Ireland Part III: Northern Ireland

Immediately after arriving in Ireland we left the country—that is, we drove to Northern Ireland. Many mistakenly think of the entire Emerald Isle as a single country when it is comprised of two similar, but distinct countries. The country of Northern Ireland is part of the United Kingdom along with Scotland, Wales, and England. They proudly fly the British flag and still use the English Pound Sterling as their currency rather than the Euro. These days those are about the only differences the casual traveler might notice. But even within my short lifetime things were different. 

This is a complicated issue, but here is a summary of “recent” events. Prior to 1922 all of Ireland fell under British rule. Beginning with the Easter Uprising in 1916, the Irish fought for and eventually won their independence from England—at least most of them did. As part of the peace negotiations, however, the signed treaty allowed Northern Ireland the opportunity to opt out of the newly created Irish Republic. Composed of a Protestant majority loyal to the crown, they exercised this option. 

The two countries coexisted peacefully until tensions began to rise in the 1960s as the Catholic minority began to feel oppressed by the Protestant majority. Known as the Troubles, the minority challenged Northern Ireland’s status as part of the United Kingdom rather than part of the independent republic that comprised the rest of the island. Many of the Catholics desired to see all of Ireland united as one common republic (the Nationalists) while many of the Protestants remained in favor of maintaining ties to the United Kingdom (the Loyalists). Groups such as the Irish Republican Army fought to sever Northern Ireland’s ties to England. Up through the late 1990s, bombings and riots, like those now regularly witnessed in the Middle East, were quite common in Northern Ireland.

An agreement was entered in 1998 that mostly ended hostilities, with Northern Ireland remaining a part of the United Kingdom. But no agreement can suddenly eliminate decades of ill will, and in some cases all out hatred, between the Loyalists and Nationalists. Even today one best not breach the subject of religion or politics with locals who may have strong feelings on the issue. Though border checkpoints are gone, murals around Belfast still tell the story. Meanwhile, groups work to nurture understanding and acceptance among Northern Irish youth in the hope the conflict will remain a chapter in the history books and not resurface in tomorrow’s newspaper headlines.

The largest city in Northern Ireland is Belfast. Traditionally an industrial and shipbuilding center, it was the port in which the Titanic was built. The city now hosts a brand new museum describing the creation of the ill-fated, first-of-its-kind luxury liner.

The ship took 26 months to construct and was the largest of its time. The local shipyard constructing the Titanic employed 15,000 men, 8 of whom perished in the process. The ship was built on what is called a slipway. Once the exterior was completed, 22 tons of soap and tallow were spread on the slipway to lubricate the surface and allow the 46-ton ship to slip into the water with 100,000 onlookers celebrating the occasion. I need not describe how this story ends.

A scenic drive up the coast takes travelers to a unique feature known as Giant’s Causeway. This small section of coastline is famous for its hexagonal shaped rock columns that rise out of the ocean. A bird’s eye view shows a repeating honeycomb pattern that was created when volcanic lava slowly cooled under water and then cracked to create over 40,000 vertical columns. Similar rocks can be found on the Scottish coast just a short distance off in the horizon. 

This was our first opportunity to enjoy the scenic Irish coastline. A strong and steady wind howled from the East and pushed away the ominous and dark clouds that greeted the day. With the regular rainfall and mild temperatures that characterizes their maritime climate, every surface that can possibly provide plant life even the most meager foothold is green with summer growth. The parting clouds allowed the sun to illuminate the hillsides and provided us the best photos of the trip.

Sheep and cattle grazed the nearby hilltops. Traditionally, it wasn’t unheard of for a cow to get blown over the edge of the coastal cliffs should they dare to stretch for that luscious grass at the edge at the same moment a big gust comes by. Now days fences guard against such a bovine tragedy.  

Northern Ireland is also home of Bushmills Distillery—the oldest whiskey distillery in Ireland, chartered in 1608 with a license from King James the first. During our tour we learned that many of the barrels in which they age their whiskey are imported from Kentucky after first being used to age Kentucky Bourbon. That immediately brought to mind the Staggemeyer Stave mill—where the white oak pieces for many of the barrels used in Kentucky are first milled from local hardwoods. Therefore, it is entirely plausible that my complimentary tasting of Bushmills 10 year old aged whiskey spent some quality time soaking in the aromas and flavor of our local tri-state oak trees. It’s a small world, indeed.

The whiskey wouldn’t be our last run-in with traditional Irish alcohol—the best was yet to come. 

Ireland Part II: The Rules of the Road

Statistics suggest that odds of death are much greater when traveling by automobile (1 in 98) than by plane (1 in 7,178). This was a comforting statistic to keep in mind as our plane wheels lifted off the ground and we turned toward the North Atlantic during our overnight flight to Ireland. Upon our safe arrival, however, the odds of dying in an accident not only increased when we switched back to ground transportation, but became exaggerated by the fact that we were in a foreign country, interpreting foreign road signs, and most importantly, driving on the left side of the road in a busy city! (I note that you best say “left side of the road” instead of “wrong side of the road” or you will find yourself corrected by a local who disagrees with your perspective of which side is the “wrong” side.) 

The instructions from Enterprise were simple: drive on the left side of the road, no right on red, and yield to cars when entering the roundabouts. We were given a quick tutorial on the pair of diesel Volkswagen Golfs we would take around the country. Mine included new technology that would kill the engine whenever the car came to a complete stop to save fuel. Upon removing my foot from the break pedal, it would quickly spark back to life in sufficient time to accelerate and continue on. Driving on the left side means the driver also sits on the opposite side of the car from what we are used to here at home. Drivers are allowed to park facing either direction on a two-way street and in bigger cities will frequently park on the sidewalks. Finally, roundabouts rather than stoplights control most intersections. These numerous differences all add up to give the driver quite a few things to adjust to as they pull away from the airport.

Determined to not make any foolish mistakes, I gave driving my full attention as we embarked. I swung toward the left side of the three-lane road, but not far enough I quickly realized when I (and my three frightened passengers) immediately noticed an oncoming double decker bus occupied my same lane. In clear hindsight, I should have erred on the side of caution by choosing the far left lane instead of the middle lane.  It would have helped to also understand their line-painting scheme (where the center lines are painted white and the outer lines painted yellow) prior to departure—at least that’s the excuse I’m leaning on to explain my folly. It is very generous of the Irish to permit an American like myself, with no prior training or experience beyond my U.S. driver’s license, to get behind the wheel.

It doesn’t take long to get used to driving on the left side of the road. More difficult is growing accustomed to the narrow roadways—often with fences, walls, power line poles, and even buildings abutting the edge of the pavement. There are no ditches along Irish roads. Instead, hedges lines each side of the roadway, obstructing all peripheral views of the landscape and making it seem like you are driving through a passageway in a maze. The hedges, in most cases, aren’t entirely plant vegetation. They are old stone fences that have over time been obstructed by plant overgrowth. The Irish also do not believe in paving a shoulder alongside their local, regional, and even some national roadways. Instead, the vegetation comes right up to the outer pavement lines and it wasn’t uncommon for the plant life to brush along the side of the car as we whizzed by.  You can tell the Irish do not have to negotiate snowy roads on a routine basis. 

Their roads are generally posted with speeds limits that far exceed the speeds the roads would be rated for if they were in America, despite their narrowness. Judging by the number of cars lined up waiting to pass us those first few days, the locals can actually drive them that fast, too.

These challenges are amplified when traveling on narrow coastal roads, especially those that are common routes for large tour buses. In one instance, the passage was so narrow (vertical rock face on one side, cliff drop-off on the other) I had to fold my side-mirror in to prevent a passing bus from knocking it off as the driver expertly passed with only a couple of inches to spare. Other times, a person is forced to reverse down the road to a wider spot where both cars can pass.

Even once you have the quirks of the car, driving laws, and roads figured out, you still have to know where you are going. Thankfully we had a GPS that was accurate 90% of the time. While the locals were always very friendly and helpful in trying to give you directions that other 10%, we quickly learned they tend to exaggerate drive times. Though Ireland is less than half the size of Minnesota, travel is much slower due to the more primitive nature of their roads. Thus, we were usually searching for the night’s bed and breakfast lodging well after sundown.

I was continually surprised when the GPS would tell us to turn down a one-lane country road, what by our standards could be considered a good bike path, in order to reach our destination. A person can easily get frustrated and wonder why they do not widen their roads to make them safer and more navigable. On the other hand, it was exactly what I would have expected of this mostly rural country. Though much of the country has modernized, you can still find that authentic Irish country charm down some of these paths that require you to slow down and soak in your surroundings before winding past to the next small town or fishing village. 

As a spoiler for all of those wondering, we did ultimately get both rental cars back without any “significant” damage. It must be that old luck of the Irish that a scrape on the plastic bumper is the only modification I made to my car in our 2500 kilometers (1550 miles) of travel.

Ireland Part I: Return to the Homeland

The last time I wrote I was sporting cowboy boots, western shirts, and working on a Wyoming dude ranch for the summer.  After six consecutive summers working at summer camps and ranches—expending long hours to facilitate summer vacations for others—I decided that this summer it was time for a vacation of my own.  Eager for a new adventure, my family and I packed our bags and boarded an Aer Lingus flight bound for Ireland, the Emerald Isle.

With Irish ancestors in every root of my family tree, a trip to Ireland served not only as a scenic get-away, but an opportunity to get a flavor for the land left behind by our family five generations ago.  McKenna, O’Neil, Sullivan, Flanagan, Maloney, Conoley, Gleason, and Manning, among others, are the names of my great-great and great-great-great grandparents that emigrated from Ireland to America in and around the 1860s, pausing first in New York before finally settling in Southeastern Minnesota and Northeastern Iowa.  One can assume their story is similar to that of many of this region’s early Irish settlors.  Though their arrival is now many decades distant and their culture largely assimilated into the American melting pot, their unique legacy is still evidenced by the names of the places (Wexford, IA, Irish Hollow, Irish Ridge, Cork Hollow, etc), the names of the people, the region’s traditional foods, and the heartiness and spirit of this region’s inhabitants. 

While I wish I could report we were welcomed into the open arms of, and immediately fed a hearty Irish breakfast by, distant relatives we found by scanning the local phone book upon our arrival, this was not our experience.  Connecting with unknown and distant relatives takes more effort than I was able to invest prior to our arrival.  Nevertheless, we were able to navigate the island in our small rental cars, experience the breathtaking scenery, soak up the Irish mist, meet friendly locals, learn about Ireland’s history, visit sites of cultural significance, and of course, stomp along to traditional Irish pub music while enjoying Irish whiskey and beer.  For those interested, I share some of our experiences and my impressions in this column.  Whether you proudly trace your roots to Irish ancestors or not, whether you have visited the Emerald Isle or hope to one day visit, or whether you are simply curious as to why people of Irish ancestry are so proud of that connection, I hope in the next few weeks this column will take you to Ireland’s green shores and shed some light on Ireland—as best as words can describe the sights and sounds of this rich land across the pond. 

Central to the Ireland’s history and the primary cause for the massive outward migration from Ireland to America is, of course, the potato famine.  The potato was the central source of nutrients for most Irish poor and some estimates suggest that working men consumed up to 60 potatoes per day.  Many of the potatoes planted came from a single variety, the Irish Lumper.  Potato crop failures were not uncommon in Ireland prior to the famine, but the famine marked the most sustained, widespread, and devastating crop failure, stretching from 1845 to 1852 and destroying between one third and one half of the acreage planted.  The blight and subsequent famine caused one million Irish peasants to perish, and an equal number fled the country during that period—reducing Ireland’s population by 25%.  The Irish continued to immigrate to America in large numbers after the famine and an estimated 3.5 million Irish arrived between 1820 and 1880.  It was during the latter part of this period this region was settled by Irish immigrants. 

Most Irish immigrants traveled to America in what are now known as “coffin ships.”  With death rates during the six-week voyage commonly reaching 20%, one can understand how these vessels inherited that ominous name.  While it may have taken our ancestors six weeks to make the voyage, today a six-hour flight from Chicago to Dublin can get you back across the Atlantic.  Even accounting for the guy in the seat next to you hacking and coughing all over your personal space, your odds of surviving the passage back to Ireland in good health are substantially greater.  When one studies the living conditions of steerage passengers, suddenly the obtrusive airport security, the cramped seating on the plane, and the insatiable microwave dinners and meager rations of pretzel snacks served by the airline become insignificant inconveniences that we dare not complain about. 

It is with this background our wheels touched down in Dublin for a ten-day adventure that would take us around most of the country.  From Dublin to Belfast, Bushmills to Galway, Limerick to Dingle, and Killarney to Cork we hit the big tourist sites as well as many lesser-traveled roads in-between (and not all of them on purpose!).

Next week the journey begins—on the left side of the road.  As they say in traditional Gaelic, slán go foil (goodbye for now).