Ireland III

Part I
Part II

Dublin, May 28-29, 1999
Well, Dublin was an experience to say the least. It was not at all what we expected... This city is as filthy as any of ours. Trash everywhere, even beggars on the streets. Jo and I hated it on sight. It's big, noisy and bewildering.

It was unthinkable to us to go to Ireland and not visit Dublin. It had a reputation as a party town but after our very positive first impression of Belfast we were expecting something similar. The two cities were nothing alike and in hindsight, we could have skipped it entirely and not been missing anything, since both of us were shy and not into the pub-crawling scene.

Our accommodations while in Dublin gave us our first experience with coed hostel rooms. We were rather alarmed to find that we would be sharing a room with two couples, but my fear that I might become an unwilling, captive listener while hanky-panky went on proved unfounded. The only thing that made sleeping difficult was the bright street light shining through our window, which was covered only by a thin, gauzy curtain.

Two incidents stood out in Dublin - after walking around for a while, Jo needed to sit down because her ankle was really hurting. We paused to rest at the end of a bridge, and were watching the human river pass by. when a young Irishman stopped to inquire if we were beggars. We were a bit shocked by the question, but laughed and said no. His response was to rudely tell us to "go away then."

The other incident was much more unpleasant. I needed to use the toilet while visiting the tourist information center in Dublin. After carefully wiping off the seat, covering it with toilet paper and sitting down, I discovered to my horror that there was shit all over the front of the toilet bowl. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light I saw that it was also on the floor and the walls. Fortunately, I had somehow managed to avoid touching any of it, but it was still an extremely unpleasant situation to find myself in.

Laragh, May 29, 1999
Today we moved on to Co. Wicklow. It is called the Garden of Ireland, and rightly so. I've never seen such spectacular scenery.

County Wicklow was -literally- a breath of fresh air after Dublin. The countryside was blooming. Gorse, with its cheerful yellow blossoms, blanketed the hillsides. There were tiny white daisies, pink clover, dandelions and other flowers that we could not identify. The drab, unattractive area of Florida that we called home seemed even uglier after seeing this lovely showcase of God's handiwork.

Laragh was a small town situated near Glendalough, an even smaller town but popular tourist destination. Instead of taking the main road to Glendalough, we took the dirt road that ran behind the B&B where we were staying. The walk was lovely, but we discovered that we had not brought clothing warm enough for Ireland's cooler days and even walking did not help keep us warm. We were shivering violently the whole time.

On our way, we got to see our first ruins: St. Savior's Church. Of all the ruins that we saw during that trip, (and Ireland is full of them) St. Savior's was by far my favorite. It was tiny, situated in a wooded area down the hill from the dirt road. Long, lush grass grew all over the clearing in which we found the roofless remains of the church, with an arched window on one wall and a stone doorframe that were highly photographic. No one else was there which added to the magic of the moment for me.

Glendalough had a larger church, an ancient graveyard with the famed celtic cross headstones, and the town's most famous and oft-photographed landmark, a tower, built near a shallow river that winds through the valley there.

From Glendalough, we moved on to the Upper Lake, a prosaic name for such a lovely spot. This large lake was in a long valley whose length was greater than its width. A river emptied into the lake on one end, then reformed on the other side and continued its journey to Glendalough. There was a trail that skirted the lake, leading to an old miner's village in another valley, nothing but a ruin now. Jo's ankle was hurting her again so she decided not to accompany me to the village. At the end of the valley the trail zigzagged up into another, smaller valley. This valley was filled from the top of its slopes to the bottom with massive granite boulders and the river plunged over and around these boulders on its way to the lake in the valley below.

Words failed me then, and they fail me now, when it comes to describing the grandeur of that granite valley. It was awe-inspiring and magical. I felt like I had stepped into a landscape straight out of The Chronicles of Narnia. I could easily envision a nervous Puddleglum escorting Jill and Scrub, keeping an eye out for boulder-tossing giants.

The trail continued up and out of the valley, which would have allowed me to stand by the waterfall on the far end and witness what must have been a spectacular view. There were no other tourists nearby at the time, though, and I was concerned about slipping and injuring myself on the wet granite with no one nearby to help, so I turned around and went back to meet up with Jo.