Tag Archives: Ireland

being trapped beneath the volcanic ash cloud

Everything is fodder for a story. Here’s the beginning of one I wrote for perceptivetravel.com.

“When I was supposed to board a plane to go back home I was sitting in a five–star hotel in Belfast, Northern Ireland. The view from my window was of Belfast Lough, a long, deep, narrow channel running from the Irish Sea to the city of Belfast. And if I sat there and squinted just a little and ignored the big ferries and occasional tanker that slowly moved past I could believe I was looking at one of the Finger Lakes, the region I’m from in New York State. And it made me instantly and intensely homesick. But I was trapped beneath the volcanic ash cloud.

I had been in Ireland for two weeks traveling around the country and blogging about my experiences. It was oddly grueling. I’d wake in the morning and eat a hearty Irish breakfast with a map spread out on the table beside my plate of sausage, bacon, eggs, blood pudding, fried bread, grilled tomatoes, and grilled mushrooms, and I’d plan the day’s drive.

I think nothing of jumping into the car and heading out when I’m home. But there’s something about driving on the left that required every bit of concentration. Could have been the roads as wide as my dining room table. Could have been the trucks and buses bearing down on me, or the sheep casually crossing in front of my Ford Focus. Could have been the scenic drives that hugged the cliffs on one side and the sheer drop to the sea on the other. Or maybe it was the roundabouts. Or the unfamiliar road signs. I don’t know. But driving did take almost all of my white–knuckle concentration, which is kind of a shame because although I did things like drive around part of the Ring of Kerry, I didn’t see any of the landscape. Whole swaths of Ireland remain a green blur to me.

Still, I was determined to find a story, whether it was talking to a rheumy–eyed drunk in a pub about Bob Dylan or the doorman at one of the hotels where I stayed. The doorman had just returned from a trip to New York City—his first—and was ga–ga over everything he had seen. At one point he asked a cop where he might find the Empire State Building and the cop grabbed his arm and pulled him into the street stopping traffic as he did. Then he pointed up to the top of the building in front of them. “How Irish of me,” the doorman said.

So everyone had a story. The drunk in the bar. The doorman. The maid from Lithuania. The taxi driver from West Belfast. And I spent my days in a kind of reporter–mode and it was goddamn exhausting. And at night I’d go into my room and try to craft a little story to post. And I’d drink from the bottle of Merlot purchased from the liquor store and eat bread and cheese for dinner bought at the grocery store and I’d begin to feel sorry for myself in this beautiful country of greenness and melodic voices. Then I’d crawl between the 800 thread–count sheets on my perfect bed hoping I’d sleep. I knew I couldn’t whine about it lest I get slapped. (click here to continue reading . . .)


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I spent about 20 days in Ireland  (six days care of the volcanic ash cloud that hovered over Irish air space). I had the fabulous gig of blogging about my experiences for The Atlantic.

I loved every place I visited. Someone asked what my favorite area was and I said it would be like asking someone to identify their favorite child. The last place I stayed was Belfast and I had some time to poke around the city and region care of the volcanic ash cloud. The architecture is eclectic ranging from the City Hall, which is as fancy-dancy as a wedding cake, to new buildings with glass domes (they seem to like circular buildings and domes in Belfast).

One area of Belfast is well-known for being a war zone between the Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods. A by-product of The Troubles are the murals painted on the ends of buildings and walls.

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i’ve been in ireland

It’s a glorious time of year to be in Ireland — green, green grass; lots of daffodils, trees just thinking about budding out. I’ve been blogging about the trip for The Atlantic and if you’re interested, you can follow the journey by clicking here.  Here’s the beginning of a post about canoeing in a lake near Killarny.

Last evening I took such a lovely paddle around Ross Island in Lough Leane outside of Killarney. Nathan Kingerlee of Outdoors Ireland collected me from my hotel and I’m sure when he took a look at me (overweight middle-aged woman) he quickly recalculated how far we’d make it in the canoe. Nathan’s a young, strapping lad with close-cropped black hair and ruddy cheeks and hails from Killorglin, the small town that worships a wild goat annually during Puck Fair. He started Outdoors Ireland about five years ago and is making a go of it by selling adventure trips and teaching people how to do all manner of outdoorsy things. He’s smart and savvy and fully understands the role of carefully marketing his business. And because he’s a young guy, he blogs and tweets and is as comfortable around his computer as he is climbing a mountain.

The water was really high where the canoe was tethered — had innundated part of the forest — and canoeing out of there and toward the open water was a little like canoeing in a southern bayou. As we headed toward the lake, we passed mallards and a gray heron and Nathan told me to be on the lookout for a pair of nesting swans. [to read the rest of the post, click here.]

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