Castle Ruins
Thinking that we may have missed our turn (lost yet again!), we stop to ask a local man along the roadside, who was outside his home fixing his mailbox. He points us in the opposite direction and we have to head down the same road a little further before we can safely turnaround to head in the opposite direction. Suddenly, we stumble upon a huge glorious castle tower ruin on our left, in a beautiful field with relatively modern Irish homes across the roadside from it.
We stop the car, awestruck, blown away by its beauty. An Irish blessing to share…
Wherever you go and whatever you do,
May the luck of the Irish be there with you.
Dromoland Castle
Turning our car around, we head for Dromoland Castle. Arriving on the grounds of Dromoland Castle, Christin says “this is it?” as she stares at the golf club house. I say “no, that’s it” as I point to the castle beyond and to the left. “Good, I was worried!” she says as she sighs a breath of relief.
The main part of the castle, built in 1826, survived destruction during much of Ireland’s turbulent history and famine because of its various Lords’ goodwill and compassion for the local villagers as well as their support of Irish independence from the United Kingdom. In 1962, the castle and 400 of its 1,500 acres was sold to an American industrialist, who renovated it and turned it into the resort hotel it is today.
The Dromoland Ducks are out in full force to welcome us as we drive around to “Set Down Here.” When we step into the castle to register, these 2 casually dressed California girls in flip-flops and messy hair are greeted by 3 of Dromoland’s staff. Two of the staff escort us to our room and we are followed into our room by 3 maids, who come in for “turn down service.” So, with a flurry of activity from no less than 5 hotel employees, these 2 rumpled, disheveled and decidedly out-of-place California girls settle into our beautiful room in a gorgeous castle.
I decide to unpack my seriously large suitcases and see what I can do to downsize further. A stroke of inspired genius hits me and I decide that I’ll pack one suit case inside the other (they were part of a set and nested together) and I’m sure all my belongings will cram into the smaller one. After much finagling, I get everything into the one smaller suitcase. Fortuitously (actually, another stroke of genius), I put the smaller suitcase inside the larger suitcase FIRST before I repacked the smaller suitcase. Now, me the genius, had one suitcase to cart all over Ireland BUT it weighed 10 million pounds!
Christin was no help, “you brought them, you deal with them.” This life lesson (at 52-years-old, I might add), has changed the way I think about travel and clothing FOREVER!
Earlier, we had made dinner reservations at the more casual golf country club restaurant. Even that place required that we change from our California casual clothes into something more appropriate.
So, I hiked down a small hill in high heels for dinner, passing the now sleeping Dromoland Ducks.
Our young waiter had difficulty understanding Christin’s request. As a vegetarian, she was attempting to order a meal without meat or cheese. At one point, they came to a stand-off, staring at each other with dazed and confused expressions. He looked so embarrassed and turned beet red; so I thanked him and excused him by telling him we’re fine and he scurries off. Christin, looking relieved to have that ordeal over, said “thanks; I didn’t know where to go with that conversation.”
As a lover of medieval history traveling with another who knows very little about that period of time, I thought I might spark Christin’s imagination, interest and wonder in some of the sights we were experiencing by sharing some of the folklore. So, I made up a story that our waiter, whose name was Thorsten, was of Viking descent and raised on the Aran Islands speaking the native Gaelic dialect and only learned English recently with his move to the “mainland,” thus his struggle in communication. She thought I was nuts.
This would become the first of several stories I made up for Christin along the way. Anyway, we finished our dinner and walked back to the castle (this time up a now steep hill in high heels!). The ducks were no where in sight – they must have a special place they retire to for the night at this dreamland castle. So, too, did we…
May your thoughts be as glad as the shamrocks.
May your heart be as light as a song.
May each day bring you bright happy hours.
That stay with you all year long.
Day Two (really? Is it really only Day Two?)
The next morning, we had a full Irish breakfast in a gorgeous formal dining room overlooking the glorious grounds of the castle. There I told Christin the second story of our trip. I told her that many of these baronial estates were so costly to run that Earls, Lords, Barons, etc. could no longer afford to keep them as private holdings (which actually happened to be true of this estate). So, they opened them up to the public, but many of these aristocrats still lived on-site in private quarters (not true in this case).
“See that older gentleman over there with his wife,” I pointed to an elegantly clad, obviously well-healed couple, “that’s Lord and Lady Thomond.” Anyway, we got a chuckle out of the story and, who knows, maybe indeed, we had breakfast with Lord and Lady Thomond visiting from their nearby estates. After all, they still own more than a 1,000 acres!
We checked out of the hotel and toured the grounds, stopping for a final photo op with the Dromoland Ducks. Christin decided they needed a granola bar and they swarmed her, following her onto the roadway. I urged her to lead them back onto the golf course and they flocked to her until the granola bars ran out and a new set of benefactors arrived (3 young Irish girls) – the traitorous ducks!
The story continues on Page 4…
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