Ireland, Day 3
 |
| Muckcross and me |
How would you like a 19th century mansion for a wedding gift? That’s what happened when an American oil baron (a la Dynasty) and his wife fell in love with their Irish “rental” estate on (I believe) 100 acres of land in Killarney, Muckcross, and decided to give it to their daughter for a wedding present. It was our first stop after a nice breakfast at Lios Na Manach (Wesley and the other kids did play the piano afterwards).
I’ve never watched Downton Abbey, but I can understand the fascination with sprawling estates, and upstairs-downstairs intrigues. I could picture, in my mind, the balls that took place in the front entry, where the tables were pushed to the side to make room for the dancing, and young debutantes descending the stairs to join their guests; the dining room sideboard full of chafers just re-heated in the side serving room, the family conversing under the soft chandelier lights and across the massive table. Adding to its cachet, Queen Victoria stayed there once, my sister had pointed out, as did our tour guide.
Mrs. Herbert, the original owner, gardened and painted. Her bedroom overlooked a garden with roses so vividly red and alive I could smell their scent just a couple of yards away. The grounds could cover multiple football fields, edged with exotic ferns, ancient trees, and gigantic leaves. I can see now how JK Rowling, who grew up in lush Britain, concocted her haunted woods.
It started to drizzle and I happily put on the rainproof trench jacket I’d purchased specifically for this trip.
 |
| Kids playing at Lake Killarney |
Lunched there in their restaurant, then took a 5 mile hike to a waterfall, after which we went to the ruins of Muckcross Abbey. The Abbey had a graveyard. I took several photos there and in the main keep until I realized my family wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
“Drew?” I said.
I heard only the sound of my shoes on the gravel, the spraying of weeds by an unsmiling man in a yellow toxic protectant jumpsuit nearby.
“Drew?”
No answer. A rook flew overhead.
Then Drew appeared and I breathed easy again. I thought it was just my overactive imagination, but Sierra said she thought the Abbey felt creepy, too, with its tomb-like cellars, narrow stone staircases, and little window slits that allowed one to spy on people below.
And this was in the daytime.
After Muckcross, Drew drove like a madman down narrow roads (on the left side!) towards our next destination: the beach near Dingle (don’t you love that name?). I say madman because he was going the speed limit of 60 on his side of the road that could fit only one car, without any shoulder to speak of, the side plantings brushing the side of our car. It made me think of those video racing games, where you can’t hardly stay on one lane. I was amazed he could.
Speaking of driving, my short-lived driving career in Ireland began and ended this morning, when I drove me and Drew to an ATM down a winding lane, and into a hotel parking lot. Drew wouldn’t let me drive after that. Said it was too nerve-wracking, which I told him was not very nice because I didn’t hit anyone or anything even though some drivers sure take those bends fast. Oh well. If he wants to do the video game racing all the time, he’s welcome to it. 🙂
At the beach, it began to drizzle, and I am happy to report that we all stayed relatively dry in our rain jackets. We hadn’t packed our swim suits on this mini-vacation or Sierra might have rushed the waves to surf (which she had done in Hawaii), I could see the longing in her eyes. The waves were stupendously strong and the wind whipped the hair into my eyes, but it was fun to beach comb and admire huge jellyfish stranded at low tide. A small bevy of dedicated surfing students bobbed up and down in the waves in their wet suits. The water wasn’t unpleasantly cold, but the wind was a bit nippy.
Our plan is to go to Galway tomorrow to see the amazing Cliffs of Moher and to take dressage lessons, so we tried to reserve a B&B at Ennis, but my phone’s Irish SIM card ran out of minutes. We decided we’d just chance it and try to find a B&B when we got there. Brigid had helpfully suggested taking the ferry to save driving time, so on the ferry we went. We found a b&b called Westbrook House, which had a very nice owner who not only let us take two nice rooms for the night, but also referred us to a great restaurant called Storehouse in downtown Ennis.
On the way there, we walked down a route with a charming combination of narrow street, colorful row buildings, and as always, happy flowers in window boxes.
Sitting at Storehouse waiting for our food (they lived up to their reputation for food and service, by the way), Sierra said with a tremulous smile, “This has been a really fun vacation. It’s just so different.”
Yes, yes, it has been.
Follow