Note to Self...

Note to self. In Ireland....


"Cheers" means Thank You. As in when you pay your waiter he says "cheers." Do not say "cheers" as in a toast back at him.


"That's gas"...means something is really funny. Heard this several times and misunderstood...if you get my meaning.


"There's your man" used in a sentence can refer to any man - stranger or friend. Saw a man on the side of the road and Nancy said "There's your man in his wellies"....(wellies are high farmers boots, by the way)


Every question ends in "...Yeah?"....So are you following, yeah?


"Takin a piss"...not what you think it means. It means that you are teasing someone. Last night to Andrew at the pub, who was dancing around the pool table (not good dancing...Elaine dancing) and I said "you are a great dancer" to which Martin replied "Oh she's just takin a piss"


"Lasher" is a very good looking man or woman


"craic" (pronounced crack)....fun, joke...good time


"yeah but sure" - say this really fast like one word. It's just a filler for anything - so standing there with nothing to say, you just say "yeahbutsure"


"mind..."...this is in front of anything you want someone to be aware of . "Mind your head" as you walk under the door. or "mind your step since you've had a few"...


So here's my sentence for today; There's your man takin' a piss, he needs to mind the lasher and have a craic. Oh that's just gas, yeah? yeahbutsure....cheers!

Sunday night and Monday

Kilkinney Ireland is a sweet, colorful, quaint town that sits on the river Nore - and whose main feature is a beautiful 13th century castle that sits right on the river. Yesterday as we strolled the rolling green lawn of the castle there was an orchestra playing classical music - making me feel for a moment as though I had been transported back in time, much like the character Claire in Outlander. Thirteenth century - really?? What was society like in that time? What did people wear and what were the main sources of income? I ran my hand along the cold stone walls (6 ft thick by the way)...thinking this and So many other questions. So many questions.... so little time...

Kilkenny Castle gate

Kilkinney is lined with shops brightly painted in a hodge- podge of colors, and the enhabitants of the shops are no less colorful. This pub is one where we heard our favorite band thus far, Na Fianna.

Okay, funny story and I hope it translates well. May be one of those "you had to be there" moments. 


A nice old guy in an antique shop told us that there may be a room across the way if we would go see Joe the shopkeeper - which we did. (We were looking for a hotel room)   


Joe handed the key to the room to his friend John, who was glad to show us the room. Turned out it was somewhat of a hostel, which we weren't interested in, but the short trip from the shop to the room with John was a trip that I will not soon forget.  


The gift of gab - or the gift of blarney, was manifest in dear John, who was in his mid-70's and had a slight overbite. He spoke rapidly in a strong Irish lilt - and the conversation, or what I was able to understand, was about the Russians and how well they were able to master the Russian language with it's 37 letters, so how could the Irish not master the gaelic with only 16 letters...he rambled on and on, slowly walking toward the room we had yet to see....leaning closely in as he spoke. We have no idea what started this speech in the first place, but we went along and truly tried to feign interest in a subject that was obviously a sore spot with John.....He used the key in dramatic hand gestures as if his leaning and rapid speech were not enough to communicate his passion on the issue. So that was John from Kilkinney.


Later that night we found ourselves starving so hit a pub for some fish and chips. The pub was fairly empty but within a few moments a lively (to say the least) group of Irish gals came in and sat next to us. They were laughing and having such a grand time - they caught our rude but delighted stare and we were invited to join them. 


Turns out they were a group of life-long friends from a village in Cork - there are only 200 people in their village so they say they are all related in some form or fashion.   We enjoyed their fun lively company for an hour or so and actually kept running into them at various pubs throughout the rest of the evening. They were an absolute delight and loads of fun!

The Irish ladies from co Cork
Marie, Helen, Siobhan, Debbie, Maeve, Marie and Evelyn (I'm next to Evelyn)

The second pub we went into was recommended to us for traditional Irish music. We knew we were in trouble when we noticed we were the youngest ones in the sparce crowd. The three musicians on stage were also of an age - not that there's anything wrong with that - but the music was perfect - if you wanted to go to sleep. It was hard to keep a straight face for a bit, and I did finally lose a bit of my coke through my nose when the banjo player - no less than 80 years old I would guess - said "we heard this next tune on Utube"......we left soon after.


The last pub we ended up in held an unexpected surprise. I knew we were in for a treat when I saw the bodhran on the floor - what I didn't expect was the youth of the band nor the raw talent and energy. They sang many of my favorites - The Black Velvet Band, Caledonia, Galway Girl, Whiskey in the Jar. They are Na Fianna - look them up. www.nafiannamusic.com

Monday enroute to Cobh ....

The trip from Kilkinney to Cobh (pronounced Cove)  was a few hours of narrow winding roads through the greenest countryside I believe I've ever had the chance to see. We made a decision to stop in a town called Cashel, in co. Tipperary - where a 13th century castle now stands (or partially anyway). How can you NOT look at a castle, after all? Too good to pass up... 

I am forever fascinated with history of any kind - but when faced with stones that were laid upon each other over 700 years ago, it is overwhelming. I tend to think of the people who walked the land, the hallways...my mind always go to the imagining of people of the time. As is with most castles, this one has a fascinating history that I encourage you to investigate - but the cemetary was one that I loved, full of celtic crosses dating back hundreds and hundreds of years. Sitting high upon a hill, the "Rock of Cashel" (for truly it is built upon a rock) is visible for miles and miles. 

Rock of Cashel

The narrow slit on the right is a secret passage that went around the entire castle

From Cashel to Cobh

The minute we arrived in Cobh, I had a different feeling. I think Nancy sensed it - I was a bit distant and my head was not really focused. I kept staring at the water and the harbor.My mind was on a 26 year old young man. This destination was important. On my scale of importance, it was way up there.

 I know it looks different today than it did in 1807 - but it's still the same landscape and country. So this was Johnny Murphy's last ever view of the land of his birth. Just a tad overwhelming.

I can't imagine what he was thinking or feeling at that time. When I was 26 years old I was chasing two small kids around - while he, at the same age, was boarding a wooden vessel bound for a land he had only heard of. And it all happened right here where I was standing. This moment begged for a phone call to cousin Mike, who was happy to hear from me and was thrilled I was calling him from the port of Cobh. 

The town of Cobh is a lively and colorful (the word colorful describes almost every town...literally. Buildings are painted the most glorious shades of bright colors in almost every town) seaport town filled with delightful people. Nancy and I settled into our hotel overlooking the bay and then headed down for some Cobh Irish hospitality. We were not disappointed. The first spot we went to was a small pub on a corner with only a few locals sitting around. We stayed nearly an hour just chatting it up with the sweetest people in this small Cohb pub...

Left to right - first guy don't know his name but he was a fisherman, Patrick Liam, Noel, Theresa, Nancy and John.

This sweet man was John - when he learned I was a Murphy he quitely disappeared for a bit and came back with this Murphy coaster, which he gave me. He was a great story teller - although his accent was so thick I only caught every other word, but I was able to piece it all together. Theresa said of John, "he is a true gentleman, is our John"

Theresa the barmaid made us come back to pose for this picture. Have to honestly say it's my first time behind a bar. Note the bodhran hanging as well as the backward clock behind the bar. 

This is a barber clock, meant to be looked at in a mirror...or so the Irish say :-)

Before I tell you about our next pub I think it bears mentioning here that pubs in Ireland are not typical bars like you would find in America. A pub will often have families and serve food - much like a restaurant. Didn't want you to think I was bar hopping here in Ireland ;-)

The next pub we found was a alive with folks of all ages and genders. There were two old men talking quietly over a pint in the corner, and a rowdy bunch of young guys playing pool in the back. Settling down, we chose to watch the pool game in progress. Here are a few of the friends we made throughout the night.

Martin hamming it up- who said there are no cute guys in Ireland???

Andrew won the tournament- and yes it's late and it was a long day so I don't exactly look my best

Tomorrow

I finally made a decisions on my travel plans from this point. Originally Nancy was going to leave me here and I was going to make my way up to Kerry and Dingle - but she will be taking me to Killarney tomorrow instead, where we will tour the town and the Ring of Kerry.  So I'll post tomorrow night from Killarney....

Slainte!!

The way of things in Ireland

A word in any other language....
Although English is spoken fluently in Ireland, there are words that are used much differently than how an American might use them. And of course there's also the accent to consider. Here is a word that I've struggled with understanding in the last few days:
    "Murritt"...as in "are you murrit?"....as in "are you married?"....this from a guy named Dechlin in a pub in Dublin. Took me three tries and finally Nancy had to interpret. Turns out, according to the Dubliner's...he is from Nury, which is near Belfast and they are hard to understand..... 


The rest of his speech I had no trouble understanding at all. :-)...

Ireland's best social network is not on Facebook. In fact last night one of the locals at the engagement party, Paul, said that "Facebook is the scurge of society"....and according to further discussion it was determined that the local pub truly lends itself as a social network nicely - and the feeling is that it is all that is needed.  I can see that....after all, FB is used as a place to voyer the lives of others, catch up with long distant family and friends, and find new friends. All of this can be accomplished over a pint or two in a pub. And by the way, contrary to popular belief, Irish men really DO walk OUT of pubs.

In Search of Murphy
So today I left Dublin by way Camolin, home of Ms. Betty - Finbar's sweet mother. She fixed us a fine  brunch, or "broonch' as it came out - of white pudding (sausage), sausage, ham, homemade bread, scones and tea. It was lovely. Then she filled me with tales of Ireland and life and I couldn't hear enough. The conversation around the table eventually went to beer and whiskey - not surprising. There was "whiskey marmalade" and "guinness bread" and a delicious cake that Maresa (Finbar's sister) made with ...what else...wine.  I was quickly dizzy and it was barely 9 am. This meal is entitled "happiness" by me-
Here's Ms. Betty..

Betty sets a fine table -Finbar cooked!

Meresa's cake....it was delicious

Ms' Betty's homemade bread and scone

Me, Mark and Maresa (Finbar's Sister)- Mark owns a large chain of salons' in Ireland

Me and Ms. Betty

After leaving Ms. Betty Nancy and I took a beautiful drive through the country working our way south. We are bound for Cobh eventually but tonight will stay in Kilkenny. So on the way we went through a town called Ballymurphy - or "Village of Murphy"...which if you have been following my blog you know is my family name (as well as half the names in Ireland).  Anyway, I saw the sign and shouted to stop at the local store, where I asked the young man working about the sign above the door. It's gaelic for "Ballymurphy'...I told him I was a Murphy in search of Murphys to which he smiled (displaying a fine set of braces on his teeth) and said "I'm a Murphy!!"....and so he was. So here's my first Murphy encounter - Jack Murphy

Ballymurphy shop

Jack Murphy of Ballymurphy (translates "Village of Murphy"

Gardens and Graves
Celtic crosses abound over graves of the fallen all over this country. Today while touring an old castle ruin in Gowran, we saw crypts as well. I learned that the carving on the crypt was significant. If a man had his hand on his sword then that meant he died defending his home. If his arms were at his side or crossed that meant he died in battle away from home. Further, if a crypt had a box over the heart, it meant that the body could not be returned home, so the heart was brought and put in a box, thus the phrase "home is where the heart is."

Entrance to circa 1300 St. Mary's church

Hand on sword of crypt means he died defending his home

Hand over the heart meant the heart was brought home, but not the body. Thus the saying "home is where the heart is"

Guinness 
The guinness definately tastes different here - smoother, creamier. And you know I'm a relatively new guinness drinker but this much is obvious to me. As I type this I'm sitting in the rare Irish sun on a patio over the river Nore in Kilkinney, sipping a cold glass of Guinness. It's going down a bit too easy me thinks. 

Thanks for checking in...I'll have more tomorrow. Slainte from the land of warm hearts (my translation)...

60 days vs. 8.5 hours

I was poked on the shoulder by my kindly flight attendant an hour out from landing; "Good morning and happy birthday, birthday girl. Time for breakfast!" (Thank God he did not insist on singing Happy Birthday to me again - as he did during dinner and then the movie, and during the icecream sunday he served last night....there's only so many times one needs to hear Happy Birthday sung to them loudly on a plane.)


It was 1:30 am my time. Closer to 7:30 in Ireland. Time to adjust the internal clock.  


Without moving or opening my eyes, I smiled.  It's my birthday and I'm almost in Ireland. I just need to sit still and let this moment be.


I ate my breakfast with my face turned toward the window. The Irish landscape resembled a very green blanket all scrunched up in places...high places, low places....high places again...


Ireland is green. The stories have not been exaggerated - I have never seen so many shades of green from one window frame in my life.


Later, as the wheels finally touched down, I was washed away with an "Oh my God" moment. What took John Murphy 60 days to do in 1807 took me a little more than 8 hours. I had reached my destination. 


I wonder if he could have ever imagined that more than 200 years after he left Ireland for America - that his 4 times great granddaughter would return to find him. I can't imagine that he did. After all, I have rarely given thought to what my legacy will be to generations that follow me. Maybe I should spend more time on that. 


Less than an hour of wheels landing I was walking the grounds of a 12th century castle. It was early in the morning so it wasn't open yet which means we had the entire grounds to ourself....except for a man walking his small scruffy dog. As I was reaching down to feel the grass - which was as soft as it looked, the dog ran over to me and put his very muddy paws right on my jeans - I laughed out loud. It was great. My first encounter in Ireland is with a sweet mutt. I asked the man his dog's name, to which I THOUGHT he replied "Bootie" but turned out he was saying "Woodie"...ah well...he had a thick Irish brogue. 


I was in love. With the land, the soft grass, the castle, the dog and his owner. 


It's true - when you come to the land of your heritage you really do experience a "coming home" experience.


More later - I'm down for a wee nap. 
Slainte.