Dingle

After saying goodbye to my traveling companion, who headed back to Dublin by train to catch a flight back home, I was westward bound. I'll admit that I was angst-ing a bit about the  driving, but I soon found my confidence and blended in pretty well with the other Irish drivers. (Well, there was one Irishman who took great issue with the way I handled myself in one of the roundabouts, but beyond that, I think I did ok.) The roundabouts are a very big thing in Ireland. They are incredibly efficient, and I wonder why we don't use them more in the US. 

My destination was the Dingle Peninsula, the farthest point west in Ireland on the Atlantic coast. I was looking forward to my stay at Gorman's Clifftop House, a more traditional B&B with a small restaurant. En route, I stopped at the Killerney National Park, home of one of Ireland's most beautiful grand homes. I skipped the house and concentrated on the formal gardens and the nearby waterfall. I was anxious to get in some exercise so that I could work off all of the food. The weather cooperated and the gardens were spectacular. 

Back on the road, but not before taking a quick cocktail making class in Killerney, home of Ireland's most complete collection of whiskeys. I was more interested in learning about their sourcing of bitters, something that is trending local in the US. Ironically, the bitters and the whiskey were sourced from the US. 

The sun was just beginning to set as I drove through the windswept farmland dotted with modest, snug homes with their picturesque stone walls featuring astonishing views of the Atlantic. 

The house was cozy and Sheelagh, the proprietor, had a fire going in the living room, and showed me my lovely room with a beautiful ocean view. I joined the other guests, a family of four, in front of the heath fire and drank a pot of tea. Dinner was cooked and served by Sheelagh herself--a gorgeously baked organic chicken with roasted vegetables. Portion sizes in Ireland have tended to be sized for a lumberjack, and as much as I wanted to partake, I had to pass on dessert--a homemade pie.

In many ways, this in my mind was the stereotypical Irish experience and I intended to relax into it, freeing myself of any obligations to see or do anything over the next couple of days. The next morning, after a hearty Irish breakfast, I hiked along the clifftop as the waves crashed into the rocks beneath me. I marveled at the public access, something that would not likely occur in the US, as the farmland fence lines, sometimes nothing more than piled up mud, provided a generous buffer along the shoreline. Sheelagh later related that this is common in this part of Ireland.  In fact,     there was once a road along that ridge.  It would seem that Ireland is not immune from ravages of storms and shoreline degradation, and I was actually shocked to learn how much degradation had occurred over the past 100 years.

Sheelagh had suggested that I try a seaweed bath at the nearby SPA Atlantach, and I jumped at the chance. Fortunately, despite being off season, Christiana was able to accommodate me. I was reminded of my flower bath in Peru. This bath, of course, took place indoors, but it was no less magical as the room was darkened and featured the soothing sounds of ocean waves. The seaweed, extremely slippery to the touch, had been freshly harvested from the beach.  Later, I would see plenty of that very same seaweed on my beach walk with Sheelagh and her lively friend Theresa (and Theresa's small dog "Cheetcha"). The salt water was hot and buoyant and after my allotted 25 minutes, my inner mermaid was well satisfied. Christiana had informed me that the seaweed would remove toxins from my body and I felt both tingly and limp at the same time. Christiana then gave me a lovely massage and every tired muscle in my body felt renewed.

My last night in Dingle was spent with the Dingle Cooking School. The class, North African Cuisine, had nothing to do with Ireland, of course, but I was attracted to having a group meal experience, meeting people, and cooking is always fun. I arrived at 6:30 pm for the class. As is customary in Ireland, we started off with cups of tea . The evening's agenda was ambitious: 10 complex dishes to be cooked during our time together. 

We started off with the obligatory knife wielding demonstration, something I have yet to master. Then, on to cutting onions and chopping vegetables. I had a very busy beaver next to me who was on to the tomatoes (3rd in line) before I could finish my onions. I was determined to nail down my chopping technique. Tears were flowing as I chopped away--I have never learned the secret to get around that.  Once the lamb tajine was assembled, Mike, our fearless leader and the Founder of the school, mentioned that the tajine would need about 2.5 hours. Yikes. I put my appetite in the parking lot and rolled up my sleeves. At some point, I needed to use the bathroom. We were well into the class, hours, at this point, and surprise, surprise! My mascara had ascended to the tops of my cheekbones (I do not feature high cheekbones)! Nothing to do but laugh.     

We finally sat down for an incredibly delicious meal at 10 pm. Mike, as it turns out, is a real leader of the food movement in Ireland, and I learned about the food festival, an annual event attracting over 10,000 people per year to Dingle. All in all, it was a great evening and I managed to tackle the winding Irish roads at night as I ascended the mountain to my snug cliff side home for one last night.

Cork

After Highbanks Orchard, we turned the car south toward Cork. We had been told that Cork would be gritty. Maybe so, but it was hard to tell as we pulled in to the City, thick with traffic as a steady, chilly rain fell. Our hotel, The River Lee, in contrast to the lovely historic, Clarence, in Dublin, was glassy and modern. I was here to see the famous English Market, and that night, we would be served a tasting menu based on products made by the artisans based in the market. 

Roz had said that folks were "excited" about my tour and that I could expect nice accommodation upgrades. I definitely did not expect anything, but was really pleased to see that the hotel had gone to lengths to ensure our happiness. The room overlooked the rushing river and the expanse of historic Cork beyond. The view was beautiful, the hotel, well located, and the service, was superb. 

Ireland delivers excellent customer service everywhere. Or, atleast that has been my experience. People are genuinely friendly, focused on ensuring one's pleasure.

I surely tested the patience of a bartender at The Bank in Dublin when, during a particularly busy moment, I asked him to explain the ins and outs of various whiskeys.  He might have been annoyed. But instead, he not only helped me to decide, but he also brought me a tray with a cup of ice and a pitcher of water so that I might mix my own whiskey on the rocks. All this, and no tip required or expected. In Ireland, servers are professionals and paid a decent minimum wage.

Cork, for some odd reason, reminded me of Baltimore. Like elsewhere in Ireland, the old buildings have been well preserved. That is not to say that it is gentrified. Quite the contrary. Ireland in general is not gentrified. One has a feeling that Ireland is if and for the common man--accessible, affordable and thriving, much like it might have been decades ago. The downtown shopping areas were bustling, and to the extent that there are new shopping malls, they are built into the existing fabric of the City, ensuring that the downtown remains vibrant.

There is also a curious lack of anything that remotely resembles a suburb. The urban fabric gives way to the rural, almost in a blink of an eye. New developments are designed with density in mind, ensuring that the countryside and its bucolic views are well preserved. 

The English Market did not disappoint. And once again, I was reminded of Baltimore, this time of Lexington  Market, and what it might have been like in its former glory. Vendor after vendor displayed gorgeous charcuteries, meats, cheeses, and fish and shoppers poured through the arcade, there to gawk, like ourselves, or to make their purchases. We managed to get a coveted table at the Garden Gate Cafe, located upstairs in the market featuring products from the market. Once again, I was reminded of the advantage of traveling in the winter, when the crowds are thinned out and the restaurants are accessible.

Since it was a gorgeous day for a walk, and because the theme of the trip was food, we decided to visit the Butter Museum. Technically closed and under construction, the easy going museum docents welcomed us in after exacting a promise that we would not sue them for any mishaps.  This, as it turned out, was a highlight of Cork. While the collection itself was, well, a little hokey, the guide entertained us for nearly an hour, explaining how to make butter, providing all sorts of interesting historical facts, while making his point about the importance of branding to establish a market for farm products. Ireland is synonymous with butter, and that yellow color? It results from the cows eating bonafide grass. 

Apple Liqueur Can Save the World (Really)

When planning my trip to Ireland, I knew I wanted to experience the local food aspects of the island--even more than the castles, ruins and other traditional attractions. After plenty of google searches, I stumbled upon Good Food Ireland.  Good Food Ireland (GFI) is a membership organization that promotes farm to fork and sustainable food tourism. Their tours, events, and recommendations of restaurants were right up my alley. For the past 3 years, I've been developing a business called "Chesapeake Harvest," which promotes products sourced from the Eastern Shore. And while the two organizations approach the task quite differently, they share the commonality of promoting local food, supporting farmers, and maintaining strict standards to ensure authenticity and sustainability. 

Winter travel in Ireland can be tricky as many places close down. So when I saw that GFI offered "Bespoke Tours," I jumped at the chance, keeping my fingers crossed that I might be able to afford such a luxury. I was not disappointed. Placed in the capable hands of Roz, a fabulous itinerary was developed for my trip, jumping off my sketchy guidelines of a couple days here and there.  

Of course, this itinerary, which includes Dublin, Cork, the Dingle Peninsula, Clare County, Galway and Connemara, involves driving. People have always said that "the way to do Ireland is to drive" and they say this in a breezy tone. So, I did not hesitate, had Roz book me a rental car and never gave it a second thought. 

The reality of driving in Ireland is a bit different than that. Even with a very small (this is an upgrade?) car, my nerves have been frayed as I simultaneously admire the Irish for their cost effective narrow roads and curse my informants for not providing a bit more of a warning. The only thing worse than driving along a plunging cliff side on a severely curvy road (Dangerous Curves Ahead!) with oncoming trucks while using the stick shift with my left hand, is being the passenger in the same situation. I could not help myself from wincing and locking my eyes of the road, as my companion drove, missing the beautiful scenery, as if my attention could avert some impending disaster. Naturally, this was annoying. The only thing to be said is that my travel companion found out pretty quickly that it comes legitimately, once I took over the wheel.

First official food and farming stop (after a crazed whirlwind tour across the country to accommodate my companion traveler's schedule): Highbank Orchards and Distillery not far outside Dublin, in Kilkenny.

For me, arriving at Highbanks felt like coming home.  Maybe it was because it is a farm. Or, maybe it was because, the proprietor, Rod Calder-Potts, managed to mention one of my favorite facts within the first 10-15 minutes: if we simple adopted soil building agricultural practices, we could solve global climate change in a year's time. I was enchanted.

We may have been a tour of two, but Rod and his vivacious wife, Julie, did not skimp on giving us an in depth behind the scenes tour of their organic orchards, distillery and public event/tasting area in a beautifully renovated 17th Century barn. The history behind Highbanks could be an episode of Downington Abbey--Rod's great grandfather, who worked for the original Estate, was able to purchase the barnyard after what is referred to as "the troubles." 

Organic apple farming came later. The rich limestone soils are perfect for organic apple growing, no small feat. Organic fruit growing on the East Coast of the U.S. is extremely challenging, and many farmers still feel the need to use neonics, pesticides linked to the kill off off our pollinator populations, including bees.  

The products were delicious: a Crystal Gin, Apple Cider, Apple Syrup, A liqueur brandy, and a vodka. Lucky for us, they were distilling at the time of our visit and we got an up close demonstration of the process.

After a tour of the facility, including their cozy airbnb accommodation (note to self), Julie and I traded notes on the emerging local food scenes in both of our countries. While there are plenty of differences, there are plenty of similarities as well. At the end of the day, the principles are the same: buy organic and support your local farmer. Enough said. 

Ireland

Ireland. I arrived just shy of a week ago, and am already worrying that two weeks is not enough. And of course, this is true. My expectations, for friendly people, overcast chilly weather, gorgeous scenery, and delicious and abundant food, have been met. 

I decided to visit Ireland after our recent Presidential election. I, like many worldwide, do not like the trajectory of our Country. I've witnessed the events unfold with shock, as our Constitution is trampled, a war machine gears up, the protection of the environment is cast aside in favor of profits, and the most vulnerable of our Nation's residents are attacked. Perhaps Ireland could be a refuge should one be needed--a place where I could legitimately claim my roots.

I've traveled all over the world. Australia, Europe, Africa, South America, Central America, Canada, and Asia. I believe that some of us are bitten by the travel bug early in life, and I count myself as one. At age 3, I explored my city block, by 10, I had expanded to my City's downtown, by 13 or 14, it was South Carolina, and by age 17, I was traveling alone in Europe. With each journey, my mind expanded as I took in the culture of the places that I visited. It was Spain, during my summer semester abroad, that alerted me to the American obsession with material acquisitions, frequently at the expense of other values.   In Peru, there is no hunger and very little drug addiction, despite great poverty. What could Ireland teach me?

I decided to theme my visit around food and agriculture. While Ireland has not been traditionally known for its food, that has rapidly and decidedly changed. At any given point, one is never more than 75 miles from the sea with its plethora of meaty fish, shellfish and seaweed. Farms are small, on average about 30 acres, typically dotted with grazing cattle and sheep. While is true that the lack of sun limits the fresh produce, the temperate climate makes many products available year round.  

My traveling companion and I wasted little time getting started on our epicurean odyssey. We started with a late lunch at a restaurant called, The Winding Stair. Located on the second floor of a historic building overlooking the river, we had to climb a narrow staircase before entering a brightly lit room packed with Dubliners enjoying a leisurely Friday afternoon lunch. We started with a fish plate and then I did not hesitate: a grass fed beef steak. And while the food was delicious, it was our server who stole the show. He was cheerful and apologetic, informing us that the crowd was unusually large and they were down one server. No matter. His easy going manner combined with his aim to please, was all that we needed as we gazed out of the oversized windows to an overcast sky, the river rushing by, with the cheerful buildings of Dublin in the backdrop.

Later, we hit the night scene hard. Live music, whiskey and 5 bars/ pubs later, we felt we had appropriately honored Dublin's spirit. Each venue was completely different--the first, Temple Bar, is a well know, almost obligatory destination--filled to capacity with great Irish music. After that, The Auld Dubliner, a fairly traditional pub, The Bank, a gorgeous former bank with soaring ceilings and tile floors, the Front Door, and finally the perfect ending at The Liquor Rooms, a series of candlelit rooms poshly outfitted with cushy furnishings and a fabric Moroccan styled ceiling. 

But the best part of all? The people. Everywhere we went, the bars and pubs were filled with people of all ages. This was not a scene reserved for college students or scantily clad young people. Quite the contrary. It felt like everyone was joining in on the fun, including a jovial man in a wheelchair. This, it would appear, is a Country that has gotten its priorities right. 

Headwinds and tail currents on the River Kwai

Phase 3, our final phase of the Intrepid tour, was kayaking. I love kayaking, I think it is safe to say that it is my favorite sport by far.  Our group left Chiang Mai in the late afternoon and spent another night on the overnight train.  This train experience was far less satisfactory than the northbound one, and I barely slept all night.  From the train, a 2.5 hour bus drive to Kanchanaburi, a small town outpost on the River Kwai (actually pronounced "Kwhere") made famous by the book and subsequent movie, The Bridge over River Kwai. This region, mountainous, wild, tropical and very beautiful, was actually the setting for great horrors during World War II when the occupying Japanese used POW's and Southeast Asian laborers to construct a railroad to Myanmar for the purposes of moving supplies.  The work was done with little to no equipment and 18 hour work shifts, conducted with little food or potable water in the dense mountainous setting, ended up killing over 15,000 POW's and nearly 80,000 Southeast Asian laborers.  

This, and more, was documented by an extraordinary museum, the Hellfire Pass Museum, which was a joint project by the Australian and Thailand governments.  As I walked along the railroad bed and contemplated the steep terrain and the work conditions, I felt immensely humbled by my own freedom from hardship and strife.  I also could not help but to wonder how it is that humanity could get to a point where we engage in such brutality.  The highlight of the museum for me was the contemplation deck where a clay bowl filled with water and a flower had been placed on a pedestal against the backdrop of the mountains.  The bowl, made by a former surviving POW, symbolizes the positive values of life where war once raged.  In the narration, the artist reminded us that the individual acts of horror are committed by people who also are victims, victims of governments and institutions that have gone wrong and abuse power. Later, this led to a sensitive, but important discussion about the American government, drones and more.

And then, it was time to "put in."  Good news, the current was very fast and the water was high. Bad news, there was a gale force headwind the entire time.  And so , we set out in double kayaks against the wind and paddled our hardest.  I was fortunate to have Luka as my partner.  Luka is young and very strong.  But the currents had bizarre patterns (whirlpools) and the headwinds conspired.  Despite our best efforts, I'm sure we paddled 2x the distance with our zigging and zagging across the river.  Such was the case with everyone, and after 23 miles, we were completely and thoroughly exhausted.  The conditions were so difficult that it was hard, if not impossible, to enjoy the scenery.  I remember some beautiful scenery, but for the last 1.5 hours, what I really focused on was simply making it.  Every now and then I would ask Luka, as we hit the shore or found ourselves turned backwards, what happened? Thankfully, we were in good company.

A highlight along the way was watching elephants bathing in the river after what was presumably a hard days work with tourists.  Animals may not be able to talk, but there was absolutely no mistaking these elephant's communication--they were filled with joy as they dunked their heads and wallowed in the river.  

Through group consensus, we cut our kayak trip short the next day.  None if us wanted to face those conditions.  As it turned out, the morning kayak ride from our campsite to our final destination was placid.  After a picnic lunch at our final destination, we were finished with our activities and most of the group had going home on their minds. 

I, on the other hand, was looking forward to another week of activity and rest of a different kind, a yoga/meditation retreat on the island, Koh Samui.