The Irish in the Mists

“Oh, row, the rattlin’ bog. The bog way down in the valley-o.” --Traditional Irish Folk Song

The day we spent sightseeing in Dublin was proceeded by a stop in at the tourism office, which is situated in an old cathedral in the heart of the city. While there, Ashley and Stephanie mentioned that they had picked up some brochures about day tours that might interest us. Upon their capital suggestion, we took the opportunity to book a tour going up into Wicklow County, south of Dublin, through the mountains, and into the gorgeous valley of Glendalough (Valley of the two Lakes in Irish). We had a few tours to choose from, and based on gut instinct ended up picking what is probably the best, as it turns out they have won awards and are featured prominently in my Lonely Planet city guide (though I didn’t realize this at the time.)

The day started off a bit hairy though, as my watch alarm failed to go off and wake us to make the 9:20 departure time up the street and over from our hostel. We wouldn’t have woken at all if Ashley hadn’t pounded on our door. I actually didn’t even hear the knock, but just woke to Chris saying what amounted to, “I think somebody’s knocking. You answer it.” When I opened the door, the hallway was empty. It was then I noticed the time, 9 o’clock on the dot. Scrambling, Chris and I got ready and ran downstairs. We knocked on the girl’s door and got nothing, so we booked it down to where the bus was going to be. Thankfully, we made it fine and the girl’s were there waiting.

Our tour guide was named Steven, and he was a younger, knowledgably lad who did a good job but was a bit sensitive to people talking on the bus. He took us around a bit of Dublin, then down to the bay where we stopped and walk around the coast for a while, taking photos and marveling at the mad Dubliner who were thick skinned enough to be swimming in the crystal clear, freezing cold water.

From there we drove down into County Wicklow, known as Ireland’s garden. We passed through small towns home to Daniel Day Lewis and Bono, and past many locations used in the filming of movies such as Braveheart, P.S. I Love You, and many others. Halfway through the day we made it atop the mountains which are completely bald and covered in bog lands. At various places you could see where the peat (turf) had been cut up into bricks by the locals and left to try for burning in the colder months. We stopped a few times for photo opportunities, where at one point a bit of rain and wind blew up out of nowhere, as it is want to do in Ireland, and nearly sent me over a cliff. Re-boarding the bus, Steven had a bottle of Irish whiskey available to warm any who felt too blustered. A few times during the tour, Steven led us in the singing of traditional Irish tunes (all but one of which I already knew by heart) though the non-English speakers didn’t fare too well during these song session.

The highlight of the tour, and the main stop, was the ruins of the monastery of St. Kevin. The monastery sits in Glendalough just above the two lakes that give the place its name. Steven lectured us on the history of the place before setting us loose. At one point he asked, “What’s the furst ting yous notice about the monastery comin’ in?” To which I answered, “The smell.” My response elicited laughter, and Steven himself couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s a very Irish answer.” He told me. Later he asked if my mother or father were Irish, then explained to the group how the Irish think by telling this story:

A woman comes up to a man in Ireland and asks him, ‘Sir, what is the fastest way to get from Wicklow to Dublin?’ The man replies, ‘Well, are you walking or driving?” “I’m driving.” The woman says. The old man comes back with, “Good. That’s the fastest way.” The grounds are littered with tombstones and Celtic crosses marking all the faithful buried in the Church yard based on the old, mistaken Irish Catholic belief that being buried in sanctified ground would get you a better chance at making Heaven. From the ruins, we got to take a small hike passed the lower lake before rejoining the bus for home.

We were dropped off near Trinity College and then took a walk down to Merrion Square so Ashley could see Oscar Wilde’s house (she, like Stephanie is an English teacher) and take her picture next to the statue of his limp-wrist likeness in the Square. The boys then parted ways from the girls, them to shop us to go see Public Enemies. The theater we caught the show in was the single largest I have ever had the pleasure of seeing a movie in (the actual theatre itself, not the whole cineplex) and it fairly resembled the inside of a recital hall with curtains over the enormous screen and everything. The movie was fantastic, and I highly recommended it, but the actually movie-watching experience in Dublin was even better. The sound was cranked, making every awesome shoot-out (of which there are a few) that much more visceral, and the crowd was absolutely silent the entire time which helped.

The next morning the four of us were to check out and head for London; the girls taking a early flight and the boys boarding an 8:30 ferry to cross the Irish sea whereby to connect with a train into the city. To that effect, we all retired relatively early.