Before we get back to the Irish adventure, please join me in praying for the people of the Bahamas. The devastation is tragic. I am thankful the storm stayed off shore when it reached Florida. The projections of this storm continuing up the U.S. coast and possibly into the Canadian maritimes as a hurricane is frightening. If you are in the path of Dorian, please take it seriously and stay safe.
The Hill of Tara, much like the Rock of Cashel, has a mythical quality to it in my mind. Both sites are so wrapped in legend and history it is hard to separate the two. I read about both in my teens or early twenties, a time when I was prone to romanticism and their deep ties to ancient lore seeped into my being. So mysterious is the Hill, we nearly missed it.
We exited the motorway and drove for what felt like hours down tiny “local” roads. I caught glimpses of some massive homes, wishing I could take my eyes of the road long enough to appreciate them. I wish we’d kept better track of time because I know we couldn’t have spent as long on this little road as it felt, but the next thing we know the GPS is telling us we have arrived and we are parked in front of a gate that looks like it goes into a private field.
I backed up and turned around, driving up the lane a little ways to a parking area. When we initially passed it we thought it was for a restaurant and couple of shops, but decided to park and see if one of the shop owners could point us in the right direction.
The shop owner assured us we were in the right direction and advised us to walk up the hill to a gate that should be open, but if not we could climb over it. Once we knew where we were going we noticed how obvious it should have been.
A biting wind tore at us as we walked up the hill, increasing in strength the higher we climbed. It’s not a long climb, but I’m sure the wind strengthened at least 5-10 miles per hour from where we started to the top. Gray clouds that had thinly veiled the sun on our drive grew thicker and more menacing.
We reached an old church first and it exuded a creepiness that Edgar Alan Poe would have reveled in. A tall tree, bare of any leaves, held dozens of huge nests with large black birds roosting, their cawing loud as if trying to drown out the roaring wind.
I’m not a fan of horror movies but I’ve seen a couple and I could imagine every terrible creature feeling quite at home in the church cemetery. I did wander around to take some photos, but honestly I couldn’t get out of the churchyard fast enough.
Once outside the cemetery wall, we wandered the rolling mounds of the Tara complex. The view from this height is stunning, even on a cloudy evening like ours. It’s said on a clear day, half of Ireland’s counties can be seen from this perch.
Some of the mounds had signs telling what ruins had been found below the ground and one was fenced off, I believe for an upcoming archeological dig. In case you’ve never heard about Tara, this was the seat of the high kings of Ireland and legend has it St. Patrick visited here in 433 AD. Going back even further in history, is the “Mound of Hostages”, a passage tomb and the oldest visible monument, which dates back to about 3000 BC.
For a historical fiction account of the era, particularly the triumph of Brian Boru I recommend two books that drew me into the lore of this place, Lion of Ireland and Pride of Lions by Morgan Llywelyn. The links I included above provide more information about the monuments you can now see as well as the history of the area.
We wrapped up our exploration when our fingers were too numb to take pictures and headed to our Bed & Breakfast in Swords. This was supposed to be our last night in Ireland so we had chosen a place a few miles from the airport and were scheduled to return the rental car that evening. It took a little over an hour to reach Swords, but Sibonah (the car GPS) didn’t want to be very helpful when it came to locating the B&B. I don’t know why we had decided to use her rather than one of our phones since she’d been unreliable the few previous times we had used her. All I can think is we were tired.
We made a couple of circles before reaching the B&B with a tiny driveway. We unloaded our suitcases and hauled them up to the second floor room. The hostess was a bit of an odd duck and was more concerned about a bag bumping the wall than our struggle up the stairs. Her cat was much friendlier, though, and provided a dose of comfort before we steeled our nerves for the drive to the airport car rental return.
This is the point when the wheels nearly fell off the bus. Tricia and I were both tired and we hadn’t had a real meal since breakfast. We were only 3 kilometers from the airport, but it must have taken us half an hour to figure out where the rental return was located. We drove round and round, getting more tense with each circle. Of course there was a ton of traffic also making it even harder to maneuver. I was trying to stay calm but I could feel the frustration rolling off Tricia in the passenger seat. I figured out to pull into a hotel parking lot on the edge of the airport property and sent Tricia in to see if she could get directions but that ended up making her more frustrated.
I sent up a silent prayer for guidance and headed out of the hotel, taking a different exit from the roundabout than we’d taken the other times and it turned out to be correct. It took a couple of minutes to get the car turned in then we were shuttled back to the airport terminal area to wait for a bus. This was the first experience with bus transportation for either of us, not just in Ireland but anywhere in the world.
The B&B owner had given us some directions on how to get to the bus stop near her house and the name of a bus, but she spoke so fast neither one of us was sure we’d gotten the information correct. A lady who worked at the airport joined us at the stop and we asked her about the bus. She was kind and provided us with the information we needed, then made sure we boarded the correct bus when it arrived. We managed to find the correct stop to get off and then had to walk a few blocks back to the house. A light rain had started again and we were thrilled to get back to our room.
Thank goodness for an in-room kettle and several bags of tea. Instead of venturing back out to find dinner, we made tea and finished off the pastries we’d purchased at Lidl early in the day. A cup of hot tea, a hot shower, and a bed have never been so appreciated.