Nora Roberts's Travelogue of Ireland:
Loop Head—September 2, 2004
Since I'm up and BW isn't, I thought I'd add a little more now.
We do go down to the bar here for music, and it's provided by Kate, who plays guitar and sings Irish ballads. Lovely voice. She looks tired to me, and I wonder as BW suggests if she has a day job in addition to singing her a couple nights a week. But her voice is strong and has a good range. On her break I ask if she knows Four Green Fields, and she does. She'll do it next set, so BW and I to stand out in the doorway with a herd of smokers to chat and watch the pouring rain.
One is from Northern Ireland, and we're assured should we visit there, we can still smoke in the pubs.
Kate does a beautiful, haunting rendition of Four Green Fields, then a tune called Nora Lee, an old Irish song, and the same air--as she puts it--used in later days for Love Me Tender.
The rain's still pouring down when we go to bed. But this morning it's clear and bright. Soft blue skies and gleaming green outside the window. I see a lot of what I think are swallows darting around near the lake. Rain's supposed to head back this afternoon. Hopefully we'll get out and about before then. We're toying with heading out to Loop Head if BW's poor long legs are up for that long a drive.
Depending on how he feels when he gets up, I'll either pull myself together, or just go on down to the clubhouse for a workout. I could use one after the fish and chips I devoured last night.
Nora
It's beautiful, warm and sunny when we set out. We think to take the long route, along the Shannon, but go wrong around Kilrush and take the inland route. No problem, they said rain may be coming in, so we'll get there quicker and with the sun. The villages and towns are postcard pretty, and the roads narrow, with hedgerows banking the sides, flashes then rivers of the orange flowers I'm now so fond of, along with the spire of the purple loosestrife, lovely landscaped yards or pretty cottage gardens, some with dahlias more than four feet high.
As we head west, I see flashes of the River Shannon winding through fields simply impossibly green. They all put pulse with color. It's superbly pastoral through here, horses or cows cropping the grass, stone fences, old stone cabins, and pretty new houses that weren't there on our trip to Loop Head long ago.
We go through the charming beach town of Killkee, lots of houses here, lots of flowers. Tidy town indeed.
We come behind a chippings spreader (we've gotten a new loose chippings sign, downed by our property, to replace the one we got years back) and there's a man who walks behind it, I suppose to guide the funnel thing whenever then want to fill a hole.
After we pass him, I see an old woman hanging wash on a line, and across the road from her an old man in a cloth cap straddling a stone wall as he fills his pipe.
There is blue sky, green field, flashes of the river as it widens, then stunning views of the Atlantic.
Loop Head is the west-most point of the mainland, and boasts a pretty white light house, and heart-stopping views. The ocean's blue today to mirror the sky, and rolls up to strike the cliffs and rock, spews and foams there, then rolls back to strike again.
The ground is green, soft and springy, and ends very abruptly. I tell BW, when he gets too close to the edge for my comfort to remember he's not a graceful man, but still, I'd like to keep him.
Just north are gorgeous cliffs that looks to have been sliced off with a giant's bread knife. Straight down and rippling to the water. There are people about--I hear German--and though it's warm I'm glad of my sweater, ancient leather vest and scarf, while the heartier souls stroll in shirtsleeves and tee-shirts and shorts.
We walk around the loop, and I can see where some have spelled out their names with large chips of rocks. But there's a big spiraling circle of them that must have taken a very long time to build. I think there was purpose there.
Every few minutes the waves rush rock with a thunder clap.
There's a white boat plying across the sea, and the sound of sea birds. A fresh wind, warm sun, and nothing, it seems, but blue water, green grass and steely gray rock.
From there we go down to Bridges of Ross, where the tide is out and there are great shelves of rock, cliffs, spewing water. It's an unbelievably beautiful day, and what clouds there are are benign and white. An old man walks by as we leave, wearing a wide-brimmed hat against the sun and carrying a cane.
We do go home the river route, and the Shannon is wide and sparkling. We wind and scoot down narrow roads that make you hear a jig or reel in your head. We stop to buy ice cream cones to fortify us, then make our way home.
Once back, I go down to the clubhouse for the workout I missed this morning, then BW joins me for a long, lazy swim. We'll have a fancy dinner here tonight, and will likely spend most of tomorrow poking or shopping around Ennis before we meet our traveling ADWOFFers in a pub for drinks in the evening.
Oh, the threatened rain never came. The late afternoon and early evening are as gorgeous as the day's been.
Can't ask for better.
Nora
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