Day Four- Slane, Co Meath to Northern Ireland

We started the day in Slane where we had spent the night. We visited Slane Hill, where Kate and I had been in 2001 but the boys had never seen. On this hill, St Patrick lit a paschal fire that caught the attention of the current High King at Emain Macha, Tara; the paschal eve coincided with Beltane, a druid holy day. On Beltane, all fires in hearth and home were extinguished, and the High King himself lit the new fire of spring and regeneration. The people danced about the fire, jumped through it and carried out ancient rituals of fertility to honor the return of the sun and bless the new crops. The Slane fire heralded the fall of the old religion and the entry of the Christian faith into Ireland.
On Slane Hill is the ruin of an ancient monastery, school and church; it was funded by the Conynghams, a Norman family who held the area. I met a couple in their sixties as we entered; they passed some time with me. They were on their way to spruce up the graves of their loved ones since a memorial service was to take place on the weekend following. Other family members were doing the same. (The boys were fascinated that in these ancient cemetaries are new graves; they are still using the grounds today. I explained the concept of consecrated ground and its importance in our religion. I grew up tending our family graves on Sundays, but have not carried this tradition on. Our cemetary is situated in a ghetto and it's just not safe to go there anymore.) The couple told me about the towers in the monastary being closed off because a gang from Dublin (just 45 minutes away) was stashing cocaine and heroine in the ruins and dealing drugs there until the local Gardai closed down the operation. The boys enjoyed that story; it reminded Dan of "the General" Martin Cahill, a favourite tale. We got some incredible pictures at Slane; the architectural details fascinated us all. Dan found a dead rabbit that made him think of sacrifices- yes, we have pictures, but they aren't going on my blog.
Thus sated photographically, we hopped in the car, gassed up and got snacks, and headed north. We decided to head for Antrim to see the Giant's Causeway and then head west to the Aran Islands. We drove all afternoon and finally reached the causeway in the late afternoon. We had thought to stay in or around Bushmills, but it turned out there was a huge motorcycle race going on. There were hundreds of motorcycles on the road, and it was obvious that we'd never find a place to stay. We decided we'd just do the scenery and move on. The traffic was so bad, we had time for one sight, so we ruled out Carrick-a-Rede in favour of the Causeway. The boys loved the coastal road. We drove by a really neat castle, but it was already after 4 pm, so we didn't stop until we got to the Causeway.
The visitor center had maps, and we grabbed some waters in a shop. Then off we hiked. The Causeway is named for the legendary Finn MacCuhaill (Mack-kool'), a man of large proportions who supposedly built a road to Scotland to fight another giant. The coastal cliffs head down into the sea with these incredible columnar stone formations that are hexagonal to octagonal in shape. Many columns support the cliffs, but the eroded ones undulate like cobbles forming an uneven road, or causeway. These basalt formations are apparently the result of an ancient volcanic eruption, but the ONLY place on earth this wonder exists is there in Antrtim and on the other side of the sea in Scotland (hence the legend). The area has been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. One can take a bus down to the end of the paved road in the park, but of course my boys would have none of that. We hiked the entire way. There is quite a bit of trail after the paving ends, and not only can you hike but you can climb the rocks that jetty far out into the sea. And of course the boys did...
We spent several hours happily hiking about and observing. Dan had his binoculars, so we were able to check out formations in the distance and watch the seabirds. It was a very happy afternoon and evening.
When we were done, we drove toward Derry, figuring we'd have enough time to get at least that far away from the motocross-engorged towns. We passed through Derry and crossed Loch Foyle over the marvelous bridge. Heading on a little way longer, I was tiring from all the driving and hiking. Since I have no night vision, I stop before twilight (which fortunately isn't until nine-ish, since Ireland is nearer the north that Boston is). I saw a small hotel on the main road that had a restaurant and was situated near another restaurant; they had a B&B rate that was acceptable, so we checked in. I got my own room; the boys had their own, for a change. As we were bringing in the luggage, I realized that the restaurant next door was Harry's- Kate and I had eaten a marvelous meal there at a recommendation from our B&B landlady in 2001. I took the boys over for a gastronomical treat. Dan got venison, Bren got duck, I had a melt-in-your mouth steak. The food was fabulous; I highly recommend it (it's in Bridgend on the main road and has won several food awards). Bren tried an after-dinner digestive of Glenfiddich and was enjoyed it immensely.
We covered quite a few miles and sights that day. It was so worth the effort, every bit.

Quite a kick in the pants...

Photos Day Four- Slane

The Monastery Ruins

Hill of Slane
In the Ruins

The Monkey Tree

Celtic Cross

Belltower and Cemetary

Five Years Ago on 9-11

Five years go on 9-11 I was 3500 years away. Having yearned for Ireland my whole life, and heightened this yearning on my 1974 trip, I was spending my dream with my daughter, the best of company. My journal reminds me: on our way home from northern Ireland, we had stayed the night in Castlemane and had a magnificent dinner before retiring in a B&B. We rose on a glorious September day; the sky was brilliant blue and the air crisp and clean and fresh. We travelled down to Royal Meath, land of my ancestors. We climbed Slane hill and closed our eyes to imagine Patrick lighting a bonfire at twilight on Bealtane, to the dismay of Druid chieftains and ollaves- the nation would never be the same again.We travelled into the outskirts of Navan; in the countryside we stumbled on an artisan shop. Captivated by the craftmanship of Aine the proprietor of Imram (Journey), I purchased a beautiful handwoven woolen shawl of eggplant colour (who knew the bedroom in my little country farmhouse purchased later would be the exact colour?). I also bought a hand-chiseled Celtic cross by a phenomenal artist who also dabbled in the construction of curragh (Imram Curragh Mael Duin is a favourite book). We journeyed on to the Newgrange Center at the heart of the Boyne Valley. My Nana had described this as a fairy hill, where they left food offerings on Samhain each year in the 1870-s and 1880's when she was growing up. In the 1970's when I was there, it was being excavated. We entered the Visitor Center at Newgrange on September 11, 2001.
The center awed us. A series of massive stone structures circa 5000-3500 ad, built 500 years before the pyramids; Newgrange, Knowth and Dowth. We learned the history and looked at the exhibits, and then we took the bus out to the main structure at Newgrange. We entered the structure and climbed down the long ramp to the center. Looking up at the domed ceiling, you can see the huge slabs of stone that fit precisely and securely, spirals and symbols carved deeply into the stone. The sense of awe and holiness was overwhelming. The docent cut the lights to demonstrate the phenomenon of the morning light of the December solstice illuminating the inner chamber. The stone basin she said they did not know the purpose of, and in my head popped the thought "It's a saining basin, don't be silly", knowing without knowing how I knew. When we exited, I walked widdershins three times around its perimeter, each time bowing in recognition of the four airts. How did that homage remain within me?
The bus then took us to Knowth, a series of smaller yet similar building. We photographed the shapes, the carvings, the positioning of these smaller buildings. One such building had a tunnel beneath, and we were invited to go down. No one volunteered, so, with a laugh, I went below the earth. Deep beneath the stone roof, I sat in the dim light on the gravel, smelling the earth and drinking deep the loamy scent of the air near the river. "This", I thought, "This is where I come from." How far back do we go? I go that far, and this is sure, I knelt in awe of all the universe that moment. I crawled back to the surface on my hands and knees, Kate took a picture of me emerging from the gloom. And as we walked among the ruins there, a docent named Emer came over and said to me "You are Americans, right? There has been an attack on America..." Her girlfriend was calling from town to describe what she was seeing on television. Disbelieving, I listened to the third hand report.
On the bus back to the center, the driver had the radio on, with live reports from New York. Not a soul could say a word- dead silence, and knowing, sorrowful glances from the other Americans.
I was in the holiest place of my antiquity at the moment of the greatest atrocity of my birth country. I was beneath the holy ground when the towers fell.
We checked into a B&B in Athlumney in Navan. We walked to Athlumney cemetery, past the remnant of Athlumney Castle. We did not find our sleeping family there, they rest elsewhere, but some of the wrought iron crosses were so obviously manufactured by Gus Curtis, my cousin the blacksmith. We walked the streets where my Nana walked so many years before and clung to the connection in our grief.
I wrote that night about the great joy of that day- the sense of connection with generations of women before me, and the generations my daughter represented stretching into the future. I wrote about our shock, our grief, our fears for the family behind in the US. I dreamed myself back in the dust and shock of the IRA bombing I had lived through in 1974. I saw myself reaching through the dust in the ruined building to the salvation of the policeman who led us to safety and sunlight. I woke with the taste and smell of stone dust in my mouth and nostrils.
The next day was my birthday, and I wrote about our day, our travels, our attempts to reach our family in the communications void. Boston was under siege and shut down. New York was devastated- a war zone. We could not imagine the loss of life on that scale. I ended my 9-12 journal entry with these words:"I know we will never be the same again-ever."
Five years ago, I was 3500 years away- and that was more real to me than the events taking place in realtime.
May the Lord bless you and keep you and perpetual light shine upon you. Amen.