Our trip to Ireland started when Dayna woke me up from a sound sleep to whisper, “Let’s go to Ireland”. She claims I said “OK”, and with those five words we prepared for our trip, and an opportunity for India to visit the land of her mother’s ancestors – the McDermotts and the Fitzgeralds.
Let’s get the difficult facet out of the way first: driving. I don’t want to dwell on it throughout this journal, though I could. Suffice to say — it was an adjustment – driving, and shifting, on the left, on roads that make our driveway seem wide, enclosed with hedgerows and stonewalls, and the dreaded round-abouts. But I’m still glad we rented a car so we could embark on our own adventures.
Our initial destination was Newgrange, discovered by chance when a massive rock, covered with geometric designs, was unearthed. Further excavation revealed that it served as the Entrance Stone to Ireland’s most ancient site, a mound dating to 3200 BC, older than Stonehenge and the Pyramids. The cairn consists of a passage leading to a chamber with carved, recessed alcoves containing Neolithic sculptures. Newgrange served as a tomb and a place of pagan worship. Every December 21, a handful of lottery winners witness an astronomical phenomenon as they see a ray of sunlight enter a small opening over the entrance at dawn to light the passage and the chamber. As with so many ancient peoples, the sun was a fascination, and the Winter Solstice symbolized the return of light.
From Newgrange we traveled to another spiritual site – later and lasting – the Hill of Tara, where kings, lords and clan leaders walked among one another. Visitors walk among the remains of ancient monuments and earthen structures, such as “The Mound of the Hostages” for King Niall who held captives from all the provinces of the British Isles. A place of pagan ritual and the ancient seat of power where 142 kings reportedly reigned, the Hill of Tara is nonetheless most notable for humbler, Christian roots. On this hill, with its panoramic vistas, St. Patrick, the missionary who returned to Ireland where he previously escaped slavery, introduced Christianity, using the familiar shamrock to illustrate the mystical Trinity, and lighting a fire in defiance of pagan law. The Hill has a special place in the hearts of the Irish. The spirituality here is felt.
The following day was dedicated to Dublin, and no driving. We started at Kilmainham Gaol, where visitors find the roots of the Irish Republic, a museum chronicling rebellion, and a tour of the prison where many rebels were executed, including the 1916 revolutionaries. Originally for criminals and debtors, Kilmainham was built in 1796 as a modern prison, though today’s standards find the cells unbearably small, cold, damp, and unlit, and at one time, crowded. You can feel the despair through the walls. Many political figures were locked away here; and standing in the stonebreakers’ yard where they were executed, we’re struck to the marrow listening to the fate of the rebels who launched the 1916 Easter Uprising. These fourteen men, who were literally spit upon by Dubliners when they surrendered after the unsuccessful siege that destroyed their city, were soon to become martyred heroes due, in part, to Commander Maxwell , known as the “Man who Lost Ireland”. His delay in their executions gave Dubliners time to discover that the 20,000 British troops who stormed the city to defeat 1000 armed Irishmen murdered innocent people, women and children included. This, coupled with the overly cruel method of execution (James Connelly, nearly dead of gangrene from a wound he sustained during the battle, was dragged to the prison from the hospital and propped in a chair to be shot) united the Irish to the cause of Ireland’s freedom. In their parting words, these men seemed to understand what their sacrifice meant for their country.
Next, Trinity College to see the roots of Irish reverence for the written word. The Book of Kells, viewed beneath glass, medieval Gospels handsomely printed and beautifully illustrated and preserved by monks, are great works of art in their painstaking attention to detail. Included in the exhibit is the Long Room where more than 200,000 of Ireland’s oldest books are stored, floor to ceiling, and the country’s oldest harp is displayed along with the 1916 proclamation and marble busts of notable writers. We closed our day with a Dublin must – the Literary Pub Crawl — two performers entertaining us with a scene from Beckett’s “Waiting for Godot”, a letter of Oscar Wilde’s, and stories of and from Shaw, Behan, Stoker, Yeats, O’Casey, Joyce and Synge. At O’Brien’s we also enjoyed our first, and certainly not last, Guinness – reason enough to return!
On the third day we traveled through the Wicklow Mountains, first to Powerscourt and its gardens which National Geographic ranks the third most beautiful in the world after Versailles and Kew. In contrast, from there we drove through the desolate “Sally Gap”, which reminded us of the surface of the moon. For as far as the eye can see, there are only peat bogs, and sheep. There is literally no place like it on earth. Further south, and nestled within the mountains, is Glendalough, a medieval monastic settlement founded by St. Kevin in the 6th century. You’re not aware of it until it comes suddenly into view, every step changing the angle and allowing you a different glimpse – a church, a round tower, the priest’s house, the cathedral, a granite cross, the gateway, the graveyard. Sacred grounds, and every step was respectful of the spirituality and peacefulness that dwell here. Leaving Glendalough, we drove through one of the highest mountain passes in Ireland — the magnificent Wicklow Gap.
Toward dusk, we arrived at Cashel, the “Rock” lighted at twilight. We toured there the next morning, the guide a talented storyteller, blending the history and lore of over one thousand years. The Rock of Cashel was the throne of kings and the site of historic events. St. Patrick baptized King Aengus, Ireland’s first Christian ruler, here in 432. Brian Boru was inaugurated here as the first King of Ireland in 1002. His grandson bequeathed the site to the Church to protect it, and the Cathedral that still rises there was built in the 13th century. When Cromwell attacked Cashel in 1647, the 1000 townsfolk who sought refuge in the Cathedral were all slain, we’re informed, in the place where we are standing.
Juan Arriola