Four-legged Friends

While we interfaced with some very nice people along the way in our explorations of Ireland, it did not always seem right and proper to snap their pictures. However, we found the animals to be much  less squeamish about that sort of thing, to the point that some of our four-legged acquaintances  were actually quite forthright in extending hospitality.  

A herd of cows spilling out into the roadway (not uncommon for them nor for the many sheep dotting the hillsides) took our fancy in the low light of one particular late afternoon. Because they seemed to be forming a welcoming committee, we pulled the car to a stop and began clicking the shutters of our cameras. Dutifully, the bovines, like lumbering fashion models gave us side and rear and head-on angles, tilting their heads as if curiously trying to understand our "cow-talk". Closer and closer they ventured until they were almost nuzzling the car.

Grassy-roads, by the way, are the name we gave to those country by-ways less-traveled that allow the grass to grow in the center of the road, thus inviting grazing animals to meander right down the middle.  These highways  actually show up on maps and the "larger roads" are often without a centerline which makes meeting a passing vehicle coming in the other direction, shall we say, interesting on a curvy mountain road. (But more about that if we get to talk about the Wild Atlantic Way road trip.)

Back at the Murray Castle House Bed & Breakfast we learned from the proprietor that a friend's new Mercedes had recently been affectionately boxed out (for lack of a better term) by one of the cows, to the tune of several hundred dollars worth of repairs. Eeeek! Glad the only souvenirs we took away were mug shots and a peek at these two calves with their mamas engaged in a play date.

The sheep, also very nonchalant about motorists, are not wearing those colored spots because they have been using their cute little bums as a chamois for buffing the passing cars. No, no. Sheep are sprayed with an identifying color by their shepherd. I kind of did not like what this did to my images, but the abounding woolen industry probably has more than pretty picture-making aesthetics to worry about. The sheep graze freely during summer months, and are then rounded up, separated ala their color-coding (I guess that's called shepherded) and sent back home for the winter.  The gathering-in must look like something straight out of Heidi.

PS 

Even dogs sometimes pull up to tea time in Ireland. Charlie did not get a slurp of Rob's soup, though he did look pitiful indeed. But I am pretty sure he was the happy recipient of bread and jam from the little boys at the next table.

PS again

But rest assured, dogs are more welcome in the tearoom, than raising havoc in the sheep folds. Caught this signage as a word to the wise.

Art Tea

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Certainly, this trip to Ireland has seen more consecutive days of tea-time than I have ever experienced in my life. The Irish conviviality and hospitality are inherent in traditions that surround the ceremony at every turn. At least once a day, sometimes two (or three!) we have shared tea. Simple tea in a pub. Artsy, at the local craft village. Quaint, at Turnip House Tea Room in the countryside and leisurely at the B&B in Donegal. But today's tea party takes the cake...quite literally.

Art Tea at The Merrion 5 star hotel is reputedly the most lavish afternoon tea in Dublin. Here, one is treated to a slice of 19th or 20th-century art served on fine china with miniature sweet creations inspired by the work of J.B Yeats, William Scott, Louis Le Brocquy and others.

Our first course consisted of a tiered selection of savories, sweets and scones to go with our selected teas. The accompanying clotted cream and lemon curd we lavished in dollops atop. Next came the confections created by the pastry chef to represent selected works from the largest private collection of art in Ireland, which hangs in the hotel. Not only were the desserts works-of-art themselves, they were also exquisite culinary delights.

We somehow managed lick the spoons clean (in the most ladylike way possible).

And once we had exhausted our supply of accoutrements, we asked to tote the remaining scones home for tomorrow's tea. Even the take-away bag from this grand high tea was resplendent with an aura of doing whatever one does in the most beautiful way possible. We drank deeply of this cup. Ahhhhhh, good to the last drop!

Another Day in Paradise

It seems that I could twirl three hundred sixty degrees in any given spot with the shutter clicking away and every resulting shot becoming a breath-taking photo. Anyone else ever felt that absorbing an overdose of beauty actually hurt? Were those really tears inching down my cheeks as I captured the countryside in the low-light of the day when the cows and sheep were going home and purple clouds were shifting in the sky? Does anyone else ponder what we discussed as we, too, headed home from our day...the question of whether a joyful experience has to be shared in order to be fully absorbed. Why debate that issue when I can be enjoying these vistas all over again by selecting from the gazillion a few to share.

.....another day in paradise, shared.

Heather on the Hills

I am totally spoiled (and liking it a lot). Breakfast overlooking the Irish Sea before a day of adventure. 

Powers Court, up in the hills where the heather is blooming, is an old family estate (probably a first cousin to Downton Abby...and actually mentioned in the series) that is now maintained as a group of shops, formal gardens, retail hub of Avoca, the last (or is it largest?) woolen mill in the world and, of course, a tea room. Every, positively every public building has a tea room. Flowers, flowers everywhere. Never have I seen so many varieties of hydrangeas.

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Driving higher above the treeline, we came upon what looked like a page out of Heidi. One could see for miles, endless green and hillsides dotted with grazing sheep. Banks of clouds showed off, rolling into big purple masses that ushered in a shower, and then dissapated into docile white fluff. Sunbeams poked through and turned droplets of rain into sparkle on everything. This went on intermittently all day. Umbrellas up. Umbrellas down. Umbrellas up. Umbrellas down. 

On the other side of the mountain, we explored the site of an eleventh century monastery and cemetery where monks served and sought to convert the population, even as they forded off the attacks of the Normans, (thus the tower that looks like Rapunzle's). Juggling cameras, raincoats, spare socks, brochures and emergency chocolate a sense of serendipity washed over us on the drive back to Dublin when a rainbow crowned our day. It was all quite a display of God's splendor.

One more delight came in the form of the Thursday night sailing classes that swirled right outside the apartment windows. There are sometime several hundred  boats all bunched in their own little classes doing a kind of choreography as they maneuver in a circular pattern (literally "learning the ropes", I suspect.) Those are my wonderful hosts on the observation deck. I heartily recommend this "bed & breakfast".