Rites of passage are important. You often remember them your whole life long. Today was one such day – we got our first British Ordnance Survey map. My brother, who owns approximately the entire island of Great Britain in survey maps, will be proud.

But first we left Salisbury, but not far. We drove a couple of miles on narrow lanes to a tiny church – the Church of St. Andrews. It was a cute building, but I wasn’t sure why we were there. I found out inside when we saw the list of rectors of the church – the 1630 entry was George Herbert, whom Meredith’s dad loved for his religious poetry. Mer and her parents had been in the church about forty years ago, so she wanted to pay tribute to them by going back.

From there we drove about two hours to the Dartmoor National Park. Dartmoor is an area of rolling hills with few trees (too much wind), and many of the hills are covered in bare towers of rock called “tors.” Sheep, cows, and horses wander freely, often in the one-lane roads – it seems as if Dartmoor took the Iceland/Ireland road challenges of the last two years and threw bovines in the mix. One or two of the roads actually were so narrow my tiny car was brushing the vegetation in the hedge – on both sides of the road at the same time. We managed.

We started the Dartmoor day in the town of Chagford. It’s just a tiny village, but has a beautiful church from the 1200s and a sprawling churchyard that’s being allowed to grow wild to support butterflies. We checked out the church, and then went into a very old-school, multilevel, floor-creaking hardware store, where we bought a North Dartmoor map. But, lest Shannon tear up with pride, we actually got the OS Landranger map, which is an Ordnance map but at a 1:50,000 scale instead of a 1:25,000 scale. We couldn’t see every rock in the moor, but it was still very detailed.

We asked at the hardware store to direct us to the deli for which we had been looking as a place to get lunch. It turned out to be one of the buildings backing up to the church. If we had gone out a different church gate, we would have been at the deli. We got lunch and ate it at a table for two at the back, inside the churchyard. I’ve never eaten in a cemetery before, but it was a pretty (and quiet) place to have lunch.

After lunch, we did most of a circular drive that is recommended in Meredith’s Rick Steves guidebook. We went south and in a counterclockwise direction. Our first stop was a short side trip, to Hookney Tor and the Bronze Age “fortress” of Grimspound. Grimspound is a circle of stones with hut foundations inside the ring. The outer wall may have been for keeping the animals in, but either way, it is still impressive to see clearly the village of people from four thousand years ago. Above the stones was our first close-up encounter with a tor, which was worth the climb. Meredith forgot her long, flowing dress, so we couldn’t fully recreate the Keira Knightley Pride and Prejudice film sequence of her standing on a stone outcropping while the wind blew her dress back. But we tried. Mer dutifully scrambled up onto the tor, and I took the picture. We then hung out there for about ten minutes or so before heading back to the tour.

We stopped at the crossroads of Postbridge to see a clapper bridge – a stone slab laid on stone columns to bridge the river. The bridge dates from 1200 or earlier and can still be crossed. The stream it fords is clear and clean and pretty, so I dipped my toes in it.

We drove through the town of Widecombe-in-the-Moor, and tried to find the road to Hound Tor, but we missed it. Rick had misprinted the name of the town for which we were looking  (it should have been Manaton, not Menton), and if there once was a sign to the town, it is long gone now. We ended up driving all the way into Bovey Tracey, which is where our rooms are for the night. So we went ahead and got checked in and had supper at the inn’s restaurant.

Fortified, we went back out on the road to find Hound Tor. We had a landmark from the hostess (a hill leading into a town), so we felt confident. We again looked for the sign and overshot the road since there is no sign. We turned around and went back, sure we had the right road. If only we had had a map with us!

Anyway, we did find Hound Tor, which is huge. It’s big enough that we saw a couple of rock climbers practicing on the largest face (probably about fifty feet high). We found our own outcropping of rock, took some pictures, and then sat there listening to the distant calls of sheep and cows. In the lowering sun on a beautiful night, it was pretty perfect.

We headed back to town to the inn. We already knew the way. Tomorrow, we move on to Cornwall, but the very brief introduction to Dartmoor was a day well spent.

It takes amazing knowledge to build a cathedral, let alone build one in about forty years. For even more fun, the Salisbury Cathedral was built on marshland, and yet here it stands eight hundred years later, despite the improvement that nearly destroyed it:  a 6,500-ton steeple was added to a roof that sat on walls on a foundation not designed for the extra weight. The weight has actually warped some of the stone columns holding up the roof, and Christopher Wren (of St. Paul’s Cathedral in London fame) made recommendations to add internal buttresses to shore up the steeple. That is what you get when you have the tallest spire in the UK.

The cathedral was also seriously housecleaned by James Wyatt, an architect, who moved a bunch of things around in the church and got rid of those expensive stained glass windows. It did end up creating a clean-feeling church, even if he did get rid of spare tombs and flip some around so they are now facing away from the altar.

As you may have gathered, Mer wanted to tour the cathedral today, so we spent the morning with a guide wandering around the sanctuary. We also stuck around to see a demonstration of the world’s oldest known working clock, which tells time by ringing a bell (the word “clock” is related to the French and German words for “bell”). It is estimated the clock has “ticked” over five billion times since the late 1300s (although that must mean it doesn’t tick every second, since my back-of-envelope calculations have that at closer to nineteen billion).

After the tours, we ate at the Bell Tower, a tea room located where the old bell tower stood until burned down in the English Civil War. It is a lovely spot at which to eat, especially when I got a scone with clotted cream. Yum. After lunch, we went back into the church to see the best preserved copy of the four known copies of the Magna Carta. Then, Mer had to climb.

The church offers a roof-and-tower-climb tour, but there was only one ticket left, so the obvious not-afraid-of-heights choice was Mer. So, in a rare move, we split up on a vacation for a couple of hours. While Mer was learning about the engineering marvels that hold up the roof, I found and walked along the river through a park, and then along a path through a “flooded meadow,” which is a field with a bunch of irrigation canals. The path led to another pretty river and a pub, but better, I got what I imagined to be a pretty medieval view of the cathedral – it was across the field with no tall buildings in the way. It was impressive.

I went back to the room about 2:30, and Mer met me there about 3:15. We used the short time before 5:00 to explore the nearby Salisbury Museum, an eclectic little museum. It had multiple artifacts from pre-history, a bunch of Roman things (including most of a mosaic floor), several treasure hoards, and other things from the history of the area. They had a special exhibit on the author Thomas Hardy, who set many of his stories in a fictional version of this area. They had a room of paintings of the cathedral and other Salisbury places. A floor dedicated to fashion and dresses. A floor dedicated to ceramics. A giant puppet of the local weavers’ guild. The usual. We saw everything that was open, although we didn’t linger anywhere.

When the museum closed at 5:00, we went back to the cathedral once more in order to attend an evening prayer service in a small chapel, after which, since it was 6:00, we went for supper in the pub that had not been serving food on the first night here; Meredith is persistent. After supper, we went to another pub for dessert, which was really just an excuse to get our butts kicked at a pub quiz. Pub quizzes are trivia quizzes that are very popular in the UK. We like trivia, but had heard that pub quizzes are hard. They are, at least for Americans – many of the questions are British-centric (British brands or celebrities or British TV). We tried our best, but generally were pleased if we got about half the questions right in a given round. We did go out on a high note, though – the last round was a risk-it-all round in which one wrong answer wiped out your score. All other teams except one wiped out, so we came in second with three (out of ten) answers. Yay, team Nerd Royale!

It seems it also takes amazing knowledge to win pub quizzes. It was a fun time. We leave Salisbury in the morning, but it is a fun town. And Mer commented that she had never before had a touring day where she was never more than about a quarter of a mile from her bed and breakfast. Tomorrow we head off to the Dartmoor region.

Focus. Determination. Single-mindedness. Dedication bordering on obsession. Such is the drive of Meredith’s touristic need for completeness. It also seems to help if your largely unknown people group want to move slabs of rock miles and miles.

Today we started by driving over to Stonehenge. “But,” I hear you dedicated blog readers say, “you were there about three years ago in 2019.” Right you are, and points for good memory. You need to realize that when we were there in March of 2019, we had taken a bus to get to the stones, and we only had two hours to see things there. Clearly, that piddly amount of time wasn’t enough to see everything, so back we went. Where we spent four hours seeing everything.

We started with the monument itself. It was a perfect day, with puffy clouds in a blue sky. We were there before 10:00, so the bus tours hadn’t really arrived yet, so the site was uncrowded; we often had space on the walking area to ourselves. We wandered around the outside of the stones (the interior has been off limits since 2013 except for special tours), taking our time and several pictures. We chatted with a recent university graduate who was a docent, and in all we took about an hour there. We decided to walk back to the visitor center, which is about a thirty-minute stroll. The walking path takes you next to three burial mounds out of many that are in the area and along gently rolling farm fields.

Back at the visitor center, we took in the museum there. The docents there were very nerdy and friendly. One docent took the time to explain the evolution of the stone circle over time while we watched it happen in a simulation. Another guide told us about the skeleton of a man that had been unearthed in the area. He had remarkably good teeth, even to untrained eyes such as mine. It seems teeth were generally good before sugar and stone-ground grain (the stone would pulverize into the grain and grind teeth away).

There was a wall with quotations from famous people about Stonehenge, including the smile-worthy one from the fictional Nigel from Spinal Tap. There was a special exhibit of photos people had sent in from their visits to Stonehenge, dating back to the early 1900s. There were several reconstructed huts that are a best guess of how the workers would have lived based on archeological evidence. I also learned that the monument took hundreds of years to get to the final form as different generations added to or even changed the circle.

We ate lunch in the cafeteria there, and a woman asked me if I would watch her very sweet golden retriever while she ran to the bathroom. I’ve never been a man that women hit on, but it seems I have graduated to “nice sweet man” stage, or at least “mostly harmless.” She bought me a bag of potato chips as a thank you.

Back in the car and on to Avebury. I had no idea what Avebury was, but it turns out to be the world’s largest stone circle (or “henge,” used as a technical term since the 1980s). The twenty-five-foot ditch around the circle is about a mile around, and the stones are at least as old as Stonehenge, dating from 4600 years ago. We walked the whole way around, sharing the stones with some sheep, and we got to see ten or so gliders flying overhead in the pretty sky. It was very peaceful.

Avebury has more than just the stone circle, though. There was a procession way marked by pairs of huge boulders that ran about a mile out to a smaller circle that is no longer around. But there are markers in the ground to show where stones and wooden pillars would have been based on excavations held there in the 1960s. We stopped there briefly after driving out to it. We then continued on the all-things-Avebury tour by driving over to see Silbury Hill, which is the largest prehistoric mound in Europe at about a hundred feet tall. No one has any idea why people would take an estimated sixty years to build a giant hill surrounded by a moat, but there it is. Sadly, to conserve the mound, you can’t walk up it.

You can walk up to and into the restored Kennet Long Barrow, which is a burial mound. There are five small chambers inside that used to hold remains. It is also on a high point, offering good views of Silbury Hill.

We drove to see one last sight in the area, which has nothing to do with Avebury and prehistoric people. Mer wanted to see a white chalk horse on a hillside, which is a seventeenth-century fad that copied ancient chalk carvings. You would remove the turf and expose the chalk underneath. The current one near Avebury is actually a restoration of the seventeenth-century one, since the original was buried under turf in World War2 so that it wouldn’t be a landmark for German bombers.

We drove out to the horse, looking for a pull-off in which to park. Zoom. We drive by. We turn around. Zoom. We drive by, but Mer sees a sign. We turn around. Zoom. We drive by deliberately so that I can turn around to get to the sign Mer saw. Which was across the street from a pull-off which turned out to be a bus stop. Zoom. We drive on by. We turn around. We finally park at a pull-off and walk back to the can’t-be-seen-from-the-other-way sign. That was at the head of a path of an uphill walk that took us above the horse and near a monument to an area lord’s family. The horse was made up of chalk rocks, and was curved along the landscape. It looked flat when seen from below, so that was pretty clever. We admired the view from the hill and went back to the car.

Mer got us to a pub to eat, but because the pub folks were short-handed, they were only serving people who had made reservations. So we programmed the GPS to take us back home to Salisbury, a route which now led us down a bunch of narrow roads. On one of these roads, I saw a sign for the “Barge Inn” which demanded we check it out, based on the name alone. It did lead us down a truly one-lane road, and I told Mer to note for the record that this was a bad idea. Except it wasn’t. The road opened up to a large campground and inn situated on a working canal. We got out of the car just as a boat went by. Supper was cheap, plentiful, and very good, so that was a happy find.

We got back to our room and made a quick excursion for couple of candy bars. Because even single-minded touring needs energy.

Getting through the to-Europe travel day is often an exercise in sleepwalking. We are typically up for twenty-four (or even more) hours by the time we arrive and can check in to our local B and B. So it was today – we landed at Gatwick Airport on time, but then had to wait for about an hour for our luggage to come along. We got our small rental car, but because of Covid and staffing concerns, the company had closed the Terminal 2 desk, and we had to catch the tram to Terminal 1. About two hours later, we arrived at Salisbury, where our B and B was; it was about twenty-five hours since we had gotten up at home.

But, as foggy as I was at that point, I was grateful. I hadn’t slept well Friday night or Saturday night, and didn’t take any naps, so I was so exhausted I actually got three or four hours’ sleep on the seven-hour flight (in fitful sleeping spurts). That carried me through, especially on the drive to the B and B. Here, I am indebted to my brother a bit – he had mentioned always getting an automatic transmission car, which I have never done in Europe because they are always more expensive. This time, I checked it out when I was making the reservation, and it was less than two dollars per day more to get the automatic. I can drive a manual transmission car in England, but one less thing to mess with was appreciated. I spent the extra twenty dollars or so.

We took our usual jet-lag busting three(ish)-hour nap, and then showered. That was a good thing for me. Besides the shower’s eliminating any reminders of the ardors of travel, I had awakened Sunday morning to discover I had somehow gotten poison ivy on my left hand, the left side of my face, my right ankle, and a few other areas. Not great timing. My red nose looks as if I have been at the bottle some. But the shower helped calm down the itching quite a bit.

We went to a nearby pub for supper. I love English pubs – they are cozy and tend to be made up of multiple smaller rooms and different seating configurations. This pub was gorgeous, with woodwork and interesting nooks. And it wasn’t serving food. Ah. Mer had left our Rick Steves guidebook behind (silly girl), so she wanted to go back to the room to get it, but by a different route. But, without a map, we ended up taking a four-block detour that required retracing our steps, but did allow us to find a gelato place where we would later have dessert. Serendipity.

Rearmed with our guidebook, we went to another pub that was serving food, so supper was a success. After a dessert for which we managed to spend as much money on ice cream as we had on our entire supper, we wandered the center of town, just to see it. Salisbury has a huge cathedral and a large walled “close” area, which is where our B and B is located (it is a theological institute and school of music sometimes). In fact, since the close is still owned by the church, the entire close areas gets locked at 11:00 pm every night. Happily, we aren’t post-11:00 kind of people most days.

Salisbury is a cute and walkable town, at least in the center (centre?). The pub at which we ate was the “New Inn,” which was in a building built in the fifteenth century. The cathedral is from 1250 or so. And it houses one of four copies of the Magna Carta (from 1215). We ran across ten or more historical markers just wandering around town tonight. It’s an interesting place, and the evening was cool and delightful.

After circling the cathedral by accidently leaving the close and going the long way around, we got back to the church and admired it floodlit in the twilight. It is a beautiful sight. Not a bad way to end a first day, when any sightseeing is largely bonus. (As an aside, when I commented that there was one statue by itself near the top of a spire, even though there were bases for other statues, Meredith commented, “It’s lonely at the top.”)

And after such a great evening walk, sleep.

Sometimes the early bird catches the worm, and sometimes it catches heck. Mer and I always have a time tug-of-war going on about when we need to get up and leave for Toronto to get to our gate in time. I had agreed on leaving 9.5 hours before the flight, which for us today would have been leaving the house around 11:30 or 11:45. This would have let us go to a student graduation party that started at 11:00.

Then I ran across a story of how terrible Toronto airport has been over the last few weeks because of staff shortages. One story had a man waiting in a customs line for seven hours. The stories warned of long lines and delays, and urged travelers to plan on extra time. Thus, I insisted we leave at 10:30 to give us an extra hour.

You can guess how things turned out since I am writing this post two hours before boarding, and we have already had a leisurely sit-down supper here at the airport. A one-car wait at the border. A ten-minute line for check-in. No wait at security. At the gate four hours early. Needless to say, Mer has revoked my time privileges for future trips to Toronto.

For the record, for anyone who may be considering flying out of Toronto from the Akron area:
– We woke up early naturally, and used all of the time. It took us four hours to get ready, pack, and get the car ready.
– It took us five and a half hours to get to the airport parking lot, but that was with skipping lunch and having an efficient border crossing. Personally, if I hadn’t been stripped of my time powers, I’d allow six hours for the drive.
– I was aiming to get the the airport four hours early for delays that never happened. Three hours is plenty.
– So, my non-binding recommendation is to get up four hours before you need to leave and then to allow nine hours for the trip itself. A cautious traveler would maybe consider 9.5 hours, and add more if a meal is involved on the driving part of the trip.

But we are here at the gate, and at some point (probably around 8:00 pm), we will board for a 9:15 departure. We get in to Gatwick (London) around 9:00 local time, which is 4:00 am EST.

A kind woman at Sweny’s Pharmacy warned us that Dublin’s airport was understaffed and we should allow extra time. Man, I’m glad we had that tip. We got in the airport four hours ahead of our flight. It took two hours and fifty minutes to get to our gate, which included going through a second set of security procedures for US flights and pre-customs. I’m very much looking forward to flying out of Toronto again because it is closer to Ohio than Washington, but being able to skip US pre-customs in European airports is now a nice additional reason.

The trip was a grand success overall. We got to six days of things we had not seen or done before, and this is our fourth trip to Ireland. My fondest memories are around people – the pub in Kilkenny and our guide in the Medieval Museum and our guide at the Rock of Cashel and Alex for the Dublin Literary Tour.  Having charming accents certainly helps.

The Irish people, as I had remembered, are very friendly and helpful, and are fairly easy to “chat up” (the Irish gas pump man notwithstanding, and even he loved talking). We were offered drinks on two occasions, and no one was the least offended when we refused (since we don’t imbibe).

We need to get back here for many reasons, if only to see more of Dublin. I’d love to see some of the museums here, and I’ve not explored much of the interior of the country. While we will keep surfing around Europe, I told Meredith we could have made great vacations by just alternating Italy and Ireland. How such small countries can have so much to see is pretty amazing to me. Here’s to exploring more.

But first, friends, family, and kitties await. And that slightly pesky job thing.

Some days of touring are highly inefficient. Today was one such day. The way things are with Covid, combined with my mistakes, costs time. That is international travel for us.

We started the day by walking to Merrion Street by aiming for Merrion Square Park. We were meeting Alexander, a local guide, at 10:00. I plugged the destination into my phone, and away we went. We walked quite awhile, and I was getting a little worried about being late, when we saw the square. Only it wasn’t the square – it was St. Stephen’s Green, which is a good ten-minute walk from Merrion Square Park. My phone had locked up, and so I had overshot the correct place. So much for technology. We hightailed it to the correct place and met Alex, only being five minutes late.

Alex was our guide for a three-hour (which turned into almost four hours) tour of Irish authors. I figured Mer would love it, which she did. We met at Merrion Square because our first author, Oscar Wilde, had lived there. Alex told us of the background for Wilde’s life and his complicated family and personal life. Alex’s personal take is that Wilde had a self-destructive tendency in his life that drove some of his art (especially The Picture of Dorian Grey).

We then walked over to the National Galley of Art to visit GB Shaw’s statue, which is placed there since Shaw was a major contributor of art and money when the museum was opening. Alex told us of how Shaw was highly political, and how Shaw moved from a position of believing that people were basically good and would continue to get better to a later position of believing that people were chaotic and irrational.

Our third author was William Butler Yeats, and we went to the National Library, where there was an exhibition on his work. We learned how Yeats was probably the most influential writer in Irish history, since he was writing around the time of Irish Independence. Yeats also was dedicated to preserving and creating a distinct Irish culture separate from England’s. Yeats essentially created his own religion/spiritual world view, and had complicated relationships with his wife and several other women, especially a woman whom he viewed as a type of muse for him.

We then walked back to Sweny’s Pharmacy to talk about James Joyce. We learned that Ulysses was banned in Ireland as obscene until the 1960s, forty years after it was published in France.

On to Samuel Beckett and a theater named for him on the campus of Trinity College. Beckett was obsessed with Joyce, and struggled to find his own voice for many years. Beckett taught French at Trinity, and eventually moved to Paris, and there he found he was able to write well in French. He is credited with saying, “Joyce has written about everything; therefore, I shall write about nothing.” Beckett is best known for Waiting for Godot, a play in which nothing really happens; Beckett believed that there was no absolute God-given point to existence and that the world tended toward absurdity.

We finished at the Abbey Theater, where we heard about Lady Gregory, one of the founders of the place (as was Yeats). Lady Gregory took the time to learn the Irish language, and then she set about preserving and translating the local folk tales.

We walked over to the Dublin Writers Museum, but the doors were locked. So Alex took us to a pub for a late lunch (it was 2:00), and we said goodbye to him and to an interesting tour.

Now more inefficiencies began to creep into the day. By the time we finished lunch, it was about 3:00, and so we hiked the forty minutes back to our room because we had to make sure we had time to take our Covid tests that are required to get back into the United States. By the time we had that all wrapped up and the passing tests printed out, it was almost 6:00. I had plans for us at 8:00, so off we went. Forty minutes. In the now-raining and cold outside. To get to about four blocks from where we had been. To go to a storytelling session at the National Leprechaun Museum. To find out I had booked the wrong date for the tickets and the show was sold out.

A rather long walk back to our B and B area ensued. But at least the rain stopped along the way. A good supper helped, but it had meant that our touring for the day essentially ended at 2:00 – not the best bang for the buck. But still, a good tour today, and the rest of the vacation went off stunningly well, especially with the weather – today was the first time we actually got rained on in six days In Ireland in the spring. That is not statistically likely, and we are grateful for our time here this week. What a blessing to get to travel here.

So we are off early to Dublin Airport tomorrow, where staff shortages seem to be creating long lines and other inefficiencies. We are going to aim to get there and have the car returned by 9:00 for a 12:30 flight. After that, here’s hoping we have smooth travels back home.

Since we have spent so much time around the year 1200 this vacation, I decided we should continue that trend. This morning we went to Kilkenny’s Medieval Mile Museum, which houses artifacts and historical items for Kilkenny, starting around, oh, let’s say 1200 (although it was a smidge before that, but who is counting?).

We had booked a guided tour, and I am very glad we did. It was just Meredith and I and our enthusiastic guide Sharon. She took us around the museum, which is housed in a church from 1200, and she explained what we were looking at and why it mattered. Some of the items she shared with us:

• A collection of clay pipe heads used for funerals, a tradition which still continues. She also told us the Irish wake comes from “wake up,” which occasionally happened to the “dead” before modern medicine came along. The tradition of sitting with a body for three days was to make sure the person was dead.
• A rebels’ coin minted from coffin hinges to make money for when Kilkenny was under siege and needed food and weapons.
• The tops of doorways now just peeking out of the floor. Over the years, seventy thousand people were buried in the church itself, which raised the floor level about ten feet.
• Examples of carved crypt covers that became more elaborate over time, showing Kilkenny’s growing size and wealth.
• She shared the fun fact that early Kilkenny would have spoken French because of the Anglo-Norman settlers of the city.

On Sharon’s recommendation, we then walked up the street about five minutes to go to St. Canice’s Cathedral, an actual non-destroyed church that is still in use. It’s probably because it is a modern church, finished in 1285. Happily, the church has an intact (except for the cone on top) round tower from around 900, so it gives it some legitimacy. And the tower is only one of two in Ireland that you can still climb. So we had to do that.

There is head knowledge, and then there is experience. My head knew the towers were very tall, joined by multiple ladders, and there wasn’t much space inside them. It’s another thing to experience climbing six separate ladder-like sets of stairs in a slowly shrinking conic cylinder. The last ladder was very steep and very tight. It certainly would have been a terrible place to be trapped by enemies, and the towers were only used as a last resort for that. You are able to climb out on top of the tower, by climbing five uneven tall stone steps. Meredith and I both managed it, and she enjoyed it as much as you can on a forty-degree day with gusting winds at the top of a tower. I huddled in the middle of the safest area for a minute before retreating to the safety of the uneven steps. I was able to keep my head above the tower to look around.

The cathedral itself is pretty and has a long history. The two objects I liked best were a set of intricate carvings on top of tombs for an important family (next to the list of the family line going back to about 1150 – the current duke/lord/whatever is the twenty-third one), and they have a stone chair that has been used to install bishops since something like 1000. And you are invited to sit in the chair.

After lunch, we drove the hour and a half back to Dublin, where I managed to park the car in a small spot, where I can leave it until Saturday morning. That was a relief. After a quick dumping of stuff in the room, we walked the twenty minutes into the city, passing through the northern part of St. Stephen’s Green. We got supper in the Grafton Street shopping area, and then went off to the surprise of the evening for Mer – we walked up to Sweny’s Pharmacy.

Sweny’s Pharmacy is a place that the protagonist of James Joyce’s Ulysses goes in the book. The pharmacy is now run as a Joyce landmark, and on Thursday nights, you can go into the very small shop and take turns reading out loud from the book. This seemed like something my English-teacher wife should do, and I was right – she loved it, after she got over the confusion of why I wanted her picture in front of a random small store.

The gentleman who organizes it is a gentle and hospitable man who also happens to teach six languages at Trinity. He offered us wine or whiskey and chatted with us for some time. He had a dry sense of humor and made us feel important. He may have given Dale, Meredith’s late father, some competition for the title of my ideal professor stereotype. He seemed like he would be a don at Oxford (if Trinity has the same title). The reading went on for about an hour and a half, and we were joined by about fifteen people in the shop and about ten people online. Not everyone was a native English speaker, and it amazes me that anyone would tackle such a difficult book in a second language. It was a joy hearing the Irish, British, American, and other accents all reading.

That wrapped up the day for us – we walked back to the B and B. From 1200 to 1920 – we’ve had a long day. Time for bed.

Some days I am confronted with getting older. That can be in healing slowly or having minor pains in back, neck, and elsewhere. But more and more it means being clumsy (dropping things and tripping) and forgetting things. Like forgetting to get gas.

We set off happily this morning from our B and B, headed to the supposed-to-be impressive Rock of Cashel. We got a little bit of a late start, but I wasn’t on a strict timeline, so that was okay. Until I glanced at the gauges and suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to get gas last night. I figured we would pass a gas pump at least (if not a full station), but back lane Ireland is really rural. After not seeing any place to get gas, I told my GPS to find a station. It did. Five miles away. Which would take twenty minutes. Sigh.

We did make it to the pump (not a station). There was a man filling a two-gallon container while talking to another man leaning against a car. We waited. The leaning man drove off, and we pulled up. The attendant (it was a full-serve pump) and I had (roughly) the following conversation:

Attendant: Cead failte mile!
Me: Ummm. Hello.
Attendant: Easel or undead?
Me: Ummm. (waves keychain in air that says “Unleaded only”) Unleaded?
Attendant: Tan or twenney?
Me: Ummm. Twenty?
Attendant (pumps gas): Sinead O’Connor mulligan lucky charms erin go bragh guinness craic gob my left shoe U2 bork bork bork. Heh! Ha!
Me (nervously): Ummm. Yeah. (laughs nervously, gets back in car, and drives away with a modicum of gas in tank)

We did eventually get to the Rock of Cashel. Even from the parking lot, it looked impressive. We got out of the car, and I reached for my camera. Enter old-fart moment number two. I had no camera. It was an hour away in my B and B room. Sigh. Happily for me, I did have my travel smartphone with me, and that filled in for my camera for today. Still, not an encouraging moment. It goes down at the third time I’ve blown it with my camera (not charged for Venice’s Burano island, forgotten for Seydisfjordur in Iceland, and now forgotten for Cashel).

The Rock of Cashel looked like to me like a castle, but it is not. The Rock is the rocky hill on which a fortress-looking church complex is built. It used to be a fortress of the king of Ireland, but in 1100, he decided to move his court. But, since his family had taken the Rock from another family, he did not want the other family grabbing it and trying to set up a rival kingdom. So, in a savvy political move, he gave the entire Rock to the church. He gets favorite-son status with the local church, and his rivals can’t try to take the Rock from the church. The church started building a chapel almost immediately.

That is a remarkable church, too. It’s from around 1200, and it is the first Romanesque church in Ireland, and remarkably, it is intact to this day. It had to be refurbished a few years back because the sandstone of which it is made had become waterlogged over nine hundred years. The Office of Public Works built a temporary roof over the whole church for five full years, and that let the stone dry out. They then tore the roof off stone by stone, and replaced twenty percent of the roof’s stones with identical ones, and put the whole thing back together with a thin waterproof lining underneath. Slick.

We were able to go inside the church on our pay-for tour, and while the inside is simple and small (it was a private church for the archbishop), it is nine hundred years old, and there are still small pieces of frescoes on the ceiling, and the carved decorations are still intact. That kind of age is a bit mind-boggling.

After the chapel tour, we took a tour of the rest of the buildings, which are mostly the roofless cathedral (from around 1200) and an intact round tower (which may be as old as being built in 900). The guide said the cathedral was small even by the standards of the time, but all of Ireland only had half a million people. It didn’t need to be big. I thought it looked huge.

We found out about a bishop of Cashel from the 1500s who somehow managed to be both a Catholic bishop (for the north) and a Protestant bishop (for the south). He was finally excommunicated after ten years, but he still somehow managed to have three wives and twenty-seven children (that we know of). He was described as a tall and handsome man. Seems he used that to his advantage.

After the tour was over, we drove an hour back to the Kilkenny region to go see the Jerpoint Abbey. Yes, another ruined abbey. This one is well known for the carvings left behind by the monks who weren’t supposed to have carvings (they weren’t all allowed by their order). No one is sure if the monks just disobeyed the rule or if the rule eventually got relaxed, but the many of the carvings still survive. It is also a large church, and we had it to ourselves, which was pretty fun.

The last stop of the day was…wait for it…another ruined abbey. We went to the Kells Priory complex (not that Kells – another one). It is simply huge, and it is free to see, and we had it to ourselves except for one woman walking her dog on the other side of the complex. I’m not sure what all they did at the Priory, but it involved a substantial defensive wall and dozens of buildings. Mer and I think we found the main church, but it was small compared to the size of the place. It was windswept and lonely and quite marvelous, and as a bonus, we got to see dozens of frolicking lambs in the field through which we had to walk.

We went back to the mill restaurant at which we ate last night, since it was only a mile away, and then got back to our B and B early. We may head out to see if we can find a pub with music, or we may use the evening to get some rest. Either way, compared to what we saw today, I’m feeling pretty young.

Shocking postscript – I went out on the town, in the evening, voluntarily, until 11:00 pm. We went to a tiny pub called The Hole in the Wall in downtown Kilkenny. What a gem. Mer and I walked into the downstairs of the pub, which had about eight seats. We were the only customers. Although I was looking for music, it was too cozy a place to pass up, so we sat down and started chatting with the owner, who is also a cardiologist. While we were chatting, a local couple came in and joined in. We were then eventually joined by four Swedish college students. That was it, for the entire evening. Eight of us and the owner, all chatting, until the Swedes offered to sing. They sang a song in Swedish, and then did an enthusiastic Irish song. We ended up with someone providing music (including Meredith leading “Amazing Grace”) for the rest of the evening. I sadly called our evening over at 10:30 pm. I would have happily stayed until closing. What a pure joy the night was. If you are ever in Kilkenny, please look up The Hole in the Wall – it’s a little tricky to find (it’s down an alley), but it is worth it.

Off to bed. Oh – for those keeping count, ten abbeys and one castle on this trip.

We woke up this morning to the sound of seabirds and the sight of fog. Not a big deal – we were right on the ocean, and I knew the day was supposed to be fine. We got ready, went out for a quick breakfast, and then headed thirty minutes south to Powerscourt House and Gardens.

We got to the gardens about 9:45, and things were still fairly fogged in. We went in to buy our tickets to the gardens, and the women selling them apologized for the weather. We all agreed the fog might burn off later. What was the fuss for fog in a garden?

Powerscourt was voted (by National Geographic) as the third “best” (whatever that definition is) garden in the world, after Versailles and Kew Gardens in London. The garden is pretty fabulous, but what sets it apart is the formal nature of the garden set against the background of the Wicklow Mountains, and especially Great Sugarloaf Mountain. Or so we were told. We couldn’t see the mountains at all – we could barely see across the full length of the gardens. But we could see the section of garden we were in, so off we went.

As an aside, Powerscourt does have a villa, but a fire gutted it in the 1970s just as it was about to open to the public. It has been partially restored for use for weddings, but otherwise is not open to the public.

We spent a happy couple of hours wandering the gardens. There is a formal garden with flower borders (the longest double border in Ireland), and a rhododendron garden, a pet cemetery (that was a new sight for me), a gorgeous Japanese garden, a castle tower (complete with small canons), and a fine main area with grounds that stepped down to a lake with a large fountain. All the while, the fog slowly started to lift. We had lunch, and by the time we were done (toward 1:00), we could see the mountains. They were hazy, but there. That was a happy sight.

Since the fog had largely burned off, the ticket ladies strongly suggested we drive over the Sally Gap in the Wicklow Mountains. I had planned on doing so anyway, but had started wavering, thinking it might be foggy up there. With the encouragement of the native women, I decided to try it. I’m glad I did.

The roads in Ireland range from modern mega highways to (usually) paved cow paths. One of the women asked if I was a nervous driver. Narrow roads winding into mountains with possible sheep and cyclists while I’m driving on the left side of the road? Why would I be nervous? It turned out to be okay – the Wicklow Mountains are largely bare of trees and hedges, so the narrow roads have pretty good sight lines. That allowed me to make sure I could find a pull-off area before oncoming cars, which were rare, got too close.

And the mountains are beautiful. They are bare of trees and so look a lot like heather-covered mountains in Scotland. There are no people about (with the exception of the Guinness family estate, which is fairly distant from the public road). There are lakes up in the hills that are picturesque, and all of this was mostly in the sun. It was a worthwhile forty minute drive to….

Glendalough. Glendalough is the home to a monastic settlement with buildings from the tenth to twelfth centuries, although the monastery was founded in the sixth century. There is a complete hundred-foot round tower, a complete small church, and the ruins of a large (for the time) cathedral. It also has a large Celtic cross, and is all pleasantly situated next to a stream and surrounded by mountains. We strolled through the settlement area, but then also hiked a path up past Lower Lake and on to Upper Lake. Upper Lake was serene, and we just sat on a bench there for some time before heading back to the car.

We drove to our B and B on the outskirts of Kilkenny in the south of Ireland. Our hostess recommended the Kings Mill Restaurant, an Italian place that was in an old mill, complete with waterwheel. That sounded fine to us, and while the food was good, the setting was outstanding – next to a small, beautiful river and downstream from a very pretty bridge. We had a very friendly young waiter who chatted with us a bunch (it was near closing, and so slower). He told us about things to see in the area, which we will probably do if time and the weather cooperate.

And so to help lift my own personal fog, I’m off to bed. For those keeping count, we are now at one castle and seven abbeys in three days.