Looking back........

Sad to say, our trip to Ireland has drawn to a close. I've enjoyed the excursion into blogging land, and I suddenly find myself looking at things and situations and wondering how to capture the moment in a blog. I'm not presumptuous enough to imagine anyone would take the time to read it, heck what have I got to say that's any more or any less profound than the next guy?

I have found though that some of the encounters I had and some of the reports I got from my kids have given me sufficient food for thought. If you are in any way remotely interested in where this blogging adventure is going to take me, www.yamahasramblings.blogspot.com might scare you off.

April 12, 2009: Wherever I lay my hat.....that's where my hat is.

Easter morning, Northern Ireland. Memories of sunrise services, standing outside in Donaghadee, colder than a witch's tit, then back to the church hall for bacon butties and tomato soup (yeah, tomato soup at 6:30 am. blech.)

We are dragging ourselves into the inevitability of returning to the US after our vacation in Northern Ireland. I've had several well-meaning wishes of "Safe home!" and "Have a safe journey home!", which got me thinking.

Home?

We are travelling to the United States, where I have a house, cars, a cat, a dog, and a job. But home?

Home is supposed to be where your heart is.

My heart is here. I've woken up to realize it.

16 years ago, I set off to answer a question: "Can I do it? Can I make a life for myself for my wife and my kids in the US?"

Yeah, I can. I've scratched that itch, I've checked that box.

Now I have a new question:

Where do I want to BE? I've proved to myself that I can "DO" anywhere, the question on my mind now is where do I want to "BE" while I'm doing?

It's been a question on my mind for a few months, actually. Quite a few months.

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Yesterday was our last full day in Northern Ireland, which meant putting off the packing until the very last minute.

Before we left the States, I had been trying to get in touch with an old schoolfriend of Elaine's who we had lost contact with. I threw the equivalent of an internet "Hail Mary", I sent an email to someone with her name on www.friendsreunited.com, with a request that she get in touch with us.

She did, and Elaine was able to spend the entire afternoon with her schoolfriend, someone who is very dear to her. I was glad she got this chance.

I on the other hand took my kids and two of their cousins to that mecca of holidaymakers Portrush-bound, Barry's amusements.

Amusements is somewhat of an irony, as I didn't find the place amusing at all!

Don't get me wrong, as a youngster I can remember going in through the front doors where a wide array of one armed bandits (slot machines with the pull down lever), push penny machines, dodge-ems (bumper cars) etc awaits, all eager to separate you and your cash. I watched as thousands of pounds got dumped into the flashy gizmos, each providing a moment's "entertainment" before belching out a few paper tokens to thank you for your time. People were running around with wild expressions, a fist full of pink tickets in one hand, a handful of coins in the other, all fixated on amassing more tickets. I reckoned that each game would cost 10p, and would provide on average 4 tickets. You needed to collect something like 3600 tickets for a stuffed spongebob squarepants, which meant 90 pounds would make you the proud owner of a stuffed thingy that costs 5 pounds in a corner shop. The Amusement racket is an extremely lucrative one.

I found a seat in the corner of the cafe in Barry's and waited for my kids to finish their worship at the Barry's alter. This cafe sold an array of ice creams, sodas, and other sweet stickies. It was also situated right beside the most stomach churning ride I have ever seen. This thing turned you literally in every direction. I dare say, if you rode it immediately after visiting the cafe, it could even turn you inside out, which wouldn't be very pleasant for the onlookers below!I had a doze in Barry's, which is a testament a) to how bored I was, and b) how tired I was, and when the kids showed up, it was back to the car to gather Elaine in nearby Portstewart, and then back to Ballycastle to pack.

Driving back, there was a fierce sky up ahead of us which heralded a downpour. We missed the rain, it had passed by the time we caught up to it, but the evidence of it's passing, a rainbow, provided another remarkable sight. This rainbow ended in the sea, just at the end of Fair Head, the landmark jutting into the sea beyond Ballycastle. Elaine remarked that she had never seen anything like that before.

If you ever have the good fortune to go to Ballycastle, Morton's fish and chips on the harbour is worth the stop. Yum!

So, packed, slept, and fed, we are heading out in a few moments to return to our house, our pets and our jobs. Our hearts, and possibly our hats, we leave here in Northern Ireland.

April 10, 2009: Now THAT'S playing dirty!

We woke up to a child deficit of two, since Lauren and Conor spent the night in Holywood with my aunt and uncle, bless them!

With our offspring count down to a much more manageable number of one (who by the way, was still bundled up in bed, showing no signs of surfacing), I set about the business of the day:

Home repairs, part two.

My mother in law wanted to take advantage of the frequent stiff breezes in Ballycastle, so a whirlygig clothesline was called for. I was provided with the information for the required device, and after rousing Bethany (a feat reminiscent of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead, only I'm pretty sure Jesus' methods didn't include repeated pommelling with a pillow, bellowing "get up outta that bed, ya lazy skunk!" and threats of damp facecloths if Lazarus didn't comply. According to the story, Jesus just told Lazarus to get up, and up he got. This, it has to be said, simply doesn't work on any of my kids. I digress.....)

With a by-now upright Bethany glaring at me through one half-opened and yet fully sleepy eye, and my good wife and her mother going off to call in on some neighbors, I headed back into Coleraine for the hardware store.

The weather reports for the province were along the lines of rain, hail and pestilence, but it was supposed to clear up by Sunday (just in time for going home. bummer.)

I got to my destination 25 miles away from home, listening to the banter on the local radio, it almost had me off the road a time or two, that is when I wasn't stuck behind a tractor or a muck spreader (you haven't lived until you've been stuck behind a muck spreader for a mile or two).

Driving in Northern Ireland is interesting, for a number of reasons:

1. The roads tend to be quite narrow, especially the back roads;

2. Especially at night, it's common to find yourself doing the speed limit on a winding back road, when in your rear view mirror a set of lights appears. It's almost like they are on a mission to get past you, because no matter how many twists and curves, as sure as little green apples, the headlights will be overtaking you at Mach 5400 or something like that. It's quite unnerving on the narrow country roads, late at night!

3. During the daytime, people wait for you at junctions. They wave you into traffic. If you happen to pull over, they go around you! I told Elaine,, it's like the folks here just wait for you to get on with it, because sure in a wee while the road will be clear....

4. Tractors and other farm equipment tend to use most of the same roads as cars etc. They don't use the motorway. If a tractor is holding up traffic, they will frequently pull over to let the motorists move ahead. This sort of consideration is not only alien in Maryland, it's laughed at.

Anyway,

Park the car in Coleraine: Dry, sunny, lovely morning.
Walk thirty feet from the car: Torrential downpour on an almost biblical proportion. Hood up, coat zipped up, get on with it!

I got the hardware stuff, fixed a mirror, intalled a whirlygig clothesline, and we then it was into the car to get the kids in Holywood.

We arrived just as my other cousin and his family were just saying hello. It was really good to see them, I wish I had more time to catch up. Why can't I find a Tardis (watch Dr. Who, you'll know what I mean) when I need it!

A brief visit with them, and we bid my aunt and uncle farewell. We'll see them in the fall, state-side.

Dinner tonight was high tea at the Causeway Hotel, and was just as yummy as ever. It was after dinner though, that the dirty tactics came out.....

Having had a huge nosh-up, we decided to take a walk along the cliffs that overlook the causeway. Remember the raining frogs etc that the weathermen promised? I looked east, inland, and the mother of all big ol' dark stormclouds was passing by us, safely out of the way. I looked north, and the cliff path lay before us. I should have quit at that point.

Looking south, the town of Portballintrae lay nestled in the coastline. From our vantage point we could clearly see the huge waves rolling into the bay, forming white caps that slid up along the sandy beaches, and crashing violently on the craggy rocks on each side of the bay. Looking West, the dark clouds were nowhere to be seen. The sun was setting over the northern Atlantic, lighting up the Donegal hills in the far distance on the left, and the even farther hills of some unknown region of Scotland on the right. The setting sun cast gold and yellows on the sea below, and our stretching shadows extended into countless whin-bushes (aka gorse bushes, very prickly, with beautiful small yellow flowers), igniting them into a blaze of yellow in the process.

It literally took my breath away. I couldn't move. Elaine came by to check on me, and when she asked if I was ok, all I could say was "That's playing dirty now".

If Northern Ireland could bottle it's natural beauty, it would be the richest country in the planet, bar none. When I lived here, I took it for granted, my eyes were always turned to farr off fields, to other shores. Having seen far off fields and other shores, I look at Northern Ireland with a different perspective, hopefully a more matured persoective, and all I can do is marvel at it's richness.

Tomorrow marks our final day in Northern Ireland on this trip. We'll see what the day brings.

April 9, 2009: Craic, craic, and even more craic!

As we near the end of our time here on Northern Ireland, we decided to take another longish trip in the Craig-bus. This minivan has been getting a workout for sure, it must be able to drive itself from Belfast to Ballycastle, we've done the trip that many times so far....

Anyway, today we set our sights and our GPS for Exploris, the aquarium located at Portaferry, at the mouth of Strangford Lough.

I had heard somewhere that Strangford is the largest Lough in the British Isles, but I'm sure that there a few Scots out there that would go all William Wallace on me if I said I believed it. It is however, home to an abundant array of wildlife, some 2000 plus species of animals and plants live in the Strangford Lough, and many are indiginous only to that area.

The Lough is the body of water between the Ards Peninsula and the mainland, and is quite a prominent feature on the map. The mouth of the Lough is quite narrow, with Portaferry on the north side of the channel and Strangford on the south end. Strangford is (at a very generous estimate) no more than a quarter mile away from Portaferry, if there was no water there, you could walk it in a few minutes. The addition of a honkin' big body of water adds a new wrinkle to the walking option. Therefore to get from one town to the other, you either hop on the ferry, or you drive all the way up on one side to Newtownards, and all the way back down on the other side.

There are all sorts of signposts clearly visible as we drive into the town, all bearing a mitre emblem. The signposts I later learn mark St. Patrick's path, something that neither Elaine nor I had previously heard of. I smelled a tourist-luring rat even more when I noticed that St. Patricks path took the hapless wanderer directly into the treacherous swirling eddies of Strangford Lough! Can't trick me, Irish tourism board! It's a ploy to get me on the ferry! St. Patrick would have looked across the Lough at Strangford and said "Bugger this, time for a pint" or something equally equmenical.

The aquarium is greatly improved since Elaine and I last visited it, *ahem, ahem* years ago. It is not on the same scale as something like the Baltimore aquarium, but it is much more focussed on portraying the local flora and fauna. Haaving said that, my kid's favorite fish today, hands down was......


the cuttlefish.


Cuttlefish??? In Strangford?? Catch yerselves on!

Just by way of throwing a curve ball or two, in addition to the local displays, the aquarium had a few exotic fish on display: Piranha, Lionfish, seahorses, and cuttlefish. We looked closely through the glass as these remarkable little guys changed colors, hovered in the water, threatened with their tentacles, and changed their skin textures. I must admit, they were pretty cool.

The aquarium serves as a home for recovering or orphaned seals and they now have an excellent enclosure for them.

We also learned today that Ballycastle and Portrush nearby are hotspots for Leatherback deep sea turtles.

After the aqaurium, it was back into the driving rain, get to the car, then drive to the harbor and watch the waves wash over the wall while we have our picnic. As the windows steamed, we watched the Portaferry ferryboat pirouette gracefully as it manouvered the many eddies and riptides of the Lough. It was too blowy and wet for us to chance crossing, so we bid Portaferry a fond adieu, then made our way up to the coast to Donaghadee once more.

Earlier I wrote that Bow Bells was gone. Turns out I was mistaken, it is in fact "the Moorings" that is gone the fice years, Bow Bells is still right where I left it. I know some folks reading this were concerned, so please, worry no more!

Having found Bow Bells, it was time for tea and some of the absolute best apple pie to ever grace God's green earth. I wasn't sharing!

We had dinner and coffee/tea with more of my family in Holywood and Belfast. I have missed the whole "droppin'-in-what's-the-craic" that Northern Ireland folk find easy and the rest of the world finds so alien. Can't explain it, can't analyze it, all you can do is enjoy it. The craic.

Lauren and Conor stayed in Holywood tonight, they will come to Ballycastle tomorrow. Bethany, Elaine and I made our way back to hot showers and cozy beds, which is in my opinion the best place to listen to howling winds. Goodnight, until tomorrow!

April 8, 2008: Take me back...Take me way back....

For the unenlightened, today's tag line is something often used in various guises in Van Morrison songs. (Thinks, must take the kids by Hindford Street....)

Today, we went back, way back in time in fact, at one point some 300 years, in the Ulster Folk and Transport museum.

The Folk Museum is situated in Cultra, just on the outskirts of Holywood, and another town of my youth. Sad to say, when I lived there, I wouldn't have thanked you for a trip to the folk musuem, it was a thoroughly lifeless and pointless place. Now that I have a few years under my belt, I can look at the place with a fresh appreciation. Today, we saw just how much of a gem the Folk museum really is.

The Museum itself is comprised of several preserved buildings, each painstakingly dismantled, relocated and reconstructed with remarkable precision. The kids learned about life in Northern Ireland in "two-up, two-downs", making the connection with the Irish writer Christie Brown of "My Left Foot" fame along the way. It was neat to watch the lights go on with them, soon they were exploring the other various restored buildings, learning about shoemakers, blacksmiths, seamstresses, banking, policing and the judicial system, farming and on and on all from the collection of restored churches, shops, and thatched roof cottages (real thatch).

They have a restored cinema at the folk museum now, it dates back to the days of silent film, and we watched a Charlie Chaplin silent movie for a while. It occurred to me that this was the fist time I was aware of that my kids had even seen a silent movie, never mind Charlie Chaplin! If you haven't watched Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, Harold Lloyd (or for those of you who need spoken words, early Laurel and Hardy), you might want to fix that sooner than later. It's all rewarding!

We had the pleasure of Julian and Deborah Halligan's company today, as well as that of Sarah, their beautiful daughter. Julian and I worked together, and I have yet to encounter a more kind, thoughtful, honest and trustworthy individual. I am proud to be able to name him as a friend, and a better person for his friendship.

We all went from the Folk museum to the Ulster Transport museum across the road. Northern Ireland has a surprising number of unsung heroes when it comes to transportation innovation, for example:

1. The ejection seat;
2. Vertical Take-off and Landing technology (as seen on the Harrier Jumpjet);
3. The Gyrocopter
4. The DeLorean gull wing car.

All in all, another cracker of a day, spent in a fun and enjoyable venue, with solid friends, all topped off with Indian food. Mmmmmm, korma........... The craic was almighty!

Another long drive ahead of me tomorrow, we are off to Portaferry and the Exploris aquarium. G'night!

April 7, 2009: Once upon a time.....

Twenty three years ago (or thereabouts), a young man and a pretty young woman took a walk in the woods. The woods were set on the side of a hill which stood as part of a collection of mountains. The man and the woman often visited the woods, they liked to walk the trails, and he had spent considerable time walking over many of the mountains beyond this particular hill. On this day however, the man and the woman did not walk far into the woods, rather, they stopped at a point by a mountain stream that provided a breathtaking view of the seaside town below, and the wide expanse of the bay beyond. There, they watched the world in its harmony, and there, with the setting sun shining across the bay, the young man asked the young woman to marry him.

Today, twenty three years later, we took the kids to that same stream in Donard Park, at the foot of the Mourne Mountains.

The weather reports were for all sorts of raining pestilence, but undeterred, we set off anyway. Sure what's a little rain, after all?

The drive to Newcastle was nostalgic in and of itself. I've seen that drive from the back seat of Roy Greer's red mini, Dave Close in the front passenger seat and Alan Mateer beside me, backpacks stuffed in around and on top of us, Marillion, Pink Floyd, Tangerine Dream, Barclay James Harvest, Deep Purple or whoever else that Close had picked up on cassette that week blaring from tinny speakers as we hi-tailed it from Donaghadee to the mountains on any given Sunday morning at Good-Grief-What-the-Hell-time-is-this-to-be-out o'clock for a days hill walking or climbing. I've cycled from my house to the mountains with Scouts and youth groups. I've done the drive myself more times than I can remember. It doesn't matter, that view of the mountains from Tyrella beach along Dundrum Bay of Newcastle and "the Mountains of Mourne sweeping down to the sea" to paraphrase Percy French, never ever gets old.

The Mournes aren't really mountains, technically; it's more like Mourne MOUNTAIN and a bunch of very large Mourne hills, but bugger that, they seem like mountains when you're on 'em.

The clouds sat low today, and oftentimes the peak of Slieve Donard (the tallest peak) was obscured by the cold damp mists. It's been years since I was last on the top of Donard, but I remember 1) the view of Dundrum bay was out of this world; and 2) when the mist was down like that it was brass-monkey weather! Brrrr!

We parked in Donard Park, and trekked up through the trees for a while, pausing to take in the woods, the immensity of some of the trees, and of course the view of Dundrum, far below us. Northern Ireland is doing a great job in trying to entice me back with its beauty, and today, in spite of the cold, it pulled out all the stops. I lost track how long I sat at one point by the same stream Elaine and I stopped at twenty three years ago.

We made our way into Newcastle from the forest park, and found a cafe for lunch. Conor spent some time later poking through the rocks on the flats of Dundrum Bay. The bay itself is pretty shallow, so the tide goes out quite far. The shoreline is a coarse sand, and the tideline floor is a wide expanse of stones, pebbles and shells.

When it was time to return to the car, Conor told me he wanted to stay. I told him we couldn't, but not without muttering "so do I" under my breath first.

The rain that was promised held off until we got to Tollymore Forest Park. We sat in the car, with Elaine assuring us "it would blow over". For a long time it looked like it wasn't going to, but the rain eased off for just long enough for us to leap out of the car and take a quick walk around the gardens.

Newcastle, Castlewellan, and the whole Mourne district hold a lot of good memories for me. A long drive, but definitely worth it, I'm glad we worked it into the trip. Tomorrow: The Cultra Folk Museum and the Ulster Transport Museum!

April 6, 2009: Just what DO you call this place?

This morning was another day of potential liquid sunshine all over the green fields of Ulster. No worries, time for another road trip!

Now, in the US, if you say road trip, it could mean anything from 1 to 5 states away and beyond, depending on the time of day, your disposition, and the amount of gas in your tank. Here, our destination was the relatively more nearby Londonderry (or is it Derry? Stroke City? Maiden City?? What DO you call this place?)

I can't think of anywhere in Northern Ireland that is more steeped in violent history than Derry. Derry is the anglicised version of the gaelic name, Doire. Londonderry is the name given after the establishment of the city by the London guilds in the early 1600's, and with that, the issue of what to call it was presumably argued since then. Protestant unionists favor Londonderry, unless of course they are referring to it in conversation, when it is "Derry". Go figure. Nationalists will refer to it as Derry, and will in some extreme cases score the "London" part off of street signs etc. Who knew a name could be so inciteful.

It was a very blustery day as we walked along the city walls, overlooking the Foyle river on one side and the old city and the Diamond on the other. The walls of Derry have seen a lot of violence in their time.

Interspersed along the walls are big black cannons, all facing outward as they would have done when they were in full use. I was caught up in reading the different plaques for the cannons, how heavy they are (3000 pounds plus each) and most were cast in the late 1500's. At one point I pointed this obviously impressive piece of history to Lauren. "That's nice," she said, and went went back to photographing a plant or a streetlamp or whatever was holding her focus.

Further along, from the ramparts of the wall, the whole of the "bogside" (named because it lay on the boggy side of the city, hundreds of years ago) was plainly visible. I counted a dozen political murals which chronicled a particulary painful period in Derry's history, the Bloody Sunday massacre of 1972. I told my mother in law that even though it reflects a dark period of Ulster's history, I was glad in a way to see that they remained. You can't cherrypick your history, you have to live with it, for good and for ill. The murals represent a bleak period in the History of the troubles, and hopefully a lesson is there that can be learned from.

I also spotted some more sinister graffiti, one one or two rooftops was painted "R IRA" (Real IRA). Don't even try to get your head around Real IRA vs Continuity IRA vs Provisional IRA vs IRA, I'm still confused by it myself.

I had never been to Derry before, and as I think back on the day, I'm glad I went. I remember learning about the likes of Wolfe Tone, the Apprentice Boys, and others during dry history lessons in school, but it was almost like an afterthought to the british governmental history that was drummed into our young (and totally disinterested) minds. It's a pity that the history of the land we lived in proved too contraversial for its young inhabitants to learn about. Perhaps by embracing it in schools sooner, younger generations can learn the lessons that history has to teach sooner, rather than later.

Perhaps, in America, you're wondering what the big deal is about all this history stuff. Put yourself in the position where you are taught the history of North America (Canada) without learning the history of the United States, and you only find out about US history later.

Derry was a long drive, but for me, totally worth it. Another long drive tomorrow, this time to the Mourne Mountains and Newcastle. Time for bed now!