Travels with Dad: Trouble in Dublin

We left Waterford in good spirits, as you can see. Dad's wisdom with his finances and life choices are certainly the driving force in bringing us to Ireland for this once-in-a-lifetime trip. I owe him so much.

We also left Waterford with a small sense of melancholy, knowing that we had just one last night here on the Emerald Isle. Our mission today was to return our rented wheelchair, and make time for one last tourist stop in Dublin. And the two-hour trip began well, with over 100 kilometres of M-road (4-lane divided expressway).

I have to admit I was looking forward to tackling the roads of Dublin once again. The last time I had been here I had basically been up for about 30 hours straight and was operating a right-hand drive vehicle from the left-hand side of the road for the first time. It was, to say the least, NOT fun. So now, fully awake and aware, I wanted a second crack at driving in Dublin.

Oh, what a fool I was.

Things started out well enough. Thanks to our trusty GPS and memory of having been in the area once before when we rented the wheelchair, we had no issues finding the place again and returning the chair. We didn't use it often, it turned out, because most of the attractions we stopped to see had a better one they let us borrow, but it was good to have along. And bonus! We found out, with a little exploring, that our GPS had attractions and hotels preprogrammed, so we didn't have to rely on trying to find an Ireland street address from Google or some other resource.

So with our confidence high, we set out to find the Dublin Zoo. I didn't recall any of my friends having been there and thought it would be a good day - the weather was still very sunny, mild, and mid-60s here - to kill a few hours before heading out to our hotel in County Meath.

The first sign that something was going to go wrong was that all the handicap parking spaces near the front entrance were full. A sign said there was "more handicap parking in rear." So we set out to find the rear. Turns out the Dublin Zoo is not just big, it is HUGE. We could not find the rear. With both hands. Wound up driving into Phoenix Park, watching the joggers.

Finding a place to pull off, we then programmed our GPS for Trinity College in downtown Dublin, hoping to see the Book of Kells, which was highly recommended by friends back home.

Now, a word about Dublin. On Saturday. On Easter weekend. Driving through downtown Dublin in those conditions is like trying to drive through the crowd at Woodstock. It is not impossible, but it is nearly so. Every person in Dublin was out today, I swear. And they all decided to ignore the pedestrian crossings, en masse, at once. By the time we made it to Trinity College, my nerves were half shot. The next problem was parking. There was none that we could see. Anywhere near Trinity College.

Before we arrived, I had read online that there was no need to drive in Dublin. Public transportation was inexpensive and plentiful. And, in fact, having seen the city I now believe it is best viewed on your own two feet. You can walk nearly everywhere you need to go. However, when you travel with an 81-year old companion who can barely manage three city blocks before needing a moment to catch his breath, you drive.

So we drove to Trinity College but the nearest car park we found was blocks and blocks away. At a downtown shopping mall. We made the best of what was quickly turning into a bad situation. We found a restaurant and had some lunch. This mall, by the way, was the only place in Ireland we had found both a Burger King and a KFC. We had passed a couple of McDonald's, but saw no other fast food the entire previous week.

Well, by now it was time to head out to our hotel in County Meath, about half an hour west of Dublin. So we programmed the GPS and set out through the narrow, congested streets of Dublin once again.

What we hadn't counted on was construction that blocked streets, diverted traffic, and generally made a total confusion out of our poor GPS, which was "recalculating" about every second block. So my Dad is telling me one direction, the GPS is saying a different direction, we wound up going the wrong way down a one-way street, and then the engine warning light comes on again - a different one this time. By the time we left Dublin, this is how I felt (see photo).

I had one nerve left. And then the GPS unit robbed me of that. To reach County Meath, you have to pay a toll right before your exit. We did that, then proceeded to the exit indicated by the GPS. We went through the first roundabout per instructions, then went through the second roundabout exactly as it told us to - only to find ourselves BACK ON THE TOLL ROAD, headed in the opposite direction. And even though we made an appeal for leniency, we had to pay the (insert appropriate adjective) toll again. To add insult to injury, the GPS told us our destination was "300 meters ahead, on the left." About where the toll booths were.

So it was once again time to play "Pin the Tourist on the Hotel." We blindfolded our GPS and went in search of our lodgings through the gorgeous Irish countryside. By this time my teeth were grinding so badly I could have chewed my way through a concrete block and had a box of nails for dessert.

We spotted a petrol station. Dad went in to ask directions to find a very lovely and polite woman from India behind the counter who spoke only a little broken English. She took us over to the attached barber shop where ... we could not find the proprietor. But there was an older woman there, sitting under a dryer and reading a magazine. She pointed toward the door in the back. I waited. Dad went in search of other help.

We both found someone who could give us directions at about the same time. A few minutes later, we got back in the car and compared notes only to discover the directions that each man gave were in the complete opposite direction from one another. My guy had an Irish brogue, Dad's guy had a Jamaican accent. So I trusted my gut and we followed the Irish guy's orders.

Thank God for Irishmen who know their way around the county. About 20 minutes later, we were at our hotel, despite some misgivings and a couple of disagreements with each other about how to get there and exactly which road(s) to take out of the roundabouts.

So this is the Johnstown House Hotel and Spa. A lovely facility situated pretty much in the middle of nowhere. Or so it seemed.

The restaurant on the site was completely booked for the entire evening so our porter told us about a pub just down the road that was fairly inexpensive and had good food. He was right on both counts and it came as close as Dad has come to being in a genuine Irish pub. Too bad there wasn't a band tonight.

And yes, I had a stiff drink.

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Mark's Musings is published on a semi-periodical basis that may change without notice. Find me on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/markmusings. Facebook link is over there to the right. This blog is considered to be a digital periodical publication and is filed as such with the U.S. Library of Congress; ISSN 2154-9761. Tomorrow: The flight home.

Travels with Dad: Connemara, Kylemore Abbey, and Car Trouble

Today we drove up into Connemara, which is west and northwest of Galway. Here we encountered the infamous roads of which we were warned. Narrow, winding this way and that, uneven, bumpy, no shoulder and always on alert for wayward sheep. BUT ... they were all well-paved!

And the drive was certainly worth it. We drove the road cut through the Twelve Bens (Pins) mountains. I suppose some might call them really large hills - the highest being 730 meters (about half a mile) - but the Irish call them mountains and who are we to argue? They are certainly gorgeous. Our hotel concierge told us he thought this was the prettiest part of Ireland and he wasn't far wrong.

At first it reminded us of Michigan's Upper Peninsula but by the end of the drive, we were into a section that reminded us more of a dry western part of the U.S. Everything was brown, lots of scrub grass, rocks, and sheep. They call them the Twelve Bens because there are a dozen mountains, rising to points, good hikes if you're into that sort of thing. And they were the reason the road was so dang windy and uneven, as the engineers simply cut in between and around the hills.

I must admit this driving from the other side of the car on the other side of the road carries with it a certain element of ... fun. It's just such a huge change in perspective that it's challenging and I find myself rising to the challenge each day. There is, however, also a very real element of ... terror. Serious, bone-gnawing anxiety. Not since I was 16 years old and behind the wheel of a car for the first time have I kept my hands at "10 and 2" so often for so long.

In Connemara, Dad and I found ourselves driving slow. As in, really, really slow. Not only was Pop wanting to snap photos often, but the nature of the roads kind of demanded you keep your foot on the brake as much as on the accelerator. And then those little fluffy roadside umm, "speed bumps" (see photo) would be lurking around the corner and force you to slow down. 

Our route was sign-posted at 100 kilometers per hour. That's about 63 m.p.h. Yeah, sorry. No. No. Way. Only a fool, madman, or the Irish would drive that fast on these roads. Today was, in my mind, known as "you show me a straight stretch of road, I'll show you a bunch of angry Irish motorists passing me."

KYLEMORE ABBEY

We were told that, for the most part, Abbeys fell into disuse as religious fervor waned and they were eventually purchased by a rich nobleman who turned the place into a castle. In this case, the reverse happened.

Mitchell Henry, an Englishman (whose family was from Cork so he always claimed Irish allegiances) would frequent Connemara and stay at Kylemore Lodge, a hunting cabin on Kylemore Lake. He fell in love with the area and when his father passed, he received a large inheritance and purchased 13,000 acres of land and built Kylemore Castle. 

He developed the land and invested heavily in economic reforms in the area, eventually becoming an M.P. (Member of Parliament) for Galway. The castle was finished in 1871. At the same time, he built a Victorian Walled Garden, the largest of its kind (6 acres) in Ireland. Just three years later, his wife died of dysentery while they were vacationing in Egypt. Deeply in love, Henry had the same architect that designed the castle build an accompanying Gothic Chapel in honor of his wife. Eventually, Henry went broke from losing money on his local investments and maintaining the property and sold it to the Duke and Duchess of Manchester in 1903.

The Duchess was an American woman and her father, Eugene Zimmerman - a wealthy businessman - bought the place for them as her dowry. The Duke, however, was a gambler and in 1914 he lost the castle and grounds in a game of cards. A caretaker was installed and the property was eventually purchased in 1920 by the Catholic Church on behalf of an Irish arm of Benedictine Nuns, who have their own interesting back story. You can read more about that here by scrolling down just a little.

So that was how (and when) a castle become an Abbey. There are about 20 new photos up on my Facebook Page with more from the Glenlo Abbey, some views from Connemara, and Kylemore Abbey (with the Victorian Walled Garden).

CAR TROUBLE

On the way back to our *other* Abbey, suddenly a trouble light chimed and began flashing at me from the dashboard. We pulled off the road and yanked out the owner's manual to discover it was a "glow plug" (spark plug) issue, and we were advised to proceed immediately to the nearest repair facility.

Fortunately, we had just gone through Oughterard (about 15 minutes from Galway) and went back to a petrol station. They let us use their phone to call the rental company and get authorization for a garage to take a look at it. We were directed to a place just one block away where a fella named Gary Higgins took a hard look at things. If you're ever in trouble with a vehicle and near Oughterard ("oot-a-rard"), stop at the Esso Station and ask for Gary.

He checked. And checked. And fiddled with some things inside the engine. Checked again. Then took it for a drive. Later, my Dad explained something to me that made more sense of what Gary told me. Our car, you see, a Skoda Octavia, used a diesel engine. Dad informed me that diesel engines are "workhorses" and need to be driven hard.

What Gary said to me, after all this checking and a test drive, was, "It's not the glow plug. I think it's a sticky EGR valve. It just needs revs, yah?"

Revs. Revolutions. The engine needed to turn over faster. In other words, on these narrow winding Irish roads, I needed to be driving *faster.*

Ulp.

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Mark's Musings is published on a semi-periodical basis that may change without notice. Find me on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/markmusings. Facebook link is over there to the right. This blog is considered to be a digital periodical publication and is filed as such with the U.S. Library of Congress; ISSN 2154-9761. Tomorrow: the Cliffs of Moher!

Miscellaneous Monday On the Road

Hey, all ... I'm sitting in a motel in Athens, Alabama, on the road to Florida with my Dad, as I mentioned last time. So today won't be anything specific, just some random observations as I spent 10 hours in a car today.

Goodbit: First off, there's good news! In 2009, I blogged about a study that suggested global warming was just a natural cycle of the environment. Now there's a study that is nearly proof of that theory. The hole in the ozone is healing! (See picture at left and follow the links.)

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Daughterbit:Secondly, here's a bit of something my daughter and her friend Jordan (also known as "Daughter #2") taught me while we had supper at a fast food joint last night. If you take the little paper ketchup cups and stretch them out at the top, they will hold, like, twice as much! I was pleasantly flabbergasted by this simple and effective tip. Now I will do it all the time. (I took the photo at lunch today. Dad and I eat cheap lunches on the road. Don't hate me.)

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Dadbit: Here's a tidbit Dad taught me today. In the photo below, see where the sign on top - the one that says, "Exit 227" - is located? Over on the right side of the sign? That's a hint. That's the state telling you that the upcoming exit is on the right side of the road. Exit # signs at the top left indicate the exit will be on the left (of course). Exit signs in the middle generally mean your exit isn't the next one, it's just giving you a heads up on what number exit you'll need.

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Mark's Musings is published on a periodical basis - right now on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays - but that may change without notice. Find me on Twitter at http://www.twitter.com/baldmark. This blog is considered to be a digital periodical publication and is filed as such with the U.S. Library of Congress; ISSN 2154-9761.