When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

Journeys with JanJan Coleman

When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

Journeys with Jan | Jan Coleman | March 1, 2010 at 12:00 am

Kissing-the-Blarney-Stone While Judi talks, I swoon and turn green with envy–emerald green– like the picturepostcard landscapes, lush pasturelands, breathless coastlines they’ll see on their trip. My part-Irish eyes are smiling just thinking of boldly painted doors, old stone cottages and “rush hour” when all traffic halts for sheep crossing the road.

When their Irish-savvy wrong-side-of-road friends canceled last minute, Jim and Judi braved it on their own. “First night, Malahide, a quaint village outside Dublin with a wonderful 13th century castle,” Judi says. “Our B&B hostess suggested we train to Dublin, not drive. Bless her.” City sights enjoyed via the “hop-on, hopoff” bus with Trinity College and the Book of Kells—the monks’ medieval masterpiece— highlights. “Amazing to see how scribes and artists illuminated the four gospels in 800 AD.”

Their B&B’s were pre-booked, though inns are plentiful in the most remote spots, so free-spirits can wing it. “Proprietors are friendly and welcoming,” Judi says. “Willing to talk, give suggestions, share travel tips.” Nice rooms run around 75 euro ($105), splurges for $150.

Weather is not why you come to Ireland, nor why you stay away. Rain is a given, but the Braddy’s find they’ve come during the worst wet spell in the century. “The Irish take it in stride, so will we,” Judi vows. And as the Norwegians say, No such thing as bad weather, only inappropriate clothing.

Jim tosses all health concerns aside to kiss the legendary Blarney Stone. You ascend the castle’s peak and lean backwards on the parapet’s edge. (Tripadvisor.com ranks this the most unhygienic tourist attraction in the world.) On to Cobh (“Cove”) and the “Queenstown Story,” an enlightening look at Irish immigration and the place that launched the “coffin” ships. Cobh was also the last port for the fated Titanic.

Next stop—my favorite—the Dingle Peninsula, a remote finger of unspoiled countryside with rugged coastline, sandy beaches, and small towns brimming with character. “We hit driving rain at gale force. Not a good sign,” Jim says.

Warmed by a peat fire at a local pub— another one named Murphys—Judi samples the famous “black pudding,” made with fresh pig blood. “Not bad.” Next day’s plan; drive the peninsula, enjoy the early Christian monuments, snapping photos at Celtic Crosses marking ancient graves. But the gully washers convince them to head back to Dublin. “Our B&B host suggested a stop in Adare,” Judi says. Ireland’s prettiest village, it’s a portrait of perfect stonework and thatched roof cottages.

They laugh at the car’s GPS system, dubbed “Garmina” and her British accent. “She freaked out over road detours, her panicky voice shouting “recalculating…recalculating…” Rain or shine, the Braddy’s will return. “The incredible scenery, the irrepressible attitudes of the Irish make up for any climate challenge.”

My Irish roots are luring me back. Great grand-parents immigrated to Boston during the 1840’s potato famine. So our first trip included the Strokestown Famine Museum, a riveting re-telling of the tragic blight that wiped out 75 % of the potato crop. People starved while the British ruled the country. Fascinating, yet somber.

By 1855 nearly all of the population struggled for new life in America, and 34 million like me claim pride in Irish ancestry; plus 29 presidents, Walt Disney, Grace Kelley, John Wayne, more. Irish hands helped build our country.

Now, everyone is Irish on St. Patrick’s Day. What a patron saint; English born, kidnapped by Irish pirates as a boy, imprisoned for six years and then turned to God. After escaping, he became a priest and returned to Ireland. His legacy is a cause to smile. “When Irish eyes are smiling, tis like a morn in spring. With a lily of Irish laughter, you can hear the angels sing. When Irish hearts are happy, all the world is bright and gay. And when Irish eyes are smiling, they steal your heart away.”