Mrs. Teabody Wakes Up in Ireland

Setting down into green perfection

When my head hit the pillow at 8:30 P.M. on our first night of a two-week vacation in Ireland, I knew I would have no trouble sleeping. After all, our group had been in active transit since 2:00 P.M. United States time on the day before and aside from snatches of semi-sleep aboard the plane I had been awake more than twenty-four hours. All seven of us had. Mon Dieu! It was a twenty-four hours that had gone smoothly: a nearly five-hour luxurious van ride from home in south central PA with Unique Limousine to JFK, a drop-your-bags curbside and head straight for security—TSA approved arrival! – which went as cleanly as a hot knife through butter; follow this with a perfect supper of a gorgeous Cobb salad and glass o’ Pinot at Blue Smoke and an almost flawless Delta flight which terminated in a problem-free Shannon arrival. Painless. Bags full to bulging and spirits high, we sailed into the arrivals hall only to be greeted by our handsome and affable driver/ guide who gave us a perfect Ireland introduction.

The magnificent seven ready for fun!

Philip Jones knows and loves Ireland. www.philipjonescoachhire.com He loves and understands people.  He made us all instantly comfortable and herded us aboard his van, and before you can say “Top of the Marnin'” in your pathetic Lucky Charms voice, we were on our way in a decidedly indirect route toward Galway. We saw everything Philip pointed out for us as a happy bonus to getting to our rental: castles, churches, a wave-filled beach town, a gorgeous dry set stone wall topped with blackberries, a heart-wrenching statue of a little child who was a potato famine victim.

Gentlemen,

There is a little boy named Michael Rice of Lahinch aged about 4 years. He is an orphan, his father having died last year and his mother has expired on last Wednesday night, who is now about to be buried without a coffin!! Unless ye make some provision for such. The child in question is now at the Workhouse Gate expecting to be admitted, if not it will starve. -- Rob S. Constable''

Always, always  against the lush emerald backdrop, Ireland's story began to find its way into our consciousness; the juxtaposition of ancient against modern, almost otherworldly devastation suddenly made deeply personal. Time to reflect, wrap our minds around the loss.

We were not allowed to remain despairing for very long, however, because the cliffs that everyone talks about were about to become part of our experience. We drove on with lots of signage telling us what was coming. The van was parked; we alighted in our daze and followed our guide Philip  as he picked his way among the crowds everywhere personally escorting us to the Imax show giving us a bird's eye view of the cliffs among other sights, which made the actual live and in living color experience even better--if that's possible. Time to climb and gaze, climb and gaze, stroll and gaze and be amazed. Wonderful.

Fabulous cliffs

 Once we'd had our fill and stretched our legs it was time to hop back inside the wagon and continue toward Galway.  Would we care to visit a village site of a matchmaking festival? Well, why would we not so off we went. We looked hard for potential mates for single friends back home but without success. When we didn't think we could possibly see or do anything new, our fearless driver drove us down a corkscrew road with the Burren on either side and straight to a farmer's market where we bought sausages, root vegetables and unprocessed cheese for the evening meal. We were exhausted. We were elated. We had food and purpose. Drive on, winged chariot!

Lovely, lovely unprocessed cheese

Lindsay with fresh parsnips, carrots and potatoes which roasted up nicely

Many hands make light work. We figured out the appliances--more or less. Folks made a booze run to Oranmore. Louis Armstrong filled our ears; the aromas of roasting veg and sausages sizzling  filled our snoots. We unpacked and wandered, nibbled on cheese, made ourselves right at home, sat around the table in the home that was ours and clinked glasses as Lindsay informed us we must say "Slainte" now that we are in Ireland. Sláinte,  meaning 'Good Health,' is an ancient Irish expression that derives from the word slán, meaning safe. We complied. A bit later we walked to the top of the hill and looked on a remarkable sunset.

"If you ever go across the sea to Ireland,
 then maybe at the closing of your day,
you can sit and watch the moon rise over Claddagh
and see the sun go down on Galway Bay."

Tired beyond belief we made our way to our respective bedrooms, said our goodnights like the Waltons and turned our brains to reflect upon the day. Lying there in the darkness my eyes wandered toward a twinkling gathering in the black window pane. Could I be seeing what I thought I was seeing? I was out of my bed straightaway and at the window looking at a sky full of stars and right in front of me friendly, familiar Orion, come all the way from America to tuck me into bed.

 This was joy, standing in my pajamas -- eyes filled with stars,  my brain teeming with segments of our long journey here and the stories we'd heard, of the inconceivable beauty of the little bit of Ireland we'd had the good fortune to see.  My heart was made light with the evening's laughter and wine and made glad beyond sense with the realization that this wonderful, incredible, heart filling day was only the beginning.  I sighed and crawled under the covers and fell asleep star gazing. Sláinte, indeed.