May 29th: Pilgrimage to Ahillies

Adrigole, en-route for Ahillies, where I was able to seal watch for a while.

'The Copper Kettle', Castletown-Bearhaven, where I broke my
 journey for a Latté and a slice of delicious
Lemon Meringue Pie

Presently sparsely populated, Ahillies, far in the west of County Cork, where copper was mined from the Bronze Age until late in the nineteenth century, once had a population of over a thousand. 

Daphne du Maurier’s 1943 novel, ‘Hungry Hill’ , which she based on the family history of her friend Christopher Puxley, is set in this area.  ‘Hungry Hill’ is DuMaurier’s only novel to be set in Ireland, albeit an Ireland permeated with a strong Cornish seasoning; the men, women and children who worked the Puxley mines were largely imported from Cornwall, the hallmark setting of most of her writing.

Lunch, a crab sandwich washed down with Murphy's Stout, at O'Neill's Bar, Ahillies.

27th May: Pilgrimage to Coomhola

Bantry Bay viewed from The Priest's Leap

In the autumn of 2011 Lisi and I spent two weeks in a cottage - it had once been the village shop - at Coomhola a few miles north of Bantry.  Behind Coomhola the mountains rise steeply to over a thousand feet above sea level.  Near ro the summit is the Priest's Leap named after a priest's mythical leap on horseback to escape pursuing soldiers.  It is the kind of  high, remote and windswept place that would inspire legend.

Looking North from the Priest's Leap

21st May; Judy's Goat Farm, Glandore, Drombeg Stone Circle, Coppinger's Court

A full day began with witnessing the construction of supports for and planting of beans and peas in rich black soil, the legacy of an old manure heap, at neighbour Judy's "Ardagh Castle Goat Farm".

Lisi and Linda planting, myself watching!

From the rich aromas of the goat farm to the similarly rich, if different, aromas of Kalbo's Café, Skibbereen for coffee and a delicious slice of in-house lemon flan, followed by a drive east along the Atlantic coast to Glandore.

Looking from Glandore towards the sheltered fishing village of Union Hall

Lunch at Glandore, continental style outside at a table on the pavement above the sea on the far side of the road from the restaurant.  Post lunch to the Bronze Age stone circle at Drombeg . . . .

. . . and on to Coppinger's Court.

During the early 1600s this amazing pile was built by Sir Walter Coppinger but he was able to enjoy his home here for a very short while - the building was ransacked and burned in the course of the 1641 rebellion and has since stood as a ruin.  Coppinger who, according to legend gained most of his considerable wealth by adroit use of the law, trickery, document editing and forgery, was not it seems one of the more pleasant  of our species.  He also earned a reputation for dealing swiftly and mercilessly with any opposition to his rapacious ambitions.

Our pleasant day ended much as it began with late afternoon tea and apple tart at "Apple Betty's Café" in Skibbereen.

Pilgrimage 1; Michael Collins

Since my first visit to Ireland in the autumn of 2011 I have become a zealous student of irish history.  Michael Collins was an important irish nationalist leader.  A signatory to the 1921 Anglo-Irish Treaty Collins subsequently found himself leader of the pro-treaty faction of nationalists in opposition to DeValera's anti-treaty faction.  In 1922 Collins was ambushed and shot by anti-treaty supporters.  This post is a record of my pilgrimages to Collins' birthplace, his home for one of his teenage years in Clonakilty and to the memorial to his death in a gun battle after being ambushed.

Michael Collins birthplace, Woodfield, near Clonakilty.

View from Collins' birthplace dwellings over the remains of the fine house built by his father and destroyed during the civil war of 1922.

The house in Clonakilty in which, from 1904 until 1905 Michael Collins lived with his sister Margaret.

Memorial to the fatal ambush of Michael Collins.

The roadside memorial purports to mark the site of the killing, by pro-treaty forces, of Michael Collins.

The Michael Collins website (http://generalmichaelcollins.com), however, has this to say concerning the monument: "The Collins monument stands on the right-hand side of the road from Newcestown to Beal-na-mBlath. It was erected in 1924 on two roods of land purchased by the Irish National Army. Why it was erected on that particular position is a mystery since it does not mark the spot nor even the side of the road where he died. Perhaps the engineers siting the monument decided that it would be unwise to erect it close to the stream on the left hand side and choose a site which allowed adequate space for military honours to be rendered to the First Commander-in-Chief.

The author's memory of the place in the early 1930's is of a narrow twisted road with a continuous strip of grass in the centre and a mud bank on the left-hand side close to the stream (the little river Noneen). There was very little tree or scrub growth. Since then, the Cork County Council have widened and surfaced the road. In the process they have removed the mud bank in places but, more importantly the curve in the road for a length of over 200 yards has been removed. It is important to remember that the road and road fence were differently aligned in 1922 when the Collins convoy passed that way."

Saturday 17th; to the Airport.

Clonakilty

Another fine sunny start to the day.  During the morning a drive to Cork Airport to pick up chum Linda who will be staying nearby for the coming week.  Midway along our route we stopped for a while to explore Clonakilty; childhood home of Michael Collins (of whom there will be more on a subsequent post);  source of the celebrated Clonakilty black pudding and venue for the globally unique "Random Acts of Kindness Festival", a festival which aims to celebrate the welcoming and warm hearted nature of the Irish people as a whole. The catchphrase of the July Festival is; "Cut the Misery and Spread the Positivity".

Animal sculptures, Clonakilty

Thursday 16th; Mizzen Head

Close to Mizzen Head, Barley Cove beach and sand dunes were created by the tidal wave which followed the Lisbon earthquake of 1755.

Mizzen head is often claimed to be the most south westerly point of Ireland but it is not quite that.  Early in the C20th Marconi had telecommunications laboratories here and at other places on the Mizzzen Head peninsular including Crookhaven where I had an excellent crab salad and stout lunch.

Crookhaven

 

Friday 17th; Clear Island

Built late in the C19th n the site of an earlier beacon, the Baltimore Beacon marks the one of the hidden entrances to Baltimore Harbour; the other is marked by the lighthouse on Sherkin Island.

On this first dry, still and sunny morning since arriving here in Ireland almost a week ago I took a ferry to Clear Island.  Later in the year, when the sea is warmer than its present 7° there will be whales in these waters; today I saw only birds.  Clear island, Ireland's most southerly inhabited island, lies 13 kms off the mainland coast.

On the island I visited Ed Harper at his remote goat farm.  An engaging character, Ed came to Clear Island over thirty years ago from his native Manchester to establish his goat farm.  A master of caprine husbandry of which he is a willing teacher, Ed is passionate about goats.  He is also a collector and performer of folk songs.  Since he was three years old, Ed has been totally blind which, for me, makes his story extraordinary.

Ed Harper

Sunday 12th May - at home

Photographed Saturday 18th May when the sun came out.

After ten days of travelling, a day settling in to our comfortable temporary home was most welcome.  The foul weather did not matter, in fact, by deterring any desire to go out of the house it was probably an advantage.

10 May, au revoir to France - 11th May, hello again to Ireland!

From Quintin to the ferry port at Roscoff, from where I had a passage booked to Cork, is but a hundred kilometres or so and I had about nine hours in which to cover that distance.  I chose to drive directly to Roscoff and to spend what would be my last day in France for a while pottering about the sunny seaside town.

The huge ferry Brittany Ferries' 'Pont Aven' left on time at eight-thirty and, despite its size (42,000 tons) was soon pitching and rolling through a heavy swell and continued to do so throughout the night.  The restaurant on this ship was far and away the best in which I have eaten on any ship on which I have previously sailed.

The heavy sea did not prevent the Pont Aven from docking on time at Cork but unloading of vehicles, and passing through immigration and customs controls took almost two hours.  I eventually arrived, twenty minutes late, at Cork City bus station, where I had planned to rendezvous at eleven o'clock with Lisi who had travelled overnight by bus and ferry from London.

After a light lunch in Skibbereen and a tour of the supermarket to stock ourselves with food we checked in at the cottage we have rented for the next month and found it to be very comfortable and, in every respect, an ideal place for us to relax and 'take-five' on life.

Towards Baltimore

9th May, to Brittany

The breakfast room at La Couyère

After breakfast in another of the converted farm buildings at La Couyère I pressed on into Brittany to the old town of Quintin where my room for the night was in a rambling old stone building full of quirky ornaments and decorations.  My huge room had a window overlooking a garden across which, several years previously, a tree had fallen but had not been removed.  The house was a delight in which to spend a night but I was less than comfortable in the eerily dead town which appeared to have no life in it whatsoever.  If there were any beings in Quintin they keept themselves very quiet and well concealed.

Garden feature at Le Clos du Prince, Quintin

The breakfast table at Le Clos du Prince where nothing matched but everything looked good.

8th May, largely along the Loire valley

Amboise

In France the eighth of May, anniversary of 'VE Day' when, in 1945, Germany surrendered to the Allies to bring WWII to an end in Europe, is an important day of remembrance and celebration.  Sixty-eight years on the consequence for me was to find free parking at Amboise where I tarried for a while for a look around.  As I wandered the old streets sunshine gave way to a shower driving me into a shop where I bought a light raincoat.  As soon as I was back on the street the rain ceased and the sun reappeared; since then I have had no cause to wear my new raincoat.

My 'room' at La Couyere

At La Couyere my accommodation was yet again in a converted farm building this one dating from the seventeenth century.

7th May

The slow and very pleasant drive from Châtenay to Fougères sur Bièvre was largely on empty 'C' and 'D' roads that snaked through quiet, ancient country villages.

En-route to Fougères sur Bièvre I stopped to stretch my legs at this pretty village beside a canal

Fougères sur Bièvre

6th May Continued

Chambres d'hotes Olivet at Châtenay in Burgundy was the first of several converted farm buildings in which I would sleep over the next few days.  This little gathering of buildings was set in delightful, lush, green, rolling country on which fine looking cattle contentedly grazed.  In the evening I drove a few kilometres to eat high on Mt St Cyr with fine views over the surrounding countryside at, 'Le St Cyr' an unpretentious restaurant with an excellent menu.

Contented Burgundians

5th May; the remains of the day and into 6th May

Back at la Cabine Pascaline invited me to join me her for 'some light snacks' that she had prepared.  I do not know whether it was her delicious 'light snacks', the wine she served or the mountain air that caused me to sleep so soundly but I woke refreshed and ready to begin my long week of travelling.

The 6th May dawned dull and wet in La Houches but I had only a couple of hundred kilometres to drive to Châtenay, my next stop.

5th May; More of Italy and Into France

Exterior wall mural, Chamonix

The now indispensable Sat-Nav led me from Brunello along attractive, traffic-free by roads towards the Monte Bianco tunnel.  Quite late on I joined the main road which I followed through the tunnel into France where I arrived at lunchtime on a fine spring day.   ‘La Cabine de Pascaline’, my booked home for the night, where I was not due to arrive until later in the afternoon is but five minutes from the tunnel exit so I drove on for a further ten minutes into Chamonix to while away a couple of ours over lunch.  Chamonix is a most agreeable place to spend a few hours.  It has an abundance of cafés and restaurants to suit all tastes and budgets and I soon found a place that looked as though it might suit my simple tastes.  It did!

Fishy starter!

Porcine main course

Creamy dessert

4th May, Italy

During the past twenty years I have become a moderately frequent visitor to Venice.  I like the city very much but it is no place to be lumbered with a car so I hastened from the port to cross the lagoon and get onto the Autostrada for a quick, if uninteresting, 300 km drive to Brunello, a delightful village surrounded by lakes and snow-capped mountains, not far from Como.

2nd May 2013, Leaving Home

Home, shortly before leaving

My ferry booking to Venice was due to leave Patras at midnight on 2^nd May.  I had all day to pack the car and dawdle the 250 kms or so drive to the ferry port so chose to set my Sat-Nav to ‘shortest’ rather than ‘fastest’ route.  After having a serious problem finding a B&B in the residential back streets Reggio Calabria last year I bought a Garmin Sat-Nav.  The drive this year to Patras was its first meaningful test, a test it passed with flying colours.  This incredible gadget led me along empty roads through beautiful mountain villages where preparations for the Orthodox Church Easter were busily under way.  In the shade of leafy glades the slaughter, flaying and disemboweling of pascal kids and lambs was quietly taking place before entire families; rituals which, possibly by millennia, pre-date the Orthodox and all other Christian churches.

Country road, Northern Peloponnese.

The Ferry departed on time and, after an uneventful journey, I arrived at Venice early on Saturday 4^th May, on time in Venice.

A Mnemonic

Methoni, 29th April 2013

In order to to keep some sort of record of my third pilgrimage to Ireland I am resurrecting my neglected blog.  I have no idea what provoked my first impulse, as recently as 2011, to visit the country but when I am there I am aware of a pleasantly comfortable sense of attachment and contentment.  Weather apart, Ireland, it seems to me, has much in common with Greece, my chosen domicile for the past fifteen years.  I find the people of both countries naturally warm and friendly with a common-sense rather than strictly law abiding attitude to life.   My Delphic attraction to Ireland though has more to do with a sense of place somewhere deeper within my psyche.  Since to my knowledge not a drop of Irish blood pulses through my veins, my attraction to Ireland is indeed a mystery.