Ireland, Day 3: Across the Bogs

The road to the ferry took us across the peat bogs, and in the morning we were in such a hurry I took no photos. So on the way back we dawdled, stopping here and there for pictures.

The process of digging peat fascinates me. Who would ever think you could dig up the ground, dry it and burn it to heat your home and cook your food? Someone long, long ago discovered the magic of peat, and many homes are still dependent on it today for fuel.

One of the first things to greet us. And we could see both ends of it! But no pot of gold, although it may be buried under the water maybe?

Harvested peat.

And the trenches left where it has been dug. You can see how wet this area is, though it looks deceptively dry.

Blooming heather.

We came into a greener area, and there were many cars--and a crowd of people. In the middle of what seemed nowhere. We were mystified, especially when an elderly, well-dressed gentleman standing in the middle of the road signaled to us to turn left. Larry obligingly turned, then rolled down his window and asked, "Where are you wantin' me to go?" The man replied, "Park over here. You are here for the funeral, aren't you?" "Well, no," Larry said. "But we could go if you want us to." I think that's the first time we've ever been invited to the funeral of a stranger. Everyone there was grinning and laughing at the mistake, a little levity on a sad occasion.

Peat stored away for the winter in someone's shed.

Heather and gorse in bloom together. So pretty.

A small roadside waterfall.

Then we were back into the bogs, and the Twelve Bens in view.

More peat stacked by the road, ready to be hauled away.

It was getting late in the day, but there was one village, past Roundstone where we were staying, that I wanted to see, so we continued through town and on along the peninsula.

Thatched roofs are not inexpensive. It costs, we were told, about 10,000 euros to do one, and they have to be re-done every few years.

 Here's what I cannot figure out: how do they set those posts and poles in such rocky soil??

And then we arrived at the place I wanted to see. A small village, lots of tourists there because it has a beautiful beach, but that's not what drew me.

It was this: the name of the place. Bally means town in Gaelic, so this was Conneely (or Connelly) Town. There was little to see, but since that's my maiden name, I had to set foot here.

Rocks, rocks and more rocks. Whole mountains of rocks! I was in heaven. Although I would not want to try to garden here.

And finally back to Roundstone, and to our room to rest. No pub this night, we both too tired from our long, interesting day. We were in bed by 8:00pm. The next day we would be off to the Burren and Doolin.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Ireland, Day 2: On to the Wicklow Hills

And then the rain came, just as we started up into the hills.

 Our guide kept up a running commentary as we traveled; the rain obscured the view, and taking any photos as we traveled was difficult as the bus rocked and rolled its way through the countryside.

We passed quickly through the little town of Enniskerry, a place I would have liked to explore.

Rain, rain and rain. The photo below is difficult to make out, but this was a place up on the bogs where peat was being harvested. Peat is vegetation compressed and rotted over the years into a dense mat. It is harvested by cutting out in blocks, then dried. 

 Our driver Dennis stopped the bus to tell us about the peat, and passed around a piece that had been dried and was ready for the fire.

The creeks and streams were running at full tilt. These feed the River Liffey, according to our driver. Water from the bogs is the water used (after processing, of course) for both Guinness stout and for Jameson whiskey, if I remember Dennis' words correctly.

A bit of heather bloomed along the roadside.

 We stopped at a picturesque bridge in the Sally Gap that was the scene of the proposal in the movie PS I Love You. Parts of Braveheart and other movies were also filmed in the Wicklow hills.

A fellow traveler offered to take a photo of us. At this point a stray ray of sun filtered through, but it didn't last.

 I waited for my fellow travelers to head back to the bus so I could get one photo of the bridge with no one on it. It was a mystic place, certainly, one I would have liked to visit all alone, even on this rainy day, just to listen to the water rushing and the winds, and to smell the rain and the bogs.

Goodbye, beautiful bogs.

I was fairly soaked and chilled by the time we arrived at our lunch destination, Roundwood. The pub had a warm peat fire burning, and the smell of it was heavenly. The best I can describe it is sort of like the smell of Amphora pipe tobacco, but not that strong. It's earthy and comforting.

We enjoyed a good lunch of soup and bread; some of the tourists had traditional Irish Stew and Shepherd's Pie, but the soup was just what Larry and I wanted. 

Lunch over, we boarded the bus again and were off to the last stop of the day: Glendalough.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.