Day Twenty-five: June 27th
We had one more brunch with our gathered family at Janet and
Finbarr’s. There were homemade walnut
cinnamon rolls, kugel and scones—Janet is a master baker—delicious quiches,
sausage, fruit, and loads of coffee and tea. Everybody ate to bursting. After
breakfast Jevon’s friends from medical school followed Liam to the water’s edge
where a small stone pier lay low to flatten out the rocks. Liam threw in a last handful of Jevon’s ashes
and about ten brave friends followed Jevon one more time into adventure. They had stripped down to skivvies and
lowered themselves quickly into the sea for a screech-filled swim around the
stone point.
Before leaving this week’s group we corralled them all in
the kitchen to sing a video-taped rendition of Happy Birthday for Irene who turned
21 this day. Posted on Facebook she
could see all of her cousins, uncles, aunts and new babies and hear good
wishes for an official adulthood. The process of saying goodbye
was a long one; many times the goodbye was also an introduction as often
happens with a big group. Just saying
goodbye required a number of questions and conversations.
We left to return to the Ring of Terror. Though there were as many coaches full of
tourists as on our first day, at least we were going in the same direction as they
were. They proved valuable sweepers, sending all oncoming traffic scurrying to
the pockets of refuge off the side of the road. We will never go against the
current on that road again.
We traveled through Killarney National Park on our way to
Ennis, the largest town in County Clare and another well-known sweet spot for
traditional music. Killarney National
Park is gorgeous. Parts of it seem as
wild and remote as anyplace on earth, yet five kilometers away it resembles the
manicured grounds of an estate. The
scenery was enticing but the press of flesh at all turnouts was enough that we
didn’t stop except for a brief look at the Torc Waterfall. Steve waited a long time to get a shot
without a flamingly bright orange-jacketed rock-hopper.
Killarney National Park
Torc waterfall
We checked into our B and B, the Clare Manor, hauled our
stuff inside and went walking around town.
This was a Saturday night and the narrow coiling roads were full of
young people. The women wore very high heels
and very short skirts. There is a new
fashion trend which I think is a little bit clueless in effect. Imagine the pleat that allows movement in
pencil skirts pulled around front to reside in a place of pride — dead
center. As these young women walked they
flashed a signal which I wonder if they were aware of. Young men in packs of threes smoked and
leaned against walls, rugby shirts and khakis and posturing. Steve described the town as a river of
pheromones in flood.
The bars were so packed it was exhilarating to enter them
with the only goal of seeing how far you could penetrate. There were no tables within view of the
sliver of space in which to pass. The revelers were of all ages. Brogan’s Bar coiled around and through rooms
for a full block width, some inside, some outside— full of smoke. We finally found one bar around ten o’clock
that had one table and a quiet bar.
Within a half hour the place was full of people. By far the most
numerous were in two separate bachelorette parties. One group of twenty women were all dressed to
the nines, the bride-to-be wore a Miss America sash that read “Future Mrs.” The
other bachelorette party theme was quite fun.
They all wore headbands and granny dresses, tie-dye and elephant legged
pants. A prettier all-age group of
hippies I have never seen.
Steve and I called it quits when we realized we were
screaming at the top of our lungs to hear each other. I guess I am at the other end of the “Adult”
spectrum, unwilling to work so hard at fun.
