surely some of the stones have fallen in over the years?

We ducked through the opening of the outer ring of the fort, revealing a wide open grassy area and unfenced cliff, with the inner fort walls still in front of us. We could see only one person, calmly eating lunch on a ledge in front of the fort. Mostly, it was just us and the sea below, once again. After visiting the fort, I read somewhere that fences on the cliffs prevented tourists from being swept by high winds to the depths below. I would have been less eager to arrive. But unbeknownst to the guidebook, as were the walls at the Cliffs of Moher, no such fences existed. Perhaps they had for awhile and for some unknown reason were taken down. I paid no mind. For the first time in Ireland, I lay down at the edge of a cliff and peered over to the clear blue water below, pretty pink flowers clinging to the face below me.



It was windy that day. I tried to be careful. To brace myself when I walked close to the cliff edge. For all I know, a sudden gust could have carried me off. But that happens too in Marin, much closer to home. No need to worry part-way across the world.

We finally entered the fort itself; still no one around. Matt loved the historic walls; I mostly still admired the rugged cliff. I could see coastal beauty in California, but it would not be enhanced with such obvious history as abounds in Irelands. The ancient rock ruins add to the landscape. Imagine, having this view! Imagine, having to defend yourself in a fort! Did the scenery ever make up for the hardships? Perhaps not.



Maurice O'Sullivan's book, "Twenty Years A-Growing," a tale of being raised on the remote Blasket Islands, certainly includes much reflection on natural beauty. Yet he left the island at a young age, experiencing only a few seasons of fishing, not growing old with aching bones, still having to traipse across the island in search of ewes and hunting rabbits and birds. Perhaps life on the island would have erased the wonder from him.

But what a place to visit.

Prop 8 Upheld

In a disappointing but expected move this morning, the California Supreme Court upheld Proposition 8 while keeping existing marriages valid.

(Remember that the Supreme Court already let their opinion on gay marriage be known. This decision was related to technicalities. Still, I think this decision allows the majority to trample on the rights of the minority.)