My First Week in Ireland - Peninsulas, Stone Circles, Mystics, Pubs, and B&Bs

       To begin my online journal of the first week in the Republic of Ireland, let me tell you of an incident that feels like it captures much of the beauty and mystery of the southwest coast. I stayed in a B & B the night before last on St. Finan's Cove, on the outer coastline of the Inveragh Peninsula. The road which encircles the peninsula is called the Ring of Kerry. It feels like the edge of western civilization...precariously perched on the shore of the wild Atlantic. The people here are the remnants of hardy fishing and farming folk, who speak old Irish and have roots here for thousands of years. This morning I head out into that wild sea on a boat ride out to Michael Skelling, seven miles out, where there are the beautifully preserved remains of a monastery on the top of an jagged mountain-top island. The boat is nothing like the hide keeled curraughs that the monks and fisherman would use to navigate these seas, it is a study fishing boat with a steel hull and diesel engines. Even so it is a hard journey. I can't imagine rowing and sailing into this turbulent open ocean. My shipmates on the journey were the skipper, Kevin, a transplanted Londoner (or as the locals call the recently arrived - less than two generations - a 'blow-in') and two other passengers - a retired English man and his Irish friend. As we went through the narrow rocky barrier that protected the bay into the open sea, the older man observed 'There is something about the coming together of rock, sea, and grass that nourishes the soul'. Indeed...to which I would also add a fourth dimension...the sky. The journey was punctuated by running alongside a 40 foot Blasket shark and more seas birds than you can imagine.

          The jagged shapes of the Michael Skelling Islands materialized from the mist and became more and more defined. The smaller island looks like it is snow capped because of the guano of the large bird populations. The larger island, which houses the monastery, is more green and less jagged. The boat pulls up to a concrete pier and you time your jump with the wave and are soon on the pilgrim path up the curving and steep limestone stairway to the top. These monks apparently started inhabiting these islands in the 7th century, following in the desert father's tradition, which were early bands who lived ascetically in the deserts of northern Africa. This island is a different kind of desolation, but still very much apart from the world. They had some interaction with the fisher folk for supplies and unfortunately with the Vikings who raided quite often. Mostly they were alone with God in this remarkably beautiful and challenging place. Maybe there were ten of them there at a time. They lived in beehive shaped rock huts and worshiped in a stone oratory, shared something like the hull of an overturned boat. From the monastic settlement there is a ridge that looks out the other direction to a large peak and in the soft heather and with a rock for a pillow, I sat in reflection, imagining many a monk in that same spot pondering the mystery and beauty of God and the journey of life. The man was right...the coming together of rock, sea, and grass is nourishing for the soul...my soul and a handful of other pilgrims that day called to this holy place this day.

      My daily life challenges pale in light of the inhabitants of the Michael Skelligs, but my computer, which has been patched together this past month, expired last night...so unfortunately there are no pictures to send...so I have tried to paint a bit of a picture of that experience in words. Besides the island sojourn, I have navigated the outlines of five peninsulas of southwest Ireland - Mizen Head, Sheep's Head, Beara, Inveragh, and Dingle. They are all beautiful and though they have many of the same features, each one is distinct. The northernmost one, Dingle, is the most commercialized (very much more than when I visited ten years ago). As one goes south the less populated they are and the more traditional the life. I have enjoyed seeing five rambling stone circles from the Neolithic age, contemporary with Stonehenge in England. Though none of these are as large, they are still most impressive, as these slabs of stone are arranged in circles all through Ireland, England, Wales, and Scotland. There is much speculation for their purpose - religious, astronomical, memorial tombs like the pyramids - but the archeologists are not really about their purpose. They are impressive, as no doubt some deep human impulse to create and honor that which was larger than themselves motivated their building. In addition, there are Christian stone pillars and crosses from the 4th and 5th century.

      The B & B's are most congenial places to stay. They are most often run by people who have lived there all their lives, so you learn something from every proprietor. Last night I stayed in one in the town of Listowel, a center of Irish literature, and the home has been owned by this family for seven generations. It is still a little early in the holiday season, as their peak is in July and August. One of the best features of the B & B is the full traditional Irish breakfast with an egg, sausage, ham, and white and black pudding. It is one load of protein to start the day! I usually only snack after that feast until dinner. Occasionally though, I have a liquid snack at one of the local cultural centers, known to us as pubs. They are friendly places full of 'craig' the Irish word for lively conversation. I have heard a little  music, but it is still early in the season.

       Most of the other visitors I have met have been from England, Germany, Holland, and a very few Americans. Some here speculate that the scarcity of Americans has to do with the election year, but I doubt that stops most of us from vacations. The value of the dollar against thee Euro is not very good and probably the economic factors are the most telling. When I get back I will not grouse at $4.00 a gallon gas. The price here is 1.2 Euro per liter (there are five liters in a gallon) and the exchange rate is $1.60 per Euro, which makes the price in the $10 per gallon range. Fortunately I rented the smallest car available, a Hyundai Atos, which gets very good gas mileage. I have adjusted to driving on the left side of the road and navigating roundabouts, but I still turn on the windshield wipers thinking I am hitting the turn signal. I surmise I'll even acquire this practice in another few days.

       On the spiritual side of my journey, I have met some wonderful people of faith. I visited a center in Dingle called the Diseart Institute, which provides educational opportunities into Celtic culture, language, and spirituality. I hope to meet the founder when I return for a few days after my time in Scotland. I worshipped last night at a Catholic parish here in Listowel. I am headed toward Belfast this week and hope to meet with a number of people involved in some of the peace activities there. I am finding each day brings moments of glimpses of God's presence in the world, the Celtic idea of 'thin places.'

       So, much more to come. I hope I can get the computer problems solved to send photos. I apologize if this diary entry feels a little like a stream of consciousness rather than a more polished essay, but I am resorting to Internet Cafes for the time being, and they charge those pesky Euros by the hour. My prayers are with you and I journey with the strong sense of my own home grounding me....that home given by God and inhabited by wonderful people!

Trey