16 May 2012
Story #534
R. Linda:
Earlier that night (before we heard the moan in our room), we had come out of the storm and settled into our respective rooms. Tonya and I decided to forgo tea and scones and go for dinner. Me parents were the only couple going for tea and a late dinner, so I told Tony I'd make the reservations for the first sitting and meet him and Dragon either at the table or in the bar.
Tony was at the bar when we came down (Dragon was still dressing), and he had started a conversation with two of the bartenders. The two were laughing and enjoying Big Tony, it seemed, as Tonya and I joined him. He introduced us to his new friends, who had the art of hustling and gabbing down pat. Yes, a play on words there. But not such a play as Big Tony came out with.
The bar was doing well. It was early; most of the castle was either still at tea, relaxing, or in their rooms getting dressed for dinner (something that Tonya loved and suggested we do at home—as if!), so the boyos behind the bar had some time to make us feel welcome.
Tony said he felt more welcome with "these two guys" than anywhere he'd been.
"The sayin' goes Tony, dat in Ireland dere are no strangers, only friends you 'aven't met before."
"Roit, you go!" Conor, one of the bartenders, exclaimed.
Tony asked in his Jersey style, "Hey Con, let me ask youse guys how yas Paddys celebrate Paddy's day?"
OH MY FREAKING GOD THE MAN! Okay, we were officially in the SOUTH OF IRELAND, and the last thing one does is refer to Irishmen as Paddys. Even when it is thrown in on a day that the U.S.A. celebrates as an excuse to party. The put-down of Paddy or Mick be just below the surface feelings in some and I did not know if either of our tending barkeeps were feeling that or not.
Both men looked at each other and then started laughing their arses off. Amazingly, they took no offence but were laughing AT Tony, not with him. I chuckled as Tonya looked like she wanted to crawl under the bar. I tell ya! You can't take the Abduallahs anywhere except their daughter, the only presentable one of the bunch.
"We spend it in chorch," the other bartender, Seamus, said with a wicked grin. "We don't party much oop 'ere we don't, but dey do in Dooblin."
"Dublin? Big party there, huh?" Tony pushed on, oblivious.
Then the two had this feigned argy of which city held the best "Paddys party", and oh my, it was Paddys this and Paddys that. I couldn't hold it together, so I joined them. Tony was getting a kick out of it, but Tonya slid off her barstool and went searching for her mother. She'd had enough.
We were called to our table in the nick before this all got out of any more control than it was going. As it was, Conor was all about Tony coming back for a nightcap afterwards and having more "interestin' conversation wit yer new Paddy friends."
I made sure the wine ordered for dinner mostly went into Tony's glass so he'd be tired and want to go to bed, not back to the two waiting to ply him with strong drink and blarney for their own amusements.
That was one of Big Tony's regrets the next morning, that he WAS too wined and dined that night to return to the two men he considered his closest Irish friends except his sainted son-in-law. Oi!
The next morning was sunny and fair, so it was onto Sligo. As we drove into the west, Dragon noticed the signs were no longer in English. She thought it was French! I tell you, the woman.
"OH, I thought that was a trailer park," she said, and then she looked at me with a glint of humour, "like back in the States."
She used me own argy that I used on her that this or that is like "back in the States." Trying to one-up me with me own sayings. Anyway, me not speaking Gaelic (well, I be from the North!) I had a bit of a time reading some of the signage meself, me da was the same. But we both knew Dragon didn't know that the people spoke English or Gaelic, but they all spoke Gaelic around us when this all started. I sent them all out to the car, then asked in English where the stuff they wanted was, and I got everything everyone wanted and was considered a hero (they are so easy), and off we went with our drinks and crisps enough to tie us over until dinner.
As we travelled south, the weather became glorious, and we made excellent time into Claremorris, where there was nothing to see. Still, our driver pulled into a public parking lot and gave us the usual announcement, "You can stretch yer legs and get sum loonch. Oh, dere be a view frum da bridge just around da corner." So we all got out, grabbed what we needed, including cameras, and went around the corner to the bridge where the view was of railroad tracks! I had to laugh, and I got the distinct impression that our driver hadn't been in Claremorris EVER. There was nothing to take pictures of, really, but this:
We had drinks here since we had loaded up on snacks, and we weren't hungry:
For the first time, we had drinks in a place that WASN'T on the tour, an authentic, non-tourist Irish pub. The fire was going on (it was a windy, chilly day), and it was very inviting. The locals didn't mind us a bit, and we spent about an hour enjoying ourselves and drinking Irish coffee.
Reluctantly, we left the hospitality of the Shamrock Bar and headed for the place where The Quiet Man was filmed and our next home for a few days: Ashford Castle. Cong Abbey was worth seeing. We did not bother much with the sites where The Quiet Man was filmed out on the River Corrib, but a few of the famous places were in your face, so to speak. Here are a few shots from there in County Mayo.
A couple shots of the abbey ruins
And the two landmarks seen in the film The Quiet Man, Pat Cohan's pub being the first.
R. Linda:
Earlier that night (before we heard the moan in our room), we had come out of the storm and settled into our respective rooms. Tonya and I decided to forgo tea and scones and go for dinner. Me parents were the only couple going for tea and a late dinner, so I told Tony I'd make the reservations for the first sitting and meet him and Dragon either at the table or in the bar.
Tony was at the bar when we came down (Dragon was still dressing), and he had started a conversation with two of the bartenders. The two were laughing and enjoying Big Tony, it seemed, as Tonya and I joined him. He introduced us to his new friends, who had the art of hustling and gabbing down pat. Yes, a play on words there. But not such a play as Big Tony came out with.
The bar was doing well. It was early; most of the castle was either still at tea, relaxing, or in their rooms getting dressed for dinner (something that Tonya loved and suggested we do at home—as if!), so the boyos behind the bar had some time to make us feel welcome.
Tony said he felt more welcome with "these two guys" than anywhere he'd been.
"The sayin' goes Tony, dat in Ireland dere are no strangers, only friends you 'aven't met before."
"Roit, you go!" Conor, one of the bartenders, exclaimed.
Tony asked in his Jersey style, "Hey Con, let me ask youse guys how yas Paddys celebrate Paddy's day?"
OH MY FREAKING GOD THE MAN! Okay, we were officially in the SOUTH OF IRELAND, and the last thing one does is refer to Irishmen as Paddys. Even when it is thrown in on a day that the U.S.A. celebrates as an excuse to party. The put-down of Paddy or Mick be just below the surface feelings in some and I did not know if either of our tending barkeeps were feeling that or not.
Both men looked at each other and then started laughing their arses off. Amazingly, they took no offence but were laughing AT Tony, not with him. I chuckled as Tonya looked like she wanted to crawl under the bar. I tell ya! You can't take the Abduallahs anywhere except their daughter, the only presentable one of the bunch.
"We spend it in chorch," the other bartender, Seamus, said with a wicked grin. "We don't party much oop 'ere we don't, but dey do in Dooblin."
"Dublin? Big party there, huh?" Tony pushed on, oblivious.
Then the two had this feigned argy of which city held the best "Paddys party", and oh my, it was Paddys this and Paddys that. I couldn't hold it together, so I joined them. Tony was getting a kick out of it, but Tonya slid off her barstool and went searching for her mother. She'd had enough.
We were called to our table in the nick before this all got out of any more control than it was going. As it was, Conor was all about Tony coming back for a nightcap afterwards and having more "interestin' conversation wit yer new Paddy friends."
I made sure the wine ordered for dinner mostly went into Tony's glass so he'd be tired and want to go to bed, not back to the two waiting to ply him with strong drink and blarney for their own amusements.
That was one of Big Tony's regrets the next morning, that he WAS too wined and dined that night to return to the two men he considered his closest Irish friends except his sainted son-in-law. Oi!
The next morning was sunny and fair, so it was onto Sligo. As we drove into the west, Dragon noticed the signs were no longer in English. She thought it was French! I tell you, the woman.
 |
| French? Really? |
 |
| I thought this would be a dead giveaway that we had entered the Gaelic-speaking region of Ireland |
So then she saw the mountain of Ben Bulben and wanted to know, "WHAT IS THAT?"
The famous Sligo scenery featuring Ben Bulben or What Is That? It looks man-made to Dragon. Oh, for sure. Gees Dragon!
In terms of appearance, Ben Bulben resembles Table Mountain in South Africa. And I wonder if that is why our friend Wolfie, who is from this area of Sligo, found Cape Town, S.A. much like home? Anyway, there is a legend about the mountain. It stands over 17,000 feet high and is made of limestone and shale, but it also has a Celtic legend that goes like this. Diarmuid Ua Duibhne found himself fooled by our famous giant Fionn Mac Cumhail into fighting a boar during a boar hunt Mac Cumhail had invited him to. This was not just any boar (since you like boar heads as much as I, you'll find this interesting, R. Linda), but one with magical powers. You see, Diarmuid won the heart of Grainne, who was to be the wife of Mac Cumhail, but she fell in love with Diarmuid and ran off with him, which, of course, did not sit well with our giant. The fight came about, and the boar pierced Diarmuid's heart. It did so through trickery with one of its sharp tusks, killing the warrior. Mac Cumhail had the power to bring him back to life but, through his own trickery, did not use it. The mountain be supposedly the place of Diarmuid's grave. Another big giant, I would assume.
I knew where we were off to, Drumcliffe, the second graveyard (full of those damn screeching rooks) we were to visit. I had to wonder who among this group would appreciate William Butler Yeats. Well, I was not disappointed, none of them. As we stopped to see the famous headstone with its equally renowned inscription, me father-in-law said to our driver, "I hate poets, especially dead ones." Yes, indeed, and shortly we were gathered to be off.
|
William Butler Yeats and his George rest here in Sligo, the land of poets, famous dead ones |
As we tooled down the road, we stopped at a grocery store in Sligo City (Wolfie's hometown) for drinks and sannys. The place was located on the outskirts of town. Dragon had me and me da by the arms, "I notice these people don't speak English, and their signs are all in some funny-looking language I don't understand; I think it's French. You'll have to help me out. Have we arrived in Ireland's traveller or tinker section where they speak that upside-down stuff like Brad Pitt did in that movie?"
OH BOY.
"There are some of those people about, but we passed them up on the border to Sligo when you saw that funny-looking 'man-made' mountain you told me Ben Bulben was."
Yes, she did. She said it looked like all the dirt in Ireland had been dumped in one place and then smoothed down on top like a dump. I was looking at old Ben, thinking it was huge—how could anyone in their right mind think that? But look who came up with that fantastic story. Was it any wonder?
"Don't you remember discussing that the tinkers use what we call caravans, and you in the States call trailers instead of the old horse and decorated wagon?" I said to her blank face, "Where was the peat drying alongside the road?" I prodded, and suddenly it hit her. "Remember?"
OH BOY.
"There are some of those people about, but we passed them up on the border to Sligo when you saw that funny-looking 'man-made' mountain you told me Ben Bulben was."
Yes, she did. She said it looked like all the dirt in Ireland had been dumped in one place and then smoothed down on top like a dump. I was looking at old Ben, thinking it was huge—how could anyone in their right mind think that? But look who came up with that fantastic story. Was it any wonder?
"Don't you remember discussing that the tinkers use what we call caravans, and you in the States call trailers instead of the old horse and decorated wagon?" I said to her blank face, "Where was the peat drying alongside the road?" I prodded, and suddenly it hit her. "Remember?"
 |
| Peat drying by the roadside |
"OH, I thought that was a trailer park," she said, and then she looked at me with a glint of humour, "like back in the States."
She used me own argy that I used on her that this or that is like "back in the States." Trying to one-up me with me own sayings. Anyway, me not speaking Gaelic (well, I be from the North!) I had a bit of a time reading some of the signage meself, me da was the same. But we both knew Dragon didn't know that the people spoke English or Gaelic, but they all spoke Gaelic around us when this all started. I sent them all out to the car, then asked in English where the stuff they wanted was, and I got everything everyone wanted and was considered a hero (they are so easy), and off we went with our drinks and crisps enough to tie us over until dinner.
As we travelled south, the weather became glorious, and we made excellent time into Claremorris, where there was nothing to see. Still, our driver pulled into a public parking lot and gave us the usual announcement, "You can stretch yer legs and get sum loonch. Oh, dere be a view frum da bridge just around da corner." So we all got out, grabbed what we needed, including cameras, and went around the corner to the bridge where the view was of railroad tracks! I had to laugh, and I got the distinct impression that our driver hadn't been in Claremorris EVER. There was nothing to take pictures of, really, but this:
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| Dragon was captivated by these. |
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| And these were all over town (there's that French again, LOL) |
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| Welcoming peat fire |
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| They love their Liverpool footy at the Shamrock |
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| River Corrib, Cong, County Mayo |
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| The Market Cross says: Or do Niahol ag do Gillibard O Doubthaigh rabid abide act Cunga, which means: Pray for Niahol and for Gillibard O'Duffy who were abbots of Cong |
And then it was on to our next castle for the night.
Gabe
Copyright © 2012 All rights reserved
Gabe
Copyright © 2012 All rights reserved
I LOVE old stone buildings! besides fires, what else is peat used for?
ReplyDeleteand a question. Was it a GIANT boar that did the killing?LOL
Nothing I can think of except for heating barley used in the making of scotch in Scotland and burnt to heat homes. Yes, it was a giant boar killed our hero or lover of someone else's intended. ;-)~
Deletebeen to yeats grave but hardly remember it it was long ago. what I do remember is the gaelic being spoken, my husband could speak it and I could listen to him for hours. but french? nothing sounds further from french than gaelic.
ReplyDeleteYou stayed at Ashford Castle, my favourite place in all of Ireland. You lucky duck.
ReplyDelete