Arriving in Ireland

I cannot tell you how excited I was to finally touch down in Ireland. We were finally leaving the States and beginning the adventure Anjel and I had dreamed about and planned for the last 6 months! From this point until we return home, every step will be on foreign soil, the languages will become more exotic, currencies will change, and customs will differ. I was practically running off the plane and through the terminal on the way to customs.

Our flight from Chicago to Dublin was wonderfully uneventful. Anjel, unable to sleep, watched the better part of “My Life in Ruins” a romantic comedy set around a female tour guide leading a busload of tourists through a week-long visit of ancient Greek ruins. I thought this was ridiculous until I ended up watching at least an hour’s worth of the second movie “Mama Mia”… without headphones on. I couldn’t bring myself to actually watch the movie, but as Anjel will tell you, I’m easily hypnotized by the bright colors and flashing images of a TV screen, and this was no exception. All in all we played a few crossword puzzles, browsed Sky Mall, had the chicken and landed without incident.

Our first stop after customs was the Hertz desk. Ireland is the only destination that we anticipate renting a car and I had reserved the smallest one possible. There was a sexy (and sub-compact) white Fiat parked on the lot that caught the eye of both Anjel and I. Unfortunately it was an upgrade from the level we reserved (closer to the the Mini Coopers they were also renting). The desk agent offered to upgrade us to it for an extra 9 Euro a day but 9 Euro over 8 days buys more than a few extra pints, so we passed and walked out the door with a shiny blue Suzuki Swift.

8 years ago my brother Tynan and I rented a car and spent a week driving around Ireland, so this was not my first time behind the wheel on the wrong (left) side of the road; which was good, for as relaxing as Ireland is supposed to be, Anjel’s experience of Ireland for the first two hours was basically: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! No matter how comfortable you are driving on the left, there are three things that seem to happen without fail in the first hour or two:

1. You instinctively glance up and to the right to check the rear view mirror… which isn’t located there so you just get a series of quick looks out your window at the Irish sky.
2. When making a quick downshift in preparation for a pass or when suddenly caught behind a slow moving truck you instinctively reach down to the right for the gear shift… which isn’t located there. However what does seem to be located in exactly that spot is the interior door handle and more than once I’ve pulled the door ajar.
3. You are stunned by HOW NARROW the Irish country roads are… until you turn onto an even smaller one… and then onto an even smaller one that doesn’t even have a center line because it’s not technically wide enough for 2 lanes but is still posted for at least 40 mph. It’s not uncommon to be driving down a winding country road that seems hardly wide enough for two subcompacts to pass, with a posted speed limit of 80 km (about 50 mph), with 6-foot high bushes and hedges starting 6 inches off the road, approaching a blind corner, when suddenly cement truck comes barrelling around said corner, half in your lane.

It’s #3 that really led to Anjel’s first few hours in Ireland not being as relaxing as they might have been, but I was driving as safely and reasonably as I could (as she will attest) and within a few days we were used to it and were ourselves able to pick out the people who had clearly picked up their rental cars within the last day or two.

Though I was confident with my driving, I didn’t want to start off going through Dublin traffic, so we took a more circuitous, leisurely and rural route on our way to Williamstown, County Galway, to meet Leo and Eileen Finnegan. The Finnegans are distant cousins of mine. Of the two, Eileen is the blood relation, though it’s a pretty distant connection. My Great-Great-Great Grandmother Bridget “Biddy” Garvey married twice. Her first husband was Michael Cunneely. They had a son. That son had a daugher who married a Bradley. They had a daughter, Dorothy Bradley, my paternal Grandmother. Biddy Garvey’s second husband was Luke Fannon and it’s from the Fannon line that Eileen is descended. It’s a tenous connection, but it is indeed family and it was a modern relationship that my father helped re-establish. Anjel and I met Leo and Eileen very briefly when they came out to attend our wedding 3 years ago, but it was in the middle of all of the last minute preparation and then the day-of excitement and it was a casual meeting at best. We were looking forward to spending several days with them and actually getting to know them.

The address I had for the Finnegans listed a town and a county, but no street address. I was assured this was the only address, so when we arrived in the town, which is quite small, we simply walked into the corner gas station and asked the woman behind the counter, a little sheepishly, “We’re trying to find Leo and Eileen Finnegan, do you have any idea where they live?” It turned out to be a rediculous question as of course she knew where they lived. They were just five houses down on the right. “I think it’s the fifth” she said, then mumbled a bit to herself, running through the other four families that lived along the way “…ton, Williams, Feeney, FINNEGAN. Yes, fifth”. When we related the story to the Finnegans, Eileen asked who we spoke with. “Was it Anne?” “I think so.” “Ah, she’s another cousin of yours, on the Cunneely side.” It turned out that a good number of people we met in and around Williamstown (the main stretch of which consisted of about 6 blocks and 4 pubs) were related to me in one way or another.

Within just a few hours of arriving in Williamstown we had already gone for a short nature walk through the surrounding bogs (“to stretch your legs and enjoy the Irish air”) and were sitting down to a fantastic dinner of corned beef, cabbage and potatoes. In all the excitement of the day, we had managed to stay up the entire afternoon, despite not sleeping for more than an hour on the plane. When we finally did lay down for bed, around 10:00 pm that night, we’d been up for about 32 hours.

Over the next 5 days the Finnegans fed us like Kings and drove us all around the countryside on day-long sightseeing trips. Almost every morning we awoke to a hearty “Good MORNING” from Leo and a Full Irish Breakfast (2 Sausage, 2 Rashers (thick bacon), 2 pieces of White Pudding, 2 pieces of Black Pudding, an egg (cooked over-hard) and a fried tomato – in addition to a choice of cold cereal, yogurt, orange juice, tea or coffee) lovingly prepared by Eileen. It was as good as if not better than any meal we got in any B&B we stayed in during our trip.

As the days passed, we got to know each other more and more and had a fantastic time. We were able to ask them such important questions as “Do the Irish find The Quiet Man to be ridiculous?” (No, in fact Leo loves it). “Thanks to Dad we grew up listening to a lot of Irish Folk music, which groups are respected traditional groups and which would we be laughed at for singing in a pub?” (The Chieftains are indeed a classic group; the Clancy Brothers are a bit “stage Irish” – though still good).

One of the best days was actually the last full day we spent with them. We were up early and headed over to a nearby cemetary where we visited the grave of my Great-Great-Great Grandmother, Biddy Garvey. Then we went to another cemetary where Michael Cunneely was buried. We saw the fields where he would have worked and even the mill that they would have taken their grain to – recently restored to working order by the local heritage foundation of which Leo was a member. Because of his “connections,” Leo had Lyle, a local farmer and one of the main restorers, meet us at the stream-powered mill to actually start it up and show us how it worked. The Finnegans had warned us that rural dialects were often very difficult to understand and indeed it was lucky for us that they were along as Anjel and I were barely able to understand a single word that Lyle had to say (for those familar with the movie Hot Fuzz and the scene where they bring a translator out to talk to the farmer… it was EXACTLY that).

From there we headed North, making several stops but ultimately winding up in Sligo in an area known “Yeats country” and visiting the grave of W.B. Yeats himself. The grave is one of many in an old church yard, but we were struck by the modern yet classic look of the tombstone and the simple inscription:

Cast a cold Eye
On Life, on Death
Horseman pass by

We left the grave and before catching a late dinner in a small pub, we went for a scenic drive ending with a view of the Isle of Innisfree. Innisfree was the name of the fictional town in The Quiet Man (though it is a real island) and as we stood looking over the water at the island at sunset, Eileen recited from memory, Yeats’ poem “The Lake Isle of Innisfree.”

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the mourning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

It shouldn’t be necessary to stand exactly in a poet’s shoes to be able to take meaning and understanding from their words – but as we stood there on the boat ramp, we couldn’t help but feel that that’s exactly where we were.

The next day we were up early and after one last stop (5 minutes away to Glennamaddy to see the Garvey pub that’s been there for the last 173 years – and is still open) and a final cuppa, we hit the road, headed for a few days in Galway, Cork, and finally our walk on the Dingle Peninsula.

We had originally expected to make Williamstown a homebase from which we would leave each morning on our own and return each night, grateful for a shower and a free place to stay – and possibly spend a day or two with the Finnegans if they were free. It turned into a much better stay that we could have ever hoped, a fantastic friendship, and we also got to meet their daughters, Paula and Claire, who are close to our own age, are themselves well travelled, and with whom we hope to continue to familial connection through us and on to our own children.

Tagged as: family, History, Ireland