Celtic Spring Band ::

 

   It is summer and Celtic Spring is on another road trip in our big black Sprinter, St. Michael.  We are headed to Missouri for a family reunion to celebrate Greg's parents' 50th wedding anniversary, then on to Ontario, Canada to attend the Leahy family's fiddle camp, and then on to Indiana for a performance at the parish of one of our favorite priests, Fr. Tim Alkire.  Our summer plans came together very late in the spring, so we do not have our typical touring pattern of zigzagging all over the country.

Two days after the Costa Mesa Highlands Games Festival, Elizabeth and Deirdre left  home for a month in Ireland to perform at a conference in Dublin, and dance, play music, and visit friends and relations.They were visiting relatives that I had spent time with when I was 19 years old, so I was so happy for them to have that opportunity.  They returned home a week ago.  Greg and I are recently home from 10 days in Ireland where we celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary.  I  will let the girls tell of their own adventures and I will tell  of ours.

When we first got married we rode our bicycles through Holland and Germany, and we have celebrated each big anniversary with an adventure of some kind out in nature.  We were hoping to do a walking pilgrimage somewhere in Europe to celebrate our 25th.  When the girls were invited to perform for the 2nd International Symposium on Pope John Paul's teaching on the Theology of the Body  we decided that we too would attend the conference and then do a walking pilgrimage right from Dublin, through the Wicklow Mountains to the ruins of the monastery of St. Kevin in Glendalough.  There was a well-marked path called the Wicklow Way and we decided that any pain we felt by walking for long hours and carrying packs,(Greg had the heavy pack), would be welcomed, and we would pray a Rosary along the Way each day.  We were allowing four days for the walk.

We packed up one large backpack (for Greg to carry) and one small backpack for me, and flew to Dublin.  We felt very strange travelling so lightly--- minus our six children and all the regular baggage of instruments and sound equipment.  Upon arrival we took the train to Maynooth for the conference.  We had not seen the girls in several weeks so we were looking forward to seeing them again.  We showed up at Maynooth, happily ran into Brother Columba, one of the Franciscan Friars of Renewal we knew from our performances for them, from New York City who was attending the conference, registered, found our accomodation, and more delight, found that the girls were in a room right next to ours.  The setting was beautiful: neo-gothic architecture and beautiful gardens.

The conference was at Maynooth College and attended by people from all over Europe and the United States, and the subject was the teachings of John Paul II on the Theology of the Body.  He had given talks at weekly audiences and they became know as the "Theology of the Body."  The basic teaching is that when God made man He gave us the gift of life and made us a unity of  body and soul.  The first man, Adam, was made in solitude but it was not "good for man to be alone" so God made Eve so that Adam and Eve could exist in a communion of persons, to reflect God who exists in a "communion of persons" in the Trinity, the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Just like the Trinity exists in a constant exchange of love, God's people exist to live in a constant exchange of love, both with God and each other.  God loves each person in an intimate and passionate way.  Just like God loves us and gives us the gift of life, we are made to be gifts to each other. We are called to be complete gifts of self to each other.  Since we are body and soul, and we give of ourselves through our bodies, the culmination of this is the gift we make of ourselves to the other in marriage.  The world would be a very different place if we all made it our life's work to be complete gifts of ourselves to all those with whom we interact. 

We met some wonderful people from Ireland, Poland, the Czech Republic, and even a friend who had lived in our own town, John O'Brien.  A few people recognized us from various TV appearances.  The conference was a wonderful combination of talks, tea breaks, meals, and Mass in the beautiful, old gothic chapel.  One night John  O'Brien invited Greg, Elizabeth, Deirdre, the girls' friend Max,  and I to the local pub for a guiness.  The boys each had their own pint and the girls shared a half pint of the local light ale.

The conference ended with a wonderful celebration of music and dance.  The girls and their friend Max (on flute and whistle) started playing tunes, and the conference attendees began to dance, but needing a little leadership. Elizabeth put her fiddle down and began to lead the dancing.  It was quite funny that an American was teaching the Irish how to dance their ceili dancing.  Greg and I had intended to leave Maynooth early in the afternoon, but we were having too much fun dancing so we stayed until the end

After the conference the girls were making a pilgrimage to Glendalough, Clanmacnoise, and Knock, with friends from the conference.  They were going to be at Glendalough the next day, and I had naive hopes that we could walk there in one day. 
Greg and I returned to Dublin by train, and took a bus in the direction of the beginning of our walk along the Wicklow Way.  Our plan was to find a place to stay near Marley Park, where the Wicklow Way began. We asked several people if there were accomodations near the park, and were told of the "Three Rock Lodge."  We got off the bus, found our way, only to learn that the Three Rock was now only a restaurant.  We inquired of the nearest accomodations and we were told of the Bewley's Hotel in Leopardstown about 8 kilometers away.  We were in south Dublin, just on the edge of the Wicklow countryside, and began walking down country lanes with hedgerows until we entered very modern looking suburbia until we arrived amongst tall glass buildings and the big hotel.  It looked just like Orange County.   We looked a little out of place with our backpacks.

The next morning we took a taxi back to the park to begin our walk.  We literally walked out of the city park into the hills and then into the mountains as a soft rain fell.  We were amazed how quickly we were in wilderness with forests, streams, and purple foxgloves blooming profusely. The Wicklow Mountains are literally just south of Dublin, and it was in these mountains that Irish rebels sought refuge from the English during the troubles.   Ireland  once had been covered in red oaks, but the English used them to build their ships for their navy.  Since the 80's Ireland has planted conifer plantations, and the lower Wicklow mountains were covered with them.  As we increased in elevation we would reach bogs, covered with heather, bracken, gorse, and sheep.   We also loved the large beech trees and were awed how they could grow right over stone walls, with their roots hugging the walls.  (Greg thought I was a little foolish carrying my bulky thermos in my backpack, but both of us appreciated the hot tea from our mountain perch in the wind, wilds, and solitude.) We stopped for lunch on the edge of a mountain overlooking the Glencree Valley, and providing a view of Dublin and the Irish Sea.  Our hiking staples were tea, yogurt, Cadbury  chocolate, rye crackers, and cheddar cheese. As we were leaving some hikers were passing by and they decided to take our picnic spot. (The hikers were two young Irish men, the only people we met who were also hiking the Wicklow Way.) A third hiker had joined the  two, and now he continued on with us.   He was an older fellow from Dublin, strong, rugged, opinionated, and loved the old Ireland.  He was full of stories of history, literature, and politics. We had some lively conversation with Victor, and when we reached the top of the mountain, he continued down another trail to descend.

We walked about 20 kilometers the first day, and were still a long way from Glendalough.  (We still had two more mountains to cross to get there.)  Our first night's stop was near the town of Enniskerry, and we stayed at the Oaklawn Bed and Breakfast. We thought that after our mountain descent we would have a short walk to our accomodation, but we soon learned that there were to be long walks to civilization.  We did love all the country lanes with thick hedgerows on either side.  We learned from a bus driver that the officials did not like to have the hedgerows trimmed back because they did not want to disturb the nesting birds.  I like their priorities.  The owner drove us to the town of Enniskerry, a very nice little village, for dinner and we ate a delicious dinner at the Summerhill Hotel.  We looked at the menu and saw only meat entrees.  We asked if there was a vegetarian option.  The waitress was Polish and had a strong accent.  I heard her say something about goat cheese and vegetables.  We decided that was fine.  Greg ordered soup for his first course, and I ordered smoked salmon.  Greg was brought melon instead of soup.  Then we were told that there was only pasta for the entree.  We said that was fine.  The meal and setting were lovely.

We caught a bus back towards the Bed and Breakfast, and still had a long walk back to our lodging.  What is another few kilometers when we just walked twenty?  At least we were not carrying packs.  We had a refreshing sleep, stepped out of bed to feel rather stiff and sore,  and ate an Irish breakfast of eggs, beans, tomatoes, mushrooms, potatoes, brown bread, and tea.  (A sustaining sort of meal, that could carry us quite far on our hike)  We did eat a bit rushed because we had a plan to walk back to the bus stop and return to Enniskerry to visit the Powerscourt Garden, and Waterfall, leaving our packs at the Bed and Breakfast, and picking them up to continue on the Wicklow Way. 

There is a beautiful, formal garden from the 1700's in Enniskerry, called Powerscourt.  I have a fondness for gardens, and when I realized that Powerscourt was not far off our path I was set on going.  Greg was not quite as interested in that he was eager to resume our walk.  There was the highest waterfall in Ireland near Powerscourt which was also supposedly to be passed on the Wicklow Way.  I wanted to go to the garden and then the waterfall and then continue on the Way.  Greg, though he was willing to go to the garden, was not willing to go with the packs.  He insisted that it would be better to leave the packs, go to the garden, return to the B & B, and then continue on the Way, and pass the waterfall on the Way.  I could not make sense why that plan was better, but I was just happy that he was willing to go to the garden.

The garden was exquisite, with all different sorts of gardens within the garden, from formal fountains and statuary, to walled rose gardens.  I loved the mile walk from the gate to the actual estate  down a beech tree lined drive. The rose garden was bordered with tall brick walls covered in roses, and the walkway to the roses was lined with beautiful peonies, lavender, sweet william, and all kinds of herbs and flowers.  From the garden we walked back to the town, bought some muffins and fruit and waited for the bus back towards the B & B.  We waited for a while for the bus, then decided to try to hitchhike and watched lots of shiny black cars with suit- attired men hurry by.  We walked back to the bus stop and returned by bus and foot back to the B & B.  We donned our packs and continued on the Way, finding a shortcut through the Youth Hostel property, that brought us down to a stream with a lovely wooden bridge.  It was so lovely by the stream that we sat by it and ate some yogurt and chocolate.

We continued on  up a mountain on a narrow path that ascended steeply.  As we turned a corner we were met with a beautiful view of the Powerscourt Waterfall, that was pouring down from high in the mountains.  The waterfall was not on our path--- it was a view off in the distance.  That day we hiked up high into the bog covered Djouce Mountain, taking a tea break with our backs against a stone wall for a wind break.  We had the sheep and the wind for company as we made the long walk across the mountain.  As the bogs became water saturated, there were long wooden railroad sleepers (railroad ties) placed along the Way to protect the bog. (and the hikers)  As the mountain descended we had a view of Lough Tay and Lough Dan, and the famine fields, where the valley had once been inhabited by 5000 people, but was now serene and empty.  Our path took us through conifer forests, up a smaller mountain, down into a valley, over stiles and into farmers' fields.  In one of the fields we came upon the Irish fellows hiking the Way. They were setting up camp and waiting the arrival of friends who were 
bringing them beer and sausage for their campfire.  (We were staying in a lodge not far off the Way, and I think we had the better sleep as we woke up to pouring rain.)  We then walked along a country lane, through oak forests and walked over the Old Bridge, for several more kilometers until we came to the Wicklow Way Lodge.  We were greeted by the lodge owner, Marilyn, and lead to a very welcoming room of pine floors and walls, with high beamed ceilings, and big windows looking out across the mountains we had just crossed and the valley.  Marilyn offered to drive us to the nearest village for dinner and we had a delicious meal of fresh assorted fish and a smoked salmon salad.  It was very pleasant to suddenly be amidst civilization, after hiking 28 kilometers.

We woke up to heavy, gray, skies with rain pouring down.  We had anticipated rain and had had very little thus far, (I found that if I put on my rain jacket and pants, the rain would not come), and it was comforting to hear the rain from our warm, cozy room.  We had a leisurely breakfast of all that an Irish breakfast could offer vegetarians, and then donned our packs and continued on the Wicklow Way, with the intention of reaching Glendalough.  By the time we headed out, the rain was just a light sprinkle, and soon the sun came out.

Our walk took us over more farmers fields and stiles, up hills, through forests, and by rushing rivers swelled with the recent rain.  We were given a view down into the valley of Glendalough with the lake and the tower and ruined churches of  St. Kevin's Monastery.  We were looking for any sign of our girls having been in the vicinity--- we had told them to leave a patteran of three rocks for us.  We were sorry that we had not been able to arrive earlier so we could meet up with the them. 
We abruptly descended on the vale of Glendalough, leaving the forest and suddenly coming upon the Glendalough Hotel.  We decided to make a leisurely visit so we entered the hotel to inquire for accomodations.  They had availability and we went outside to make a plan.  Should we stay the night in Glendalough or move on after exploration?  A few seconds after we had walked outside, we were providentially greeted happily by one of the speakers at the conference, Dr. Newton, who was taking his baby for a walk. He and his wife and five children, as well as our girls, as well as Max, John, and some of the conference organizers, Rob, Janna,Toma, and Monica,  were all making the pilgrimage together. Dr. Newton informed us that they were all still at Glendalough and would not be leaving until the next day.  He told us that they were staying in a house twenty minutes walk along the river.  We excitedly walked to find our girls and their friends.  As we approached the house they came out to greet us.  Janna had seen us coming up the road.  We had a happy reunion, exchanging stories over several cups of tea.  We were also told that there was Mass in the nearby village church of St. Kevin that evening at 7:00, and also Mass tomorrow morning.  They invited us to spend the night with them, since there were plenty of beds in the two dormitory bedrooms. 

Greg and I later set off to explore the monastery, entering through the double stone-arched entryway to the enclosure.  St. Kevin lived in the 600's and began a monastery that thrived for almost 1000 years, having been attacked several times by the Vikings, but finally ending with the sacking of the monasteries under King Henry VIII in the 1500s. 

We joined our girls and their friends for Mass, and then we returned to their house for dinner and conversation by the fire.  At midnight we said good night and I awkwardly crawled up into an upper bunk  bed in the girls dormitory, and Greg did the same in the boys dormitory.  We all attended Mass together in the morning, and then Greg and I said good bye and continued on our Way. 

Our final day of walking was perhaps the steepest ascent and descent.  Right out of Glendalough we ventured up the steep forest-covered mountain, next to a waterfall, and hiking up seemingly endless switch backs.  We were happy that we were leaving by foot and not by vehicle.  It is incredibly liberating to travel so lightly by one's own locomotion, and by this fourth day we were not sore, but feeling quite strong.  As we ascended higher, the wind grew more powerful, and we decided to stop for  a tea, yogurt, and chocolate break before heading down the other side of the mountain.  We were trying to find a spot that was somewhat protected from the wind.  We climbed up several grassy knolls and as I was going down one I jumped a little too hard and did something funny to my right thigh muscle.  It felt like something separated for a second in my leg. 

We put our backs to the wind, ate and drank, and then began the steep descent through bogs and by sheep.  My leg did not feel right for the rest of the day, and we still had many kilometers to walk.  We made the long and steep descent down to the Glenmalure Valley.  We came out of the forest and walked down a lane to the Glenmalure Lodge.  We stopped there for tea and to make our next plan. I was ready for a bit of comfort and luxury.  I consulted my guidebook and saw that there was a lovely hotel that was an old estate from the 1800s in Rathnew, near the town of Wicklow, overlooking the Irish Sea and had beautiful gardens. Greg thought it would be out of our budget, but I possess a lively optimism in these situations.  I called the hotel and they informed me that a room was 80 euro, the same amount we had been spending on the B & Bs. (The guide book had stated 250 euro per room.) Upon consulting a map and the lodge keeper, the easiest way to get towards the sea was  to walk to the town of Rathdrum, catch the train to Wicklow town, and walk to the hotel in Rathnew.  We still had a 12 kilometer walk to the train station.  Greg assured me it would be downhill, being that we were in a mountain valley, and
our destination was towards the sea.  Somehow, we kept meeting rolling up-hills.  We were set on walking and continued  our last walk through the hedgerow bordered lanes with me leaning on Greg for support. Walking through the Irish countryside is such a lovely experience that pain becomes insignificant.  We reached the train station and boarded a 7:00 p.m. train.  Upon arrival we asked a train station worker the whereabouts of the road to the hotel.  We began our walk to the hotel, when a short time later, the same fellow offered us a ride to the hotel.  We were grateful!  My leg was hurting and we also wanted to arrive in time for dinner.  Irish dining seems to end by 8:30.  The kind fellow dropped us off right in front of the hotel.  We walked into the beautiful hotel that was a gracious, old, antique filled estate.  We felt like a pair of ruffians entering such graciousness with our backpacks, hiking shoes, and clothes that we had been wearing far too long.  (We had each packed one change of clothes and one nice outfit for the conference, plus a plentiful amount of underclothes.)  Luckily, most of the locals knew of the Wicklow Way, and we were rather proud to say that we had walked out of Dublin, and on the Way for four days.

The Tinakeeley hotel was virtually empty--- we could hardly find a receptionist with whom to check in.  We were given a room overlooking the gardens and the Irish Sea, down a long corridor that we had to ourselves.  We inquired if dinner was still being served and we were told that we would like eating in the parlor much better and that we would be ordering from the bar menu.  (I do not think that they thought we could look presentable enough for their dining room, but they were very gracious to us.)  We showered and put on our best clothes and showed up in the parlor for dinner.  We had the parlor to ourselves and sat in leather wing-back chairs with a round, inlaid wood table between us.  We had our own waiter who was Hungarian. We had a delicious, elegant, and relaxing dinner.  After dinner we walked in the lovely English style gardens.

 

To be continued. Check back very soon!!!