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.
About Me
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
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.
-----------------------
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.
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.
-----------------------
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.
Friday, April 10, 2009
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.
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!
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!
Thursday, April 9, 2009
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!
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!
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
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!
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!
Monday, April 6, 2009
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!
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!
April 5, 2009: On the rocks, please!
Sunday was a lie-in-yer-bed-and-catch-up-on-lost-sleep day. Our plans today were to go for lunch at the Causeway inn, set at the top of the Giant's Causeway, a wee dander around the causeway, and then into Belfast later.
The Causeway Inn seems to be a required stop when in the area, it always seems to be busy. I have memories of stopping in at the Inn for cider in the bar with a fish supper or an ulster fry, but I've only been for a meal there a few times. It's a pretty decent meal, well worth the trip.
Our kids aren't used to sitting down at a place setting with multiple knives, forks, etc. We had to explain that you worked from the outside in, but by this stage Conor had already rearranged his setting, so he was pretty much on his own.
Pavlova. Mmmmmmm. If you haven't had it, you're missing a real treat.
After dinner, Elaine and I stood outside, taking in the landscape. Northern Ireland is synonimous with rain interspersed with outbursts of no rain, it's no wonder that it's green. I kept reminding myself "it's cold and wet here!" and the panorama kept screaming back "not this time!" and the sun would sparkle off of the sea, cliffs, and Portrush in the distance. The blue sky speckled with clouds that wrapped the horizon was the icing on the cake. Who in their right mind would move away from all this natural beauty? I did, and sometimes I still wonder if I'm in my right mind......
We took the tour bus down to the Causeway this time. It's not a bad walk, but we were tight on time, and besides, there was a guide on the bus who explained a bit about the Causeway and it's history on the way down. (The guide on the way back just rattled off cheesy jokes about Finn MaCool's granny and Guinness foam. Tourist pap.)
I first remember the Causeway as a boy about Conor's age. It is a memorable natural rock formation, steeped in local legend and folklore. I can't imagine ever getting bored with the place.
(As an aside, I went to see Hellboy 2 a while ago, and in the movie, they were going to the Giant's Causeway. Spoiler alert: They didn't go to the Causeway, I've no idea where that was.)
Northern Ireland doesn't have a lot by way of export ever since John Delorean bellied up, but few places in this world can hold a candle to what it has plenty of, and that is natural beauty, in spades.
After walking over the hexagonal columns, we made our way back to the gift shops and our car. After dropping my mother in law off home, we sped off to Belfast, to visit my cousin Andrew who is the lead Pastor for a startup church. Another late evening!
The Causeway Inn seems to be a required stop when in the area, it always seems to be busy. I have memories of stopping in at the Inn for cider in the bar with a fish supper or an ulster fry, but I've only been for a meal there a few times. It's a pretty decent meal, well worth the trip.
Our kids aren't used to sitting down at a place setting with multiple knives, forks, etc. We had to explain that you worked from the outside in, but by this stage Conor had already rearranged his setting, so he was pretty much on his own.
Pavlova. Mmmmmmm. If you haven't had it, you're missing a real treat.
After dinner, Elaine and I stood outside, taking in the landscape. Northern Ireland is synonimous with rain interspersed with outbursts of no rain, it's no wonder that it's green. I kept reminding myself "it's cold and wet here!" and the panorama kept screaming back "not this time!" and the sun would sparkle off of the sea, cliffs, and Portrush in the distance. The blue sky speckled with clouds that wrapped the horizon was the icing on the cake. Who in their right mind would move away from all this natural beauty? I did, and sometimes I still wonder if I'm in my right mind......
We took the tour bus down to the Causeway this time. It's not a bad walk, but we were tight on time, and besides, there was a guide on the bus who explained a bit about the Causeway and it's history on the way down. (The guide on the way back just rattled off cheesy jokes about Finn MaCool's granny and Guinness foam. Tourist pap.)
I first remember the Causeway as a boy about Conor's age. It is a memorable natural rock formation, steeped in local legend and folklore. I can't imagine ever getting bored with the place.
(As an aside, I went to see Hellboy 2 a while ago, and in the movie, they were going to the Giant's Causeway. Spoiler alert: They didn't go to the Causeway, I've no idea where that was.)
Northern Ireland doesn't have a lot by way of export ever since John Delorean bellied up, but few places in this world can hold a candle to what it has plenty of, and that is natural beauty, in spades.
After walking over the hexagonal columns, we made our way back to the gift shops and our car. After dropping my mother in law off home, we sped off to Belfast, to visit my cousin Andrew who is the lead Pastor for a startup church. Another late evening!
Sunday, April 5, 2009
April 4, 2009: Get your work done!
Saturday, April 4, 2009 started off a real soaker. It was just as well really, the kids still have some work to catch up on (what sort of a parent takes his kids on vacation and makes them do their homework?)
I had a few small repairs to take care of around the house, and needed supplies, so my mother in law and I set off for the town.
We stopped into a dimly let shop with heavy grilles on the window and a hodge-podge assortment of tools from goodness only knows when scattered in the window. The place was literally like something out of Harry Potter's Diagon Alley in the inside! Every available wall space was stuffed with a random assortment of envelopes, boxes, and odd shaped packages. Tools, belts, and straps of all colors, shapes and varieties were suspended from the ceiling just overhead. There was an old fashioned clock ticking in the corner, visible only of you juked your head around a pile of precariously stacked pruck. Much of the stuff there was so old and dusty, with faded packaging that I would not have been surprised to see it priced in Lsd (Pounds, shillings and pence).
The only thing conspicuously absent from the picture was a proprieter.
I was only looking for an o-ring for a drain and a couple of cotter pins. As I looked around the floor to ceiling and wall to wall inventory, seemingly devoid of any cataloging mechanism, I felt less confident of finding these items, and more confident of finding eye of newt and toe of frog. That's when it occurred to me, the proprieter didn't have to be there, becuase if you wanted to steal anything,
you wouldn't know where to begin, and there was an imminent threat of collapse if you happened to remove the wrong item. We called a few times, but when no-one answered, we decided to leave.
Mother in law and I parted ways at this point. I told her I'd locate a plumbers suppliers, and she suggested that we meet at Vincent's. This arrangement I'm sure would have been perfectly acceptible were it not for the minor detail that i had no clue who Vincent was, never mind which shop was his!
Still, that was something I could figure out later.
I found the plumbers supplier, and he didn't have an o-ring, but did have replacement bathplugs. Score. I then asked him if he had any cottoer pins, and explained what I was trying to fix. Not only did he
come up with a different solution (a couple of galvanized nails) he cut the heads off them for me, and chatted a while about his shop and the repairs I was carrying out. The Ballycastle folk are very chatty, and of the one's we've met so far, form a very friendly community.
Back out into the rain, and it's lashing by this point. I had to head back to the square to find some epoxy resin for holding the nails/pins in place, and find the mysterious Vincent's. turns out Vincent's was the greengrocers, and of course, NOT labeled Vincent's. Yvonne (Mum in law) stuck her head out of the shop as I walked past.
We walked back to the car, via the grocery store, picking up a few things, and here's where I got another culture shock. We paid for our groceries, accompanied by more chat, and afterwards, there were a couple of things we weren't going to buy. The checkout clerk asked Yvonne if she would be so kind as put them back on the shelf on her way out. We walked back through the store with our shopping bags, stopping off to put the goods back on the shelf. I can't think of anywhere in the US that shows that level of trust, but maybe thats just our location.
Saturday afternoon, my chores done, the kids were plowing through their homework, and Elaine and Yvonne were out getting some garden plants. The sun came out, and a wet dreary morning gave way to a bright afternoon.
That evening, we piled into the Craig-bus for a 30 mile drive to Limavady. I've only been in Limavady once before, during a cycling trip that I made in my younger days that took us around the Province, so I don't really have any memories of the place.
Another beautiful sight lay before us as we rounded a hill on our way into Limavady. The sun was setting over the Donegall hills, and the whole of the Lough Foyle was brightly lit and shining. our vantage point gave us a stunning veiw of the entire Lough, and once again I was struck with the beauty of the landscape.
We were going to visit a girl that I went to school with, Liz Bailie, now Liz Allen, and her husband and kids. Had a great night's craic, it was wonderful to catch up with her, it is one of the few opportunities that I have had to reminisce about my time at Regent House.
We bid the Allen's farewell at oh-my-gosh-is-that-the-time in the morning, and made our way home to bed.
ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz.
I had a few small repairs to take care of around the house, and needed supplies, so my mother in law and I set off for the town.
We stopped into a dimly let shop with heavy grilles on the window and a hodge-podge assortment of tools from goodness only knows when scattered in the window. The place was literally like something out of Harry Potter's Diagon Alley in the inside! Every available wall space was stuffed with a random assortment of envelopes, boxes, and odd shaped packages. Tools, belts, and straps of all colors, shapes and varieties were suspended from the ceiling just overhead. There was an old fashioned clock ticking in the corner, visible only of you juked your head around a pile of precariously stacked pruck. Much of the stuff there was so old and dusty, with faded packaging that I would not have been surprised to see it priced in Lsd (Pounds, shillings and pence).
The only thing conspicuously absent from the picture was a proprieter.
I was only looking for an o-ring for a drain and a couple of cotter pins. As I looked around the floor to ceiling and wall to wall inventory, seemingly devoid of any cataloging mechanism, I felt less confident of finding these items, and more confident of finding eye of newt and toe of frog. That's when it occurred to me, the proprieter didn't have to be there, becuase if you wanted to steal anything,
you wouldn't know where to begin, and there was an imminent threat of collapse if you happened to remove the wrong item. We called a few times, but when no-one answered, we decided to leave.
Mother in law and I parted ways at this point. I told her I'd locate a plumbers suppliers, and she suggested that we meet at Vincent's. This arrangement I'm sure would have been perfectly acceptible were it not for the minor detail that i had no clue who Vincent was, never mind which shop was his!
Still, that was something I could figure out later.
I found the plumbers supplier, and he didn't have an o-ring, but did have replacement bathplugs. Score. I then asked him if he had any cottoer pins, and explained what I was trying to fix. Not only did he
come up with a different solution (a couple of galvanized nails) he cut the heads off them for me, and chatted a while about his shop and the repairs I was carrying out. The Ballycastle folk are very chatty, and of the one's we've met so far, form a very friendly community.
Back out into the rain, and it's lashing by this point. I had to head back to the square to find some epoxy resin for holding the nails/pins in place, and find the mysterious Vincent's. turns out Vincent's was the greengrocers, and of course, NOT labeled Vincent's. Yvonne (Mum in law) stuck her head out of the shop as I walked past.
We walked back to the car, via the grocery store, picking up a few things, and here's where I got another culture shock. We paid for our groceries, accompanied by more chat, and afterwards, there were a couple of things we weren't going to buy. The checkout clerk asked Yvonne if she would be so kind as put them back on the shelf on her way out. We walked back through the store with our shopping bags, stopping off to put the goods back on the shelf. I can't think of anywhere in the US that shows that level of trust, but maybe thats just our location.
Saturday afternoon, my chores done, the kids were plowing through their homework, and Elaine and Yvonne were out getting some garden plants. The sun came out, and a wet dreary morning gave way to a bright afternoon.
That evening, we piled into the Craig-bus for a 30 mile drive to Limavady. I've only been in Limavady once before, during a cycling trip that I made in my younger days that took us around the Province, so I don't really have any memories of the place.
Another beautiful sight lay before us as we rounded a hill on our way into Limavady. The sun was setting over the Donegall hills, and the whole of the Lough Foyle was brightly lit and shining. our vantage point gave us a stunning veiw of the entire Lough, and once again I was struck with the beauty of the landscape.
We were going to visit a girl that I went to school with, Liz Bailie, now Liz Allen, and her husband and kids. Had a great night's craic, it was wonderful to catch up with her, it is one of the few opportunities that I have had to reminisce about my time at Regent House.
We bid the Allen's farewell at oh-my-gosh-is-that-the-time in the morning, and made our way home to bed.
ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
April 3, 2009: Today is the first day of the rest of your life....
Today it was my turn for Belfast meetings.
I had been in contact with some folks off and on, and decided that I needed to meet with them face to face. I arranged that Friday, April 3 was going to be set aside to blitz the whole meeting thing, get them all out of the way. Problem is, I had to get to Belfast at holy-smokes-it's-early, which wasn't going to work for the kids and wife. So, I rode the bus!
Ulsterbus is really nice. Seriously.
The ulsterbus of my youth was plastic seats on aluminium frames that kids banged "the sash" on when they sat in the back row. This ulsterbus was all reclining seats, individual vents and lights, seatbelts, in a word, posh (by bus standards anyway).
As we drove and I looked out over the sun coming up on the fields, the dense patchy mist, and the sheep waking up, I got to thinking about perceptions (as you would, really).
When we first went to the US, we fielded a volley of questions "Do they have this?", "Do they have that in Northern Ireland?", etc. One guy (this is true) asked me if we had electricity in Northern Ireland. in 1994. I told him that we had heard rumors of it, but only because someone had gone to england and strung an extension cable across to Belfast. Going to the city to look at the magic light was a treat.
Idiot.
No matter where you go, there is a perception that says where you are is all there is, and that other places aren't as developed, Truth is, there is a lot more that Northern ireland has that often has me thinking "Why hasn't this caught on in the US?"
Example 1: Electric showers. You turn it on, it heats only the water you need to wash yourself, and you're done. A brilliant idea, a simple idea, they've been here for yonks, and yet I've yet to see them in the US.
Example 2: GSM cellphones. Give it up, America, CDMA is a steaming turd compared to GSM. (anyone who's not a geek will think I've gone off the deep end now). Yeah I know about the differences between them, but I like the whole idea of being able to simply move from phone to phone via a small card with an even smaller chip on it.
As we rode along the motorway (yup, Northern Ireland has those too), I took in all sorts of sights that reminded me that yes, technology exists outside the US, and yes, in lots of cases, it's much better. It's good to be reminded of the world outside my world.......
Anyway, meetings are now done, and I'm sitting in a starbucks looking over what used to be Cornmarket but is now a construction site. Not all progress can be a good thing. Belfast has a ferris wheel now, it has been slapped right beside the City Hall, and robs the city center of some of it's charm, I think. In fact, it's current location (constructed around one of the existing statues) makes it appear haphazard. I'm not against the wheel, just stick it with all the other modern stuff (like the Oddessy center).
Waiting for Elaine and the kids to make their way down to Belfast so they can do a wee bit of shopping, and then it's off to Ravenhill for the Ulster v Ospreys rugby match!!
Later that day.....
When Elaine and the kids got to Belfast, we went to Delaney's for lunch. Delaney's was on the way home when I went to University, and many's a lunch/dinner I had there with fellow classmates. That was in the late eighties. you would think they would at least slap a fresh coat of paint on the place! The same old black and white photos, the same old stuffed animals, I would hazard a guess that the same old quiche lurked somewhere in the recesses of the same old hot trays.
Shopping consisted of wandering through the new Victoria Center (another modern lurch forward for Belfast), before heading off for the Ulster match.
Conor and I learned a new song tonight!
In the eighties, there was a song by the Village People/Pet Shop Boys called "Go West". The tune is now the basis for "Stand up, for the Ulster men". Elaine just shook her head and said "That's just wrong....."
A steady drizzle had settled in which made for perfect rugby weather. Unfortunately, it was perfect for the other side. Bad luck Ulster, but at least you've got a snazzy tune.....
I had been in contact with some folks off and on, and decided that I needed to meet with them face to face. I arranged that Friday, April 3 was going to be set aside to blitz the whole meeting thing, get them all out of the way. Problem is, I had to get to Belfast at holy-smokes-it's-early, which wasn't going to work for the kids and wife. So, I rode the bus!
Ulsterbus is really nice. Seriously.
The ulsterbus of my youth was plastic seats on aluminium frames that kids banged "the sash" on when they sat in the back row. This ulsterbus was all reclining seats, individual vents and lights, seatbelts, in a word, posh (by bus standards anyway).
As we drove and I looked out over the sun coming up on the fields, the dense patchy mist, and the sheep waking up, I got to thinking about perceptions (as you would, really).
When we first went to the US, we fielded a volley of questions "Do they have this?", "Do they have that in Northern Ireland?", etc. One guy (this is true) asked me if we had electricity in Northern Ireland. in 1994. I told him that we had heard rumors of it, but only because someone had gone to england and strung an extension cable across to Belfast. Going to the city to look at the magic light was a treat.
Idiot.
No matter where you go, there is a perception that says where you are is all there is, and that other places aren't as developed, Truth is, there is a lot more that Northern ireland has that often has me thinking "Why hasn't this caught on in the US?"
Example 1: Electric showers. You turn it on, it heats only the water you need to wash yourself, and you're done. A brilliant idea, a simple idea, they've been here for yonks, and yet I've yet to see them in the US.
Example 2: GSM cellphones. Give it up, America, CDMA is a steaming turd compared to GSM. (anyone who's not a geek will think I've gone off the deep end now). Yeah I know about the differences between them, but I like the whole idea of being able to simply move from phone to phone via a small card with an even smaller chip on it.
As we rode along the motorway (yup, Northern Ireland has those too), I took in all sorts of sights that reminded me that yes, technology exists outside the US, and yes, in lots of cases, it's much better. It's good to be reminded of the world outside my world.......
Anyway, meetings are now done, and I'm sitting in a starbucks looking over what used to be Cornmarket but is now a construction site. Not all progress can be a good thing. Belfast has a ferris wheel now, it has been slapped right beside the City Hall, and robs the city center of some of it's charm, I think. In fact, it's current location (constructed around one of the existing statues) makes it appear haphazard. I'm not against the wheel, just stick it with all the other modern stuff (like the Oddessy center).
Waiting for Elaine and the kids to make their way down to Belfast so they can do a wee bit of shopping, and then it's off to Ravenhill for the Ulster v Ospreys rugby match!!
Later that day.....
When Elaine and the kids got to Belfast, we went to Delaney's for lunch. Delaney's was on the way home when I went to University, and many's a lunch/dinner I had there with fellow classmates. That was in the late eighties. you would think they would at least slap a fresh coat of paint on the place! The same old black and white photos, the same old stuffed animals, I would hazard a guess that the same old quiche lurked somewhere in the recesses of the same old hot trays.
Shopping consisted of wandering through the new Victoria Center (another modern lurch forward for Belfast), before heading off for the Ulster match.
Conor and I learned a new song tonight!
In the eighties, there was a song by the Village People/Pet Shop Boys called "Go West". The tune is now the basis for "Stand up, for the Ulster men". Elaine just shook her head and said "That's just wrong....."
A steady drizzle had settled in which made for perfect rugby weather. Unfortunately, it was perfect for the other side. Bad luck Ulster, but at least you've got a snazzy tune.....
April 2, 2009: Come in Mr. Marconi, Can you hear me now?
Today, April 2, 2009, was road trip day.
Actually, today was the day that Lauren was going to visit the University of Ulster campus in Belfast, which has a number of Arts degrees on offer. Her subject of choice is Photography, and I took a chance to email the University and ask for a tour. Lauren had applied to the course, and when they realized this, they suggested that she come in for interview, and bring a portfolio of her work. We spent four hours last night compiling a portfolio, and ended up going to bed way too late (again).
April 2, 2009 was the day that the sun came out in Northern Ireland. A rarity for a land that sees four seasons in a day.
The plan was for Lauren to be interviewed for a place in the University of Ulster, in a BA course in Photography. It's something she's interested in, and when we looked at the variety of far flung schools that she could have applied to, the option of going to Northern Ireland for school made sense since we know more people here than in Syracuse!
The Craig-bus dutifully loaded, we set off to Belfast via the Antrim Coast road, taking in Cushendall, Cushendun, and Glenarm along the way.
The route takes you up hill and down dale along the Ulster coastline. This part of the world is beautiful anytime, but when the sun comes out, it is downright glorious. We stopped at a layby to take in Tor Head, the closest point of Northern Ireland to Scotland, and also the origin of this blog's title.
Tor Head is the location that Mr. Marconi sent the first transatlantic radio transmission to the United States. Who'da thunk it. The buildings themselves are pretty nondescript, and there is nothing there that would encourage the traveller to divert and explore. But the view! Worth the price of admission alone!
The sun stayed out as we drove along windy narrow roads with hairpin turns and sharp drops, the wide expanse of the Irish sea and the white capped waves far below. It was picture perfect.
We stopped at Glanarm, at a church with a very interesting graveyard. Many of the stones are toppled or diplaced, but those still standing all have stories to tell. We found one that chronicled a family who died in the late 1700's, but the interesting thing was that this headboard was very heavily weathered wood.
Bethany and Conor had a blast combing the beach for sea glass and rounded stones. we have a big bag of them now, they seem bound determined to make sure we exceed the incompetent-al airlines weight limits.
Elaine and I often joke about Johnston picnics. When we were going out, we sometimes would have gone on wee runs in the car with her folks, often stopping off for a picnic. Given the fickle nature of Northern Ireland weather, this invariably meant a sandwich in one hand, a steamy hot drink in the other, and huddled up together in the car with the windows fogging over. Today's picnic? Sandwich in one hand, steamy hot drink in the other, etc etc. Yeah the sun was out, it was still blowy though!
After leaving Glenarm, we headed into Belfast. Lauren and I jumped out of the car, and Elaine went on with the rest to Bangor, to visit a friend of her mother's. Lauren and I were met by one of the lecturers of the Photography course, who interviewed Lauren and gave us a very nice tour of the facility there. We'll see how it plays out, competition is stiff for places in this course.
Dinnertime brought us to the town I grew up in, Donaghadee. To all my american friends, don't even try pronouncing it.
Donaghadee lighthouse and harbour is another favorite haunt, though like much of Northern Ireland, time's march has brough several changes. Gone are Kennedy's sweet shop on the corner, the Blue Dot now sells old antique pruck, and Curry's corner grocery is now a hairdressers. Saddest of all was to see that Bow Belle's teashop is gone, replaced by some holistic eyesore. That's all Donaghadee is lost for, some incense burning crystal hugging hippies.
We walked around the lighthouse (as you would when in the 'Dee) and then fish suppers all round from the Captain's Table. The light was getting low when we left, and by the time we went further south to Millisle, it was dark. Since there was no point in pressing on (what was there to see anyway), we made our way back north through Belfast to Ballycastle and our warm beds.
Actually, today was the day that Lauren was going to visit the University of Ulster campus in Belfast, which has a number of Arts degrees on offer. Her subject of choice is Photography, and I took a chance to email the University and ask for a tour. Lauren had applied to the course, and when they realized this, they suggested that she come in for interview, and bring a portfolio of her work. We spent four hours last night compiling a portfolio, and ended up going to bed way too late (again).
April 2, 2009 was the day that the sun came out in Northern Ireland. A rarity for a land that sees four seasons in a day.
The plan was for Lauren to be interviewed for a place in the University of Ulster, in a BA course in Photography. It's something she's interested in, and when we looked at the variety of far flung schools that she could have applied to, the option of going to Northern Ireland for school made sense since we know more people here than in Syracuse!
The Craig-bus dutifully loaded, we set off to Belfast via the Antrim Coast road, taking in Cushendall, Cushendun, and Glenarm along the way.
The route takes you up hill and down dale along the Ulster coastline. This part of the world is beautiful anytime, but when the sun comes out, it is downright glorious. We stopped at a layby to take in Tor Head, the closest point of Northern Ireland to Scotland, and also the origin of this blog's title.
Tor Head is the location that Mr. Marconi sent the first transatlantic radio transmission to the United States. Who'da thunk it. The buildings themselves are pretty nondescript, and there is nothing there that would encourage the traveller to divert and explore. But the view! Worth the price of admission alone!
The sun stayed out as we drove along windy narrow roads with hairpin turns and sharp drops, the wide expanse of the Irish sea and the white capped waves far below. It was picture perfect.
We stopped at Glanarm, at a church with a very interesting graveyard. Many of the stones are toppled or diplaced, but those still standing all have stories to tell. We found one that chronicled a family who died in the late 1700's, but the interesting thing was that this headboard was very heavily weathered wood.
Bethany and Conor had a blast combing the beach for sea glass and rounded stones. we have a big bag of them now, they seem bound determined to make sure we exceed the incompetent-al airlines weight limits.
Elaine and I often joke about Johnston picnics. When we were going out, we sometimes would have gone on wee runs in the car with her folks, often stopping off for a picnic. Given the fickle nature of Northern Ireland weather, this invariably meant a sandwich in one hand, a steamy hot drink in the other, and huddled up together in the car with the windows fogging over. Today's picnic? Sandwich in one hand, steamy hot drink in the other, etc etc. Yeah the sun was out, it was still blowy though!
After leaving Glenarm, we headed into Belfast. Lauren and I jumped out of the car, and Elaine went on with the rest to Bangor, to visit a friend of her mother's. Lauren and I were met by one of the lecturers of the Photography course, who interviewed Lauren and gave us a very nice tour of the facility there. We'll see how it plays out, competition is stiff for places in this course.
Dinnertime brought us to the town I grew up in, Donaghadee. To all my american friends, don't even try pronouncing it.
Donaghadee lighthouse and harbour is another favorite haunt, though like much of Northern Ireland, time's march has brough several changes. Gone are Kennedy's sweet shop on the corner, the Blue Dot now sells old antique pruck, and Curry's corner grocery is now a hairdressers. Saddest of all was to see that Bow Belle's teashop is gone, replaced by some holistic eyesore. That's all Donaghadee is lost for, some incense burning crystal hugging hippies.
We walked around the lighthouse (as you would when in the 'Dee) and then fish suppers all round from the Captain's Table. The light was getting low when we left, and by the time we went further south to Millisle, it was dark. Since there was no point in pressing on (what was there to see anyway), we made our way back north through Belfast to Ballycastle and our warm beds.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
April 1, 2009: Memories and Munchies......
Addendum to March 31, 2009:
Forgot to mention, yesterday we also went to Bonamargy Friary, a stone's throw from the sea front in Ballycastle. Bonamargy Friary was built in the 1500's and is nothing more now that a few walls and several graves. The graveyard appeared to by still in use, there were several headstones with what looked like merchant seaman emblems on them, thry all seemed to be relatively new. The Friary now sits pretty much in the middle of Ballycastle golf course, which adds a whole new dimension to the game, obstacles, etc. I wonder if they have a specific rule section for listed ruins....
While we explored the ruins, there were several golfers playing the nearby holes. Tourists and golfers coexisted in happy harmony until three hitchhiker-backpacking-euro-hippies appeared, walking down the fairway towards the tee, map in hand and completely oblivious to the barrage of incoming golf balls heading their way by hostile golfers. One of the euro hippies (we'll call him "Deiter" because he looked like a Deiter) made the mistake of asking one of the angry golfers where the friary was. I watched as the golfer very patiently explained that Dieter and co were in fact on a golf course, and that the friary was extremely easy to find, if someone would take the time to, say, turn his heard to the right and walk 12 feet in that direction, stopping when he hits the big stone wall that surrounds the friary. I can see why Dieter missed it, those pesky medieval ruins can be SO easy to misplace....
Sorry about that. On we go now to....
April 1, 2009: Memories and munchies....
Was awakened at holy-crap-it's-early-o'clock by daughter number one, who wanted to take more photographs of more stuff, only this time at holy-crap-it's-early-thirty, something about the light being better. Conor wanted to do it too, so I pulled some jeans on and off we set. It's just as easy for me to sleep in a van like a homeless person as it is to sleep in a bed....
One snooze and two happy photographers later, back home to start the day.
Todays destination: Coleraine and Portrush.
Coleraine is probably the nearest city to Ballycastle with all the big city conveniences. The convenience we were looking for however was a cobbler.
Our oldest, Lauren, had a pair of boots that needed mending. Cobblers it seems are a dying breed all over, but we found one in Coleraine, and in ten minutes, Lauren's boots were made for walking once more. We stopped in a cafe for sausage rolls and tea (a.k.a. the breakfast of champions). Nom nom nom nom......
Back to the Craig-bus again, stopping off first to ogle over all the really nice chocolate easter eggs on the shop shelves. In the U.S., really nice chocolate is sold by Godiva, and requires a bank loan to purchase. In the UK, really nice chocolate jumps off of the shelves in the form of Flakes, Smarties, Minstrels, Yorkies, etc, and costs nothing more than pocket change. Mmmmm, yorkies.......
It's a cold day, one that blows through you and stings your cheeks, one that makes your nose and eyes water. We're all bundled up against the cold, and here comes a class outing from one of the local high schools. Not a coat to be seen, and the girls walking around in skirts on the north end of mid-thigh. My kids all commented on how they want to wear school uniforms, becuase it means they don't have to think about what they have to wear to school each day. All I know is that I had to wear school uniform at my High School (Regent House, Newtownards) and we learned ways of self expressing with the confines of a uniform. we doctored our ties, we wore these goofy bright orange cornish pasty shaped shoes, some of the cool kids wore "brothel creepers", big thick rubber soled suede shoes, fred perry sweaters, etc etc. We had to find ways to stand out, while still coloring in the lines of the school sanctioned uniform.
In my day (listen to me, the old man now!) but in my day, school uniforms were somber affairs, typically blacks or dark blues, with maroons or hunter greens, all depending on the school. The uniforms we saw today was purple. Not like a deep shade of something like a royal purple, but a "Harold and the Purple Crayon" purple. A "kool-ade" purple. My kids loved it.
After leaving Coleraine, it was on to the seaside resort town of Portrush.
Portrush has been the annual mecca of holiday-goers ever since the proverbial Hector was a proverbial pup. Many of the sights of Portrush are iconic, none more so than Barry's amusement arcade.
Barry's was shut, it wasn't due to open until Easter.
We walked along the strand (we have done a lot of walking, and will do a lot more no doubt before the trip is through) and made our way to the Harbour Bar, in search of some fish and chips. We found a restuarant on the harbour with a nice view of Portrush strand (a strand is a long stretch of beach). The restaurant sat on the Harbour (thereby making it appropriately named) with the Portrush lifeboat in full view.
Mike Rowe should do a stint for his "Dirty Jobs" show with the Lifeboat men (all volunteers, by the way) that man the lifeboats in Portrush, Donaghadee, and numerous other seaside towns. Those guys are bravery through and through, often having to put to sea during raging storms (20 ft plus waves) to rescue some unfortunate. I have never heard tell of the lifeboats refusing to go out due to inclement weather. Their boats are state of the art, self righting affairs, and by golly they need every bit of them when the seas get up. I like seeing the lifeboats.
It was odd, the restaurant sold fish and chips, but the fish was monkfish, and not cod or haddock. Cod and haddock are both very tasty fish, as is monkfish, I just found it odd to put in on the menu.
A monkfish looks like a cowpat with fins, gills and a tail. Most of the fish is inedible, except for the tail, which is often used as a replacement for scampi (battered prawns). I like it when it's prepped and looks like something to eat, but often wonder who looked at a monkfish fresh from the sea, all lumpy and gnarly and thought to themselves "MMMmmmmmmmmm, Monkfish......" Probably the first guy who looked at an oyster and thought "Now THAT looks tasty, nom nom nom nom....."
A very pleasant drive back along th coastal route, past Dunluce Castle (the remains of a 16th century castle set on the cliffs, part of it slipped in the sea in the late 1600's) and back home for the evening. Tonight was homework night for the kids, with Lauren prepping for a college interview tomorrow with the University of Ulster in Belfast tomorrow afternoon.
Forgot to mention, yesterday we also went to Bonamargy Friary, a stone's throw from the sea front in Ballycastle. Bonamargy Friary was built in the 1500's and is nothing more now that a few walls and several graves. The graveyard appeared to by still in use, there were several headstones with what looked like merchant seaman emblems on them, thry all seemed to be relatively new. The Friary now sits pretty much in the middle of Ballycastle golf course, which adds a whole new dimension to the game, obstacles, etc. I wonder if they have a specific rule section for listed ruins....
While we explored the ruins, there were several golfers playing the nearby holes. Tourists and golfers coexisted in happy harmony until three hitchhiker-backpacking-euro-hippies appeared, walking down the fairway towards the tee, map in hand and completely oblivious to the barrage of incoming golf balls heading their way by hostile golfers. One of the euro hippies (we'll call him "Deiter" because he looked like a Deiter) made the mistake of asking one of the angry golfers where the friary was. I watched as the golfer very patiently explained that Dieter and co were in fact on a golf course, and that the friary was extremely easy to find, if someone would take the time to, say, turn his heard to the right and walk 12 feet in that direction, stopping when he hits the big stone wall that surrounds the friary. I can see why Dieter missed it, those pesky medieval ruins can be SO easy to misplace....
Sorry about that. On we go now to....
April 1, 2009: Memories and munchies....
Was awakened at holy-crap-it's-early-o'clock by daughter number one, who wanted to take more photographs of more stuff, only this time at holy-crap-it's-early-thirty, something about the light being better. Conor wanted to do it too, so I pulled some jeans on and off we set. It's just as easy for me to sleep in a van like a homeless person as it is to sleep in a bed....
One snooze and two happy photographers later, back home to start the day.
Todays destination: Coleraine and Portrush.
Coleraine is probably the nearest city to Ballycastle with all the big city conveniences. The convenience we were looking for however was a cobbler.
Our oldest, Lauren, had a pair of boots that needed mending. Cobblers it seems are a dying breed all over, but we found one in Coleraine, and in ten minutes, Lauren's boots were made for walking once more. We stopped in a cafe for sausage rolls and tea (a.k.a. the breakfast of champions). Nom nom nom nom......
Back to the Craig-bus again, stopping off first to ogle over all the really nice chocolate easter eggs on the shop shelves. In the U.S., really nice chocolate is sold by Godiva, and requires a bank loan to purchase. In the UK, really nice chocolate jumps off of the shelves in the form of Flakes, Smarties, Minstrels, Yorkies, etc, and costs nothing more than pocket change. Mmmmm, yorkies.......
It's a cold day, one that blows through you and stings your cheeks, one that makes your nose and eyes water. We're all bundled up against the cold, and here comes a class outing from one of the local high schools. Not a coat to be seen, and the girls walking around in skirts on the north end of mid-thigh. My kids all commented on how they want to wear school uniforms, becuase it means they don't have to think about what they have to wear to school each day. All I know is that I had to wear school uniform at my High School (Regent House, Newtownards) and we learned ways of self expressing with the confines of a uniform. we doctored our ties, we wore these goofy bright orange cornish pasty shaped shoes, some of the cool kids wore "brothel creepers", big thick rubber soled suede shoes, fred perry sweaters, etc etc. We had to find ways to stand out, while still coloring in the lines of the school sanctioned uniform.
In my day (listen to me, the old man now!) but in my day, school uniforms were somber affairs, typically blacks or dark blues, with maroons or hunter greens, all depending on the school. The uniforms we saw today was purple. Not like a deep shade of something like a royal purple, but a "Harold and the Purple Crayon" purple. A "kool-ade" purple. My kids loved it.
After leaving Coleraine, it was on to the seaside resort town of Portrush.
Portrush has been the annual mecca of holiday-goers ever since the proverbial Hector was a proverbial pup. Many of the sights of Portrush are iconic, none more so than Barry's amusement arcade.
Barry's was shut, it wasn't due to open until Easter.
We walked along the strand (we have done a lot of walking, and will do a lot more no doubt before the trip is through) and made our way to the Harbour Bar, in search of some fish and chips. We found a restuarant on the harbour with a nice view of Portrush strand (a strand is a long stretch of beach). The restaurant sat on the Harbour (thereby making it appropriately named) with the Portrush lifeboat in full view.
Mike Rowe should do a stint for his "Dirty Jobs" show with the Lifeboat men (all volunteers, by the way) that man the lifeboats in Portrush, Donaghadee, and numerous other seaside towns. Those guys are bravery through and through, often having to put to sea during raging storms (20 ft plus waves) to rescue some unfortunate. I have never heard tell of the lifeboats refusing to go out due to inclement weather. Their boats are state of the art, self righting affairs, and by golly they need every bit of them when the seas get up. I like seeing the lifeboats.
It was odd, the restaurant sold fish and chips, but the fish was monkfish, and not cod or haddock. Cod and haddock are both very tasty fish, as is monkfish, I just found it odd to put in on the menu.
A monkfish looks like a cowpat with fins, gills and a tail. Most of the fish is inedible, except for the tail, which is often used as a replacement for scampi (battered prawns). I like it when it's prepped and looks like something to eat, but often wonder who looked at a monkfish fresh from the sea, all lumpy and gnarly and thought to themselves "MMMmmmmmmmmm, Monkfish......" Probably the first guy who looked at an oyster and thought "Now THAT looks tasty, nom nom nom nom....."
A very pleasant drive back along th coastal route, past Dunluce Castle (the remains of a 16th century castle set on the cliffs, part of it slipped in the sea in the late 1600's) and back home for the evening. Tonight was homework night for the kids, with Lauren prepping for a college interview tomorrow with the University of Ulster in Belfast tomorrow afternoon.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
March 31, 2009: Swinging in the rain....
March 31, 2009: Swinging in the rain....
Our first full day in Northern Ireland was going to be spent close to home, to give folks time to recover from the trip. My goal this year is to actually get the kids out the door at a reasonable hour so we can actually get somewhere and do stuff before the country goes to sleep for the night (starts around 6 pm).
We set out for a drive up along the coast, and ended up about five miles away from home, at Carrick-a-Rede.
First, a word about distances in Northern Ireland.
We are staying in Ballycastle, which is about 60 miles north of Belfast. To get there, you go to Ballymena (23 miles from Belfast) and then head out towards Ballycastle.
In the US, I live about 23 miles from Washington DC. I frequently make the drive to DC without a minute's thought, and yet when we lived here, we wouldn't have dreamt of driving the same distance to Ballymena. Going to Ballycastle was the stuff of going away on vacation!
My point is, I'm surprised at how relative distances are in different cultures. I work with a guy who has an almost three hour commute. In three hours in Ireland, I can get from Belfast to Limerick. The thought of driving the length of Ireland on a daily basis is riduculous, but in the US, folks it seems will absorb the longer distances without complaint.
The Belfast-Ballycastle drive isn't too bad distance-wise, but the narrow winding roads at the tail end of the journey draws out the trip a bit. Can't beat the view though!
Back to Carrick-a-rede:
Carrick-a-rede is the site of an abandoned salmon fishery (North Atlantic Salmon) that closed down 7 years ago. THe National Trust maintains the bridge though, which is a rope footbridge suspended over an 80 foot drop into the sea below. The whole point of going to Carrick-a-rede is to walk on the footbridge, there's literally nothing else there. It doesn't stop a steady stream of visitors trekking along the 1 km path to the bridge.
The walk from the carpark to the bridge really should only take about 10 minutes. That is, if you actually walk, and don't stop along the way to take pictures of every lamb, vine, bug, leaf or flower that the good Lord saw fit to put there. I started teasing the Craig shutterbugs with:
"Show us some pictures of your holidays"
"Sure, here's a picture of a plant, and here's another plant, oh, and here's another plant......"
The view along the path is absolutely staggering. It was a clear day, so clear that you could see Scotland (quite a lot of the coastline, with the mountains behind). Rathlin Island, Sheep Island, and the limestone cliffs marking the LarryBane quarry stood in brilliant contrast against the bright blue/green of the surrounding sea. It was an absolutely beautiful day, for about an hour, then the grey clouds rolled in. Northern Ireland weather, it's almost iconic.
Lauren, Bethany, Conor and I all went across the bridge, crossing into the island that now serves as home to several species of seabirds who make their nests in crannies in the cliff face. By this stage the wind had picked up, and an occasional spot of rain was appearing.
Having done the bridge, we set off back to the carpark. What took over an hour to walk one way, only took about 10 minutes in the other direction. I guess all the interesting plants were located on the outbound walk.....
That afternoon, I took the kids down to the town to get some snacks (Northern Ireland has THE BEST potato chips in the world. Tayto Cheese and Onion are number 1, all others are number 2). Took the opportunity to call an old school friend while the kids were in the shops, it was great to catch up with her.
Last night, I went to Belfast by myself, to have dinner with some work colleagues and
friends from my days in the lab in Belfast, followed by a Benefit Concert. The concert was a memorial concert for Jim McKeown, my old boss from the lab. I can still remember his last words to me before I left for America; He looked me in the eye and said, "I'm tellin' you now," (he was always tellin' me now), "don't fuck this up." To this day, if I'm trying something new or unsure about something, I have a mental flashback to the GC-TEA lab and Jim McKeown tellin' me now....
Another friend, "Sandy Rowe" was in fine form with "the Clarence Diggs band". The craic was fierce, which won't mean anything to anyone who a) doesn't know was craic is, and b) hasn't been around craic when it is fierce. It's Ulster code! Had a great time catching up with some old faces, and before setting off again for the drive back to home and bed.
Here's where the culture shock sets in.
As a part time musician, I occasionally end up playing at venues a considerable distance from home, until early in the morning. In the US, I could always count on finding a 7-11 or 24 hour garage, grab a coffee, and go on my way. Not so in Northern Ireland. They have Burger Kings and McDonalds now, but still nowhere that I could find to get a travel coffee at 11:00. Maybe thats a good thing, the sensible people should be in their beds anyway and not drinking coffee at all hours of the night.
An uneventful (and coffee-less) drive home in the dark (no streetlights for much of it) and Jackson Browne on the iPod rounded off the day.
Our first full day in Northern Ireland was going to be spent close to home, to give folks time to recover from the trip. My goal this year is to actually get the kids out the door at a reasonable hour so we can actually get somewhere and do stuff before the country goes to sleep for the night (starts around 6 pm).
We set out for a drive up along the coast, and ended up about five miles away from home, at Carrick-a-Rede.
First, a word about distances in Northern Ireland.
We are staying in Ballycastle, which is about 60 miles north of Belfast. To get there, you go to Ballymena (23 miles from Belfast) and then head out towards Ballycastle.
In the US, I live about 23 miles from Washington DC. I frequently make the drive to DC without a minute's thought, and yet when we lived here, we wouldn't have dreamt of driving the same distance to Ballymena. Going to Ballycastle was the stuff of going away on vacation!
My point is, I'm surprised at how relative distances are in different cultures. I work with a guy who has an almost three hour commute. In three hours in Ireland, I can get from Belfast to Limerick. The thought of driving the length of Ireland on a daily basis is riduculous, but in the US, folks it seems will absorb the longer distances without complaint.
The Belfast-Ballycastle drive isn't too bad distance-wise, but the narrow winding roads at the tail end of the journey draws out the trip a bit. Can't beat the view though!
Back to Carrick-a-rede:
Carrick-a-rede is the site of an abandoned salmon fishery (North Atlantic Salmon) that closed down 7 years ago. THe National Trust maintains the bridge though, which is a rope footbridge suspended over an 80 foot drop into the sea below. The whole point of going to Carrick-a-rede is to walk on the footbridge, there's literally nothing else there. It doesn't stop a steady stream of visitors trekking along the 1 km path to the bridge.
The walk from the carpark to the bridge really should only take about 10 minutes. That is, if you actually walk, and don't stop along the way to take pictures of every lamb, vine, bug, leaf or flower that the good Lord saw fit to put there. I started teasing the Craig shutterbugs with:
"Show us some pictures of your holidays"
"Sure, here's a picture of a plant, and here's another plant, oh, and here's another plant......"
The view along the path is absolutely staggering. It was a clear day, so clear that you could see Scotland (quite a lot of the coastline, with the mountains behind). Rathlin Island, Sheep Island, and the limestone cliffs marking the LarryBane quarry stood in brilliant contrast against the bright blue/green of the surrounding sea. It was an absolutely beautiful day, for about an hour, then the grey clouds rolled in. Northern Ireland weather, it's almost iconic.
Lauren, Bethany, Conor and I all went across the bridge, crossing into the island that now serves as home to several species of seabirds who make their nests in crannies in the cliff face. By this stage the wind had picked up, and an occasional spot of rain was appearing.
Having done the bridge, we set off back to the carpark. What took over an hour to walk one way, only took about 10 minutes in the other direction. I guess all the interesting plants were located on the outbound walk.....
That afternoon, I took the kids down to the town to get some snacks (Northern Ireland has THE BEST potato chips in the world. Tayto Cheese and Onion are number 1, all others are number 2). Took the opportunity to call an old school friend while the kids were in the shops, it was great to catch up with her.
Last night, I went to Belfast by myself, to have dinner with some work colleagues and
friends from my days in the lab in Belfast, followed by a Benefit Concert. The concert was a memorial concert for Jim McKeown, my old boss from the lab. I can still remember his last words to me before I left for America; He looked me in the eye and said, "I'm tellin' you now," (he was always tellin' me now), "don't fuck this up." To this day, if I'm trying something new or unsure about something, I have a mental flashback to the GC-TEA lab and Jim McKeown tellin' me now....
Another friend, "Sandy Rowe" was in fine form with "the Clarence Diggs band". The craic was fierce, which won't mean anything to anyone who a) doesn't know was craic is, and b) hasn't been around craic when it is fierce. It's Ulster code! Had a great time catching up with some old faces, and before setting off again for the drive back to home and bed.
Here's where the culture shock sets in.
As a part time musician, I occasionally end up playing at venues a considerable distance from home, until early in the morning. In the US, I could always count on finding a 7-11 or 24 hour garage, grab a coffee, and go on my way. Not so in Northern Ireland. They have Burger Kings and McDonalds now, but still nowhere that I could find to get a travel coffee at 11:00. Maybe thats a good thing, the sensible people should be in their beds anyway and not drinking coffee at all hours of the night.
An uneventful (and coffee-less) drive home in the dark (no streetlights for much of it) and Jackson Browne on the iPod rounded off the day.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
March 30, 2009: A funny thing happened on the way to.....
A funny thing happened on the way to.....
I love to fly. I really enjoy the whole idea of a day that begins in one location, and ends in another. what I don't enjoy however is the whole kabuki dance that accompanies flying. Stand here, do this, put your information here, take off some of your clothes, next in line, hurry along please sir, and on and on and on. It's a sad reflection of the age we live in, and for me, robs some of the magic inherent in sitting in a chair in one country and getting out of it in another.
Incompetental airlines have an interesting interpretation of "cabin crew", it's more like "cabin posse" or "cabin hommes". Silly me, I thought "crew" implied people who actually worked on a vessel, and not crew as in frat buddies. These guys whooped it up at the back of the plane pretty much the whole flight, taking time out to do the drinks run (by which I mean "here's a cup, if you actually got anything in it, then bonus!), and the evening meal :
"Lasagna or chicken?"
"I'll have the lasagna, please!"
"Sorry, we're out of lasagna."
"So my choice is "or chicken"?" "We weren't expecting a run on lasagna."
And I thought Eddie Izzard just made that whole routine up (if you haven't seen Eddie Izzard's "Dressed to Kill", then that whole conversation will be lost on you)
Anyway, one anaemic salad, one chicken "cacchiatorre" (it may as well have been chicken a la Campbell's tomato soup) and a cup of the skankiest coffee EVER, and it was time for a snooze.
I don't sleep on planes.
The flight itself was actually really good, the pilot did one of the smoothest landings I've ever sat through (SouthWest airlines, are you listening??) and I had a very interesting conversation with a man across the aisle from me who was taking his family back home to Pakistan. It reminded me that when all the paranoia is gone, there are people who love their kids, want the best for their families, and that "core values" aren't necessarily an exclusive american concept, no matter how much the US media wants you to believe it. I like finding common connections with people from other cultures.
The cabin crew however need to be told that if you are on an English speaking flight, from an English speaking destination to an English speaking destination, it's all kinds of rude to hold conversations in catalan, esperanto, pig-latin, or whatever-the-hell-language it was. 'nuff said on that.
So, just like incompetental airlines promised, we made it to London, but the problem still remained, that of our connecting flight. Here's where i made my second mistake, that of asking the party planner/cabin crew Lebowski about connections.
"Where are you connecting to?"
"Belfast"
"Oh, you can just jump on the next flight, they go there like every hour or something."
OMG!!!!!!
My inside my head voice came out again. "OK, thanks for being completely unhelpful. I'll just ask someone inside, maybe I'll get a useful answer."
Soon after the call came over the intercom: "For those passengers who need assistance with connecting flights, a concierge wearing a grey jacket will be standing by as you disembark (I love "disembark". I hate "de-plane". "De-plane" is a word that was made up because someone couldn't or wouldn't take the time to find out if there was a proper word for "getting off of something").
Anyway, all will be good. Look for the concierge, all will be righteous.
She wasn't hard to find.
We were met by a frazzled young lady who was deep in argument with a KLM ground crew person. The topic under discussion was "who was logged in". Miss concierge obviously felt she was logged in going by the tone of her voice, but for some reason couldn't make the mental leap between "I'm logged in" to "Now I can do stuff". We stood by while she kept telling Mr. KLM how alt+tab wasn't doing anything, even though she was logged in. I told my mother, who was travelling with us, (and happened to be at the other side of the room) "It would be nice if they had a computer person to help sort this out." I had to say this loud enough for mum to hear of course, it's not my fault that everyone else was listening in on our conversation.
Ms. concierge had by this point worked herself into quite the lather. The effort of winning the "who's logged in" debate obviously left her drained, she kept telling us "I can't help you, I can't help you". Finally she said "if you could all just go, just leave now" and pointed to a corridor.
Incompetent-al airlines, you really try too hard!
I'm laughing at this point, the whole farce has deteriorated to comical.
She wasn't expecting the chorus of "GO WHERE???" that came back in response to her request.
She got on her walkie-talkie, told the mother ship that she had "hostile passengers" (hostile?!?) and only then did the information spigot get turned. I guess she finally got logged on after all.
So now we're making our way to the BMI terminal, our connection to Belfast. Once again, a kabuki dance, and can I just say, the security clearing process in London Heathrow, an airport that is by far busier than most if not any US airport, was a completely smooth, respectful and civilized process. Are you listening, TSA? Take some notes!
We get to the BMI desk, and get on the next flight to Belfast. I wish I could say the same thing for our bags.......
So here we are. Planes and rental car later, we end up bagless in Ballycastle (at least unloading the car didn't take long). The kids were tired somewhere over Greenland, and were pretty much giving everyone the stink-eye until we got here.
Most of the bags made it to Belfast later, and were delivered by the airline last night. I'm still missing a bag, which contains my overcoat. Ballycastle is a coastal town, so an overcoat might come in handy. I'm not so worried about the overocat however, I'm a bit more concerned about the car keys that are in the overcoat. Pushing the minivan back from Newark to Maryland when we get back might take a bit of time......
As I said, Ballycastle is a coastal town, and like so many coastal towns here, have fishing boats bringing their catches in regularly. I thought it would be fun for Conor to see some of the fishing boats, so he and I went down to the Marina and chatted to the man as they where finishing up with their haul of Brown Crabs (fatter than Maryland blue crabs, brown shells and black tips on their claws) and lobster. He seemed to enjoy it, we'll try to go down a few more times to see what else gets brought in. There's a wide variety of seafood in the Irish sea, other fishing boats were scheduled to bring in scallops etc.
I love to fly. I really enjoy the whole idea of a day that begins in one location, and ends in another. what I don't enjoy however is the whole kabuki dance that accompanies flying. Stand here, do this, put your information here, take off some of your clothes, next in line, hurry along please sir, and on and on and on. It's a sad reflection of the age we live in, and for me, robs some of the magic inherent in sitting in a chair in one country and getting out of it in another.
Incompetental airlines have an interesting interpretation of "cabin crew", it's more like "cabin posse" or "cabin hommes". Silly me, I thought "crew" implied people who actually worked on a vessel, and not crew as in frat buddies. These guys whooped it up at the back of the plane pretty much the whole flight, taking time out to do the drinks run (by which I mean "here's a cup, if you actually got anything in it, then bonus!), and the evening meal :
"Lasagna or chicken?"
"I'll have the lasagna, please!"
"Sorry, we're out of lasagna."
"So my choice is "or chicken"?" "We weren't expecting a run on lasagna."
And I thought Eddie Izzard just made that whole routine up (if you haven't seen Eddie Izzard's "Dressed to Kill", then that whole conversation will be lost on you)
Anyway, one anaemic salad, one chicken "cacchiatorre" (it may as well have been chicken a la Campbell's tomato soup) and a cup of the skankiest coffee EVER, and it was time for a snooze.
I don't sleep on planes.
The flight itself was actually really good, the pilot did one of the smoothest landings I've ever sat through (SouthWest airlines, are you listening??) and I had a very interesting conversation with a man across the aisle from me who was taking his family back home to Pakistan. It reminded me that when all the paranoia is gone, there are people who love their kids, want the best for their families, and that "core values" aren't necessarily an exclusive american concept, no matter how much the US media wants you to believe it. I like finding common connections with people from other cultures.
The cabin crew however need to be told that if you are on an English speaking flight, from an English speaking destination to an English speaking destination, it's all kinds of rude to hold conversations in catalan, esperanto, pig-latin, or whatever-the-hell-language it was. 'nuff said on that.
So, just like incompetental airlines promised, we made it to London, but the problem still remained, that of our connecting flight. Here's where i made my second mistake, that of asking the party planner/cabin crew Lebowski about connections.
"Where are you connecting to?"
"Belfast"
"Oh, you can just jump on the next flight, they go there like every hour or something."
OMG!!!!!!
My inside my head voice came out again. "OK, thanks for being completely unhelpful. I'll just ask someone inside, maybe I'll get a useful answer."
Soon after the call came over the intercom: "For those passengers who need assistance with connecting flights, a concierge wearing a grey jacket will be standing by as you disembark (I love "disembark". I hate "de-plane". "De-plane" is a word that was made up because someone couldn't or wouldn't take the time to find out if there was a proper word for "getting off of something").
Anyway, all will be good. Look for the concierge, all will be righteous.
She wasn't hard to find.
We were met by a frazzled young lady who was deep in argument with a KLM ground crew person. The topic under discussion was "who was logged in". Miss concierge obviously felt she was logged in going by the tone of her voice, but for some reason couldn't make the mental leap between "I'm logged in" to "Now I can do stuff". We stood by while she kept telling Mr. KLM how alt+tab wasn't doing anything, even though she was logged in. I told my mother, who was travelling with us, (and happened to be at the other side of the room) "It would be nice if they had a computer person to help sort this out." I had to say this loud enough for mum to hear of course, it's not my fault that everyone else was listening in on our conversation.
Ms. concierge had by this point worked herself into quite the lather. The effort of winning the "who's logged in" debate obviously left her drained, she kept telling us "I can't help you, I can't help you". Finally she said "if you could all just go, just leave now" and pointed to a corridor.
Incompetent-al airlines, you really try too hard!
I'm laughing at this point, the whole farce has deteriorated to comical.
She wasn't expecting the chorus of "GO WHERE???" that came back in response to her request.
She got on her walkie-talkie, told the mother ship that she had "hostile passengers" (hostile?!?) and only then did the information spigot get turned. I guess she finally got logged on after all.
So now we're making our way to the BMI terminal, our connection to Belfast. Once again, a kabuki dance, and can I just say, the security clearing process in London Heathrow, an airport that is by far busier than most if not any US airport, was a completely smooth, respectful and civilized process. Are you listening, TSA? Take some notes!
We get to the BMI desk, and get on the next flight to Belfast. I wish I could say the same thing for our bags.......
So here we are. Planes and rental car later, we end up bagless in Ballycastle (at least unloading the car didn't take long). The kids were tired somewhere over Greenland, and were pretty much giving everyone the stink-eye until we got here.
Most of the bags made it to Belfast later, and were delivered by the airline last night. I'm still missing a bag, which contains my overcoat. Ballycastle is a coastal town, so an overcoat might come in handy. I'm not so worried about the overocat however, I'm a bit more concerned about the car keys that are in the overcoat. Pushing the minivan back from Newark to Maryland when we get back might take a bit of time......
As I said, Ballycastle is a coastal town, and like so many coastal towns here, have fishing boats bringing their catches in regularly. I thought it would be fun for Conor to see some of the fishing boats, so he and I went down to the Marina and chatted to the man as they where finishing up with their haul of Brown Crabs (fatter than Maryland blue crabs, brown shells and black tips on their claws) and lobster. He seemed to enjoy it, we'll try to go down a few more times to see what else gets brought in. There's a wide variety of seafood in the Irish sea, other fishing boats were scheduled to bring in scallops etc.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Hurry up and wait already!
A very straightforward drive from Maryland to New Jersey. Took our time, got to the airport in plenty of time.
Airline check-ins. You either love the whole self-check-in process, or you hate it. Me, I hate it. I preferred the whole conversation, where are you going to, did you pack everything yourself, etc etc etc. By taking away the interaction, the airlines have maybe streamlined the process, but they've reduced it to an excercise in herding people.
Moo.
So I'm at the check in screen for incompetent-al airlines, and the show begins:
Enter your destination: Belfast
There is no itinerary for this destination associated with this name.
Bugger, it's beginning early.
OK, so since we are flying THROUGH London, maybe it wants me to put in Heathrow?
Yup, Heathrow is the right answer, the computer says yes, and all five of us are happily checked on to London.
But we aren't going to London. We are going to Belfast.
I then made my first faux-pas, I asked the "assistant" at the check in line (What a wonderfully ironic contradiction, calling the world's most unhelpful person an "assistant")
I explained to her that we are traveliing to Belfast, and that I wanted to know that my bags would be checked through.
Just enter your destination on the screen, she said.
I tried, but it wouldn't take Belfast. It accepted London, I said, so I put that in on the screen.
This triggered some sort of primeval response, maybe she couldn't help herself when she reponded with "That was completely the wrong thing to do".
I on the other hand was fully aware of my reponse of "And that was completely the wrong thing to say, perhaps if there was someone here to ASSIST....."
We got an assistant.
We cleared the security checkpoint (moo again) and grabbed an overpriced and overrated snack at the food court of Newark airport. It's a white. sterile looking location, lots of glass and white panelling.
The flight is not full. We have lots of spaces to spread out, which is really a good thing. The really bad thing is that we sat on the tarmac for three and a half hours prior to taking off. The Captain kept coming on the intercom to tell us it was something to do with the weather, but going by the party that the cabin crew were whooping up in the back galley, I was wondering if they were waiting for pizza delivery or something.
A three hour delay meant that even without taking off, I knew we missed the connecting flight, but since we were waiting for some really nasty weather to blow over, it couldn't be helped. Anyway, the airlines deal with missed connections all the time, right? After all, this is "incompetent-al" airlines! For now however, the kids are having a blast with the individual entertainment screens etc.
A very straightforward drive from Maryland to New Jersey. Took our time, got to the airport in plenty of time.
Airline check-ins. You either love the whole self-check-in process, or you hate it. Me, I hate it. I preferred the whole conversation, where are you going to, did you pack everything yourself, etc etc etc. By taking away the interaction, the airlines have maybe streamlined the process, but they've reduced it to an excercise in herding people.
Moo.
So I'm at the check in screen for incompetent-al airlines, and the show begins:
Enter your destination: Belfast
There is no itinerary for this destination associated with this name.
Bugger, it's beginning early.
OK, so since we are flying THROUGH London, maybe it wants me to put in Heathrow?
Yup, Heathrow is the right answer, the computer says yes, and all five of us are happily checked on to London.
But we aren't going to London. We are going to Belfast.
I then made my first faux-pas, I asked the "assistant" at the check in line (What a wonderfully ironic contradiction, calling the world's most unhelpful person an "assistant")
I explained to her that we are traveliing to Belfast, and that I wanted to know that my bags would be checked through.
Just enter your destination on the screen, she said.
I tried, but it wouldn't take Belfast. It accepted London, I said, so I put that in on the screen.
This triggered some sort of primeval response, maybe she couldn't help herself when she reponded with "That was completely the wrong thing to do".
I on the other hand was fully aware of my reponse of "And that was completely the wrong thing to say, perhaps if there was someone here to ASSIST....."
We got an assistant.
We cleared the security checkpoint (moo again) and grabbed an overpriced and overrated snack at the food court of Newark airport. It's a white. sterile looking location, lots of glass and white panelling.
The flight is not full. We have lots of spaces to spread out, which is really a good thing. The really bad thing is that we sat on the tarmac for three and a half hours prior to taking off. The Captain kept coming on the intercom to tell us it was something to do with the weather, but going by the party that the cabin crew were whooping up in the back galley, I was wondering if they were waiting for pizza delivery or something.
A three hour delay meant that even without taking off, I knew we missed the connecting flight, but since we were waiting for some really nasty weather to blow over, it couldn't be helped. Anyway, the airlines deal with missed connections all the time, right? After all, this is "incompetent-al" airlines! For now however, the kids are having a blast with the individual entertainment screens etc.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
T-minus, um, er, not long to go now!
Final preparations are underway, to say the entire family is stoked about this is an understatement!
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