Day 3: Dublin

Road trip day.

We took a dip in the pool this morning, then had a nice, civilized breakfast in the room. Headed out of Dublin, with only one minor wrong turn. Went to Malahide Castle, which is just north of the city. A private residence for 800 years. With only 20 years off when that louse Cromwell decided to give it to a cronie rather than sack it. It's a glorious estate, with green, green lawns that have been turned into a golf course, a play ground and some sort of football field. But around the castle itself is a magnificent garden. Huge shrubberies. You come up this little road and there it stands, all that dour gray stone against a cloudy sky. Quite the statement.

Inside, for a nominal fee, you get a tour. We hit at a lucky moment, there was only one lone woman and us. Rather than a living guide, you get a recording as you go from room to room. Magnificent old furniture throughout. The first room is paneled with fabulous carvings. You get to see the little parlor with its jaw-dropping plasterwork ceiling. Exotic birds and fruit and so forth. Then the main parlor which has a terrific mottled marble fireplace. Up to the bedchambers and down to the great hall. Very worth the ticket price. The last of the family lived there until about 20 years ago. She's now 83 and lives in Tasmania.

We thought to go to New Grange in County Meath to see ancient sites and stone carvings and tombs. But when we got there, we discovered you have to go through the Visitor's Center, buy a tour pass. The wait was three hours for the shuttle bus. No thanks. So on we went to Slane and the Hill of Slane where St. Patrick lit the Easter Fire in 433 which annoyed the Druids. There's a ruined abbey that's just wonderful. You have to cross a long field which is landmined with cow patties. From the results the cows are extremely well fed. The abbey has the requisite cemetery. There's nothing I like much better than wandering through Irish graveyards. There are always flowers planted on the graves. Marigolds, begonias, genetian.

We climbed up the very narrow winding stairs, taking life in hand. Stopping every so often to peer through the arrow slits. Here there is a panoramic view of the Boyne Valley, and it makes your heart ache. It was raining so my green roll of hills patchworked with gold from what must be hay or wheat is shrouded in mist. I have to brace my hands on the stone walls because the pie slice steps are so narrow and worn. We are all but alone there, and it's fabulous.

By the time I come down, the sun is working through the layer of clouds and the rain's stopped so the light just glows. There's the magic of this place. The light you can't possibly describe. You could stand in one spot forever when it hits that way.

Bruce goes back down to get cameras and I wander down, watching my step.

We head into the village and stop in a pub for vegetable soup that is really vegetable flavored broth but just the thing as we're wet and chilled. My shoes won't dry for hours. There are a handful of men at the bar, old and young. I wonder what they do for a living if anything.

We decide to drive on to Kells to see the round tower and the monastery, or what's left of it, where the Book of Kells was done. It's a hell of a ride and more than once I just close my eyes and pray as the road narrows and someone comes barreling at us while BW barrels around a turn.

Kells is a fairly large town, and we get turned around and end up right where we want to go completely by accident. At this spot, right in the middle of town is the round tower, minus its conical, the church and the monastery and two of the high crosses of Ireland, one of them broken. They are awesome. Powerful. I lean against the broken cross and the stone's warm. It's a very special and serene spot.

I think we'd have stayed longer, but it's breezy and cold and we're tired. We get miserably turned around in Kells again and end up twice on this ridiculously narrow street where they jokingly allow parking. Bruce had to literally drive up on the sidewalk at one point when a lorry and caravan (truck and trailer) came at us. There was a little old man hobbling on a cane ahead of us on the sidewalk. Not the sort of traffic jam you see every day.

We finally found the road for Dublin and made it back without a mishap. Must've been stone power. We're worn out enough for a room service meal and an early night.

Tomorrow he goes his way, I go mine. And mine is shopping.

Nora