My trip to Ireland: part 9

First of all: I'm sorry that it has taken me so long to sit down and write more about my trip. I hope you can forgive me.

Through life we experience things all the time, and some of these experiences turn into strong memories while others get washed away. I'm still amazed how this trip has left such a strong mark on me, and that even the smallest detail still can be found in my memory. I'll guess you're sick and tired of listening to my higher-than-myself-talk, so here's the next chapter in my story:

Dublin is a wonderful town, but both I and Steven felt that now was the time to get away for a day. We had been talking about going to Wicklow Mountains and Glendalough, and it would prove to be the perfect escape from a busy city.
The weather was fairly nice when we walked downtown to find the bus that would take us away. Not too warm, but not cold either. I picked up a newspaper on the way to have something to read on the way (I wouldn't be needing it after all...) and the headline was dealing with the tragedy in Germany where 19 people had died.
Why do I remember stuff like this? It is probably my brain that connects all the little details into something bigger...or?
Anyway, our guide for the day was Martin, a very funny man with an extensive knowledge about everything from Irish history to animals (especially sheep...). I was glad that we were going in a minibus without too many tourists...there's a reason why I had tried to avoid being a tourist...

Our route took us out of the city through the area where one can find the embassies, and then following the road to Dun Laoghaire; the harbour-town just south of Dublin.Our guide was really talkative and had to stop himself several times from talking too much ^^

It didn't take us too long before we were out of the urban areas totally, and all we could see around us were green meadows, sheep with stripes (Martin were joking about them, saying that red stripe indicated that the wool of that particular sheep would be a red sweater, and blue stripe a blue sweater...they are actually a form of identification-mark, so the farmers can see which sheep that are theirs) and something that the Irish perhaps would call mountains...
But as Martin pointed out; the Wicklow Mountains should actually be called Wicklow Hills, but that is not nearly as cool as 'mountains'.

The rolling hills of Wicklow?

As the clouds slowly drifted away we could see the true beauty of the landscape that seemed to go on forever. All the different hues of green that I have found in Ireland still surprises and pleases me, and these rolling hills were no exception. The weather was perfect for an excursion; not too hot with a mild breeze gently caressing our faces when we got out of the minibus to take pictures.

The Guinness-lake

This lake must have been one of the darkest I've ever seen. The reason for this is that the river coming down from the hills have run through enormous amounts of bog-land, and coloured it almost black. The white sand at the end gives the viewer the illusion of a pint of Guinness...

Brilliant isn't it?

This location, we were told, is very popular as a backdrop for movies, and you might see this white trailer near the right edge of the picture. This is the filmcrew for the upcoming King Arthur-TV-series; "Camelot" (apparently with Ralph Fiennes as Merlin....)

Beautiful scenery; Glenmacnass Valley

 We followed the Military Road; Bóthar Míleata, through the mountains, and all the way were Martin chatting away about the different rebellions throughout Irish history, and especially the 1798-rebellion which really left its mark on the region. The rebels that weren't caught, fled into the Wicklow Mountains, because they knew the English couldn't follow them properly there (try to lead a small army of men through the bogs...not a very pleasant experience...). So in the end the English were so sick and tired of loosing, that they decided to build a road through the mountains. They started building in 1800 and were not finished until 9 years later. This road is gave them an opportunity to hunt down and capture the insurgents more easily, and it made the Wicklow Mountains a less popular place for hiding.

A sunny break at Laragh

Before going to Glendalough, we would have a stop in Laragh for lunch. Me and Steven quickly went in the opposite direction of the rest of the tourists, and found a lovely peaceful spot by the river were we could eat our lunch in total silence, just listening to the water running past us in its own tempo.

Is this Lothlorien? No, it is just Ireland

At this place, time didn't matter. To just see and feel without thinking about tomorrow was so liberating and wonderful, that I could have stayed there forever. The sun was shining merciless from the sky, but beneath the shadow of the branches and the leaves, life was pure bliss.

Just see how the light is falling though the leaves

I really love this photo. It's like Steven is walking into a mystical world filled with dragons, magic and adventures. The greenness is kinda overwhelming, it's coming against you as you watch, it's hypnotizes you and then....there's no way back into 'normality'. But why would we seek normality in an age when the individual is presented even stronger than before? Or has individuality become the new normality? Something to think about...

Lunchtime

After our little lunch we decided to explore the river some more, and around each bend of the track, there was something amazing to behold. It was like walking into a fairytale.

Only our rivers run free

When apples still grow in November
When Blossoms still bloom from each tree
When leaves are still green in December
It's then that our land will be free
I wander her hills and her valleys
And still through my sorrow I see
A land that has never known freedom
And only her rivers run free

Heaven?

But we couldn't stay there forever, even if we wanted to, so we rushed back to the parking lot where everyone was waiting...for us. The next stop now would be Glendalough.

Glendalough is one of the best preserved holy-places in Ireland. It is strongly connected to its 'founder' St Kevin who came to the Glendalough Valley to escape a very persistent woman (she was trying to get him to marry her, and he eventually solved the problem by pushing her off a cliff...) and his followers. And I can understand WHY he chose to come to THIS place. You can feel something special here, something that every human being should get a chance to feel.

A roundtower

These constructions were meant as a form of protection against any invading horde. The entrance was a couple of meters up the wall, so one needed a ladder to get in. When everybody was inside, one simply pulled the ladder up...

Monastic ruins

Glendalough soon became, after St Kevin arrival (around 6th century), a centre of meditation and prayers. This was a holy place, and many people went on pilgrimage here. It's religious 'strength' lasted until two events occurred:

1) Glendalough and Dublin were united in 1241

2) English forces destroyed  the settlement in 1389 (but: this didn't stop people from coming there)

The Walls of Faith

Closer to heaven

We were going to meet the minibus between the two lakes that had given Glendalough its name. The road/track that took us to the meetingpoint was just amazing. I will try to let the pictures talk now...

What lurks in here?

Alongside the road ran a track a little bit up in the forest we were passing through, and since we were a little bit fed up with the plain road, we chose to follow this instead. I felt like a child again, exploring the world for the first time and being free from every thought that had bothered me for so long.

A smile on the shore

At the shore of the Lower Lake we met some ducks, and guess what I found in my bag?  A crushed muffin from yesterday, and it seemed that the ducks really enjoyed the chocolatmuffin (maybe they are closet-sweet-teeth...?)  Ducks make me happy, they always seem to be smiling. Not a broad smile, more like a Mona Lisa-smile; curious and mysterious

Lower Lake

I'm almost expecting them to move, and start dancing...

Upper Lake

Home of the Elves

When I was there, and now that I'm looking through the photos of this extraordinary place, I can understand even better why Celtic/Irish mythology is filled to the brink with creatures connected to the earth and nature. Its beauty just blows me away....

It was with tears in my eyes that we drove away from this place, and I will forever treasure the memorize I made there. Before heading back to Dublin, there was one more place on the list we were going to visit: Avoca

I was very sleepy at this point, so the only thing I would do at this beautiful place was to stand in the shade of a big tree and take in everything that I had experienced this day. Steven went exploring, and  this picture below is his (thank you Steven)

Avoca is famous for weaving, and the techniques have been handed down through generations. It was a truly picturesque and very charming village.

On the way there we passed the home of Charles Stewart Parnell; Avondale. Of course Martin once more enlightened us on the tragic history of this man and his shameful exit from national politics.

This had indeed been an amazing day, and on our way back to Dublin I fell asleep on Steven's shoulder; I was exhausted. 

BAAA!

So a perfect day was ended in the perfect manner: 

A Pint at the Porterhouse

My trip to Ireland: part 8

You were perhaps wondering if my everlasting story about Ireland would end soon, without too much fuzz. But I have to disappoint you; there are still a couple of chapters left to be written. They will hopefully still be as interesting as the previous, but since everything is written without a sketch, I cannot promise you an easy, straightforward history. It will be as wild as the soul of the Irish nation, living its own life without listening to reason from any other than itself.

Today's post will deal with the collective memory the Irish nation deals with from day to day, events that has shaped the history, and then especially two insurrections: The 1798-Rising and the Easter Rising in 1916.

The plan for us this Sunday was to take it easy, with a walk in the park, checking out some monuments and hopefully don't do anything stupid... So off we went with no map or compass, trying to find Arbourhill cementary where the leaders of the Easter Rising are buried.

But in our search we also found another graveyard, The Croppies Acre, by coincidence. But I'm glad we did.

For the men who fought for freedom in 1798

The rebellion (or I should perhaps say rebellions..) came as a part of a strong tradition in the Irish culture not to bow to anyone, but sadly had the previous risings and rebellions failed one by one. It would also mean something for the future, it would ignite something in the Irish spirit that gave them the energy for trying over and over again, despite defeat. 

What went wrong?

Many songs and stories have been written about the risings which occurred throughout Ireland this year, and some of them still rings in my ears when I look back on what I have learned and this day in Dublin. I've already mentioned Henry Joy McCracken (read chapter 4), but here will I  tell you a little bit about a leader from another part of Ireland, Wexford's own Father Murphy.
In the beginning he was against the whole idea of rebellion and urged his parishioners to give up their arms and swear an allegiance to the British Crown. But his peace turned to anger the day he saw some English soldiers torch a cottage based on some groundless accusations that its missing inhabitant was a rebel. He and his friends attacked the soldiers, and there were no way back now.
The rebellion in Wexford had begun.
The song Boolavogue tells us what happened next:

He led us on 'gainst the coming soldiers,
The cowardly Yeomen we put to flight;
'Twas at the Harrow the boys of Wexford
Showed Bookey's regiment how men could fight.
Look out for hirelings, King George of England,
Search every kingdom where breathes a slave,
For Father Murphy of the County Wexford
Sweeps o'er the land like a mighty wave.

We took Camolin and Enniscorthy,
And Wexford storming drove out our foes;
'Twas at Slieve Coillte our pikes were reeking
With the crimson stream of the beaten yeos.
At Tubberneering and Ballyellis
Full many a Hessian lay in his gore;
Ah, Father Murphy, had aid come over,
The green flag floated from shore to shore!

At Vinegar Hill, o'er the pleasant Slaney,
Our heroes vainly stood back to back,
And the Yeos at Tullow took Father Murphy
And burned his body upon the rack.
God grant you glory, brave Father Murphy,
And open Heaven to all your men;
The cause that called you may call tomorrow
In another fight for the green again.

This story didn't end happily ever after for Father Murphy (he was stripped, flogged, hanged, decapitated, his corpse burnt in a barrel of tar and his head impaled on a spike. This final gesture was meant to be a warning to all others who fought against the British crown), but his legacy still lives on, like all the other great leaders through the Irish history.Hail to his memory!

After wandering around the Croppies Acre for some time, we headed on (and we didn't even get hit by the Luas) towards our original destination: Arbourhill cementary, located close to Collins Barracks. After some fruitless searching, we finally found it, next to Arbourhill Prison....

It was a truly beautiful cementary with cypresses along the lane leading up to the 1916-memorial. Standing in front of this made my tears flow, and I read the same words as Padraig Pearse had read, over and over again. And it made me wonder: does Ireland honour these words today , or are they as base and meaningless as any other words one can read in a glossy magazine? 

Important words...

...not to be forgotten...

...and not to be underestimated

The bravest fell, and the solemn bell
Rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide
In the springing of the year.
And the world did gaze in deep amaze
At those fearless men and true
Who bore the fight that freedom's light
Might shine through the foggy dew.

The next point on our list was Phoenix Park, where we would probably meet many other Dubliners with the same idea as us: lunch and a walk in the beautiful park. 

And it was indeed an amazing place, and the size! The biggest park back home in Bergen is perhaps only a 1/20 of this one :p

It is called Phoenix Park because it takes it name from Phoenix House, the original residence of the British viceroys, whose title derived from the Irish 'fionn uisce' (clear water)"

The Wellington Monument

Yes, the Duke of Welllington was born in Dublin, but he was (apparently) never proud of his irish ancestry and this quotation has is not by him, but it is still said that he said this when he was asked about his irish background:  "If a gentleman happens to be born in a stable, it does not follow that he should be called a horse."
Anyway, we had our lunch at this column, and planned our next move. The weather was perfect for a walk in the the park, not too hot nor too humid.
This park may seem quiet and peaceful, but its story contains bloody stains too.
In 1882, 6 May, were two men stabbed to death here by some members of the "Irish National Invincibles", an earlier unheard of republican organisation. Those men weren't just anybody. They were Lord Frederick Cavendish, newly appointed Chief of Secretary for Ireland, and Thomas Henry Burke, the Permanent Undersecretary.These assassinations led to an investigation where no less than 7 men where convicted and sentenced to death by hanging. The executions were carried out in Kilmainham Gaol between 14 May and 4 June, 1883. Others were sentenced to serve long prison terms.

The 15 Acres; formerly the duelling ground in Dublin

Peaceful and grand: perfect for a Sunday stroll

Áras an Uachtaráin; The Residence of the Irish President

Who cannot envy the President this house and this view? I'm just asking...

After a couple of hours in the park we headed down to the citycentre again (still not being hit by the Luas...) and when we crossed the river we had two alternatives: Kilmainham Gaol or the Pub. Tricky question, but my feet was screaming for rest at this point, so Kilmainham must wait until next time...

The James Joyce Bridge

I cannot quite understand why this bridge is named after James Joyce, but maybe I just have to read his books more thoroughly then...
It had again been a great day, and I cannot say how thankful I was when I could put my feet up, get a pint of something magical and listen to some brilliant music

SLAINTÉ!