Rock of Cashel

We're in Kinsale, County Cork now, right at nearly the southernmost part of Ireland and I believe the place from where my maternal grandparents sailed to Quebec in the mid 1850s. I've always envied people who can trace their ancestry back generations, who have roots and know where they are from. 

Not only don't I have much information on where I'm from on either side, but after the Second World War my Dad worked for GM, establishing new dealerships across Quebec and Ontario. By the time I was twelve I'd moved twelve times. So I don't have a great sense of place.

From our room we look out to a harbour of fishing boats in the  Celtic Sea, around the corner and east of the Atlantic Ocean. 

             Kinsale harbour through the mist.

More about the strategic town of Kinsale later.

Yesterday at the Rock of Cashel

       The Round Tower

The Irish priests hid bullion and themselves in this 11th century tower (it's the real deal and the oldest standing structure in the church, castle and residence). They hid from Oliver Cromwell's generals who were systematically annihilating the Irish at every turn. 

To get inside, they climbed a rope ladder on the outside and dragged the ladder in after them. Inside there was a system of wooden ladders to access the various floors. In order to kill the priests, the generals coated the tower walls with pitch and set the tower alight. Inside, the ladders burned and the priests succumbed to smoke inhalation. How the tower survived all that is a mystery.

This opening was used to push beams through during construction.

Elaborate stone work was restored over the ages. The inside was heated only by the odd fireplace and there were no conveniences, not even a hole on the floor for use when nature called. The windows were slits covered by a membrane from a cow's bladder to keep out the elements. The priests cooked mutton in the open fireplaces. Apparently cooking mutton smells foul. 

A priest's life was better than the rest in medieval times. Life was nasty, brutish and short back then and if you were lucky or not you lived to age thirty-six with very few teeth left in your mouth. So much for any romanticised view of the Middle Ages.

Hore Abbey

As you drive into Cashel, the ruins of Hore Abbey, a Cistercian monastery, rise from a field. 

            Pastoral view from the church.

             Stones with Celtic cross.

Ireland is rich with a complicated history of struggle, fielding attacks from the English.

Kilkenny Castle

The original castle built in 1195 controlling a fording-point of the River Nore, was a symbol of Norman occupation and back in the 12th century defended the city. It's a massive spectacular building eventually owned by a wealthy, politically astute family for several hundred years. Now it is maintained by the State.

 Last evening just before dusk we looked down from a bridge over the River Nore all bundled in our warm clothing in the pouring rain. Two paddlers in a canoe whooshed under the bridge wearing shorts and tee shirts. These Irish are a hardy lot. You can see the castle in the background.

 

 A cosy bench in the castle.

After dinner, while men smoked cigars and drank brandy, women retired to the Withdrawing Room to avoid the foul air.

   Leaded glass in the castle.

Across the street from the castle is the Kilkenny Design Centre housed in the castle's former stables.

              Kilkenny Design Centre

    There are many beautiful Irish handloomed wool blankets, throws and other unique items for sale here.

  Pottery objet d'art.

An upstairs window from the inside. You can see the thickness of the walls.

       Window from the outside.

    Guinness beer kegs.

   Talbot's tower, the original medieval drum tower at the entance to the old, heavily fortified city. 

   This stone marks the place and date of the wall around the city.

Tomorrow we drive Kinsale through Cork, stopping em route at the Rock of Cashel.

See you soon.

In Kilkenny

Odd to post a photo of a car off the top for sure. But the lush green countryside, the friendly people and tidy towns and villages have been a backdrop to the struggle to master righthand drive, manual transmission and backcountry roads where Smartcars would be perfect.

We picked up our car at 6:00 am in Dublin after an all night flight, heading north for the Stone Age monuments on the Boyne River ( Brú na Bóinne in Gaelic, Ireland's second language.) The car was steamy with Bob's curses as the car stalled or my pointers that we were in the wrong lane. It's terrifying when you lose focus for a minute and come to onto what you think is the wrong side of the road. After two six hour days on narrow roads bordered by hedgerows and rock, we're in a groove.

      Newgrange

        The Passage Tomb of Newgrange

Newgrange, a UNESCO World Heritage was built 5,200 years ago (around 3,200 B.C.). So it's older than Stonehenge and the Great Pyramids of Giza. It's a large circular mound 85 meters in diameter and 13.5 meters high with a 19 meter stone passageway and chambers inside. The enormous boulders inside and outside are engraved with magalithic symbols that experts think were carved by people in a trancelike state.

   Hard to see the concentric circles on the large lower boulders.

Although Newgrange is called a passage tomb, Archaeologists now see the monument as an ancient temple, a place of astrological, spiritual, religious and ceremonial significance, much like our cathedrals today, a place of worship and burial for dignitaries.

It took us two hours to find our B and B the first night, not just because we'd been up 40 hours by then but because the roads aren't signed and housed not numbered. Can you imagine? A fruit market vendor said, "Why would we need names? We know where we are and who is where." Well, I thought what about the poor sods without a clue?

First night at Coolakay B and B near Enniskerry. No street number.

An Irish postbox.

        A spanking newly thatched roof.

     

       Many, many stone buildings here.

                    and vines

                   and vistas.

Now we're setting out for the Kilkenny castle built in 1195 by the Normans. More later. it's very chilly here -- so different from the steamy air at home. Be well.

 

Diego Rivera. In His Time, He Got the Attention.

A week ago last Wednesday we took a bumpy bicycle taxi ride to the National Palace where Diego's Rivera's detailed frescos cover the second floor walls. They show Mexico's troubled history from the Olmec (1400-400 BCE), the Maya, the Teotihuacan, and the Toltec civilizations, the Aztec Empire (1325-1521 CE), then the arrival of the Spaniards in 1519 and forward through the chaotic Mexican Revolution between 1910 and 1920 when Mexicans fought to regain land from wealthy Spanish landowners and to determine their future. 

Both Rivera and Frida Kahlo were firm socialists and close friends with Soviet politician and Marxist Leon Trotsky. Rivera was the noted one in his day, although he encouraged Kahlo and told her that she was talented. Now she is the famous one.

Diego Rivera

Frida Kahlo

Rivera painted these murals on the walls of the National Palace between 1929 and 1935. Bob and I couldn't wrap our heads around all the violence and misery that must be assumed or understood by Mexicans today. Perhaps this history makes them strong. By contrast, Canadians' background is peaceful. The murals are carefully looked after.

The indigenous peoples -- from 1400 BCE to1521CE  

as portrayed in Rivera's frescos.

Working with corn lower left. Middle ground shows how
the people filled in the lake around the island where Mexico
was built in order to grow crops. Today there is no lake. You can
see the volcano, Popocatepetl in the background. It is active today. 

Indigenous people making paper.

Aztec women painting with dye.

Making dye.

Panning for gold

Drying fish.

Dying cloth, cooking, hewing wood, harvesting cotton and in the background the lake and volcano.

Indigenous daily life: reading, making music, talking, eating.
One of Mexico's many volcanoes in the background.

Gouging a rubber tree to collect sap.

The indigenous had tattoos too.

Indigenous ceremony.

Hernán Cortés

Hernán Cortés, 1485-1547, Marquis of the Valley of Oaxaca was a Spanish Conquistador who caused the fall of the Aztec Empire in 1521 and brought large parts of mainland Mexico under the rule of the King of Castile. Cortés began the first phase of the Spanish colonization of the Americas. He controlled vast territories of land and allied some indigenous people against each other to win power. He is not portrayed well by Rivera.

Cortez on right is being paid money.

Cortez on the right. He owned 1000s of acres of land.

Spaniards and indigenous slaves.

Indigenous slaves working. Ninety percent of the slaves died
mostly from disease, overwork and maltreatment.

Tying a slave -- in the foreground.

Spaniards and indigenous fighting for territory.

People charged and hanged.

Always debauchery around.

During the Mexican Revolution. Kahlo on left.

Signs of strike and strife.

Every time we visit Latin America we are struck by the kindness and warmth of the people. At the end of a concert one evening a few weeks ago, I was struggling to get my arm into my sleeve jacket when I was helped. I thanked Bob. He said, "Thank the woman behind you." 

I wondered if we would do the same here. So after the "Judas Kiss" in Toronto last  week a woman in front of me was struggling to get her arm in her sleeve and I helped her. What goes around comes around as they say.

I will post again as my thoughts change. The world is not as scary as place as we and the press make it out to be. My final thoughts today are that being kind to others and living a simple life will make us feel happier and safer. 

Be well. More to follow.