Dublin. Wicklow Tour.

I notice that many people are wearing Rolling Stones tee shirts. They just played Dublin in May. The Stones playing in historic Croke Park. The home of the All Ireland Final. It’s mind boggling. The Craic must have been grand! 

Heavy Metal riffs echoed in the narrow streets of Temple Bar. Irish music is great, especially when you’re in Ireland, but after a couple of nights I was craving a bit of the old Heavy Mental. I followed the echoes of amplified music. It’s an AC/DC song! Live Wire! A power trio was set up outside of the Mercantile Hotel.  

There was a small drum kit. A guy with long hair played lead guitar and a guy with a Mohawk was on bass. They did rowdy covers of familiar Rock classics. They played a Hendrix song. That was a gutsy move. The guitar player did a more than passable Hendrix. They were rocking! They did “Free Bird” and they weren’t joking! 

There were four pubs on this corner. Dubliners were having a few at the end of the work week. They were enjoying the band. It was a party in the streets!

A guy came up from behind me and gently suggested I make way for a car coming down the street. He was security. This is still a street. There were a few people trying to get their cars through or out of the Temple Bar area. I considered moving on when the band launched into Johnny B. Goode. I really couldn’t leave when they were playing that song.  

Saturday. September 8. 

The Wicklow Mountains Tour is run by Travelbound. We would meet at 9:40 a.m. It would be an all day affair ending at 4:50 p.m.  

I got an early start and set out for the Connolly Train Station. It’s across the Liffey in a part of Dublin I hadn’t walked through yet. I got a closer look at the Millennium Bridge and other riverside sights. I passed O’Connell Street. I feel like I almost know where I’m at. I’m getting the lay of the land.  

It’s early Saturday morning. The streets are almost deserted. It’s certainly not weekday commute traffic. It was gray out, and a light mist was falling. I’m not used to rain. The wet cobblestone streets made the buildings look older. The Custom House is an impressive government building. I find the bus station, but I’m looking for a train station. I know I’m close. I ask a guy on a bike for directions.  

The DART station (Dublin Area Rapid Transit) has an old facade. It has a gray and grimy exterior, but the interior is very modern. Steel and glass. It’s just been renovated. I see the meeting place as soon as I walk in. A small group is standing in front of a kiosk.    

There’s an older couple and four retired teachers. Our guide is Paddy McArdle. One of the teachers remarks: “You have a real Irish name.” There’s a woman from Australia. Two young women show up a little late.  

Paddy was a real nice guy and another expert tour guide. He guided us to our train and made sure we had the right seats together on the train. “This side is better.” He knew we’d see the coastal view from that side of the car. He seemed excited to be going on the tour himself. “Wicklow is the garden of Ireland.”  

We roll out of the city and get a glimpse of the “real” Dublin. We pass Croke Park. There are great views of Killiney Bay and then we go around Bray Head. It’s great coastal scenery. This is recreational territory. There are not many people out this early, but we can see beaches and facilities for boating. There are sheds and launches for the boats.   

Dublin can be a dark, drab place. It was known for being melancholy. It was a gray day, and I could feel some of the excitement Dubliners must feel when they’re escaping the city for a day at the beach. This is where they came to get some sun. Get out on the water. Go for a swim. At one stop I can see lockers near a swimming area. It’s a great resort getaway from the city.    

The train headed along the East Coast to Wicklow. Then we will go up into the mountains to Avoca, the town where the PBS series Ballykissangel was filmed. Our last stop will be in “the monastic city of Glendalough.”

I could see some interesting birds from the train. First there were shore birds, especially egrets, then some cormorants, puffins and mockingbirds.    

There aren’t too many passengers on the train. Across from me was a young woman and her son. He looked about five. She looked young and could have easily passed as an O’Shea. The kid was a bit restless, but not intolerable. 

We’re on a commuter train and stop at stations. Howth. Dun Loughaire. Killiney Bay. Bray.

Paddy tells the story of the goddess Eriu. It’s the origin of the name Eire.   

Paddy points out the Woodenbridge Golf Club. “It’s expensive.” Part of the club is   a bird sanctuary. We can see startled pheasants taking wing.   

Arklow is a holiday resort near the mouth of the Avoca River. It’s famous for its swans. It was the site of another military disaster in the 1798 rebellion.  

We get off the train and meet a bus that takes us to Avoca. Paddy talks about the drought. “There’s been no rain for forty days.” He made it sound biblical. Usually the grass is cut and stored under black plastic tarps. No rain means no grass. No dried grass means no hay. Which means no feed for the cattle. It will be a real problem this winter.

Avoca was famous for its copper mines. It even got a shout out from Ptolemy! He mentions the color of the river. The copper gives the submerged rocks an orangish tint from the copper. We pull into a parking lot surrounded by old buildings.

Not all Ireland is booming. We hear a local tale of woe. Two potteries have closed near Wexford. 

A large sign tells us that Avoca is “Ireland’s Oldest Mill.” It could be one of the last cottage industries anywhere.  

The owner gave us a tour. She was friendly, but it was clear that she was a no nonsense type. Women have run this business for a long time. When they started it was very rare for a business to be run by women.   

We’re given a demonstration of the wooden loom. Separate strands of color are woven together. The weaver pumps the wooden loom with foot pedals. It takes constant vigilance. The weaver has to watch for snags in the wool. There are some metal parts, but most of the mill is still made of wood.  

We’re given free time to shop! This is a big shopping opportunity. There’s not much here for me, except for the books, but I do look around.    

It’s a short walk from the mills to lunch at Fitzgerald’s. We’re almost across an old whitewashed footbridge when Paddy stops us. “This is why you need me. You’re missing it.” We’ve walked right past a “famine cottage.” It’s near the bridge and it’s almost totally covered and hidden in vegetation. The roof has collapsed. The walls are green with moss and the small building blends into the woods above the creek. 

“It can’t be disturbed,” he tells us. “It’s considered private property.” These buildings were abandoned over a hundred and fifty years ago during the famine, but they can’t be torn down. “Theoretically, the owners could return.”  

Paddy tells us that during the famine people in the east of Ireland did have food. “They didn’t have the communication we take for granted today.” Many emigrated to America when they could have just gone east where there was food. I found this a little hard to believe. News travels fast, especially when people are trying to find food in a famine.  

“Some people ask: Why didn’t they fish?” There was food in the sea, but anything in the sea was owned by local nobility. The punishment must have been severe to keep starving people from getting food out of the sea. Why didn’t they just do it anyway? They were starving. What did they have to lose? It shows what fear was in the land then.   

Paddy asked each of us where we were headed next. The woman from Australia looked about fifty. Most Aussies I’ve met are adventurous travelers. Her next stop would be two weeks in Morocco. Paddy seems puzzled. “Why would anyone want to go there for two weeks?” She says she wants to be immersed in the culture. Paddy thinks it’s too much time to spend in Morocco.  

  The older couple from America are friendly and talkative. The husband is a bit hesitant, but he asks Paddy, “Do the Irish hate the English?” Paddy stops in his tracks. “Stop right here.” He gathers us around him.  

“This is important. There’s one thing that must be clear... What’s done is done.” He says there is no animosity or hatred. It’s clear he’s been asked this question before, and that he has a passionate opinion on the subject. 

The Australian woman doesn’t agree. Too many bad things happened. It’s not forgotten. I agree with her, but I don’t say anything. Paddy has a noble thought, but I don’t think all the bitterness is gone. There has been relative peace in Ireland recently, but it is still a divided nation. 

We enter the town of Avoca. This is the real life version of the small town of Ballykissangel. The BBC television series was filmed here. The comedy throws a sometimes savage light on life in small town Ireland. 

We have lunch at Fitzgerald’s, the pub in the TV show. It didn’t look like the small pub from the TV show. Guess I’ll have to watch the series again. It was near the end of the tourist season and we were the only customers. The TV show plays constantly on a big screen, but there was no audio. 

Paddy says that Irish rarely eat lamb. Lamb is shepherd’s pie. Beef is cottage pie. I didn’t even know there was a difference. I had the shepherd’s pie.   

It was a friendly group. We get to know each other a little. One teacher taught in Jamaica. The wife in the older couple was also a teacher and there was some discussion on modern education. One of the younger women worked for E-Bay and was in Dublin for a conference. She commented to Paddy, “Why is there no cream in Ireland?” 

Her friend agreed, but Paddy said, “I’ll get you some cream right now,” and he got up, and he did. Neither of the women liked the fish and chips in Ireland. “I love fish and chips! I have it all the time.” This had been a major disappointment for them.     

There’s a short wait for our bus, and I get a great look at a raptor. It circled above the street of the village. It had a very long tail. I later learned it was a Red Kite. It’s a species that was just reintroduced to the area. It kept circling as we left.  

Paddy says we’ll take a short ride and then make a stop. He’s a bit apologetic about stopping again so soon, but it’s something we shouldn’t miss. We stop at The Meeting of the Waters. There’s a park area that leads down to where the Avonmore and Avonbeg rivers meet to form the Avoca River. Hills rise on either side.  

It’s a magical spot. We can hear the water rushing over stones. Everything is green. Paddy points out the orange on some of the rocks. It’s from nearby copper mining. A mine has recently shut down, and that is causing some concern. Across the river is a hotel that has been recently renovated. It has a large balcony overlooking the junction of the two rivers.   

It’s gray, but it’s not raining. A family group is wading in what looks to me like a risky spot. They don’t appear to be too concerned about the current where the two rivers meet.  

There’s a memorial to the poet Thomas Moore. It’s a large stone monument that has his poem, Meeting of the Waters, engraved in the rock. The monument looks like it was just put up recently. 

The Meeting of the Waters is a great photo op. It’s an Irish fantasy. So what is the magic? I’ve seen more spectacular scenery. It reminded me of Muir Woods. We’re surrounded by greenery. Is it because it’s so wet? I’ll admit I’m used to hills and grass being burned almost black from the sun. Is it just being in Ireland? Maybe it’s the history of the spot. It was certainly worth the stop.

We get back on the bus and go through the village of Rathdrum. It’s the birthplace of Charles Stewart Parnell. Parnell’s political power was ruined when he was caught having an affair with one Kitty O’Shea. It was the most notorious affair in Irish history. 

Paddy is a big sports fan. He repeats what Matthew said about the amateur status and enthusiasm of Gaelic footballers. We pass a local field with a large grandstand. It’s early but they’re getting ready for a match. It looks like a fun community event. 

It’s a short ride to Glendalough. We go through a heavily forested area. There’s a kid’s amusement park hidden among the trees. We pull into a large parking lot. The area looks like a fairgrounds. There are concessions and other conveniences. There will be a short hike to the ruins of the monastery. We walk over to a lake. Mountains go far into the distance. It’s one of the great views of Ireland.

Paddy fills us in on the geology: Glendalough in Gaelic is Gleann Dá Loch, “The Valley of the two lakes.” We will hike through the valley that was formed by glaciers, but first we hang by the river for a while. It’s a gray, overcast day, but it’s easy to picture the small beach filled with vacationing families.   

There are large yellow buoys that distract from the view. They’re a distraction from the scenery. Paddy apologizes. He tells us they just had a big charity event here that used the buoys to mark a race course. Trails up in the hills are lit up for a foot race that’s held at night. Paddy tells us it’s quite a sight.

We walk on an elevated wooden path. It goes through the valley and keeps us out of the muck. There must be times when it would be impassable without the elevated walkway. 

The scenery is among the best I’ve seen in Ireland. Green hills rise on both sides of us. Glendalough is famous for the variety of plants that grow here. We pass through fields where the monks farmed. It’s hard to imagine monastic life, but this does look like the perfect setting for it.

There is a medieval tower where the fields meet the woods. “Is that a church?” No, it’s St. Kevin’s Tower. It just seems to spring up out of nowhere. It’s a reminder that quick protection was needed out here. There was always the possibility of attack from rival clans, Vikings or “wild animals.” What kind of wild animals could cause such fear? I imagined giant bears. Maybe there were packs of wolves. Maybe monastic life wasn’t all idyllic. There was a light drizzle. It added to the atmosphere of natural beauty. 

We go through an ancient arch to The Gateway. It’s the only known medieval gateway in Ireland. The path ends at a ruined Cathedral. There’s no roof and it’s been open to the elements for a long time. Paddy points to The Round Tower. It looks much larger than St. Kevin’s Tower. Paddy says it was another refuge for the monks, a place to “hide the treasure.” The entrance was about six feet above the ground. The monks would climb into the tower and pull the ladder up behind them.  

The towers got used. The monastery of Glendalough was plundered in 1176. The English left Glendalough a ruin in 1398. It still became a place of pilgrimage. The Priest’s House, St. Kevin’s Church and other buildings have been renovated using the original stones. St. Ciarán’s (Kieran’s) Church is called “The Kitchen.” 

Glendalough can be a place of sadness. There are no roofs. The ruins are reminders of destruction.

Through a twist of ecclesiastical law or politics the dioceses of Dublin and Glendalough were combined in 1214. St. Laurence O’Toole was made the Archbishop of Dublin. This united the far flung parishes of Glendalough and Christ Church.   

The cemetery is fascinating. Maybe it’s because it’s out in the country in such scenic surroundings. Most of the inscriptions have been worn away by time. There are still a few plots waiting for people who live in the town, but few have been buried here recently. 

With the ruined Cathedral, round towers and cemetery Glendalough is a beautiful  hike back into another era of Irish history.

   

We were leaving the cemetery and Paddy told us about the Curse of Mayo. County Mayo won the All-Ireland Championship in 1951. The team was enjoying a raucous celebration on the bus returning home when they encountered a funeral procession. They sped by the mourners. An enraged priest cursed them for their disrespect. No Mayo team will win the All Ireland Final until all members of this team have passed away. Since the curse eight Mayo teams have played in and lost the All Ireland final. There are still a few survivors left. The media drags out the story every time they’re in the finals. It’s the Curse of Mayo.

I tell Paddy the story of the Curse of the Billy Goat. The owner of the Billy Goat Tavern was not allowed to bring his pet goat into Wrigley Field for a Chicago Cubs World Series game in 1945. For years the many misfortunes of the Cubs were blamed on the Curse. Paddy was more interested in why someone would try to take a goat into a sporting event. That didn’t make sense. “Didn’t they win it all?” Yeah. It kind of takes the air out of the Curse of the Billy Goat story.

We’re back on the bus. Paddy announces that, “Dublin has won four All-Ireland Finals in a row. We remind Kerry all the time. When they were winning they always reminded us.” I really had to stifle myself. What could I say anyway? My father had told me many times of the great Kerry Championship teams.

Paddy says that he almost forgot to mention a very famous resident who lives nearby. Daniel Day Lewis loves the peace and quiet here. He can walk down the road without being harassed. The locals don’t bother him. This sets off a spirited discussion among the ladies over whether he’s really retired or not.  

We pass through Roundwood, which claims to have “the highest pub in Ireland.” This claim has often been challenged and has created some controversy.  

We started the bus ride down the Wicklow Mountains. There were more great views and scenery. We passed The Great Sugarloaf Mountain.

We entered Dublin and saw another campus of Trinity College. University buildings rose on each side of us. This is where most students take classes.  

We were dropped off near the meeting spot.

  

It’s time to stop at The Old Stand. It was a stop in the Literary Tour of Dublin on the 1999 trip. This was Michael Collins’ local. I’d heard many stories of the IRA days in this pub. it was chosen for its view of the street. IRB meetings where held upstairs. Collins was known for hiding in plain sight. The English were searching Dublin for him and he would boldly ride his bicycle around the city. Did they think of looking for him in The Old Stand? I wondered how much this historic spot had changed. I tried to imagine what this place would have been like back then.  

I saw what looked like a Victorian mall. There was a large entrance with wrought iron gates. The Irish Film Institute was inside. I have to check this out. The building was once a Quaker Meeting House. There was a large courtyard with a glass ceiling. The place was crowded. Cafes and entrances to three cinemas ringed the open space. It had a film festival atmosphere. People were queuing up to enter the theaters, but most were hanging out at the cafes. There was some familiar buzz going on. It looks like they have a film festival here every night! Does anyone need a House Manager?   

Last night in Dublin. The flight tomorrow takes off at a very civilized 3:10 p.m. I haven’t been on Grafton Street this trip. I want to check out the street circus and buskers on the famed street. It’s more familiar territory from the 1999 trip, but it still takes me a while to find it. 

I hear the pounding riffs of “It’s a Long Way to the Top If You Want to Rock and Roll.” It’s the power trio from last night! It’s an appropriate song for these guys. They do “Sweet Home Alabama.” I’m tempted to wander to new sights. They start playing “Sweet Home Chicago!” I have to hang out and hear that song.  

They take a break. I don’t throw much change into the hat, but they notice and are appreciative. I ask the bass player with the Mohawk, “What’s the name of your band?” “The Blue Crows.” Great name, but these guys need a manager. 

I knew McDaid’s had a literary reputation, even if it was just for being Brendan Behan’s local. It was just off Grafton Street. McDaid’s looks like the definition of a pub. The name loomed over the doorway in stained glass. There were pictures of literary greats including James Joyce. Liam O’Flaherty. Samuel Beckett. J.P. Donleavy.  

A later look at McDaid’s web site revealed many fun facts: It was once the city morgue. They stacked corpses vertically. That’s given as the reason for the high ceilings. (I suspect some Irish humor at work here.) McDaid’s got its literary reputation in the 1950s and 1960s.

Brendan Behan came up with the brilliant idea of bringing his typewriter to the pub so he could drink and write. “I’m a drinker with a writing problem.” The experiment didn’t go well. Behan wound up throwing the typewriter out a window.    

The Temple Bar area is rocking. I stop at “Fitzsimmons of Temple Bar.” It’s on the quay near the Liffey. A band is playing and the place was Rocking! 

Last morning: 

My flight wasn’t until 3 p.m. this afternoon, so I had time for a last stroll in Dublin. I had another great breakfast at Cooper Alley Bistro.   

I’ve usually gone east towards Trinity College on this trip, so today I go the other way. I go by St. Auoden’s and the larger church is open! It’s not a cathedral, but it’s a large and impressive church.

  

If I was ever in doubt I asked for directions. I learned it was better to just make sure I was headed in the general direction of wherever I was headed.  

It was gray and windy. Two young ladies were struggling with a map on a street corner. They had rolling luggage. I suspected they were lost students. One of them asked me, “Do you know where the Harding Hotel is?” Of course I do! Now here was a switch. I was giving directions.

I hadn’t seen much of this side of the Liffey. I was close to the hotel, waiting for a traffic light to change. About a block away two guys were struggling. Were they fighting or were they just goofing around? A young guy coming from their direction asked me, “Is that a crime scene?” Maybe it was, but I’m not very curious. I headed back to the hotel.