There is nothing like working alongside a steady stream of adrenaline. Waking up, dressing yourself, eating cookies for breakfast, and driving along an empty, desert highway to a compound tucked between a ranch and a state prison.
Through a metal detector you walk, just after neatly rearranging the entire contents of your backpack into a bin. Even the wad of tissues. Even the granola bar. The guard counts the amount of Advil you brought, because you can only bring enough for one person for one day. Depending on the day, you may be whisked through the gates as soon as you arrive, or made to wait until 8 am, the start of visiting hours.
One day, I wear a sleeveless blouse. One of the guards thinks the straps are thick enough. Another reminds me to keep my blazer on. One day, a fellow volunteer wears a top that is deemed too sheer. "I've worn this in court," she says. "Keep your cardigan on," the guard tells her, "I don't want to get in trouble for your outfit."
Over the week, we learn the names of the guards we interact with the most. One of them tells us her family is horrified that she works at such a place. They were once immigrants themselves. "I tell them, if I don't work here, who will?" She is named after a delicate flower. When we need to see clients urgently, she helps us find them. Their every move is tracked in a database we do not have access to.
The pro bono project's "offices" are in a large portable building. I went to a rural elementary school; I am reminded of my second grade classroom. The same drab tiles, bright lights. The impression that "this is only temporary," and yet, more than twenty years later, my elementary school is still dotted with these mobile shacks.
There is a large empty "lobby" area, where clients wait to meet with us and where we hold our large meetings. Along either side of the lobby, there are small rooms that are used for one-on-one meetings. Two, maybe three, are reserved for visitors. During my week there, I rarely saw visitors. Who can afford the expense or make the time to come to Dilley? It is 70 miles southwest of San Antonio.
Nearly all the women and children I speak with have family or friends waiting for them, eager to welcome them and help them build a life here. Some women hope to reunite with relatives in Tennessee, Virginia, California, New Jersey. Some will stay in Texas, but even so, it is 361 miles to Dallas and 563 miles to El Paso.
Amalia* is the first woman I meet. She is breastfeeding a tiny girl whose teeth have barely started to come in. She has left a young son in El Salvador. "Bring me a toy when you come back," her son gleefully asked when Amalia's father came to collect him.
Amalia and her two children were kidnapped by members of the MS-13 after Amalia refused to pick up extortion money for them. "Next time you don't listen to us, we will break your feet. And if that doesn't teach you, we will kill you." Within a week, she had cobbled together every penny she could and fled.
Founded in California, and spread across Central America via the mass deportations of the Reagan Administration, the MS-13 (Mara Salvatrucha) is notorious for unrelenting brutality. In Dilley, I learn about "papelitos" (literally, little papers) left on car windows and slid under doors, foreshadowing harms to come. I learn how you can spot gang members by the clothes they wear and their prominent tattoos. I learn of homes tagged, small business owners extorted, young girls kidnapped, children murdered.
Five years ago, I traveled to Guatemala City, then drove north through the jungle to Tikal--unaware of the past and present surrounding me. The sounds of birds and insects ring in my ears, and the face of a young soldier at a checkpoint appears, when I think back to the trip. In a four door sedan, under the stars, moving towards a small town in the shadow of a once-great civilization.
Maritza* has streaks of blonde in her hair and red rimmed glasses. She considers herself a city girl, but her last name reveals her indigenous place of birth. To escape an abusive spouse, she and her children fled from Guatemala City to her remote hometown where the only work you can find is picking coffee beans. The elders speak a native dialect here; Maritza's mother and grandparents remember the civil war. Soldiers took a machete to Maritza's grandfather, and he lost an arm. His only crime was being born a "campesino" (a native peasant farmer).
The law of asylum is not easy to understand. You must prove you are in danger. You must prove the authorities cannot help you. You must prove you cannot be safe in any other region of your country. You must prove you are being targeted for a specific reason, an unalterable characteristic.
Sometimes we spend hours coaching our clients, fitting their stories into the parameters of the law. Helping them organize their thoughts chronologically. Assisting them in coming up with examples and lines of reasoning to defend assumptions. Asking them to recount horror upon sadness, so they won't freeze up in the their Credible Fear Interviews, where they'll be prodded by a stranger sitting across a desk and typing on a computer, who relies on a translator present only by phone, who can show no emotion and little empathy, and asks question upon question, to the point where it would be easy for an onlooker to assume they were watching a trial, an interrogation.
Nataly* is the only person I meet who could ace the Credible Fear Interview without any help from us. She grew up in Texas as an undocumented immigrant and returned to Mexico in her twenties. In July, her husband was kidnapped and publicly executed by a cartel. Though she is reeling from the pain of losing her partner and father of her children, she cannot pause to mourn. Nataly has kept detailed, written notes on every aspect of her case. A family member drove her to a point of entry, where she immediately pled asylum--and was then sent here. Our entire conversation is in English; her accent is exactly Texan.
Nataly was the exception. Most of the women I meet with have not finished secondary, or even primary, school. Many have been forced into relationships with older men, pushed into having children as soon as they are old enough. Some struggle to write, and others cannot read or write altogether. Often, I'll ask what part of their country they are from, and they'll shrug and say they are not sure.
We leave just before 8 pm each night. It is August, and the sun is still bright as we drive to the mobile home park where we are staying. Late into the night, we type our notes into the database. We email the permanent staff for advice and for help requesting special accommodations--translators for women who speak native dialects, female asylum officers for victims of unspeakable sexual violence, further medical evaluation for children with fevers, coughs, and rashes, who until now, have only been offered Vick's VapoRub.
It is midnight, and I cannot sleep. I simultaneously wonder how it is possible to do this work for weeks on end, and how I will ever be able to leave. When on Friday I walk away from the residential center to return to Portland, I do not turn for a final glance. I feel as if the next morning I will be back, emptying the contents of my bag onto a conveyor belt, ready for the next wave of adrenaline to hit.
*Names changed, per women's request for anonymity.
--
I traveled to Dilley, Texas as part of my volunteer affiliation with the Innovation Law Lab, an exceptional nonprofit organization on the front lines of the fight for asylee and refugee rights. If you would like to learn more, please contact me at victoriabmuirhead@innovationlawlab.org.
Wednesday, September 6, 2017
Monday, January 9, 2017
Ireland Revisited
This past October, Jared and I were fortunate to be able to return to Ireland once again. It is one of our favorite places in the world-- such a beautiful country, with a rich heritage.
If you are considering a trip abroad and are on a budget, consider visiting Ireland during the off season (October-April). Some of the country's key tourist attractions may be closed or operating on a reduced schedule, but as a result, you will likely get some great deals on lodging, food, and car rentals. It may also be rainy and a bit chilly, but that's what warm socks and rain coats were made for.
Jared and I typically fly Delta, and were able to find last minute, round trip tickets from San Francisco to Dublin at the low cost of $523. We left on October 6, and arrived on the morning of Jared's birthday-- October 7.
Friday, October 7
Immediately after picking up our car rental, we drove north to County Meath. We had planned to see Newgrange, a very well known, prehistoric, above ground tomb type structure. However, when we arrived at the visitor center, we learned that we would have to wait several hours before the next tour. We decided to simply purchase a ticket for a tour of Knowth, a nearby and, for some reason, less popular, though similar, site.
Obviously, I can't make a comparison having only seeing Knowth, but Knowth was pretty spectacular. A series of mound shaped "tombs" sit clustered on a hill overlooking a lush valley. The tombs are covered with grass. Within are passageways that connect to other structures (although, as tourists, we are only allowed to venture a few feet underground).
Knowth has a very rich history. It was initially constructed in prehistoric times, and continued to be in use for several years-- just adapted to suit the rulers of the time. Many artifacts, possibly dating as far back as 4000 BCE have been discovered beneath the mounds.
After our somewhat whimsical tour of Knowth, it was time to drive west to Doolin. I don't know why we decided driving across the country after spending hours on a plane was a good idea. How quickly we must have forgotten the treachery of the dimly lit, narrow Irish road. Never again!
This was likely our big mistake of the trip. As we neared Doolin, the sun began to set and we found ourselves on a narrow road that butted up to a foreboding rock wall. Other cars were whizzing by as if on a freeway. But we were terrified. Jared was driving, but as a passenger, my anxieties were high, too.
Finally, we made it to the Roadford House, a lovely, simple bed and breakfast with a gorgeous view of the Atlantic Ocean and town of Doolin. We were treated to a delicious dinner-- Roadford House is known as one of the best restaurants in the area. We were then so tired, we almost immediately went to sleep.
Did I mention it was Jared's birthday? Yes! On one hand, how wonderful it was that we went to Ireland. On the other hand, how unfortunate that he had to spend a sizable portion of his day driving on a narrow road (not to mention, on the left).
Saturday, October 8
Jared chose Saturday's itinerary. Fascinated by the Aran Islands, off the coast, he booked a ferry trip to Inishmore. Our inn was a short drive to the dock, and for that, we were thankful.
We boarded the Happy Hooker, a ferry of healthy repute, and voyaged for what felt like a quarter of an eternity until we reached the first of the three Aran Islands. But alas, it was not our destination. Nor was the second. At last, we reached the final island, where we disembarked. Thank goodness for Dramamine-- it kept my delicious breakfast of oatmeal and cream in my stomach where it belonged.
Almost as soon as we reached Inishmore, it began to rain. The countryside really does look stunning covered in a cape of mist. It almost gives you the illusion of going back in time, and seeing it through the eyes of early settlers.
When you see a normally rainy place on a sunny day-- you have a feeling that you are a tourist and the morning has been staged for you. When you see a place in the rain, and when you begin to feel as if the jackets you brought are not enough, your experience, though uncomfortable, feels genuine.
We rented a tandem bike, which we soon discovered had a bit of a malfunctioning chain. Our very touristy island map assured us that it was an "easy 30 minute bike ride" from the port to Dun Aonghasa, a prehistoric fort built on cliffs overlooking the ocean.
Perhaps it would have been an easy 30 minute ride if I was in better shape, if it was not raining, and if we had not accidentally taken the high road as opposed to the low road. Since this isn't a parable, there really is no virtue or secret to be unlocked in taking the high road. I suppose it makes a slightly better story-- but at the time, it sure was painful.
Seeing Dun Aonghasa was worth taking twenty high roads. It is absolutely stunning. I can't imagine how prehistoric people even began to envision and build such a majestic fort. I am afraid of heights, and even I felt compelled to stand near the edge and peer down at the rocks below.
We stopped at a few other spots on the island-- the Seven Churches, as well as a beach occasionally frequented by seals (we saw no seals-- just kidding, we saw seals. I just forgot). We weren't in luck where vegetarian fare was concerned, so we made do with coffees and our supply of granola bars. Always travel with snacks-- as a picky eater, that is one of my many mottos.
Oh, it should also be noted, on our way back, we took the low road.
When we finally made it back to Doolin, it was time to head to the Dingle Peninsula, where we were to spend the next two days. I had found a really charming, refurbished farm hand's cottage on Airbnb, complete with a small kitchen and sauna.
Once again, we forgot to fully take into the account the poor road conditions, and the fact that most of our driving was to be done under the shroud of darkness. On top of that, our GPS could not find the cottage, and we were left to rely on directions from the host. While his directions ultimately got us to the right location, there is something comforting about being able to stare at your GPS or smartphone and know exactly how many miles or minutes you have to go before you arrive at your destination.
Sunday, October 9
We allowed ourselves to sleep in-- it was time for some vacationesque relaxation after being on the go for the past couple of days. We then filled a backpack with snacks and water, then headed out for the Slea Head Drive, which makes a loop around Dingle Peninsula.
To get to the drive, you must trek through some exceptionally rocky terrain. It was somewhere along this road that we stopped at a lookout. We were informed by a young German teen who spoke fairly good English, that if we were willing to hike and scramble rocks for ten minutes or so, we would make it to a very beautiful lake. We decided to take his word for it, and did indeed make it to a lovely lake.
We felt like wimps on our way back, especially me, as I struggled to find my footing (and avoid mossy mud). Our sense of wimpiness was especially heightened by the fact that a young Irish man was walking the same "path" (I put that in quotes, because it was really a free for all to get back over the boulders) with two young children in tow that he was practically carrying simultaneously.
Shortly after our hike, we entered the Conor Pass-- a one lane road that connects to Slea Head Drive. Conor Pass cuts through the mountains, one side of the road hugging the hills, the other exposed to clouds and sky. It was a scary road, but because it was truly a one lane road, cars drove slowly and were very polite about making space. Honestly, we felt safer on this road than the "two lane" roads in Doolin.
We stopped in downtown Dingle for a bite to eat, then continued the drive, stopping at beautiful points of interest along the way. In contrast to the day before, today was clear and sunny. I wore sunglasses (Jared never does, perhaps on principle?) and there was no need for a coat.
At one point, Jared tested the water temperature at Coumeenoole Beach, and discovered it was very much like Half Moon Bay in California, perhaps even a touch warmer. When I close my eyes and think of Ireland, I return to a grassy spot overlooking the sea. So lovely, so freeing.
Monday, October 10
Before leaving Dingle Peninsula, we stopped at a beach named Inch Strand. "Inch," in this case, has nothing to do with size. The seashore is incredibly lengthy. Being the off season, and a cloudy day, there were hardly any people on the beach. I think we saw about a dozen people, maybe a couple of dogs.
Our next step was Killarney, where we planned to visit Ross Castle. Ross Castle is more of a tower. It dates back to the middle ages and was the home of a prominent family in the area. Over the years, the tower fell into disrepair. A group of American businessmen decided to purchase the castle and surrounding land with hopes of transforming it into a theme park. However, one man bought out the others, and decided on a historic restoration. Now, you can pay a few euros for a very informative tour of the castle.
Tours with Jared are quite fun. Guides often throw out questions they hope nobody will know, but Jared almost always seems to know the answers. However, there was a question that stumped us all on this tour-- we learned that in the middle ages, plates were polished with lead to keep them bright and shiny. Unknown to the noblemen, the lead, though elegant, was also poisonous.
Life in the middle ages, even for the royals and nobles, is not something to be envious of. They pooped in a common place, and then used the stench to rid their clothes of bugs. They positioned their staircases and designed their homes with an eye towards fighting off assailants. They did not sleep lying down, partially because they believed one should only lie down if dead, but also partially because they likely had such poor respiratory function, it was not possible to comfortably do so.
What a great tour we had a Ross Castle, and what lovely walk around the nearby lake, but I am glad we did not stumble upon a time traveling relic while there, because I would have not enjoyed the lives they had.
After our time at Ross, we ventured to the Killarney National Park. We walked up to Torc Falls, which was rather reminiscent of Portland. We also stopped at Ladies' View. A beautiful lookout named for Queen Victoria's ladies-in-waiting. Upon visiting Killarney, they all agreed they loved this spot, so it was named for them. Since I share the great queen's name, I almost feel personally involved in this outcome.
We spent this night, and the subsequent night, at the Killeen House, which I highly recommend. The owners (a husband and wife) are absolutely delightful-- they knew our names, and gave several great suggestions. Over dinner (which was divine) we overheard a conversation with other guests, where the owners recalled previous guests from years past in great detail. What talent!
Tuesday, October 11
We had planned to take a boat tour around the Skellig Islands, but due to poor weather, the trip was canceled. You may know of the Skellig Islands from Star Wars. Nowadays, it's next to impossible to book a landing trip there-- even for the locals.
Only a certain number of people can visit Skellig each day, and only during the regular tourist season. It is much easier to do an "eco tour," where you just circle around the islands. That was what we had planned to do, until the weather interfered.
We instead drove around the Ring of Kerry, making a stop at a quaint little rock circle, where people wrote wishes and tied them to the branches of a nearby tree. We met a nice couple there, two American men, with whom we had a friendly conversation. It appeared that one of the men had recently finished cancer therapy.
We also stopped at Ballycarbery Castle, which was once owned by the same family that owned Ross Castle-- the Valentine Browns. A gorgeous ruin, nearby signs admonish visitors to keep away because it is structurally unsafe. We were the only people there, so after rushing out in the wind to take a good look, I took a nap in the car.
On our way home, we made another stop at Ladies' View, where we stopped for a snack. I even managed to place a Growlithe at the Ladies View gym there (for all of you Pokemon Go players).
Wednesday, October 12
We loved our past experience at Dromoland Castle so much, we decided to return this time. In addition to booking a hotel and dinner, we booked breakfast, a hawk walk, and a last minute spa treatment (for me; Jared is not fond of people rubbing his bones together).
We arrived a little too early to check in-- our fault entirely. But management treated us to scones and coffee. Delicious. We can't get enough of scones, especially when clotted cream is in the picture!
Afterwards, we went on our hawk walk with Anthony the hawk. A beautiful young guy, he has a penchant for landing on heads and flying into tree branches. After a walk with Anthony, where he flew from arm to arm, we got to see the rest of his "friends."
There are several other hawks on the grounds, along with a few owls. A creepy nightmare owl and a beautiful fluffball of an owl.
Later, we had dinner at the Earl of Thomond. It was not as magical as the year before-- mostly because the men at the table next to us were being incredibly foul, and we later learned they were actually staff at the restaurant, celebrating the last day of a friend. Their behavior put quite a damper on our appetites and our entire experience.
Thursday, October 13
Even as I write this, I feel the sadness that comes with knowing something good is drawing to a close. Our trip was a beautiful respite from the "real world."
We saved a couple of our favorite places for this, our last full day in Ireland. First, we stopped at the Rock of Cashel. A bit more crowded this time, and a bit brighter, it was still gorgeous.
We also learned that if you spend more than 15 euros at a nearby gift shop, you get free admission for up to two adults and four children. That's only slightly more than the cost of admission for two adults, so it was totally worth it. We now have a tiny knick knack in our home that reminds us of our trip. We usually hate knick knacks, but this one is small and tasteful.
Our next and final step was Glendalough. Oh, beautiful Glendalough, home of St. Kevin. The more I learn about St. Kevin, the less I think I like him. He was a hermit who established Glendalough, and it is rumored that he once pushed a woman off a cliff for "tempting" him. Quite a forceful way to say no, don't you think?
Glendalough was a little more crowded this time. There was a large group of schoolchildren from Spain, and several families and couples. We also couldn't locate an exceptionally interesting fallen tree we had spotted two years prior-- but I guess that isn't all that uncommon. All of the ruins were still there. So were the signs advocating for the protection of the grazing sheep.
On our drive there, and our drive north to Dublin, we saw several signs for "St. Kevin's Way." My, my, my, he sure had quite the way. It seemed to weave itself in and out of every nook and cranny, and appear when you hardly expected it.
I joked with Jared that maybe we should walk St. Kevin's Way one of these days. But he knows our minds best; we aren't that type of tourist. We prefer cars, and occasionally, tandem bikes.
If you are considering a trip abroad and are on a budget, consider visiting Ireland during the off season (October-April). Some of the country's key tourist attractions may be closed or operating on a reduced schedule, but as a result, you will likely get some great deals on lodging, food, and car rentals. It may also be rainy and a bit chilly, but that's what warm socks and rain coats were made for.
Jared and I typically fly Delta, and were able to find last minute, round trip tickets from San Francisco to Dublin at the low cost of $523. We left on October 6, and arrived on the morning of Jared's birthday-- October 7.
Friday, October 7
Immediately after picking up our car rental, we drove north to County Meath. We had planned to see Newgrange, a very well known, prehistoric, above ground tomb type structure. However, when we arrived at the visitor center, we learned that we would have to wait several hours before the next tour. We decided to simply purchase a ticket for a tour of Knowth, a nearby and, for some reason, less popular, though similar, site.
Obviously, I can't make a comparison having only seeing Knowth, but Knowth was pretty spectacular. A series of mound shaped "tombs" sit clustered on a hill overlooking a lush valley. The tombs are covered with grass. Within are passageways that connect to other structures (although, as tourists, we are only allowed to venture a few feet underground).
Knowth has a very rich history. It was initially constructed in prehistoric times, and continued to be in use for several years-- just adapted to suit the rulers of the time. Many artifacts, possibly dating as far back as 4000 BCE have been discovered beneath the mounds.
After our somewhat whimsical tour of Knowth, it was time to drive west to Doolin. I don't know why we decided driving across the country after spending hours on a plane was a good idea. How quickly we must have forgotten the treachery of the dimly lit, narrow Irish road. Never again!
This was likely our big mistake of the trip. As we neared Doolin, the sun began to set and we found ourselves on a narrow road that butted up to a foreboding rock wall. Other cars were whizzing by as if on a freeway. But we were terrified. Jared was driving, but as a passenger, my anxieties were high, too.
Finally, we made it to the Roadford House, a lovely, simple bed and breakfast with a gorgeous view of the Atlantic Ocean and town of Doolin. We were treated to a delicious dinner-- Roadford House is known as one of the best restaurants in the area. We were then so tired, we almost immediately went to sleep.
Did I mention it was Jared's birthday? Yes! On one hand, how wonderful it was that we went to Ireland. On the other hand, how unfortunate that he had to spend a sizable portion of his day driving on a narrow road (not to mention, on the left).
Saturday, October 8
Jared chose Saturday's itinerary. Fascinated by the Aran Islands, off the coast, he booked a ferry trip to Inishmore. Our inn was a short drive to the dock, and for that, we were thankful.
We boarded the Happy Hooker, a ferry of healthy repute, and voyaged for what felt like a quarter of an eternity until we reached the first of the three Aran Islands. But alas, it was not our destination. Nor was the second. At last, we reached the final island, where we disembarked. Thank goodness for Dramamine-- it kept my delicious breakfast of oatmeal and cream in my stomach where it belonged.
Almost as soon as we reached Inishmore, it began to rain. The countryside really does look stunning covered in a cape of mist. It almost gives you the illusion of going back in time, and seeing it through the eyes of early settlers.
When you see a normally rainy place on a sunny day-- you have a feeling that you are a tourist and the morning has been staged for you. When you see a place in the rain, and when you begin to feel as if the jackets you brought are not enough, your experience, though uncomfortable, feels genuine.
We rented a tandem bike, which we soon discovered had a bit of a malfunctioning chain. Our very touristy island map assured us that it was an "easy 30 minute bike ride" from the port to Dun Aonghasa, a prehistoric fort built on cliffs overlooking the ocean.
Perhaps it would have been an easy 30 minute ride if I was in better shape, if it was not raining, and if we had not accidentally taken the high road as opposed to the low road. Since this isn't a parable, there really is no virtue or secret to be unlocked in taking the high road. I suppose it makes a slightly better story-- but at the time, it sure was painful.
Seeing Dun Aonghasa was worth taking twenty high roads. It is absolutely stunning. I can't imagine how prehistoric people even began to envision and build such a majestic fort. I am afraid of heights, and even I felt compelled to stand near the edge and peer down at the rocks below.
We stopped at a few other spots on the island-- the Seven Churches, as well as a beach occasionally frequented by seals (we saw no seals-- just kidding, we saw seals. I just forgot). We weren't in luck where vegetarian fare was concerned, so we made do with coffees and our supply of granola bars. Always travel with snacks-- as a picky eater, that is one of my many mottos.
Oh, it should also be noted, on our way back, we took the low road.
When we finally made it back to Doolin, it was time to head to the Dingle Peninsula, where we were to spend the next two days. I had found a really charming, refurbished farm hand's cottage on Airbnb, complete with a small kitchen and sauna.
Once again, we forgot to fully take into the account the poor road conditions, and the fact that most of our driving was to be done under the shroud of darkness. On top of that, our GPS could not find the cottage, and we were left to rely on directions from the host. While his directions ultimately got us to the right location, there is something comforting about being able to stare at your GPS or smartphone and know exactly how many miles or minutes you have to go before you arrive at your destination.
Sunday, October 9
We allowed ourselves to sleep in-- it was time for some vacationesque relaxation after being on the go for the past couple of days. We then filled a backpack with snacks and water, then headed out for the Slea Head Drive, which makes a loop around Dingle Peninsula.
To get to the drive, you must trek through some exceptionally rocky terrain. It was somewhere along this road that we stopped at a lookout. We were informed by a young German teen who spoke fairly good English, that if we were willing to hike and scramble rocks for ten minutes or so, we would make it to a very beautiful lake. We decided to take his word for it, and did indeed make it to a lovely lake.
We felt like wimps on our way back, especially me, as I struggled to find my footing (and avoid mossy mud). Our sense of wimpiness was especially heightened by the fact that a young Irish man was walking the same "path" (I put that in quotes, because it was really a free for all to get back over the boulders) with two young children in tow that he was practically carrying simultaneously.
Shortly after our hike, we entered the Conor Pass-- a one lane road that connects to Slea Head Drive. Conor Pass cuts through the mountains, one side of the road hugging the hills, the other exposed to clouds and sky. It was a scary road, but because it was truly a one lane road, cars drove slowly and were very polite about making space. Honestly, we felt safer on this road than the "two lane" roads in Doolin.
We stopped in downtown Dingle for a bite to eat, then continued the drive, stopping at beautiful points of interest along the way. In contrast to the day before, today was clear and sunny. I wore sunglasses (Jared never does, perhaps on principle?) and there was no need for a coat.
At one point, Jared tested the water temperature at Coumeenoole Beach, and discovered it was very much like Half Moon Bay in California, perhaps even a touch warmer. When I close my eyes and think of Ireland, I return to a grassy spot overlooking the sea. So lovely, so freeing.
Monday, October 10
Before leaving Dingle Peninsula, we stopped at a beach named Inch Strand. "Inch," in this case, has nothing to do with size. The seashore is incredibly lengthy. Being the off season, and a cloudy day, there were hardly any people on the beach. I think we saw about a dozen people, maybe a couple of dogs.
Our next step was Killarney, where we planned to visit Ross Castle. Ross Castle is more of a tower. It dates back to the middle ages and was the home of a prominent family in the area. Over the years, the tower fell into disrepair. A group of American businessmen decided to purchase the castle and surrounding land with hopes of transforming it into a theme park. However, one man bought out the others, and decided on a historic restoration. Now, you can pay a few euros for a very informative tour of the castle.
Tours with Jared are quite fun. Guides often throw out questions they hope nobody will know, but Jared almost always seems to know the answers. However, there was a question that stumped us all on this tour-- we learned that in the middle ages, plates were polished with lead to keep them bright and shiny. Unknown to the noblemen, the lead, though elegant, was also poisonous.
Life in the middle ages, even for the royals and nobles, is not something to be envious of. They pooped in a common place, and then used the stench to rid their clothes of bugs. They positioned their staircases and designed their homes with an eye towards fighting off assailants. They did not sleep lying down, partially because they believed one should only lie down if dead, but also partially because they likely had such poor respiratory function, it was not possible to comfortably do so.
What a great tour we had a Ross Castle, and what lovely walk around the nearby lake, but I am glad we did not stumble upon a time traveling relic while there, because I would have not enjoyed the lives they had.
After our time at Ross, we ventured to the Killarney National Park. We walked up to Torc Falls, which was rather reminiscent of Portland. We also stopped at Ladies' View. A beautiful lookout named for Queen Victoria's ladies-in-waiting. Upon visiting Killarney, they all agreed they loved this spot, so it was named for them. Since I share the great queen's name, I almost feel personally involved in this outcome.
We spent this night, and the subsequent night, at the Killeen House, which I highly recommend. The owners (a husband and wife) are absolutely delightful-- they knew our names, and gave several great suggestions. Over dinner (which was divine) we overheard a conversation with other guests, where the owners recalled previous guests from years past in great detail. What talent!
Tuesday, October 11
We had planned to take a boat tour around the Skellig Islands, but due to poor weather, the trip was canceled. You may know of the Skellig Islands from Star Wars. Nowadays, it's next to impossible to book a landing trip there-- even for the locals.
Only a certain number of people can visit Skellig each day, and only during the regular tourist season. It is much easier to do an "eco tour," where you just circle around the islands. That was what we had planned to do, until the weather interfered.
We instead drove around the Ring of Kerry, making a stop at a quaint little rock circle, where people wrote wishes and tied them to the branches of a nearby tree. We met a nice couple there, two American men, with whom we had a friendly conversation. It appeared that one of the men had recently finished cancer therapy.
We also stopped at Ballycarbery Castle, which was once owned by the same family that owned Ross Castle-- the Valentine Browns. A gorgeous ruin, nearby signs admonish visitors to keep away because it is structurally unsafe. We were the only people there, so after rushing out in the wind to take a good look, I took a nap in the car.
On our way home, we made another stop at Ladies' View, where we stopped for a snack. I even managed to place a Growlithe at the Ladies View gym there (for all of you Pokemon Go players).
Wednesday, October 12
We loved our past experience at Dromoland Castle so much, we decided to return this time. In addition to booking a hotel and dinner, we booked breakfast, a hawk walk, and a last minute spa treatment (for me; Jared is not fond of people rubbing his bones together).
We arrived a little too early to check in-- our fault entirely. But management treated us to scones and coffee. Delicious. We can't get enough of scones, especially when clotted cream is in the picture!
Afterwards, we went on our hawk walk with Anthony the hawk. A beautiful young guy, he has a penchant for landing on heads and flying into tree branches. After a walk with Anthony, where he flew from arm to arm, we got to see the rest of his "friends."
There are several other hawks on the grounds, along with a few owls. A creepy nightmare owl and a beautiful fluffball of an owl.
Later, we had dinner at the Earl of Thomond. It was not as magical as the year before-- mostly because the men at the table next to us were being incredibly foul, and we later learned they were actually staff at the restaurant, celebrating the last day of a friend. Their behavior put quite a damper on our appetites and our entire experience.
Thursday, October 13
Even as I write this, I feel the sadness that comes with knowing something good is drawing to a close. Our trip was a beautiful respite from the "real world."
We saved a couple of our favorite places for this, our last full day in Ireland. First, we stopped at the Rock of Cashel. A bit more crowded this time, and a bit brighter, it was still gorgeous.
We also learned that if you spend more than 15 euros at a nearby gift shop, you get free admission for up to two adults and four children. That's only slightly more than the cost of admission for two adults, so it was totally worth it. We now have a tiny knick knack in our home that reminds us of our trip. We usually hate knick knacks, but this one is small and tasteful.
Our next and final step was Glendalough. Oh, beautiful Glendalough, home of St. Kevin. The more I learn about St. Kevin, the less I think I like him. He was a hermit who established Glendalough, and it is rumored that he once pushed a woman off a cliff for "tempting" him. Quite a forceful way to say no, don't you think?
Glendalough was a little more crowded this time. There was a large group of schoolchildren from Spain, and several families and couples. We also couldn't locate an exceptionally interesting fallen tree we had spotted two years prior-- but I guess that isn't all that uncommon. All of the ruins were still there. So were the signs advocating for the protection of the grazing sheep.
On our drive there, and our drive north to Dublin, we saw several signs for "St. Kevin's Way." My, my, my, he sure had quite the way. It seemed to weave itself in and out of every nook and cranny, and appear when you hardly expected it.
I joked with Jared that maybe we should walk St. Kevin's Way one of these days. But he knows our minds best; we aren't that type of tourist. We prefer cars, and occasionally, tandem bikes.
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