Category Archives: travel

co-mingling in County Clare: a gateway to the Irish soul.

The Old Ground Hotel in County Clare, tucked away discreetly within the town of Ennis, whispers secrets of ghastly nights during the Republic’s tumultuous beginnings, when the people were divided and a dauntless spirit lingered across the countryside. Rich with dynamic history, the quaint former manor is still warm and welcoming to all those who enter.

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Across the road lies an old church, whose bells clang and clatter throughout the morning.  The cobblestone leads around the corner into the heart of the town, where schoolchildren in uniform line up for pub lunches midday, and are allowed to mingle with Guinness drinkers and tourists alike.  Beyond the queue a river winds through town center, a reminder of the link to the outside world.

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The people of County Clare are engaging, curious to our history and future itinerary. They understand that tourism brings commerce and livelihood to the area…. from the 13th century friaries…

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to the the Cliffs of Moher….

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and the county’s gateway to the loving Celtic Galway, the land of Claddaugh and Galeic song. image

The citizens are not pompous or rude, although there is a slight emergence of former clan rivalry.  It seems the civil wars of the past are hard to lay to rest.  Besides, “they won’t let you tend bar in County Kerry.”

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The pubs of Ennis are fine for a crawl… providing warm fires and warm smiles.

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At the end of the day, the rooms at The Old Ground were the most spacious… and the most haunted… of all our stays in Eire.  The pubs were the friendliest, and the Irish breakfast most delicious.

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County Clare, in her rolling flatlands and gentle hills, proved worthy of these #twistedsister’s first peek into the Irish soul.  Clean and lightened, free of our daily burdens, we traversed on… in further search of our Ireland.

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Slainte.

 

 

pub crawling through Ireland (spoiler: there were no fuzzy green hats).

Pub crawling on St. Patrick’s Day always seems apropos. In the U.S., this could mean out of control, drunken misfits in green top hats, clover laden socks, and hired, inebriated leprechauns singing Whiskey in the Jar. Pub crawling in Ireland, however, is a different story.

Granted, the general landscape of the true Irish Pub has been regenerated fairly well overseas, perhaps due to the mass emigration of the Irish people during the famine of the 1840s. The Celtic heritage travels well, accompanied by soft barstools, a proper pint of Guinness (or Murphy’s while in Cork), and a warm fire.  If you’re lucky, the cute tender behind the bar in County Clare will teach you how to pour the perfect stout.

Or, you may find your pints are being overlooked by angels at a refurbished, 12th century abbey in Ennis.

And then there’s the day drinking choice of the locals, in many areas a refreshing, local cider. In Galeic Dingle it may be Crean’s, a perfect component to a just-off-the boat fish and chips lunch, and where #twistedsistergoestoireland lives forever on a U.S. dollar bill tacked to the wall at John Benny’s Pub.

Driving through a ring of brilliant sunsets beyond compare, rocky beaches, and picturesque green countryside, the pubs of County Kerry warm the soul in musical flair, with generational Irish families playing flutes and accordians side by side in fervent stride.

 

And where your Guinness may also be accompanied by a baby.

Traveling East, there are always the outdoor discos of Cork, where cobblestone streets meet tight leather pants and stilettos, often paired with chiseled chests and remnants of British accents, and where reminders of walled cities and revolutions are overtly apparent.

 

Or, as you can imagine in Dublin, not too far from the Gaol which sparked unrest in a tumultuous population, the perfect pint, poured in a glass pub on top of the city, is perhaps the best Guiness you’ve ever tasted in your entire life.

 

Suffice it to say, St Patrick’s Day may mean something all together different to me now, since we’ve traveled through the depths of the Irish countryside.  One thing is for sure: while you may not find me in a green fuzzy top hat this year, you will find the heart of the gentle Eire, gently swaying in the breeze of mutual love and respect for my ancestors who sailed across rough oceans for a different dream. One of freedom, one of family, and one of plenty.

Slainte.