Derrynane House

Derrynane House is the ancestral home of the O’Connell family and is now a museum to Daniel O’Connell, who is known as the Liberator of Ireland. While Ireland fought English rule for 800 years, the struggle was overwhelmingly one of physical force. Daniel O’Connell sought legal, political, and moral routes to autonomy from English rule, and was able to gain emancipation for Irish Catholics. His views on non-violence and human rights influenced many great leaders worldwide, including Frederick Douglass, Mahatma Gandhi, and Martin Luther King.

Chair presented to O’Connell in 1844.

My family is distantly related to Daniel O’Connell, and I grew up with stories of our family’s work to free Ireland from English rule, by my Fenian soldier great-great-grandfather (also named Daniel O’Connell), to our more famous relative Daniel O’Connell the Liberator. It was a dream come true to be selected to work as a guide at Derrynane House for the 2020 season, where I would spend my days helping to interpret the legacy of this great man for visitors from all over the world.

2020 was not the year any of us were expecting, and one unexpected change is that this summer international visitors are scarce in Ireland. The Irish have embraced the summer “staycation” concept, choosing to holiday in Ireland rather than travel for their summer break, and as a result Kerry has been very busy with Irish from the cities looking for some peace and beauty. It is a strange position for me; I am an American tasked with helping to interpret Irish history to the Irish.

With social distancing, limited numbers allowed in the house, and the need for PPE and sanitizers, much of the job this year is about ensuring safety at the site. Over time, I have come to find the places where the conversations can take place, and revel in every connection I am able to make with visitors. I have enjoyed lively conversations with groups as they queue outside waiting for the next entry, and have continued conversations in the courtyard and gardens after visitors have taken the tour of the house. When a group has young adults in it, I make a point to draw the parallel between our current movements in support of human rights to the positions that Daniel O’Connell took 245 years ago.

Drawing Room, Derrynane House.

Although the year is not what anyone expected, I still revel in the opportunities afforded me this year, both sharing my own knowledge of O’Connell, and learning from our visitors. Derrynane has an extraordinary draw, with important history, beautiful parkland and beaches to explore, and a wildness and remoteness that seems to resonate for all of us. And every day as I arrive to work, I think of the words of Daniel O’Connell, “Do not tear me from this spot, until I have enjoyed some of its renovating effects.”

The Summer House at Derrynane.

"Tiny Island with Wildflowers and Ruins"

I have wanted to visit the Aran Islands for years, and this week was finally the moment. I had two days off work, and decided to set out after work on Sunday evening, in order to make it up to the ferry in Doolin for the morning ferry boat. I had read up on all three of the Aran Islands, and decided to set out for the largest island, Inish Mor (which means Big Island in Irish). I was all ready: my camping gear packed, my ferry ticket to Inis Mor purchased, my camping lined up for the two days. Because I worry about these things, I decided to print out my ticket while at work so I didn’t have to rely on a digital version on my phone. That is when I noticed it; the ticket read Doolin to Inis Maan (Middle Island in Irish), not Inis Mor. How did that happen? What was I to do!

My coworkers pointed out that since I was going out on a Bank Holiday Monday, Inis Mor was going to be packed, and so maybe I should consider Inis Maan instead of trying to change my ticket. I looked into it, and the more I looked at the island the better I liked the idea. The clincher was when I saw the description on Google Maps, “Tiny island with wildflowers and ruins.” That is really all I need for a good adventure, wildflowers and ruins, so I decided that this was meant to be.

My ferry, after dropping me off on Inis Maan.

The next morning, I showed up at the pier for the ferry and was shocked at the stream of cars and people coming in. It seemed that all of Ireland was heading onto the ferries to go out to the Islands. There were three ferries carrying a total of 750 people heading out to Inis Mor, but only my boat detoured to Inis Maan on the way. They pulled in to the harbour, tied up the boat, hoisted the walkway. and off I stepped. Me and…no one else. Just me. Feeling guilty about detouring the other 249 people aboard my ferry, I confirmed that yes I was getting the ferry back that evening and that I would be there at the appointed time, and off I set on my adventure.

The quietest of the three Aran Islands, Inis Maan is a beautiful spot to explore. Small green fields surrounded by high stone walls fill the northern half of the island where the pier is situated. I walked through this pastoral landscape up to where the village lies in the center of the town. Just above the village on the highest spot of the island is the ancient stone ring fort Dun Conor. I walked through the small fields to the entrance to the fort, and once the cow already in the entranceway made her way through, I did the same.

Dun Conor

Ring forts are common throughout the west of Ireland, and they never cease to delight me. Built between 500AD and 1000AD, these huge stone structures are a physical reminder of how long this land has been occupied. In the very spot where I was standing, humans have been living, farming, protecting their families from outside forces, for many ages, and their monumental work in building this structure remains for us to see over a thousand years later. Most ring forts are round, but Dun Conor is more D shaped, likely to take advantage of the natural rock escarpment along the western edge. I enjoyed exploring the structure and the two clochans, or stone structures, within the large inner portion of the ring fort, sharing the place only with the herd of cows, all of whom were now grazing on the succulent grass within. I mentally thanked whatever computer glitch had given me a ferry ride here instead of to the more famous fort on Inis Mor, now being visited by 749 other ferry goers.

Ragwort growing in limestone grykes.

I next walked along the Western edge of the island, to Cathair Synge, or Synge’s Chair. Author J.M. Synge spent time on Inis Maan at the end of the 19th century, and he would walked out to this quiet spot to sit within the shelter of the stones overlooking the cliff, the ocean, and Inis Mor beyond. This part of the island gives way to the limestone pavements peculiar to this part of the world, with no soil present except in the grykes, the fissures in the limestone. Within these small fissures an abundance of wildflowers grow, and the area appears strangely barren while simultaneously teaming with biodiversity just beneath the surface of the ground.

Knowing the ferry would not wait around for long for me, I began my journey back to the other side of the island. I passed through the town, and found many of the houses had vegetable plots in their front gardens. Potatoes and cabbage were the most common, but broad beans, beets, and even some cucumbers and tomatoes were growing. Spectacular nasturiums overtook several gorgeous gardens. Throughout my day on the island, I met several other visitors, and a number of locals. Residents on the island speak the Irish language, and it is reassuring to hear Irish as the dominant language at least in this remote spot.

A frenzy of nasturtiums

With weary feet I finally made it to the pier, with time to spare before the ferry arrived. Although several other people also appeared just after me, they were waiting for another boat, for when my ferry docked and set out the gangway, once again I was the only one to enter. I was grateful to the family who made a seat for me by holding their child on their lap so I could sit down, and I was even more grateful just a few minutes later to jump up again to look out into the water, when the same family spotted a pod of dolphins leaping in the wake of our ferry boat. Wildflowers, ruins, a quiet island populated with quiet locals, and dolphins prancing in the spray- it was the perfect adventure!

Morning Commute Along the Derrynane Mass Path

My apartment for the summer is along a looped walk that connects it to Derrynane House, where I work five days a week. I usually drive because it is a long walk that precludes anything else in the day, but yesterday morning dawned with blue skies and calm winds, and so I packed my bag and set off early for the walk over to Derrynane. It is a lovely walk and a special way to start the day.

My commute begins with the narrow road down to Bunvalla Pier. This is a small local road going down the mountain to the water in a series of long looping switchbacks. It takes me through pastures and past several farms, until the pier comes into view.

Walking past the pier and the little beach, the real enchantment begins. From this pier over to Derrynane pier is a steep, rocky area with no roads, but there is a path that threads along between rocky outcrops and up through a rhododendron grove. This is known as the Mass Path. When Catholic religious services were outlawed in the 17th to 19th centuries, people would gather outside in remote areas that would be unlikely to be detected. The people living in this area would travel along this route to Derrynane for religious services held outside at the Mass Rock.

The mountains here come right down to the sea, and this path works through the rocky landscape, dipping down to the water’s edge at a small pebbly beach that is only accessible by water or the Mass Path. From here the route winds up a narrow valley into a rhododencron grove, then back out to follow the rocks above the water.

The path concludes at the Derrynane pier, and my commute then takes me up a winding road, into the woodlands that are a part of Derrynane Park. The park path brings me out just below Derrynane House, where my work day begins.

The Only Tourist in Kerry

Much of this summer’s opportunity to live and work in Ireland has not gone according to plan. With a worldwide pandemic going on, that is to be expected, of course. I count myself incredibly lucky to have lined up this opportunity and sorted out work, housing, and a work visa before the world shut down, and even more lucky to have been able to travel here.

Walking up to the Gap of Dunloe from the Black Valley.

It was clear before I left the United States that many of the experiences I was looking forward to would not be possible this year. I was excited to finally getting to visit Skellig Michael, a harsh and stunning island off the coast of Ireland that was home to a small group of monks from the 7th to the 12th century. This World Heritage Site is closed for the summer though, as are many other boat trips, tours, and heritage sites around the country.

The road through the gap.

What I hadn’t fully realized before getting here was the opportunity that this strange time would afford me. With travel restrictions in place through June, Kerry’s usually crowded small roads are quieter than I have ever seen them, and driving is much less daunting. I have taken this opportunity to visit places that I would not have traveled to if the traffic was heavier.

One of my first trips out took me to the Black Valley and the Gap of Dunloe. Although the Gap of Dunloe is a beautiful way through high rugged mountains, it is also usually clogged with walkers, cyclists, pony carts, and the odd tourist in a car. When I traveled the gap I met one other walker, two cyclists, and a couple cars on my three hour hike. Otherwise it was me and sheep and haunting echoes of birds high above as the sound got caught between the two mountains.

Coumeenoole

Another beautiful but busy drive is at the tip of the Dingle peninsula. Slea Head drive is a narrow road that is built between the mountain and the sea, and affords beautiful views whether looking landward or out to the ocean. It is also a popular day trip for buses, and for that reason it has never taken priority in my list of things to see and do on my short visits to Kerry. However, with the country still bound by county travel restrictions, it seems I am the only tourist in Kerry, and on the blustery weekday afternoon that I drove it, I was quite alone for much of the trip.

For a compulsive planner like myself, this summer is a lesson in appreciating what is available to appreciate, and letting go of the plans that don’t work out. One month on, I can say that is very much working to my advantage. We shall see what tomorrow’s adventure brings.

Quarantining in Paradise

Derrynane Harbour

When I accepted the summer position at Derrynane House, on the tip of the Iveragh peninsula in County Kerry, I had no idea that my adventure would be taking place during a worldwide pandemic. More than once I have wondered if I said too many times, “This is too good to be true!” about my incredible good fortune. While the circumstances have changed somewhat, this week has marked the beginning of my sojourn living in County Kerry for the summer. Unique to this year, the adventure has begun with a two week quarantine period.

This move transplants me from Vermont, which has one of the lowest cases of Covid-19 in the United States, to Kerry, which has one of the lowest cases of Covid-19 in Ireland. However, the journey took me through two airports in major cities where the risk of transmission of the coronavirus is much greater, and so my first job on arrival was to get to my apartment and limit contact with others for two weeks.

The view from my window.

My move has been marked by the kindness of strangers. From the helpful man at the car rental office who offered to pick me up at the train station, to my welcoming landlady who made sure all was ready for my arrival despite delays and uncertainty, to the shop owner who drove my grocery order all the way out to my apartment and delivered food right to my door for me, I have been assisted by those who made my transition to Kerry easier. Now I am snuggled into a 2nd story apartment overlooking Derrynane Harbour with a spectacular view out to the islands of Deenish and Scarriff. Just outside my window are the farm pastures of my landlady, where I can observe cows and their new calves in the pasture, the regular movement of the sheep as they graze through different fields, the quickly darting Irish hares. Just beyond, gannets often feed in the little bay at the bottom of the hill, fishing boats come and go, and the islands appear and disappear as the sunshine and rain work across the water.

My goat neighbor.

Half way through my two week quarantine, I feel the greatest affinity for the pet goat kid who lives in a lovely field just across the road from me. This goat has it all: plenty of pasture, three doting children who take care of all his needs, a snug little shed built just for him, even a few toys in his fence to keep him occupied. Despite all this, on my first days here the goat was constantly escaping his fenced in paradise to be found wandering the sheep pasture or the road. More than once cars were stopped on the lane as the goat was led back to his pasture.

While I long to escape the confines of my quarantine, I remind myself I have a few more years, and thus hopefully greater wisdom, than my four-footed neighbor. I take stock of my great fortune: a snug place to stay, food delivered to my door, and plenty to occupy me through these days. When I begin to chafe at my confines, I remind myself to stay within my own beautiful pasture, and enjoy my quarantine in paradise.

Deenish and Scarriff Islands

Living the Dream in County Kerry

Susan at Derrynane House

You may have noticed that the 2020 tour dates have been disappearing from our website in recent weeks. Our schedule is flexing to accommodate a unique opportunity: I have been selected to join the staff at Derrynane House for the summer of 2020 as a tour guide at the historic house and museum. The Derrynane National Historic Park encompasses 300 acres of woodland, gardens, sand dunes, and beaches as well as Derrynane House, which is the ancestral home of the O’Connells, and a museum to Daniel O’Connell, known as the Liberator of Ireland.

Along the Mass Path

It is with a degree of sadness that we are postponing our tours, but that is more than offset by the powerful delight at the prospect of spending six months living and working in County Kerry. Indeed, I wake up every morning thinking, “How could my life be so perfect?!” I will spend May-October providing tours and information at Derrynane House, helping to interpret the site for a wide variety of visitors. I expect to live nearby and on fine mornings will make my way to work along the Mass Path, a trail that winds along the rocky shoreline and through a rhododendron grove. On my days off work and through the long evenings hours, I will have ample time to explore the stark beauty of County Kerry and beyond.

Exploring Cloon Lough

Ample time to explore is the real luxury here. For while my tour partners (aka my sister Kathy and my husband Craig) and I have made amazing use of our visits to Ireland, every moment is a choice. If we stop here, we will have less time there. If we walk through this garden, we may not make it to the beach. If we follow this road, we won’t climb that mountain. Indeed, tempers have flared when I try to cut meals from the day’s itinerary, as they take up valuable exploration time! For six months later this year, there will be time. Time to wander the beaches, climb the mountains, explore unknown roads, pulling off at any stone, or path, or sign, or tree that beckons. I hope to be accompanied by one or both of my tour partners (aka my sister Kathy and my husband Craig) for as long as schedules, work, and visas will allow them to join me. I hope you will follow along on my journey through my occasional blog entries and more frequent facebook postings.

And when we resume our tour schedule in 2021, I hope you can join us in person as we bring our groups on an even more in depth look into the wonders of County Kerry.

The Story Behind the Name 'Closer Look Tours'

Finding the right name for our business was no easy task, and many names were proposed and rejected. We wanted a name that was memorable but not too confining, and we wanted it to convey the important ways that our tours are different from a typical tour. When Craig suggested Closer Look, we all agreed that we had hit upon the right name for us.

In my mind’s eye, Closer Look evokes the moment captured below. Kathy and I had spent a week exploring the Burren, and on our last day we decided to walk an old Green Road out to Black Head. This track follows the contours of Morrough Mountain and overlooks farms fields, the main road, and the stony limestone rocks down to the sea. It was a drizzly November day, and we were alone on the walking trail. As we ambled along we met a curious herd of cows, we studied fossils in the rock and wildflowers growing along the trail, and we pondered the stone walls built straight up the rocky mountain. As we settled into the barren but beautiful landscape of the Burren, we also noticed the amazing regularity of the “Paddy Wagon” tour buses traveling from Galway to the Cliffs of Moher. Each bus would stop at Black Head point for a few minutes, and the people would pile out, look across the stone wall at the rocky landscape, then file back into the bus.

Kathy looks out over Black Head point and the passing tour bus far below.

We watched from above as yet another bus stopped, but one determined tourist in this group decided he wanted more. While the rest of the group walked to the stone wall and looked out, this young man paused for just a moment, then clambered over the stone wall and ran out onto the limestone pavements. Though he couldn’t hear us, Kathy and I cheered from high up the mountain! He kept going until he reached a large glacial erratic left behind on the limestone surface, where he examined the rock, felt the surface of the limestone, and examined his surroundings.

His busmates were now all back on the bus out of the rain, and our lone explorer ran back over the stone surface, climbed the stone wall and trotted onto the bus to continue on his way to the next stop on the tour. We agreed, this explorer would have been happier taking our tour, where he would have had the opportunity to delve in to get a Closer Look at the places we chose to explore.

Taking a Closer Look at County Kerry

Our tours are designed to immerse our visitors in the areas we visit. We intentionally base our tours in one spot, and then explore the location, learning about the history and the ecology of the area. On our most recent tour to County Kerry, we had the opportunity to go out one night to view ancient rock art with archeologist Aoibheann Lambe who has been making a lot of discoveries of rock art in County Kerry.

Rock art by night

Aoibheann took our small group out to a field near Caherdaniel village that I had walked past many times before. There was a large rock, perhaps 20 feet long by 8 feet wide, sitting in the field. When we approached the stone and shone the torches straight on, all we saw was the bumpy surface of a field rock. However, Aoibheann had thought to take a closer look, and she helped our group to as well. When she shone her flashlight at an angle that mimicked the slant of the sun at the winter solstice, a large panel of cups and lines grew out of the shadows. While there are still more questions than answers about this prehistoric rock carving, our trip with a local expert revealed a whole new depth of understanding of the landscape we spent the week in. For the rest of the week, those of us on that walk pondered each majestic rock that we happened upon and wondered whether there were stories told on its surface that we had yet to unlock.

A cave in the cliffs in Ballinskelligs Bay

The landscape of County Kerry is rugged and beautiful and one of my favorite things to do is simply to wander the back roads, in car or on foot, to see what we discover. One rainy day recently, Kathy and I walked the small road that reaches out onto Hog’s Head, a peninsula separating Ballinskelligs Bay from Derrynane Bay. While the day was wet, and the gap between hills that provides access to the Derrynane side of the peninsula was wild and windy, we had a beautiful wet walk. On our way back, we spotted a slight difference below us along the shoreline. Only our slow pace allowed us the opportunity to notice the cave carved out of the cliffs well below us, with the waves crashing in.

The Kerry Slug

While Ireland has an abundance of slugs, Kerry has an unusual variant. The Kerry Slug is found only on the Iberian peninsula (Spain) and in County Kerry. These slugs do not appear different if given a cursory glance,but a closer look reveals the unusual spotted pattern that indicates the rare Kerry slug. While this one was spotted on the pathway leading up to a ring fort in Cahersiveen, our tours include a naturalist walk to be sure that we learn about the unique ecology of the area we are visiting.

While our most recent tour was of the Kingdom of Kerry, some of our group arrived at the airport earlier than the rest of the participants. We went for a short visit out to the Mooghaun Hill Fort and walked the woods and ancient ramparts. Hidden here among the trees, an almost perfect fairy mushroom ring makes a complete circle. The largest mossy tree trunk in the photograph is growing right in the middle of the circle, but the mushrooms simply grow up to one side of the trunk and continue right on out the other. These magical sights are only noticed when we have the time to slow down and take a closer look at our surroundings.

Mushroom fairy ring on the forest floor

Two Weeks in Belfast: Susan's First Trip to Ireland- Part 2

It took me a full day to figure out how to make my way across Ireland by bus and train to Dublin, and the following day I crossed the border into Northern Ireland. By this point, I had been rescued by kind strangers on quite a few occasions. I remember climbing aboard a bus in Belfast only to realize that the money I had exchanged when I landed in Ireland was no longer the currency in Northern Ireland. As I stared at the change in my hand trying to make sense of this, an older gentleman in the front seat leaned forward and, without saying a word, deposited the money needed to allow me to take my seat. He smiled and gestured me to a seat, then gave me a quick lesson on the different coins and their value.

Finally I made it to Giro’s Cafe and my group. There were about eight of us who came to the work camp, from Germany, Italy, France, and maybe Australia. We worked with the young people from the collective. For two weeks we tackled projects in Belfast and in the countryside outside the city. One of our first projects was to organize a “jumble sale”. Once I realized this meant rummage sale in my vernacular, it became a bit less confusing. Still, trying to make change when the crowds descended and I didn’t know my pounds from my pence or my shillings made for a very taxing day!

Another project our group tackled was preparing for a punk rock festival at a farm in the countryside. We headed out several days before the festival and stayed in an abandoned wing of the farmhouse. The setting was lovely and primitive. Since I came to Ireland from a rental in an old farmhouse in Vermont without electricity, the lack of creature comforts did not bother me, and I found it quite romantic to be sleeping in the straw and rationing water from the rain barrels. We mowed the field and set up parking, dug a hole for a bathtub to be be used to collect spring water for the festival goers, and finally the night of the festival arrived.

I was a recorder player and a folk music fan; I don’t think I had ever heard punk rock before. It was a long, loud night, and I kept wondering why this music all sounded so angry. Part of the answer to that came not long afterwards when the group went on an outing to see some of the sights of the Northern Ireland countryside. We spent the day touring the Giant’s Causeway and walking across the Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge (not yet a major tourist destination in the 1980s). On our way back to Belfast in the evening, our van was stopped by a British Army patrol on a small back road. The back of the van was filled with a motley crew of German, French, Italian, and American young people, but the soldiers took just a cursory look at all of our passports. Then they asked Petesy and Andi to get out of the van. The van had no windows in the back where we were sitting. We could not see or hear what was happening, and we never found out. All we knew was that our friends were gone for a very, very long time, and when they came back their mood was black.

Belfast Mural 1989

We rode in silence back to the city. By this time in the trip, I had walked past soldiers on the street with machines guns trained on passersby; I had visited the grave of Bobby Sands who died on a hunger strike in prison; I had viewed the political murals painted across the city; and I had commemorated internment night with a several story high bonfire watching police and IRA members clash until one boy was killed with a rubber bullet. However, the anger and resentment of whatever had transpired during our routine traffic stop on our way back from a day of sightseeing taught me more about what life was like for the Northern Irish than any other lesson.

For the young men and women of Giro’s Cafe, their refusal to identify as Catholic or Protestant but simply as Northern Irish made no difference to those who controlled too much of their lives. They were still targeted by patrols, they were still on the dole because there was little work to be had, and they were angry and resentful. Despite their difficult situation, they were willing to take in a group of us and allow us a glimpse into their lives that summer of 1989, and for that I am grateful to them.

How Not to Travel: Susan's First Trip to Ireland- Part 1

It was 30 years ago this month that I set off on my first trip to Ireland. It was practically my first time traveling anywhere actually, and somehow, my nineteen year old self decided that a solo trip to another continent would be a good starting point for my life of adventure. Just traveling alone to Ireland was not quite daring enough, so I decided to begin my trip with a stay in Belfast.

Northern Ireland in the 1980s was racked with “the Troubles”, the fierce partisan conflict between Unionists, who were loyal to the crown and wanted to remain a part of the United Kingdom, and Nationalists, who wanted Northern Ireland to join with the Republic of Ireland for a United Ireland. Thousands of people were killed during the Troubles, which did not end until the Good Friday Accord of 1998. At the time of my visit, Belfast was a sharply divided city, patrolled by the British Army, with devastating unemployment and fierce tensions between factions.

Into this difficult and dangerous setting I bumbled, a naive teenager from rural Vermont. I had arranged to join a group through the Vermont based Work Camps International, which set up volunteer opportunities around the globe. In exchange for food and housing, I was to spend two weeks working with a group of volunteers from Northern Ireland and the rest of Europe under the auspices of Giro’s Cafe, a vegetarian, punk, anarchist group.

Just getting to Belfast was a harrowing ordeal, as I was completely unfamiliar with traveling and was astonishingly unprepared for the journey. Add to that a terrible flight that would have been comic had it not been so traumatic. I had purchased a one way ticket with Air Pakistan from New York to Dublin, as their Belfast flight was somehow unbookable. The flight I was on was their first on this route, and was non-stop to Shannon then on to Dublin. Departure was delayed but unremarkable, but hours into the flight we were suddenly landing, in the dark, in a place claimed to be Iceland. Passengers were grumbling, but we were assured this was a scheduled refueling stop (for our non-stop flight). There was nothing to see out the plane windows, and there were lots of clankings and clangings from the belly of the plane. In my memory, this unscheduled stop lasted hours, though it may not have been that long. I can only say for certain that it lasted long enough for my fellow passengers grumbling to turn to anger and finally outrage at being held in the dark in an unknown destination while clearly something major was happening to the plane!

When we finally got underway again, we were informed that when we landed in Shannon all luggage would be offloaded, and passengers would have a certain amount of time to claim their luggage and anything remaining would then be reloaded and continue on to Dublin. In other words, Dublin travelers would be trapped for an extra 90 minutes or longer on this plane awaiting our luggage to (hopefully) rejoin us! This was too much to bear, and I followed the lead of my seatmates and decided to get out of there and find my way to Dublin and then Belfast some other way.

I had no idea what to expect when getting off the plane, but I somehow managed to get through immigration and collect my heavy rucksack before it got reloaded onto the plane. Just after passing through customs and the door that warned there was no return beyond this point, I realized I had left my bag holding my wallet, all my money, and my passport at a table on the other side! Panicked and sleep deprived, I could think of nothing to do but stand in the middle of the arrivals hall and cry. This was my first introduction to the incredible kindness of the Irish people, as a concerned official stopped to ask me whatever was the matter. Upon hearing my tale of woe, he nipped back through to where I told him I had taken out my purse, and within a minute he had restored my purse with all its contents safely back to me. I was one very lucky fool!

Coming next: Part 2: Two weeks in Belfast