Within the Pale (reflections on Dublin)

To wrap up my time in Ireland, I went to Dublin for 3 days to meet two of my cousins I haven't seen in years, and to absorb some of the culture and history of this town that has seen Viking raids, plague, famine, nationalist uprisings, and a huge literary presence.

I left Limerick on Thursday via bus, but not without mishap. My cute Russian Doll suitcase (Heys brand) was apparently not up to the task of this trip. While I was rolling it along a smooth sidewalk, the telescopic handle unceremoniously snapped off. For those of you who know me, I'm a 5'1" lady with average strength. There's no way I could have Hulk-snapped that handle off. The case came with a 5 year warranty, and I'm currently dealing with Heys to have the cost of a new suitcase covered. I'm not super optimistic though as their customer service people weren't very helpful. Fingers crossed.

I was so grateful to my cousin Áine for meeting me in Dublin at the bus station. I was tired, hungry, and upset about my suitcase, and she got me fed, helped me call the luggage company, and then acted as Sherpa by rolling my broken case up the hill to the hostel. We spent the rest of the day wandering around Dublin and popping into sites that caught our fancy. Here's some of the hilights:

Above: Áine and I in front of the main gate at St. Stephen's Green, which is kind of like the Central Park of Dublin. If one is honoured with the key to the city, that person has the right to graze their sheep on the Green. When Bono (of U2 fame) received his key to the city, he went out and bought a sheep just so he could graze it on the lawns of the park. Don't believe me? Google it. 

We popped into the Little Mesuem of Dublin (which has free entry on Thursdays) and I was overwhelmed by the exhibits. Two floors absolutely packed with items about Irish history, which is arranged chronically. When I say packed, I mean it - floor to ceiling/wall-to-wall photos, documents, snippets from the Irish Times, items of import etc. it was a bit overwhelming to take it all in, but definitely worth a visit. All of the items in the exhibits have been donated by members of the public, so it's a well-rounded museum, although not all items are catalogued with identifying info. 

One thing that caught my eye in the museum was a bust of Bram Stoker (writer of Dracula). I had no idea that he was born in Dublin, nor that some of the inspiration for his novel came from scenes around the city. 

Dublin is famous for writers - George Bernard Shaw, Oscar Wilde (who is probably the writer I enjoy quoting the most; I even bought a fridge magnet with this gem, "I can resist anything except temptation;") and of course, the notorious James Joyce, who has his own bronze statue on O'Connell Street. I think he looks a bit like a pimp, but you be the judge:

Speaking of O'Connell Street, it's named after Daniel O'Connell, also known as the Liberator of the Irish. He was responsible for Catholic emancipation in Ireland, as well as for founding Glasnevin Cemetery (more on that in a bit). An interesting personal connection, when I was 16, I dated the great-great-great-great-grandson of Daniel O'Connell (who also has the same name). The world is small, I tell ya. 

Pub culture is an important aspect of Irish life, and Áine wanted to take me to "Probably the smallest pub in the World" - the Dawson Lounge (photo below). A funny thing, Áine actually forgot where the pub was, but given its tiny size, it's easy to miss.

Day two: I had plans to meet up with Áine's older sister, Aisling, around 4pm, so I had some time to explore Dublin on my own. The weather didn't cooperate though, and since the line for touring the Old Jamison Distillery was over an hour long, I decided to duck into Dublinia to get out of the downpour, and to educate myself about Viking influence in Ireland.

Vikings first came to Ireland in the late 700's CE. However, they didn't actually hang around until the 900's when they wintered in Dublin to avoid the treacherous sea journey back home. A Viking ship can reach Ireland in 7 days from Norway, and it's likely the raids were due to the fact that in Nordic culture, only the eldest son could inherit from his father. This left younger brothers without much to live on, and raiding enabled them to get access to goods and also slaves to gain wealth. Dublinia is a great exhibit, and at €8, it's good value for three large floors of interactive history. The end of the Viking rule came when the Normans, with the help of Stongbow (the Welsh knight), came to conquer Ireland. It was at this point in the 11th Century that the Norman-English got a toe-hold in Ireland, centred around Dublin, which lasted until the creation of the Republic in the 1920's. 

Above: the Medaeval ages were a tough time in Ireland. These factoids about life expectancy are before the plague ever came to Ireland. Then it was really bleak.

The exhibit ends with a controversy and some bones. During the 1970's, the Dublin city council wanted to build new offices. They began digging and found Viking/Medaeval remains. The construction company wanted to go ahead with the build, but the people of Dublin took to the streets in protest over this blatant disregard of archeological importance. Eventually, a compromise was reached: archeologists had time to excavate the site and remove the remains, and the offices were built. One of the sets of bones found from the dig is on display. With DNA analysis, and artistic rendering, a bust of a Medaeval woman was created. It was amazing looking at a face that would've lived about 1,000 years ago. Fascinating stuff!

I met my cousin Aisling and we went to go see the Book of Kells on display at Trinity College.

Interesting story about Trinity College: it used to be a monastery. However, when King Henry VIII decided to reform the English church, he closed down monasteries, reclaimed their gold and stripped them of their lands. Hence trinity became a college. 

Above: me in front of the Book of Kells exhibit entrance. Can you feel the rapture?

The Book of Kells is a marvel of both typeface and illustration. Words fail to describe the intricacy of the interlocking Celtic designs scratched onto vellum. Vellum is made from calf's skin, and it's estimated that about 150 calves would have been required to source the vellum for the Book. The Book of Kells is actually four books, corresponding with the four gospels of Jesus' life. It's a wonder that the book survived given the burning of Catholic relics during both Hemry VIII and Cromwellian times. 

After seeing the book, Aisling and I had some yummy dinner in Temple Bar before heading out to a pub to enjoy a few rounds. We ended up talking for hours with a very friendly father & son duo from Pennsilvania (hi Mike & Larry!) I got up and sang a few songs with the guitarist. It was a fun night.

Day three: after checking out of my hostel, I decided that for my last day in Dublin that I would visit both the Botanical Gardens (on the advice of the owner of Cafe Canajun - a Canadian inspired cafe) and the Glasnevin Cemetry and museum.

Above: greenhouses at the Botanical Gardens, Dublin. Like something out of a romantic novel.

The Botanical Gardens are lovely. The greenhouses are some of the most beautiful I have ever seen. I got lost for about an hour an a half wandering around the grounds. I was amazed to see Arbutus trees (my favourite tree) here in Ireland. It felt like a piece of home was waiting for me to find it. People had easels set up for painting around the perimeter of the dahlia garden. Dahlias of all colours, so prettily arranged! The gardens are huge, I didn't have time to take them all in, however, I absolutely adored the live sculptures of green branches woven into lovely shapes. This is my favourite:

I was able to find the exit from the gardens into the Cemetry to join the last walking tour of the day. 

Glasnevin is considered "the dead centre of Dublin" because there are more people buried in the Cemetry than are alive in Dublin today! I joined the walking tour and was privy to more Irish history - mainly focusing around the 1916 Easter Uprising and further civil war. The Republic of Ireland was bought with strife and  tears and often saw brothers fighting against each other on opposite sides of the conflict. Those were bitter years.

Two main attractions that most people come to see - Daniel O'Connell's tomb (a huge 50 foot round tower), and the grave of Micael Collins, Irish rebel war hero. The details of these two men's lives and deaths are too numerous to write here, so I'll leave you with a few photos instead:

Above: the entrance into the O'Connell crypt.

Below: O'Connel's coffin. It's considered good luck to touch the wood of the coffin (which I did).

Above: the grave of Michael Collins is constantly covered in fresh followers - brought by admirers from around the world.

Below: Grave robbing used to be a big problem in the mid1800's as it was illegal to donate one's body to science, and so cadavers for medical students. Grave robbers devised a way of removing a corpse with minimal disturbance - they would dig just behind the headstone, straight down and cut open the coffin, then pull the corpse out by stringing a noose or using a hook to pull the corpse from its resting place, then pat down the earth behind the headstone. Grave robbers were so good at their jobs, the Cemetry staff don't actually know which bodies were taken. A fresh adult corpse could fetch you 2 months wages in Ireland, 8 months wages if you could smuggle the body to Scotland! Incentive indeed for times of wide-spread famine and poverty. However, the Cemetry folk wised-up and built seven imposing towers and a thick wall around the graveyard to prevent anyone from sneaking in to steal a corpse. The guards were told to shoot anyone not supposed to be inside the walls. Here's the ironic part though, if a guard successfully shot and killed a would-be grave robber, that guard could then seal the body and claim the money!

All in all, I packed in a lot on my three day trip in Dublin! Until next time, Ireland! 

A taste of Tipperary

Yesterday I went to Tipperary - the town, a viewpoint of interest, and to visit some of my family (my father's side) in Cappawhite. In Tipp town I got some much needed pampering for my legs and feet to prepare myself for the sunnier and warmer climes of Portugal and Spain. It's been rather cold in Ireland lately, and raining. It got down to just 5 Celcius for a few nights. We've been keeping warm with cups of tea and lighting fires at night. I'm currently wrapped up in a big fluffy bathrobe right now as I type this blog entry. The weather report for the rest of the week isn't terribly encouraging, and I'm starting to wish I had brought that extra long-sleeved shirt I left behind in Calgary. Oh well.

After getting my legs and feet done, my aunt Marie drove us up to the Glen of Aherlow (pronounced "arlow") where my cousins Riah and Jodi both had their wedding receptions at Aherlow House Hotel. It's easy to see why the glen would be a great place for a wedding, just check out the view:

The views of the Galtee Mountains are just gorgeous. At the top of the hill, next an information placard about nearby mountain bike trails, is a large white statue of "Christ the King." According to the plinth explaining the history of the statue, all the glen, it's people, and any who pass through this locale are blessed by his raised hand. It was first erected in 1950, but was replaced (it doesn't say why) in 1975 with an exact replica made from Irish limestone. Thanks for the benediction, I hope I don't have anymore tumbles or accidents on my travels.

After Aherlow, we went into the village of Cappawhite, where my father - along with his 6 brothers and 2 sisters - grew up. Yep, Irish families are big! The O'Meara's have lived around this village since the 1500's and at the house at Greenfield since 1937. The house itself dates back to the 1800's and still has some items belonging to the previous owners. One item being a stuffed pheasant (see photo below) that was shot in 1910 by a fellow of the initials J.B.P. My uncle Talbot tells me that J.B.P came back to Greenfield in the 1990's to see his childhood home. He told the story to my uncle of shooting the bird, and then about going off to fight in WWI where he saw some awful atrocities. My uncle Talbot thinks he found some solace in coming back to Greenfield - I never met the man, but I hope he did too.

One of my most cherished childhood memories of Ireland happened at Greenfield. My uncle Eugene (the youngest of the 8 kids) runs the family business - a poultry farm. When I was about 10 or 11, I assisted my uncle, along with my sister Aisling, my cousins Aoife and Doireann (more points for pronounciation!) with the happy and very adorable chore of unloading 750 baby chicks into a room with heat lamps. The chicks were in cardboard crates with holes in them, and the sound of "cheep-cheep!" filled the air. I recall dipping my hands into the wriggling yellow fluffy mass and pulling out about five chicks in each hand. They were so cute! They didn't really peck at us while we unloaded them, and after they were all in the incubated room, we had to be very careful not to step on them. I'll never forget the sight, sounds, and feel of all those fluffy chicks for as long as I live.

Above: a side of one of the old poultry keeps with nasturtiums planted by my uncle Talbot. 

Below: a selfie taken outside the back door of the kitchen at Greenfield.

It was great to see my cousins Aoife and Evan. I can recall holding Evan as a baby, and now he's 21 and studying to become a teacher. Gah, I feel old! It was good to talk with my aunt Anne and my uncle Eugene as well and was happy that we were able to all meet up.

I had high hopes of going into Limerick today to visit King John's Castle, but with the rain and blustery winds...I don't know. It's a good day to do laundry and read a book. 

Tomorrow I leave for Dublin via bus for two days and two nights. I'm hoping to meet up with some more cousins that I haven't seen since I was very young (maybe only eight years old). It would be good to have someone to walk around Dublin with though, as I don't know the city well and it has a bit of a rough reputation. I'll print off a map today though and try to orient myself. 

Once I leave here tomorrow, I'll be truly on my own as I have no friends or family in either Portugal or Spain. But I do have a plan, and I have hostels booked up until October 24, so things should work out ok. I'm feeling pretty confident about the next leg of my journey. I can feel how healing it has been for me to take a break from my life and see my family in Ireland. I'm hoping more healing comes when I hit the continent and begin the exploration of new sites and cultures that will challenge me and open me up to what life has to offer. Wish me luck on this next stage of my journey, and say a prayer that I don't take anymore tumbles! 

A tale of two Rocks

Above: bilingual Irish directional signs - the Irish Gaelic spelling above and the anglicized pronounciation and spelling underneath. Below: horses belonging to my cousin's husband graze in a field just behind my aunt's living room. 

The past few days, I've been spending time with my Aunt Marie in Co. Limerick amongst some of the most beautiful land in the Irish countryside. She lives in a place called Pallas Green, and like my mom's village, it's also a place of historical importance. Just up the hill from her home, is a monument called Sarsfield Rock that my late Uncle Patsy helped to restore (there is a plaque commemorating the efforts my uncle did to preserve this piece of Irish history).

During the late 1600's, there was a rift within the English monarchy between James the II and his son-in-law, William of Orange. Instead of settling their differences in England, they came to Ireland to have their family feud of a war. James the II was a catholic, and his famous (if notorious) son-in-law William was Protestant. As The Irish were also catholic, they backed James II in this conflict. Below is a plaque with details of Sarsfield's interception of the English supply train that led to the defeat of William of Orange:

 

At the top of the rock, is the Irish flag proudly flying high in the breeze. 

Sarsfield Rock and it's surrounding fields belong to my aunt. I tried to take pictures of the view from the rock but the day was a bit unsettled (I was even blessed with a fragment of a rainbow). This is the best of those snapshots:

On Saturday, my aunt and I went to see the famous Rock of Cashel in Co. Tipperary. I've wanted to see Cashel for years, and I'm happy it didn't rain that day. However, we we arrived, we saw scaffolding over the entire west side. There's no way to get a decent photo of a medeaval structure covered in modern scaffolding, so I settled for a postcard instead, and asked a bystander to snap a picture of my aunt and I in front the bishop's residence.

There are two items of note in this photo (besides us lovely ladies, that is). The large chunk of stone on the ground is actually the corner of the two walls directly above it. Cashel is only 60 metres above sea level, but it's higher position from the rest of the surrounding area makes it vulnerable to the elements, and the structure weakened over many hundreds of years. The second item is the passageway in the wall of the bishop's residence. Cashel was built with very thick walls, and these passageways were built mostly for defensive purposes. 

The Rock of Cashel was originally the seat of the Munster Over-King (Munster being the south province of Ireland - there are 4 provinces in total) from the 4th century CE onwards. The site was ideal for building a fortress because of its defensive high ground, but also because it had its own natural spring of fresh water. Cashel changed hands a few times over the years before the O'Brien's donated the site to the Church, which was gaining power and influence during the 12th Century. The oldest building (a round tower-like structure) on the site dates back to 1101 CE. 

After a 15 minute video about medeaval Irish life, plague, invasion, and monks, we joined with a fairly large group for a guided tour of the site. The cost to visit Cashel is only €6 for an adult and includes both the video and the guided tour. Definitely good value for money. 

Above: Sculley's monument - this was originally a huge cross reinforced with steel bars. However, the steel acted as a lighting rod, and lightning blew off the arms of the giant cross. The descendants who live in North America were given the opportunity to repair their monument, but declined. I actually know someone in Vancouver with the last name Sculley. Small world, huh?

Above: the only surviving example of Romanesque architecture in Ireland exists within the sandstone edifice that is Cormac's Chapel, consecrated in 1134 CE. 

Unlike the rest of the other limestone structures on the Rock, this chapel is made from sandstone sourced from 10 miles away (imagine the job of hauling all that stone in the 1100's!) and also has the only frescoes that remain in Ireland. It was hard to get a good photo of the carvings and frescoes because it was so dark inside, but it was definitely worth seeing. Due to the porous nature of sandstone, and the Romanesque arches not being as strong as the pointed Gothic arch, the roof started to erode and cave in. It is for this reason that the chapel is covered in scaffolding. The scaffolding is holding a cover over the roof to give the sandstone time to dry out (it's already been under wraps for a few years) and there are restoration works being done to the roof and the frescoes within the chapel. 

A few interesting tidbits about this chapel: the main arch into the chancel is off-centre from the supporting walls on either side. This was due to an engineering miscalculation by the masons at the time who were overconfident in the Romanesque arch's ability to hold up the heavy barrel-shaped ceiling and rooms above. As a result, the wall on the right (west) was moved in by two metres to help correct this miscalculation. The frescoes contain a blue paint that was derived from lapis lazuli, which at the time was worth more in weight than gold. This demonstrates the power and wealth of the Church in the 12th Century. High up near the apex of the vaulted ceiling of the chancel are grotesque carved heads that look like beasts or daemons. These acted in the same function as gargoyles in churches elsewhere - both to warn off evil spirits,but also to instil fear into the parishioners to follow the Christian path least they roast in hell. 

Below: a sarcophagus inside Cormac's Chapel. The motifs are Viking by design, not Irish Celtic knot work. This points to the influences of overseas artists that carved this piece.

The Cathedral, like most other gothic churches from the period, is cruciform in layout. However, this cruciform was inverted, with the long end in the east instead of the west. An inverted cruciform is considered bad luck, and indeed, bad luck befell the Cathedral in 1647 when Lord Inchiquin (acting on behalf of Cromwell's parliament in England) sacked the cathedral and slaughtered more than 500 Irish villagers, priests, and monks after issuing an ultimatum to give up the gold of the Cathedral, which the Irish refused to do. In the last 40 years, a chalice was discovered at the bottom of the well within the cathedral - it was likely thrown down the well as a preservation effort during the massacre of 1647, probably in the hope that someone would survive the attack and retrieve it. The Church of Ireland (Protestant) continued to use the site until 1749, when the site was abandoned because of its costly upkeep. 

Cashel is no longer an active ecclesiastical site except for 5 future burials to take place (the Rock has run out of room for burial plots), and instead has become the most visited monument in Ireland. Below is a painting my aunt Marie did so you can see the full impact of what the site looks like from a distance.

County Cork, part 3 - of roots and ruins

On Thursday I went to my mom's home village of Ballyvourney. My mom's maiden name was O'Herlihy and her family used to be landowners of approximately 1500 acres of pasture lands in West Cork until the mid-1600's during the Cromwellian campaign to conquer Ireland. There's a bit of debate whether the lands were taken as part of Cromwell's conquest or whether the lands were lost in a bet to an Englishman. Either way, the O'Herlihy's were disenfranchised from their lands and became tenents and farmers. 

Family crest of the O'Herlihy's. This was cross-stitched by the wife of my mom's cousin. 

A note of interest, the family was in charge of maintaining the Abbey and a statue of the local patron Saint Gobnait until the mid-1800's when the church took over. There is a holy well that was founded by the saint that you can drink from, and a short walk up the steep hill takes you to the ruins of the 6th century CE church and graveyard. My uncle Donal, who is a bit of a local historian, took me up the hill and reminded me of all the interesting historical facts around the place. 

Statue of Saint Gobnait with deer, which are associated with her.

Donal and I got caught in a rain shower, and we hid in a hedge (well, I was kind of crouched under it). He related to me information and stories about the ruins of a building across from the hedge under which we were sheltered. Amongst the ruins of the church "round" (as it's referred to locally) is a famine soup kitchen/porridge house which was open from 1846-1848 as per the photo below.

During the 1840's, Ireland suffered mass famine and death by starvation was rampant. There were two causes of the famine: the potato blight that ruined most of the crops of the main staple of the Irish diet; and the hoarding of Irish barley and other agricultural products by the English landlords who refused to share the dividends of the land with the very people who grew the crops. There were mass graves where bodies were collected daily and thrown into. My uncle related a story of a child that was dumped in a mass grave, presumed dead...when suddenly the boy's fingers moved. They retrieved the boy from the grave and he managed to live on for many years after. It was a dark time in Ireland, and many people emigrated to Canada and the USA to escape poverty and starvation. The soup kitchen/porridge house offered one bowl of soup or porridge per day per family. According to my uncle Donal, women would often come back several times dressed in a different shawl and faking different accents in order to obtain more food to feed their families. My cousin Eibhlis also related a story about why some Irish surnames don't have the prefix " O' " - she said that people would drop the O to make their names to sound more English in order to get soup. And so when you meet someone who's last name is missing the O prefix, you say "oh, you took the soup." However, when the survival of your family is on the line, it's easy to understand why they would want to "take the soup." 

Up high on one wall of the 6th century ruins of the church, is a bust of the "Black Thief." My uncle recounted the story for me: during the building of the Abbey church, the stone masons would leave their tools (trowels, hammers, etc) in the church over night. In those days, tools were worth a lot of money, and one night a man snuck into the Abbey with his horse. He stole the tools and stuffed his saddle bags, hopped up on his steed and whipped his horse into a gallop. The night was pitch black, and the man rode on and on. When dawn broke, he realized that he was riding in circles around the churchyard. The local lore goes that because he stole from holy ground his horse was bewitched and the man was caught. The bust serves as a reminder to other potential thieves - you will be caught! Look carefully at the photo below and you'll see the head of the thief high on the centre of the wall, near the apex where the roof would be.

The local Irish name of the village of Ballyvourney is Carraig an adhmaid (pronounced cor'rig un eye'mwid). The name means "the rock of the wood;" and like most Irish nicknames for places, there is a story behind the name. During the Cromwellian campaign to conquer Ireland, the Irish were forbidden to practice their religion, speak their language or even educate their children. Today, this would have been considered cultural genocide. The Irish took the wooden roof off the Abbey church (as seen in the above photo) and hid it behind a large rock down in the village, hence the nickname of the village. 

Further, the Irish would have their Catholic mass in the woods at different days and times with people posted at three look-out points on the road to avoid detection by the English. The English had rewards of £40 for a priest's head and £60 for a bishop's head. Back in those days (mid-1600's), that would have been an exorbitant amount of money. The Irish also buried all of the churches' gold chalices and crosses to protect them from the plundering English. Some of the buried church gold has never been recovered, and some has been found only in the last 50 years. To have their illicit Catholic mass, the people used a large stone that had a flat top to act as an alter. They scratched a cross into the front of it and this "Mass Rock" was actually found by my mom and her siblings when they were playing in the woods as children. The Irish also secretly taught their children their language and culture in what was known as "hedge schools" in the woods. 

On a personal note, I spent some of the happiest times of my childhood at the house my grandfather built and it's grounds, which backs onto the river Sulan. As kids, my siblings and cousins and I would spend hours playing down by the river each summer. The bridge that spans the river was built in the 1750's. While I was there this time, I skipped some stones (including one stone that skipped over ten times and reached the opposite bank), and took in the ever evolving gardens belonging to my uncle. He built the gate, stone "floor" and pillar seen in the photo above. It's always a pleasure for me to go back and relive those happy memories from my formative years. I hope I can go back again soon - eight years is too long to be away from my roots and family. A rainbow blessed my aunt Siobhan and I on our drive out of Ballyvourney. Slíante!

County Cork - Part 2, A portrait of Kinsale

Kinsale is a pretty little Irish town in the south of County Cork. It had two defensive forts to protect the bay - Charles Fort and James Fort. The town is currently famous for fishing and golfing. I didn't do either activity; however, I did see people fishing off the side of the bridge and I walked around the Old Head which is where there is a stunning world-class golf course. 

Entrance to the very posh golf course. We weren't allowed in to walk around, so we settled for a walk around the bluffs instead.

The area around the Old Head of Kinsale is a gorgeous example of the Irish countryside, with old ruins peppering the landscape. My cousin Eibhlis and I walked around the bluffs before heading down to Garrettstown Beach where she used to spend her childhood summers. I got to enjoy one of my favourite pastimes - skipping stones in the waves.

 My cousin having a rest on the bluffs.

 

Bluff-side selfie. I was careful to mind the cliff! If you look closely at my right eye, you can see the black eye I sustained from my fall in Soho last Saturday.

After walking around in the countryside & the beach, we drove back into the town for lunch at the famous (to Ireland) seafood restaurant "Fishy Fishy."  The restaurant is owned and run by a tv celebrity chef called Martin Shanahan. Honestly, it was the most amazing seafood meal I've ever eaten. Baked Hake (a whitefish) with creamed spinach risotto and a milk pico de gallo "salsa." A side salad, good Irish brown bread, and a crisp glass of white wine completed the meal. I looked over at my cousin and admitted that I was having a food-gasm. So delicious! The restaurant has fun quotes written on chalk outside, this was my favourite:

After lunch, we enjoyed meandering around the quaint windy and narrow streets of the town. Kinsale is my favourite because of its colours, art galleries, and craft markets. It was nice to feast with my eyes...

Views of Kinsale's streets.

My neck's been troubling me for the past few days, so I had a quick Balinese massage to help. Definitely doing my stretches tonight after an Epsom salt bath. I am being good with listening to my body and knowing when I need to slow down. Even if it means not taking in all the sites I'd like to experience (e.g. the last port of call of the Titanic before it met its icy demise).

I treated myself to one skein of yarn from the Vivi Trading Company. I'm a major yarn affectionado and knitter, and I promised myself that I'd only buy yarn on this trip if it was a brand I couldn't source in Canada, and that I had a project in my Ravelry queue to use it up. Here's what I bought:

 

Mmmmm, yarrrrrn! I'm going to knit a spiral lace shawl for myself when I return from my travels. Good thing yarn packs light!

All in all, a nice relaxing day in Kinsale.