Enough rain already

Thursday, 7:30 am, been up since about 5:20, making taost with lemon curd, no butter, and coffee
It has rained short showers twice this morning so far. I am taking pictures every 30 minutes or so, to try and capture how fast the weather changes here. I have never seen such fast-moving clouds as here, they just race across the sky, in a hurry to get to England. It is supposed to be a nice day today, and we are going into Galway. We will drop the kids off at a hostel where they have reservations and hopefully renewed interest in this trip. With a week to go, everyone is road-weary. As soon as Mike's girlfriend returned from her China trip a few days ago, he became homesick.

It was a steroid day (every other day) and Dana's plantar fasciitis is gimping her, so I drove out to take a long hike, but got distracted by Connemara Golf Course, and found that not only was it 100 Euros to play and rent clubs, but also they couldn't get me on until maybe the weekend, and also I quit golf already. I tried to visit a nearby castle ruins, but could not find a way in; it may have been on private land. I then drove the intended hike route and found it was twice as far as I thought it would be, and it started raining, and I was supposed to take the kids to go horseback riding, so I went back.

John hadn't been very committed to the horse idea, but Mike and Laura wanted to go the night before when we were cooking this plan up. Years ago, when John was about 8, we were visiting the Farrells in Arizona and riding their horses, when John's horse slipped down a creek embankment and fell on John. Luckily the mud where they landed was very soft and he was more shocked than scared, but I think that has kept him from enjoying horseback riding. I also think that Laura was a little hesitant to have us spend money on her for this extravagance. I have probably expressed too many times that we can't be wasteful, and what I meant was that we shouldn't be having $130 dinners and $60 lunches every day when we have a house or aprtment with a full kitchen. We have done a good job in that respect and can focus our funds on fun things to do.

At any rate, when John opted out, Laura did too, but Mike still wanted to go, so I had to throw my hat in, even though I suck at horseback riding and always end up sore. He and I drove out to Cleggan and found out that the next group didn't leave until 4:30 (it was 1:30), but that it also cost 45 euros, about $60, for a 90 minute ride, and that Mike would rather go riding with his gal, who has a horse, when he gets home. This day was taking a lot of derailment. So, John, Laura and Mike spent the sunny part of their awake hours in the pub, on the internet and throwing darts, and Dana and I did some more car-touring and peeking into little shops.

We also took a hike along the bay until we came to D'Arcy's Castle, which we had tried to get to via the upper Sky Road a few days ago but couldn't find the way in. This was an easier approach, and it was too scenic for Dana's camera, with a colt and mare in the field, so the picture will live only in the mind's eye. We picked up fish and chips and the kids, and headed for home. The chips here can come with coleslaw, cheese, garlic mayo, or curry sauce on them, so I got each of those on the side, and it was quite good. After dinner Mike and Dana started practicing their Irish music, Mike on the uke and Dana on the Bodhran, the Irish drum we'd bought a couple days ago.

There was a seisun at Oliver's Pub in Cleggan that night, so the three of us headed there and arrived a half-hour early, just in time for apple pie and fresh cream. The place was packed with diners, but we found out where the musicians would set up and got good seats near there. The musicians arrived, all older than 50, and looking like they had spent the night in the fields with the sheep, with wild grey hair streaming out, and started playing Irish music on mandolin, flute, bodhrans, guitar and harmonica. People streamed in right behind the musicians, the diners crowded in, and the place was packed. Mike went and got his uke from the car and sat down with the musicians and joined in mid-song, and when the song finished the players looked up to see him beaming at them.

A few songs later and they asked Mike to sing a song, which he did. After introducing himself as 'Mike from California', young girls from 12-25 started crowding in to get a look. When he began a rousing version of 'Nantes' in a strong voice, hearts were swooning, they were taking his picture, and Dana's camera chose that moment to refuse to take video. I am so sick of that camera missing the golden moments.

Friday update - raining all day. Kids are in Galway at a hostel where we left them yesterday, and we are leaving here tomorrow, picking them up and going somewhere. ??? Pictures to come, as they are all on Laura's laptop.

On the road again

Murlough Bay, secret spot, shhhhh


Us with Joe and Mary at Drumkeerin

Sunday, 1pm, in Clifden on the west coast of Ireland, County Galway.
On Friday we got an early start and drove into Belfast, little over an hour south. We wanted to get to the Friday market at St. Georges. Belfast is a port town; the Titanic was built there. We get to the market, and it is pretty cool, a lot of food booths, curios, clothes, and fabrics such as linens, basically a covered flea market or rastro. The kids are done in twenty minutes, so we arrange to hook up with them later. I traded some jade from home for a mother-of-pearl bracelet worth $8, and Dana got some linens.

The St. Georges Market

Belfast has a lot of shopping around a nice pedestrian area, with big modern malls. The new areas are designed for rainy days. The Victoria Mall has a glass tower, and an elevator takes you to the top, where there is a platform with great views of the city. We see a giant Ferris wheel a short distance away, but never get there. Instead, we head for another small arcade of shops in a much more gritty area, through the XXX district, and then on for more peeks into little shops. The kids call an hour before we are to meet them for dinner, and they have already eaten and want to get back to their electronics.

Dana in the Victoria Mall tower; note Ferris wheel

Belfast was at the center of revolt in the '70s, along with Derry, and so we retrieve the car ($20 for parking) and head for the Falls area and Shankill Road. Shankill Road is divided by Falls Road, and on one side is the Catholic or Nationalist neighborhood, and on the other side is the Protestand or Unionist neighborhood. The Catholic area has moveable barriers with murals on each, and many buildings are bombed out, gaping holes in the roofs and shattered windows. Murals are painted on many walls, depicting the Troubles and those who died.

On the Catholic/Nationalist side of Shankill Road

The Protestant area has all the red, white and blue banners hanging, Union Jacks everywhere, and lots of murals on the walls here as well. The city is at peace, but there is an undercurrent of tension. Marching season is in July, meaning the Protestants trot out their colors and march around, shoving it in the Irish faces which must rankle them, so maybe that is what I am sensing, but we don't want to get out and walk around. The car has Republic of Ireland plates, so we are trying to look like tourists as best we can. We go on to a stone ring outside of town, and then up on a hill overlooking the city, the grounds of Belfast Castle. The kids hike the hill to the top, but Dana and I just sit and ponder the view.


On the Protestant/Loyalist side of Shankill

We get back to Cushendun at 9pm, grab the ukuleles and head into Cushendall ten minutes away. McCollum's Pub is so packed we can barely get in, and the room we were in the night before that was crowded with 9 people now has 9 musicians and 10 observers, and another room has 5 musicians and 10 observers. It is elbow to elbow and we have to give up any hope of a table or even a place to stand and observe, so we leave and meander through town looking into the other pubs, but end up going home.

Saturday
We leave Cushendun and the Drumkeerin B&B, and miss the place instantly. Mary McFadden, our landlady, had won landlady of the year for the entire UK in 2002, and it showed in all the little touches. Everything we needed was there, I could wake at 5 am and not worry about waking everyone, and it was so scenic it made you ache that you were alive. We'd decided to make the 7 hour drive to the next spot in one shot, since we had already paid for the place in Clifden for a week starting Saturday, and our stay at Drumkeerin ended Saturday, that was the way it worked out. The $250 we saved would have been the cost of 2 rooms in a hotel half-way across the country.

On our way here we stopped in Omagh, to visit the Ulster Ammerican Folk Museum and break up the ride, and because Mervyn had highly recommended it. It was probably the best value monument we had gone to, at 22GBP for all of us. This museum documented the emigration of the Irish people to various parts of the world. You started out with a number of indoor exhibits, then went outside and folloed a path through the woods to visit huts and farmhouses that showed how the Irish people lived in the time before and during the famine years, 1849-53. The buildings were lifted stone by stone from various places in Ireland and reconstructed on the site.

After these exhibits you passed through a reconstruction of the docks at Derry and through a ship's cargo hold area, then up to the top where you came down the plank and into America. Outside again, there are reconstructions of the emigrant journey in America, including farmhouses and outbuildings brought from Pennsylvania. The entire place was staffed by people in period dress doing period work. Dana and I loved the place, and we were out of the car a couple of hours.

On the road to Clifden

Three hours later we stopped in Belleek at the border of Northern Ireland and Republic of Ireland and had a good meal. Lamb stew, chicken pie, fish and chips. We got back in the car and headed on. Driving in Ireland is often tense, with little room for error. We did hit some stretches of highway, but the last 40 miles were the worst road yet, with the car and road conspiring to send us on a roller coaster ride. We drove through beautiful country with very few houses and no towns. I was having dark thoughts that we were heading to such a remote area that the youths would be bored to tears. Have I mentioned that Hertz is really going to hear it from me? I have to stop and fill a leaking tire with air every day, and the suspension seems shot on this car that has 47000 km on it. At least now in Ireland the roads are in KM and I no longer have to convert.

When we arrived in Clifden my fears were allayed, as it is a good-sized town right on the coast, lots of pubs, shops, and restaurants, completely designed for tourists and very scenic, and many small towns around with lots of pubs and artists. The place is jumping when we arrive, but we drive another 4 km to Clifden Glen. It is not what we anticipated. It's a complex of small houses that look very cute, and a small pub and park, but it is away from the ocean and has no views. When we enter the house, it is very spartan and the carpets are old, musty and unclean. It has a kitchen area with big windows overlooking a hacked down woods. We are all turned off right away, so Dana and I go back to reception and I pull out the low immunity card. We hash it out with Christine the manager, and we go to a slightly better house.

We move our stuff from the first house, where the kids have only partly settled, to the second. We bring all the stuff in, but before we get unpacked we all head down to the pub attached to reception. Christine is there, and I express to her our disappointment in as friendly a manner as I can muster after driving across Ireland. As it turns out, she does have a third house, this with newer carpets and a kitchen area with a view of woods. Not great, but better. While the kids are engaged in the pub with their pints, Dana and I move all the stuff from house 2 to house 3. Did I mention that it is raining this whole time?

Monday 6am
I am trying to catch up this blogging of our journey, so the above is reading like a travelogue. It lacks much feeling because I have my clutch riveted in. Let me just say that in 2001 when we were in Ireland I was very disgusted with the incessant GameBoying, and nothing has changed except game systems.

Sunday Dana and I went into town and went grocery shopping at the SuperValu, a pretty upscale store similar to a Vons with more household goods. The place is hopping at 9 am. Dana goes off with her list, and I know this is going to be an arduous journey. She loves to see what they have in places we go to, and has to read every label and squeeze every veg. I go around trying to find those few things I am qualified to get, cereal and sponges and chips, but in the end she switches my cereal, sponges and chips for others. Two hours and $160 later (and no alcohol since that section of the store is dark, it is Sunday), we are back home and making lunch.

After lunch we go into Clifden to check it out, and the kids go to a pub/hotel/coffee bar with internet access. It is on and off raining and really windy. Dana and I walk around and check out the stores and art galleries, and have dessert and tea and coffe. We then meet up with the kids, and they want their dinner. John has been sick with a cold for about a week, just started recovering enough to muster for Belfast, but now Mike seems to be getting the cold. I can see this dinner will be wanky, so we send them on their merry way to fend for themselves, and Dana and I go car-touring out the Sky road that hugs the coast here.

We come upon an area where kids are playing in the road, lots of kids, and maybe 20 campers with some rough-looking people milling about. They ignore us driving through, and I am very cautious as the kids do not make any action to avoid us. These are the Irish itinerants, or gypsies, and they are here because there is a fun fair or carnival happening in town this week and they will staff it. That is all conjecture on my part. We go on, and at a high point in the road get out and find the wind now blowing at about 60kph or 40 mph, a good four-club wind. Sheesh. The views of the bay and islands and ocean are awesome, but it hurts to look into the wind to see it all.

Dana nearly blowing away

Last night there were a number of choices of music in town, and we should have gotten there earlier, but we muscled into J.Mcneely's Pub and the place is jumping, with some fiddle, bazooki, mandolin and guitar, and a decidedly cowboy/bluegrass flavor with a little traditional Irish music thrown in. We got a table way in the back, and thoroughly enjoyed the evening. I was in a good mood because I had managed to take a nap after dinner. To Mike's horror and John's amusement I did some white guy old man jigging about, with some yahooing thrown in. It was mildly acceptable because we were way in the back.

Today, we are going to Roundstone and some other local spots, we'll see. The sun is out right now, but we've already had 2 showers this morning.

My place or yours

View from Drumkeerin at 5:10 am today


John and Laura attacking Dunluce Castle across the drawbridge on Monday


Dana, John and Mike at the Giant's Causeway on Monday


John, Laura and Mike cross the rope bridge at Carrick-a-Rede (John in black, Laura in white, Mike in brown


Mike at Torr Head, an abandoned Coast Guard station, in his favorite pose, Scotland in the distance

Let me start out this multi-day blog post by saying my health is about the same, minor mucositis in my mouth but increasing annoyance with my eyes, whcih gets worse as the day goes on. Driving after 8pm requires lots of eye lubricant.

Tuesday 8 am, been up since 5:30, second crowing. Yesterday we did visit Dunluce Castle, the Giant's Causeway, Torr Head and other scenic spots along the Antrim Coast, all too beautiful. Scotland is only 14 miles away and can easily be seen if it is clear. It rained on and off almost all day.

BIRDS

by Moira O'Neill - that was the pseudonym of Agnes Shakespeare Higginson (1864 - 1955), a popular Irish-Canadian poet who wrote ballads and other verse inspired by County Antrim, where she lived at Cushendun.

She also used the name Nesta. She published Songs of the Glens of Antrim (1900) and More Songs of the Glens of Antrim (1921).

Sure maybe ye've heard the storm-thrush
Whistlin' bould in March,
Before there's a primrose peepin' out,
Or a wee red cone on the larch;
Whistlin' the sun to come out o' the cloud,
An' the wind to come over the sea,
But for all he can whistle so clear an' loud,
He's never the bird for me.

Sure maybe ye've seen the song-thrush
After an April rain
Slip from in-undher the drippin' leaves,
Wishful to sing again;
An' low wi' love when he's near the nest,
An' loud from the top o' the tree,
But for all he can flutter the heart in your breast,
He's never the bird for me.

Sure maybe ye've heard the cushadoo
Callin' his mate in May,
When one sweet thought is the whole of his life,
An' he tells it the one sweet way.
But my heart is sore at the cushadoo
Filled wid his own soft glee,
Over an' over his "me an' you!"
He's never the bird for me.

Sure maybe ye've heard the red-breast
Singin' his lone on a thorn,
Mindin' himself o' the dear days lost,
Brave wid his heart forlorn.
The time is in dark November,
An' no spring hopes has he:
"Remember," he sings, "remember!"
Ay, thon's the wee bird for me.

Wednesday, 9 am
I got up at 6:30, I think the rooster slept in! The other rooster too! The laptop just wiped out an hours work I did on Michaela's wedding vows, &^$$%*&^^*$. Those stupid little touch pads on laptops right where your thumbs land, grrrrrrrrrrrrr.

It rained all day yesterday, cows and sheep. With family tensions running high, we were able to sit down and clear the air and try to make the second half of our trip better than the first half. Dana has worked so hard to put us where we'll have fun, but that means the kids have little control over where they are going or what they will see. My clutch is slipping a lot, so I taped my shifter into neutral, let's hope that tape holds.

As I said, it rained cows and sheep, but at 5pm or so it stopped, with puddles of lamb chops and steaks everywhere. I decided to chance it and hike down into town for milk and sausage for dinner, even though the sky was grey and it was very windy. Everyone else was locked into lounging. On Tuesday I forgot the ponchos, which were needed. This time I would be prepared, I put on my thermal silks, long-sleeve shirt, microfiber jacket, and jacket, packed the poncho and rain pants, and stepped outside. The sun was shining, so down the hill I went. I was plenty warm within about 300 yards. I walked along the beach and to the store, the wind stopped, and by the time I had hiked back up the hill I was sweating peat bogs, and had shed a few layers, making the pack weigh even more.

Today we are planning to go into Londonderry, see the sights, and try to switch the car for something bigger like the Galaxy we had, for space and so I don't have to convert KPH to MPH. I went out last night to a bigger grocery in the next town, and was befuddled when what I thought was the police were following me, trying to figure out if I was speeding or going slow. It wasn''t the cops. In this whole trip I have seen maybe five police on the roads. They do have cameras all over the place taking your picture if you speed, so we're not home free yet.

Thursday, 8 am, been up since 5am, pre-crow
I notice that the roosters crow is muted if the sky is grey, barely audible. I went to bed last night after 11, thinking I would sleep in and then be able to make it to ceilidh night at the pub, which starts at around 9 and goes to the wee hours. Hah! The Cushendall pub is famous for their ceilidh sessions, so I will tough through it.

We did go into Derry yesterday, but John stayed home with a cold, which I hope we don't all get. Derry/Londonderry is at the center of Loyalist/Unionist tensions, and that remains although tamped down. It is all reminiscent of what happened to the Native American Indians in North America, and other native peoples worldwide, the ones with lesser weapons and immunities. We have to stay above it while we are here. It was supposed to start raining at 1, and pouring at 4, but the weather holds out with a few sprinkles and that's all.

When we were on our way out to visit Londonderry, our landlord Joe was outside working. We stopped to see if he had any advice about things to see in Londonderry, and he said ‘You are not going to Londonderry.’ We are befuddled, but he adds ‘You are going to Derry.’ Turns out he was born and lived in Derry for many years, and knew of what he spoke. He is still irritated that the English came over in the early 1600s and uprooted the Irish, taking their lands and giving them to Scottish and English ‘planters’ or settlers. To honor the London livery merchants that funded the final taking and settling of Derry, the English renamed the place Londonderry.

We began our visit to Derry with a guided walk of the old city walls led by John M., who states at the beginning of the tour that he will present both sides of the Nationalist/Unionist conflict, but it is clear, after the first few minutes, that he sides with the Nationalists as he recounts the Bloody Sunday killings of 14 unarmed civilians during a peaceful protest and the Internment (imprisonment without trial, can you say Guantanomo) laws that fueled "The Troubles" in Northern Ireland in the 70's, 80's and early 90's.

Laura on the Walls of Derry


View of the Protestant neighborhood just outside the walls, to the east


One of the murals, this one depicting the schoolgirl killed in the crossfire. From http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bogside_Artists

After the tour we stop in a pub for tea and Guinness in the old town center, the unionist/protestant part of Derry. All the tables are taken, but there is one table that has a beer but no person, so I ask an older man sitting alone at the next table if this unoccupied table is taken. He tells me it is, but says we can sit with him if we’d like. We take him up on the offer.

Our new friend’s name is Mervin, and I order him another pint to loosen the tongue. He didn’t need it. He is a friendly but sort of sad man, drinking alone. He is maybe in his mid-sixties, retired from the military and civil service. He has a ruddy face and tousled hair, and is slightly drunk. He asks where we are from, and then laments how the British "lost" America and talks about how we Americans honor our flag in the US. We ask if he is Irish, and he says we could call him that, but he is ‘British Irish.’ Now this is tricky ground, and we want to remain impartial observers, so we tread lightly. This is a man that may have been part of the military force that kept Derry/Londonderry in the rule of the U.K.

We get to the Tower Museum just as it closes, a crying shame. Dana and Laura go off for some shopping, and Mike and I go to explore the Guild Hall, the building where the Honorable Irish Society (London merchants that funded the settling of Derry) meets. This building has some spectacular stained glass windows, ornate meeting rooms, and a huge pipe organ. We have so many pictures I need to get something on Picasa or somewhere.

Stained glass in the Guild Hall Assembly Room


The pipe organ in the Guild Hall

Today is a knock around day, and we may try to ride bikes around to save Dana's foot, but the local roads might be terrifying on a bike. Or, I may talk Mike into a walk into Cushendall through countryside, a round trip of about ten miles. Tomorrow, Belfast.

Rooster Crows and Cushy digs

Dang, I should have known that was Mac's poemerizing, Mo's is more about nature, and Mac's is about ??? Not sure what, but is always entertaining.


Cushendun


Our view from Drumkeerin, and our road up, a little tight

It is Sunday morning, about 8, and I am sitting in the Drumkeerin Bed and Breakfast Barnhouse, which has been converted from a hostel to a self-cater, and it is almost perfect for our needs. I've been up since first crow at 5:30, and the rooster is still crowing. The Barn, as it is called, has a master suite and 2 other bedrooms, each with 2 beds, so plenty of room. There are 2 other bathrooms in addition to the master suite's, a big family room, and a somewhat awkward kitchen. The hosts, Joe and Mary McFadden, are very nice, and greeted us with fresh scones, fresh eggs, butter and store-bought milk. They are accomplished artists and hikers, and offer lessons in painting. Their works are to be seen through the Barn and the community. They have given up using the main house as a B&B and the Barn as a hostel, and apparently converted the Barn into a self-cater in '08.

There has been a light mist in the far hills, and rainbows are appearing and disappearing. This place sits high up the hillside above Cushendun, and overlooks the Sea of Moyle. The views are awesome. The only knock is it looks like a good hike down into town, maybe 2 miles, and the hike back looks killer uphill, but there isn't much in Cushendun anyway, and Mary steered us away from the local pub food. We will day trip from here to many things, including the Giant's Causeway, the cities of Belfast and Londonderry, and some castles such as Dunluce. The grounds here are very nice, with a lawn bowling court, gardens, and a creek.

Yesterday we left Pitlochry, Scotland, at noon, and travelled back to Edinburgh with a short stop at the Hermitage to see Scotland's tallest tree, which by American standards was not all that tall. It is a Douglas Fir brought from the US in the early 1800s, and there is a grove of them now. They are 1/3rd the size of the largest in the US at around 130 feet. We arrived at the airport at 3:00, and I ditched the car while the entourage checked in. When I hooked back up with them, I could see that Dana had checked my carry-on with $1200 in it, so I had some anxiety until we retrieved it in Belfast.

The flight was less than an hour, no hiccups at all. We got the car from Hertz, a Saab 9-5 wagon, which is a disappointment because it is a little beat and is the only car I have ever seen that had a speedometer only in kilometers per hour. This is a real mystery, as the UK uses MPH, as does Ireland. So I have to convert in my head as I drive along and speed limits change. The saving grace is that the speed limit is generally not posted and I just do like the locals. I might switch this car in Belfast when we go back in.

The drive from Belfast to Cushendun was about an hour, and it poured pretty good most of the way, but when we got to the scenic coastal route it stopped so we could see how beautiful the area is. We stopped in Cushendall, the slightly larger town 5 miles before Cushendun, for groceries. The Bay of Cushendun is on the north side of the road, so this is a beach town. Kids were playing everywhere, and it looked like a great place to grow up. There was a funeral going at the shore, and they were using a speaker so everyone in Cushendall could pay respects. Cushendall is about the size of Los Alamos, maybe 3,000 people, a total guess. Cushendun is even smaller.

Cushendun walk, Dad, Mike and Laura

The populations in this area are falling. N. Ireland is divided into counties, then baronies, then parishes, then townlands. There are about 62,000 townlands in N. Ireland. Of the 58 townlands in the Cushendun Parish, all but a few have lost population, some are empty, and many are Harmony-sized (~20 people or less). The local students have done a study of population trends here in Cushendun Parish, and I draw on their work. Our landlord Joe did all the illustrations in the resultant booklet, 'Townlands in the Parish of Cushendun', and the students wrote stories about the history of the townlands where their families live, some for hundreds of years. This gives a sense of local history that is deeply rooted - people are still upset about the murder of Shane O'Neill in 1576!

We will probably stick around here today and hit the road tomorrow, because Dana appreciates me less on 40 mg prednisone days, every other day, and that is today. I see myself traipsing the countryside with Mike today. Dana is still limping around a little, but improving.

Monday, 5:30 am, 1st crow was 15 minutes ago, and the rooster beat me to it
Sunrise is beautiful again! Sunset is around 9:30, but it isn't dark until after 10 pm, so 16 hours of daylight, and I see them all. I went to bed at 10 last night, so I got 7.5 hours of sleep, plenty. I have a solid headache from prednisone jangle, though.

More beach at Cushendun

Yesterday we mucked about here all morning, but I made a big picnic lunch for us. By the time everyone was ready to hike around, it was after 1, so we just sat down and ate the lunch, then hiked around looking for some ruins that are in some field nearby, never found, and then on into Cushendun and the beach. It is only a mile, maybe less, easy hike. We knocked around the beach, and sat and drank the hot cocoa and mocha I made. I forgot the thermos cups, so we had shot-sized nips from the screw tops, which were designed for knuckleheads like me. John couldn't muster, so it was Dana, Mike, Laura and me, and we went into the Cushendun Pub for Mike's first pint of Guinness.

The pub had an outside seating area covered by a plexiglass roof, which it turns out is common in this area, and necessary with the on and off rains, so we sat out there. We said 'Cheers', and Mike fell in love with Guinness. We have been making tuppence (2 penny) bets to settle disputes; the first bet was whether there is a tuppence coin - I won that one. I said the Irish say 'Slainte' for a formal toast, and Mike disputed that. Of course I didn't pronounce it right. If you pronounce anything here the way it looks, that's usually wrong. We asked one of the locals what they say for a toast, and they said 'Shlantcha', and I asked how they spelled it. I had the spelling right, but Mike wouldn't pay up on the technicality of mispronunciation. Piker. So we went to the Post Office and got some groceries, and hiked back up the hill to home.

Mike has his first sip of Guinness, the most natural thing in the world - water, yeast, hops and barley

Dana, Mike and I went into Cushendall for dinner at a restaurant Joe recommended, and it was very good seafood and a great warmed goat's cheese and walnut starter. Today I think we will drive west to the Giant's Causeway and to find Dunluce Castle. Dana is already up and plotting our adventures in the kitchen. The rooster is turning out the troops a bit earlier, except John, who slept until 1 pm yesterday, or 8 hours of rooster crowing every 2 minutes, maybe 3300 crows or so. Eight years ago when we were in Ireland, driving through some scenic country south of Dublin, I got so fed up with the stupid Gameboys that I tossed John's into the hedge, and I am at about that point now. In Pitlochry, he took his last bit of money and bought a step-down transformer so he could charge his gaming unit, and is now spending all his time with that. Brilliant.

Family tensions remain high. This pimple on the ass of our trip needs to be popped and drained, but my clutch has been glued down and I am not saying anything. Or did I just say something?

Lovely Jams

A stone circle in a field near Aberfeldy

The Vale of Atholl Pipes and Drums, at Pitlochry Highland Festival on Monday

It is 7:00 am Thursday as I write this. We are in Pitlochry, Scotland, a small town of maybe a thousand residents and 500 tourists, centrally located in the Perthshire Highlands. We are staying in a 2-bedroom cottage, what is called a ‘self-catered’, and it is perfect for our needs, $800 for the week but we will only stay 5 nights. Tuesday we toured the countryside to the south, down to Aberfeldy and Loch Tay, and visited Castle Menzies. It was good to be a Menzies.

Around Loch Tay lived the Menzies, MacDougalls, the MacDonalds, the MacGregors, the Clunies, the Robertsons, the Stewarts and the Camerons, and they worked out their differences with swords, dirks, shields, ambushes and thievery. The Robertsons were greatly feared after they invented the Claymore, a 2-handed sword over 5’ long, but the Menzies had the best cattle and some good-looking women, so they held their own. Bonnie Prince Charlie lost his bid for the throne in this area, but the Jacobites defeated the government troops at the battle of Killiecrankie, a revered site for the locals which we will visit today.

The Scots we meet are very nice, friendly people, but you can see their history of warring, their dander in the young men, a lot of Bravehearts walking around, ready for a scrap should the need arise. I see Mac here, the light hair, blue eyes, ruddy face. Are you from here, Mac? I see Bill M. here too, or his dad, especially the curly hair. I know there is a big mix of Irish and English in many of these people, and it shows in many ways.

Yesterday Dana did laundry in the morning early, and we set it on the line to dry. The sun was beaming, but it seems there are always big clouds of varying shades of gray lurking about, and sprinkles constantly remind you that you are not in California. After helping hang the clothes, I made a lunch and Mike and I set out on one of the walks nearby, Craigower walk, a 5.5 miles jaunt to Craigower peak, with Laura and John some 20 minutes behind. Dana is on a cane with a plantar fasciitis injury. She needs to heal up fast. I was wearing my plaid shorts and a Live Oak ‘Peace, Love, Dirt’ shirt, black socks and Ecco hikers, and a brown felt cowboy hat I got in Sevilla. I looked like a tourist. Dana loves how I dress, and the kids stay 20’ behind me when we go through town.

What they don’t mention in the hike descriptions is elevation gain. Our walk started with 2.5 miles up, and up, and up. We wound around the Pitlochry Golf Course, which you’d better be in good shape to play as the outbound nine go up and up, and there are no carts. Every golf course I have seen, and there are many, is so green and pristine it hurts the eyes. They do not need to irrigate, just mow like crazy.

Up we went to Craigower Peak, 1000’ of gain, and I had to stop for a breath many times, and busted a good sweat in 75 degree humid weather, but we made it. The finish to the peak is a series of punishing stairs, just for good measure. John and Laura arrived at the peak just behind us, and we set ponchos on the ground to make a picnic. We took some great photos, and watched the rain start to come down on the hills in the distance, and wondered which way it was moving. Just as we were finishing our picnic we got our answer – toward us.

Mike at Craigower Peak

A light sprinkle started, so we put on the 3 ponchos we had, and I gave leather-coated poncholess John my hat. We packed up quickly and headed out, and within a few hundred yards we came to a spot where we could see the sun beaming to the southeast, and a line of rain advancing on us from the west. John stopped to take some video, but he should have been pulling on the rain pants I had in my pack, as within 30 seconds it was pouring on us. The walk so far had been on well marked trail and roads, and now was on logging roads, so we bombed down the crag, laughing and singing. When we were put back on the trail, it had turned into a creek, and without options we slogged on. My waterproof shoes, it turns out, are only waterproof from the bottom up.

View from Craigower Peak

We were soaked by the time we made it back to the cottage, but happy. It had barely sprinkled here in town, just enough to mess with the laundry. We changed up, and later John and I made toasties and soup for dinner. The McCray pub had a ceilidh (jam session) that night, and the boys had their ukuleles, so off we went to jam. In the pub were a bagpiper, a fiddler, a guitarist and a mandolin player, and later an accordionist. Mike wouldn’t bring his ukulele in until he’d scouted it out, but John brought his. We sat at a table next to the musicians, and John tried to hide the uke. He explained that he couldn’t hang with these guys, and didn’t want to bring them down. Mike glued his eyes to the telly and made believe he was elsewhere.

This is a situation that demands tender mercies. I asked the players if they would mind if I sat with them to shoot some video, and they said only if I got the ‘good bits and posted them on YouTube.’ I said I wouldn’t know a good bit from a bad bit, but the boys are musical so I will have them shoot the video, and they will be on YouTube. The boys’ musicianship was outed. We got some drinks, beers for John and Laura, hard cider (Strongbow) for Mom, lemonade for me, and Mike had nothing. Dana had been worrying Mike for liking beer too much, and he would not budge at the moment we wanted him to have a beer and loosen up.

John is a master at getting people to do what needs to be done, so after Mike had loosened up a bit and we had dropped the issue, he suggested that it was time for Mike’s first whiskey. He got 2 whiskeys, and Mike took his first sip of the demon. After a few sips he was about to chug the rest, but I stopped him and ordered chasers of a porter’s ale. The guitarist asked John if he wanted to join in, and deferred to his brother’s skills, and Mike took out the uke and sat in. It was a glorious moment. Mike could hang, making the chord changes by following the guitar, and he jammed with these accomplished players for an hour, until they had to stop at ten pm. The players were smiling at Mike, enjoying his playing and earnestness, and I bought a round for the table of musicians. We beamed in our glory for a while.

It was a great day, I hope the rest are nearly as good. There are so many pictures and videos that I will try to post links to them on Vimeo and Picasa, or here if need be. Today we will road trip to Balmoral Castle, the summer home of the queen. Again, check John's blog here. Amazing how we chose the same pics.

This is Mo's poem, I mean Anonymous'

I see you snagged a crag
Despite jetlag

Mo prednisone
For the no doze zone

With mouth clutch popped
And wrong way traffic
In a bird flipping populace
Now there’s a graphic

Is it the cow or the sheep
Through long lashes do peep

Mrs Garmin is charmin
But that won’t help
With the Bobbies alarmin

Though you mention
The family tension
It could be the metamucil stroll
That takes the toll
Not just on knickers
That are in a twist
But family blogs that report the tryst

Driving on the left

Liverpool Cathedral

We are in Edinburgh now, right smack in the middle of the city, surrounded by castles, spires, cathedrals, and a lot of restaurants and shops. We suffered jet lag through Liverpool, but enjoyed the Beatles Taxi Tour, and the sights of that city. Young John is blogging the trip, check out http://johnvsuk.blogspot.com/.

I went on a training hike Saturday of 3-4 miles, not sure since I forgot the pedometer, but it certainly had some beautiful vistas of Edinburgh. I ended up hiking up the Salisbury Crags and Arthur's seat, pretty challenging and certainly got my hip's attention.

Salisbury Crag

I have had to make a change in my prednisone dosing, 40 mg every other day, and with that change, jet lag, and 9:30 sunset and 5:30 sunrise I am totally whacked out of kilter. It's 12:40 am right now, and I woke last night at 4:00 am, and got back to sleep until 9:30 am. One effect of this is that I broke my mouth clutch and have managed to tick off just about everyone. I have to go off by myself, and since we only have 2 sets of keys to the apartment, I then have to roam Edinburgh until I stumble into a family member with keys. The clutch is in the shop, hopefully fixed today.

Driving in the UK is on the left, as we all know, and it sounds simple enough, but it is very difficult to override 40 years of driving the other way. Some of the roads from Liverpool to Edinburgh were 2 lane and narrow, and pretty hairy in spots with big lorries (trucks) coming the other way. The only vehicles that can't seem to stay on their side are the size of a Toyota Yaris. We are driving a Ford Galaxy, a smaller van which is pretty nice. Diesel.

The driving thing has always been a bone of contention between Dana and me, a control issue that we all probably feel when we don't have it. Driving is an act of faith, faith that all the other drivers are sober and staying on their side, faith that the road engineers have marked things like no passing where they should, faith in my ability to remember I am in Scotland. We diverted from the major highway, the M6, to a series of 2 lane roads. These roads are narrow enough that when one of those lorries is coming at you, the vegetation is hitting the mirror on the passenger side. Some of these lorries are farm vehicles with giant tires, and it is pretty tight.

I am driving these roads at or below the speed limit, mostly 40 mph, but every time the going gets tight, I hear a variety of gasps, whoas, and mostly commands from the wife. Interspersed in this are the additional commands to pull over for a picture of a cow or sheep, especially if they have long eyelashes or dreadlocks. In the worst of this I have to pull over and tell everyone (except John who has said nothing, nerves of steel) to shut up, they aren't helping, I have driven about 500,000 miles with only 3 minor fender benders, none in the last 15 years. This includes driving in Spain, Italy (crazy), Greece (really crazy), Yugoslavia, Germany (fast), Austria, Mexico and France (Arc de Triomphe roundabout was fun).

Further, we have all been taught to veer right if things look bad, and that deeply ingrained behavior will spell disaster here, and I am fighting it. So I have to decide, do I piss off all the locals and drive like the tourists in Morro Bay, who go 15 when the speed limit is 25 (already slow), or do I keep up with the locals, some of whom are clearly on meth? I think somewhere in between.

I loaded the GPS (Garmin 350) with UK and Ireland maps before we left, and as soon as we switched it to local time, the lady (Mrs. Garmin?) changed to the local accent and I couldn't understand anything. John fixed her back to a US accent. She really struggles in the city, not knowing about no right or left turns. This morning I had to go retrieve the car from where it was parked for the weekend. It was already a tricky journey, because I woke at 7:45, and had to get the car out of there by 8:30, and it was about a 20 minute walk.

This normally would be no problem, except that I doubled my Metamucil (fiber laxative) dose last night. In an effort to clear the system I had a coffee, but no luck, so at 8:20 I started my jaunt. Guess what a good mile hike does to the system? Right, things are loosening up on me. So I get in the car, turn on Mrs. G (she loves me), and she sends me in a 270 degree path back to the apartment. She keeps telling me to take illegal turns. Everyone in Edinburgh that has a job is on the street, either walking, biking, or driving, and I do not need the extra challenge of Mrs. G. messing up, but eventually I get here, mostly because I ignore a lot of what she says. I have already walked all of these routes and don't really need her, but turn her on so she won't feel bad.

One thing I have to say is that Edinburgh is trying to outdo Liverpool in how much trash and broken glass is everywhere. The governments have cut pay of the workers here because of the crap economy, and they are flipping the bird back in their own way. A services strike is planned soon, and I hope we don't see it. I imagine there is always a problem with the drunkards trashing things, but it is verging on mayhem. The trash bins are overflowing, the garbage isn't getting picked up, and it is going to get worse with some huge events coming up, like the Highland games. Which reminds me, Crosby Stills Nash and Young played the Castle Commons on Saturday, wished I had known they were there. Oh well.

I did a lot of walking again Sunday; the Kings Mile, the Princes Road, the Scotland Museum, and getting lost until I found some family members in the National Museum. Family tension is pretty high, but we are working our way through it. Check John's blog for pics of Mike having his first beer. It is kind of sad that I cannot have a drink with the kid, as my liver numbers continue to go up. I need to limit Ibuprofen and Aleve also, so I am left with no painkillers. Crikey mates.

Mike and I on the King's Bridge

We celebrate victory

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Especially that last bit. Happy 4th of July, you Americans! And the rest of you too. In honor of the birthday of our country, I fired my guns and cannon, swathed the dog in a flag, and scared the crap out of a bunch of snowy plovers. Then I woke up, it was 6 am, and we're off to the races.

We are leaving on Tuesday for the United Kingdom, going to hang with the Beatles in Liverpool, then och to Edinburg and Glasgow, maybe St. Andrews or Carnoustie, begorra, and Mac will not be there shooting 78, fer crying out loud Mac shoot em up cowboy. Then on to Northern Ireland and Ireland. I will drive on the left and eat my shepherd's pie, and my English/Irish genes will jump around at the sight of so much of my genery. We will make craics, craicing each other up, until we can craic nae more.

Dana has spent a lot of time getting this whole trip arranged, and took over getting cars from me because she had the options on where we were staying and knew where we needed the car. Fine. She is a master trip planner, and can almost translate the English people speak when you call Avis Ireland and talk to a girl in the Phillipines about your rental. We will be back August 5th, but I will be checking email from some internet cafe/bar/pub in some little town, drinking Irish coffee and listening to the locals jamming with mandolins and guitars and voices.

I have been doing almost daily walks of about 2 miles +/- with the dog, and I did a 3.6 mile training walk yesterday, starting with a mile straight up Islay Hill, and my hip was only mildly complaining the whole time, so fine, I can live with that. That 3.6 miles was 9000 steps, and I figure the half-marathon at 34,000 steps, so only another 25,000 steps. I have until Nov.7, about 18 weeks, so if I add a half-mile a week to the longest sessions, I will be ready.


Bob Clouse, second from left, is a warrior we honor;
died at age 42 of blood cancer 25 years ago

The donations to the LLS from my generous friends and family are rolling in; if you lost the link it is http://pages.teamintraining.org/los/sbhalf09/jfioressjf. Dana has decided to join the TNT team again and train with me, so I will have someone that goes at my pace. I would give you her site for fundraising but it is not up yet. Since she is nicer and prettier than me, you might hold off on making a donation so you can donate to her. I did send my donation request email to our contact list, with my 50 contacts and her 300 contacts, but she was not fundraising at the time.

Funny what can happen when you Google yourself, to see what is out there. A year ago Mikey got a donation from Darren who lived on Barstow and was one of the hood when we were kids. I meant to get in touch with him then, but the gall bladder hit the fan and I lost the idea while I looked for some bone marrow. Now, I get a donation from Darren from my youth, so I sent him my phone (not realizing I had his on the donation form), and he calls me up. He had Googled himself a year earlier, and out popped this post http://johnsleukemia.blogspot.com/2005/02/platelet-demonstration.html . Naturally enough he wondered what the heck this was, realized it was me, and when I talked to him he said 'I could see we had a man down and he needed help.' If everyone had that attitude, this world would be so much easier. Thanks Darren. And thanks to everyone that has donated to save lives.


Gathered in the mist,
their breath mingled with the
cool fog,
the runners and walkers stretched,
tried to heat up cold muscles,
checked their gear and headed out.
They run for other lives,
for lives they knew or know or don't know,
for the afflicted,
for a sense they can do something,
for those that come next,
for the guilt they feel for being healthy,
for the why and why not.
They carry the warrior's names
as badges of honor,
as prods, to say
'Look what she went through,
I can carry some pain for that person.'
One step leads to the next,
like life,
until it is done and
they celebrate a victory.

Speaking of poemery, check Mo's comment/poem on the last post. Awesome.