To Limerick, Dingle And Beyond!

19 May 2012

537

R. Linda:

We arrived at Dromoland Castle in County Clare for our final two nights. We were bone weary from our long travels, and me nerves were still on edge that Weasil would find us and make an appearance.
 

                                                                                 

A shot or two of Dromoland Castle (pronounced Drae mole end)

                                                                                  

The castle be not leaning, it be me who was

By the time the day ended, I was able to button me trousers and fit back into a buttoned shirt for dinner. I was famished. Yes, I was, and you'd have thought I learnt me lesson the day before, but nooo, memory has a way of fading when the stomach be growling it wants food! So it was with much-anticipated pleasure I made me way down the hall following me lovely wife in a blue dress, into the dining area. Who did I find waiting for my pleasure? Yeah, you guessed it, WEASIL. He was all nip and tuckered up and looked like he had just stepped out of GQ.

"How'd you get here so fast?" I said, not sure what to think.

"Welly, cliffie climbin' raises da old appetite so here I am!" He said brightly.

I wanted to quickly hit him over the head, stuff him under a table, regain me composure and face the host for our table like nothing ever happened. Still, no, there were too many people around and hitting the young rascal over the head with a handful of menus wouldn't quite do it. So, making the best of what I knew was going to be a VERY bad situation, I let Tonya go first and then waved him next thinking the entire time how to make it an early night.

As our host seated Tonya, he next came around to seat "Mr. Weasel" and then "Sir," which was me.

"Jonathan will be your server. He'll be with you shortly; enjoy your dinner."

And off the man went. I looked at Weasil, still a little stunned that the man would know his name (well he used his REAL last name, I can't do that here).

"I knowz wot yer thinkin' dere Gabie, I been here lots a times."

"You have? I mean, you have." I said, at first incredulous, then catching meself.

"Yuppers. I like me golf." The class went out the window with the "yuppers" as he sat perusing the menu. I was busy turning the word 'golf' over in me mind a dozen times, unable to get me mind around the image. "I be frum Scottyland member? We likes us golf."

Okay then.

We did not have the company of the two older couples. They were all napping and having a later dinner. I wished I had napped too. I sat there looking at Weasil, wondering why, on me very own holiday, I be forced to share with four other people, was I now sharing it with one more, and would that one more be a thorn in me side all the time. You know as well as I do that he CANNOT behave.

But he surprised me; he behaved the entire dinner. He was helpful with wine selection and offered his opinion on dishes he had tried, and all the time, I was sitting there wondering WHY and WHEN. There had to be a catch. When dinner was smoothly concluded, Weasil asked us to have a nightcap (okay, a few nightcaps) in the bar, but Tonya was exhausted, so she left me to Weasil. The elegant Weasil led the way into the bar. He instantly knew the barkeeper and ordered us both Middleton whiskeys. And hard as it is to believe, we had a nice hour of chatting, and that was it! I couldn't help but think he was saving the oddities for the next day, but I planned to skip out before he awakened.


The following day, we came to our van to find our driver discussing with Big Tony that he had one more passenger and whether Big Tony would prefer to ride in the seat next to his wife and let the single passenger take the front with him. I knew instantly who the passenger was. And there he was, dressed like a true toffy if ever there was one. The neat, creased dark trousers with a light blue shirt and a jumper tied over his chest, a nice gold watch, and shiny shoes -- all set. Yup, and there were the rest of us in jeans, trying to not look the tourists.

"We'll have every pickpocket in Ireland following us around," Da whispered, and I nodded. For sure! I returned to reality when Weasil told our driver, "Aw, come on, let me drive! Just once."

Uh no!

Well, it was decided Big Tony wanted shotgun, Weasil would ride with Dragon, which thrilled her like he be Brad Pitt, and Weasil was happy with it, but he would ask our driver every chance he got if he could take the wheel. It was bad enough we were going 160mph, but with Weasil at the wheel, we'd reach a maximum 180 to warp speed if possible. SO NO, and we all agreed.

As we crossed into County Limerick, Weasil announced we needed a limerick said for good luck! Our driver must have felt the oozing misbehaviour on the lad because he said, "Just keep it clean with the ladies in attendance."

I was thinking how do you do that? I've never heard a clean limerick in me life, so I was sweating this bit of foolishness. So, who of all people came out with one? Big Tony is the most non-Irish guy in the van.

"Okays youse guys try dis on fer size.
Dere wuz a young ladee of Delos
Who purposely put on ten kilos
She said I've a mind
A much biggah behind
To improve on the Venus de Milo's."

Not bad for someone from New Jersey. Geez. Even the ladies snickered. But I knew it was too good to be true. Suddenly Weasil was waving his hand around like he was in elementary school with the "Ooh, ooh, I know one, me, me, please!"

Reluctantly, we agreed to let him have at it.

"Okie dokie here goes,
Dere wuz a young man from Berdoo
Whose limerick stopped at line two."

And that was it! And he laughed at himself. We razzed him until he came out with THIS.

"Alrighty, alrighty!!!
Dere wuz a young man called Mills
who swallowed some dynamite pills
when he gave a great cough
his balls blew right off
and his arse ended up in some hills."

And he grinned. Yes, he did. He had to be stopped because I KNEW where he'd go with this; his limericks would get dirtier and dirtier (he has learned from the master of whom we all know be the limerick-to-go-to guy) but he got one in anyhow.

"Waitie a minute, let me just say dis one and Ima donie."

"Only if you promise," I said.

"Okie dokie, here goes,
A pretty young lass from Moyass
Had a truly magnificent ass
Not a roundy and pinkie
As you possibly thinkie
It was brown, had long ears and ate grass."

He laughed his fool arse off because he knew I thought he was going where he shouldn't. That was mild compared to what could have come out of his mouth. As we pulled into the lovely village of Adare, it all mercifully stopped.

                                                                              

With its cobble walls, Adare is a quaint little village with a castle (no photos of the castle; we were pretty castled out)

                                                                                       

Yeah, Tonya wants a garden "just like that." But our house doesn't look like that.

While the ladies walked around, and me Da went with them for some reason (probably to keep a handle on the pursestrings), Big T, Weasil and I got a cup of coffee. At the same time, our driver disappeared after giving us the sermon, "Stretch your legs, have a bite to eat, and I'll meet you back at the van in 30 minutes." Yup, 30 minutes this time, gloriously not enough time for Dragon to shop because we knew by looking at the quaint shops that the prices were TOURIST which means sky high.

She did manage to keep us waiting while she bought wool yarn.

"What for do you need wool yarn?" I asked her as she got back in our waiting van.

"I thought I'd knit the two grandsons a sweater," says she.

"But you don't knit," Big Tony observed.

"I'll learn," says she, all indignant.

I was thinking, Good, you do that, I can just imagine what those sweaters will look like, but then I had a brainstorm.

"Say, why don't you make yourself a blanket like the green one you always take when you visit us. Get some practice before you start making more complex things like sleeves for a sweater, eh?" I suggested.

She thought about it for a minute. I was hopeful I'd have me green blanket you knitted for me all to meself from now on, but no, she rejected that idea. It was worth a try. I'll just have to keep hiding it when she visits.

Onward to County Kerry and the Dingle Peninsula. It would be a full day there, starting just how I thought it would. We had gotten to Cloghane when suddenly, we came to a screeching halt. There had been a jailbreak of sorts, and the miscreants were loose on the road. We stopped from hitting them, and they all stood there like sheep, looking at us. Well, because . . .

                                                                                 

THEY were sheep!

They had left their field away from the others and were going to God knows where. It was a standoff; they staring at us, and we waiting before we made a move. Finally, they crossed the road in front of us and were trying to get back into the field they broke out of. It was crazy.

                                                                                   

They knew they were baadd

As we moved slowly on, down the road to our left were three more sheep trotting down the road. We left before it was one massive break, and we'd find ourselves surrounded by wool!

Once we got into Dingle, we found ourselves on this very narrow road with a tractor going 2 mph and this can be frustrating when you have been used to travelling the speed of light! The man was an older gent, cap on his head, an old dusty jacket on over a faded old jumper, work shoes not entirely covered by frayed trousers which were probably lovely at one time, but that he chose to farm in them. Yup. He was typical of what you find in some old rural places.

"Ah yes, dere be himself going to town to find a widow most like. He be in no 'urry cause the 'enpecking coomes wit da courting it duz. He be dressed in his finest he is and look dere! He's put a shine on da old tractor he has just fer courtin' purposes. He duz not care we be going ever so slowly in back of em' dis be his rooad and dats dat." Our driver said, sighing.

We laughed it went on like this for five painful miles!

"Ah yes, it be gitten' dark by da time we git to where we wanta be goin'," our driver said with another big sigh when no sooner he said that the old man pulled off into another road and we went zooming up the other one. UNTIL . . . we came upon . . .

"Oh, fer God's sake we are behind old Henry's brother Albert. I wonder if dey both be a courtin' da same widow." Our driver observed as we came to another crawl behind another farmer on his shiny tractor. I will say Ireland be the home of shiny tractors. I suppose it be a competition or they be bored, but they spend an unbelievable amount of time polishing up their machines. Tractors! Gees, your mind probably went in the gutter there for a moment. Anyway, there he was, tooling along at less a speed than the first one. For two longgg painful miles, it was like that until he too, pulled off and we warped into hyperspace and took off.

By that time it was lunchtime as we drove into Dingle proper. The place was hopping for mid-May it was, and our driver recommended Harrington's Family Restaurant right on Strand Street for quick in and out. We invited him to come with us. He knew the people inside, so he got our order in, so all we had to do was wait for a table and we'd be served and Bob's your uncle!

The fish and chips were the best I'd ever had! We all enjoyed the lunch, and with our driver and Weasil becoming our own personal comedy act we laughed a lot. Who knew these two would hit it off? Of course, Weasil had a motive, he wanted to drive the van in the worst way, but that didn't happen.

Some shots of Dingle proper:

                                                                                  

As we came into town

                                                                                  

But Weasil was more interested in THIS below (especially after his limerick):

 

Donkey eating his musician owner's music -- why not?

Once we could tear Weasil away from buying the cart and the donkey we piled back in the van.

We drove into Slea Head, and Weasil wanted us to drive up to the home of Dolores O'Riordan (lead singer of the Cranberries) to see if she was home for tea!

                                                                                   

I think her house be over there somewhere. Of course, she sold it way back when, so how we were going to visit someone who now lives in Canada for tea, I had notta clue!

Our big adventure was to go to the stone beehive huts, and it WAS an adventure. These things are called clochans, and they are uniquely built out of native stones that are not mortared together but stacked. You'll find our fencing is the same way and how it holds up to Atlantic gale wind and rain, not to mention last winter's snows I'll never begin to understand. Anyway, Dragon thought it would be nice if, upon me arrival back home, I collected the overabundance of rocks I have in me own backyard and made a few of the aforementioned huts for the boyos. Oh sure!

On arrival to the huts, there be a large house that stood next to them, and we were told by our driver, "Stretch your legs, go look at the clochans and I'll meet you back here in say what 45 minutes? OH, and there is a charge for the tour."

Of course, there was, there always is, but we got out and well, no one really wanted to walk up the hilly hillside that the farm animals, sheep mostly, were chomping grass on. So they opted instead to take pictures from the road when I saw a face that almost scared me because I thought it was a ghost looking out the lower front window. Suddenly, it disappeared before I could say, "HOLY SHITE DID YOU SEE THAT?"

The front door opened with a bang. Out came this older lady yelling at us that if we wanted the tour, we needed to pay her a certain amount of euros. We yelled back no, we didn't want the tour. Well, it would cost us just to set foot on her property; this was said just as Big T was about to cross the road for a closer picture. Now not that we are cheap, but the price was ridiculous. So we gave a thanks but no thanks and piled back in the car, as Tonya asked me where the old lady's broom was. I know not nice. So here is a shot from the road.
 

                                                                                  

Look carefully; not all those white things are rocks

That experience made two of us need a drink. We got to the Old Stonehouse Restaurant, and only Tonya and I went in. Weasil was busy trying to talk our driver into letting him "have a go at the van," the old folks were snoozing.
 

                                                                                   

Tonya and I had a stiff glass of good old Irish whiskey while everyone else thought we went for a cola

Once "revived and refreshed" we set off with the now awake oldsters and the young chatterbox for another stone edifice that only Tonya wanted to see. This was WHY we were in Dingle. Meanwhile, Dragon noticed a lot of dark-haired, light-eyed Irish, and she piped up with this: "Everywhere we've been, I've seen people who have Gabriel's colouring, but here I have never seen such black hair and light eyes. It's like we have entered another country!"

"Well, Missus, dats because dese 'ere arr most like descendants of da shipwrecked Spanish Armada dat came over ta fight da English. King Philip had sent a fleet of his finest over to invade England, an' Queen Lizzie 1 successfully trounced 'em. But a terrible storm came up and battered da fleet to our west coast where 17 ta 22 ships of the 63 broke up from Antrim in the nort to roigt 'ere in Kerry in da sout. Some of da Spaniards dat survived stayed on our isle and intermarried wid da Gaelic population an today da dark hair, light skin and eyes be da results. Dey arr called 'Black Irish' because of da dark hair and light eyes."

And there be a story to this little bit of trivia that comes into play with where we were going. Not the reason WHY but WHAT happened to Ms. Tonya once there, also trivial, but amused the hell out me and in particular our driver.

We get to Smerwick Harbour, where the Gallarus Oratory is located. It be this rectangular building made of dry stone rubble and was built by the early Christians who were experts in dry rubble masonry. I did not know me wife was interested in such. But she did go to a lecture at our local library on cobblewalls, so there are things I be still finding out about her. Anyway, you could not see this waterproof circa 1300s building from the road, nor could you see it as you came down the long winding driveway to a series of buildings that were, I think, a restaurant, a bookshop and a visitors centre. The driver told us the Oratory was way up behind the buildings, and since no one else wanted to see it (as Dragon said, "We saw one beehive building; I don't need to see another"), if the two of us wanted to "Get out stretch your legs, and oh, you have to pay 6 euros for the tour, we'll be here when you come out."

No, said Tonya; she didn't want to go on the tour if everyone else was staying in the van. All she wanted was some pictures for her class at school.

"Well, go on in dere and just tell da man dat, an' he'll probably let you run on up dere and take yer photographs." Our driver helpfully suggested.

I got out to stretch me legs while Tonya did her thing. She disappeared into the visitor centre. This be what happened.

She walked into a room lit only by the dim light of day, and behind the counter was this black-haired, green-eyed, most handsome man she'd seen thus far in Ireland. After she regained her breath, she began to ask him about taking pictures of the Oratory, but he smiled at her, and she couldn't utter a word. She stood there stuttering something about pictures.

"OH, you want ta take a picture of da picture?" Says he getting a cello-wrapped picture for sale of the Oratory.

"Nah, no," she finally blurts, "I want to take a picture of the real thing. But I don't want to take the tour I don't have time."

"Don't 'ave time?" His charming self says, "Why don't you 'ave time, darlin'?"

She doesn't know. Everything has been wiped clean from her brain. But she comes up with, "I have to be back in   . . . in . . ." and she can't remember the town or county but blurts out, "for dinner at where we are staying."

"And ware might dat be?" Asks himself, grinning at her discomfort.

"Ummm, I can never say it right, Drum o'land Castle."

"Oh, in Clare, be it?" And he pronounces it correctly, and she nods yes, that's it. "Well, I tell ya wot I'll do for you since ye are in a roosh. I'll give ye da tree tour. Would dat do ya?"

Now me wife be so flustered (you'd think she didn't live with a handsome man for heaven's sake) that she nods like a robot thinking he said, FREE TOUR.

"You'd do that just for me?" She stupidly says.

"For you anyting," he says back. So he goes to the cash register and punches in something. The paper receipt comes rolling out, and he says with a big smile, "Dat'll be tree euros."

FINALLY, it dawns on her, THREE EUROS! He was cutting the price from six to THREE. She said, "Just a second," and opened the screen door and called me, asking me for three euros. Further, the guy inside cut her a deal, and would I just give her the money since she left her purse in the car. So I gave it to her, and off she went. Then I saw her go out the backdoor after the man inside gave her some instructions about where the Oratory was.

I thought I should probably go with her because what I heard sounded like a bit of a trek, and I didn't want her lost, so I went inside and himself be standing there looking at me in question.

"Uh . . . that's me, wife. Can I join her?" Asks I.

"I'll tell ye wot, just give me two euros and dat'll fix it fer ya."

I gave him me two euros and went after her. When I caught up to her, she told me this story, and I had to laugh. I thought it was funny especially when I saw the look on her face when she found out I only paid TWO euros! There she thought this good-looking guy was flirting with her, thought she was cute enough to go in free and it wasn't free, but still only three out of six euros! I dunno; all I could think was a good thing Weasil stayed in the car. Tonya got her first taste of what the Black Irish are like; a charming bunch they be, but cunning.

Here's what the fuss was about:

YUP -- as seen on the three and two euro tour LOL

 

I need a break. All this rehashing and being near blind by picking out photographs makes me hungry.

Gabe
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