Stop no. 2 on our Irish itinerary was Galway, a place I'd been to once, many moons before, as a shy youngster backpacking her way around Europe in the year 2000. (Ages ago.) Mike (a longtime Clancy Brothers fan) and my parents (obviously) hadn't been, and it's a lovely place to set up camp for a few days, so westward we drove. And arrived in a near-apocalyptic downpour, so we stopped in at a nearby pub for a snack and some Gaelic football, then headed into town for dinner at The King's Head, a pub building that dates to the 13th century, but with most of its prominent history dating to the 17th. (There's some [if maybe not the most concrete] evidence that links one of the building's 17th-century occupants to the execution-by-beheading of Charles I, hence the pub's name.) Post-dinner it was time to find a little traditional music--Galway's famous for it--at the unbelievably cozy and wonderful Tigh Neachtain, where we decided to call it a night when the evening's final band turned out to be bluegrass. (Don't get me wrong, they were great, and I love good bluegrass, and we listened for several songs, but that's not really what we were looking for in Galway...)
Tigh Neachtain...
...and the KILLER socks Mike bought for me there. Heeeee.
Friends, the next day was a big one for us. We started out with the short drive to Oranmore Castle, and found there one of the most interesting places I've ever seen. Technically a tower house, Oranmore was built by the Normans in the 15th-ish century, although no actual records of its construction exist. The castle was used to garrison solders until 1792, when it passed into private hands and became a family home. After the owner went broke, the place sat, abandoned and roofless, for nearly 100 years; in 1946, it was purchased for £200 by Lady Marjorie Leslie, who then gave it to her daughter, Anita Leslie King. The King family proceeded to roof and renovate the castle, and then lived in it until Anita's children were grown! At some later point in time, Leonie, Anita's daughter, moved into a separate wing, built in the 1950s, where she still lives today, and the old part of the castle has been left essentially as a sort of mossy, slightly crumbling time capsule from when the family moved out. It's amazing.
Driving up, the sign posted on the gate made us believe that we'd come during non-visiting hours...but then this wonderful local kid, Sam, came running down the driveway and asked if we wanted a tour. What absolute luck. (Sam is in late high school and giving tours here is his paid job--and he clearly adores it.)
Approaching the castle. Over the main entrance there's evidence of a murder hole--a vertical slot over the door, which allowed defenders to drop spears, rocks, or whatever down onto attackers' heads.
Ground floor, end of the main hall closest to the Bay. (The King family collected all sorts of memorabilia from travels, hence the Egyptian and Asian pieces on display here.
Other end of the hall.
They've got a pump organ!
A photo of the King family at dinner around the dining table positioned directly behind us.
A first-floor bedroom, said to be haunted by a white lady...
...but, for me, more interestingly, still in possession of its slop stone. (Essentially, a slab of stone that functioned as a medieval toilet, jutting out from the room and spilling its contents down the side of the castle. Now, thankfully, in use as a window.)
Leonie's bedroom, containing a rare double arrowslit (not so visible in that overexposed right-hand window here, sorry)...
...a window growing its very own indoor ferns ("That's why Leonie liked this room!", said Sam)...
...and this 16th-century halberd. (Did not have one of these in my girlhood bedroom.)
The extraordinary banquet hall, which would have originally been used as Norman soldiers' quarters, and was used by the Kings as the master bedroom.
Another angle. There are taxidermied birds everywhere here; Bill was apparently an avid birder and collector.
These photos aren't great, but I feel like they're fairly representative of the feel of the whole castle: sorta trapped in time, overgrown with moss and rust and dust and dampness, and just extraordinary.
I mean...
This room ("The Bat Room," 'cause a family of bats used to roost in the roof) is even growing stalactites.
Stars down from the banquet hall. How you'd manage these with feet larger than a women's 7 I just don't know.
It is surmised that this face in the exterior wall is one of the original stonemasons.
One last look back.
I kid you not: if you ever find yourself in the environs of Oranmore castle, go. It is unique, in my experience; crumbling, in a very Romantic sort of way; and a near-magical place to visit. Especially if the delightful Sam is your guide.
Afterwards, we had time for a quick trip to a ruined abbey, so naturally, that's where we went.
Claregalway Abbey was founded around 1250 by an Anglo-Norman knight.
The six lancet windows on either side of the nave are original, but parts of it--e.g., the tracery window...
...and tower--are from the 15th century.
It was sacked during the dissolution of the monasteries, in 1538, but a handful of friars continued to live there into the late 18th century.
Obviously, with my obsession with all things old-churchy and ruined, I'm endlessly drawn to these sorts of structures. Thankfully, my husband (a long-time veteran of my flights of steeple-chasing*) is always up for such a visit, as is, apparently, my good ol' Dad. (And good-sport Mom was willing to indulge us.)
Face on the keystone.
Grave marker in the cemetery.
After a quick stop at the adorable Treat Cafe in Claregalway (those pastries, friends...those pastries!!), we headed northwest through the countryside to our next appointment: the hawk walk at Ashford Castle. I'll be the first to admit, I figured traipsing about through a forest with a bird on my arm sounded a little goofy, but those animals--in our case, Harris hawks--are spectacular, and it's really something special to spend an hour in such close proximity to them.
Ashford Castle, originally built in 1228, although who knows if anything original's left. Nowadays it's a 5-star hotel with a swank factor through the roof.
But here's really why we were there: to be pretend falconers for an afternoon! Here's Dad and Ispini (which means "sausages" in Gaelic, hah!). (At least, I think that's which bird it was. At the time I could tell them apart; now I've lost all recollection.)
Mike and Sonora, Dad and Ispini.
Dad definitely looked the part, in his authentic Irish tweed hat.
Landing.
Mom and I getting our turn, with our guide Meghan in between.
Our birds taking a break (i.e., waiting for their next round of mouse-meat treats.)
Those birds were gorgeous, surprisingly light on your arm, and stared into your eyes when you talked to them like they were taking in every word. I can absolutely understand how one could really get into working with them.
Sonora's baby photo, hanging in the main lodge.
Mike booked us an extended walk, and so we also got to visit with Dingle, the European Eagle Owl. He is quite large and not light on the arm, and was scarily laser-focused on whatever food Meghan was stuffing into our gloves.
We got to fly Dingle a few times each, but it had to be indoors, because owls tend not to be as food-motivated as the hawks (not to mention, have a much more inactive hunting style), and so outdoors, Dingle tends to fly up into a tree and stay there until he can be lured down (which is generally several hours later).
Ashford Castle gardens, on our way out.
Drove past the ruins of (I think) the Friary of Ross. Which I would have also insisted that we explore, had there been more hours in the day!
But we had other plans: dinner at the absolutely marvelous Ard Bia...
...which is right next to Galway's famed Spanish Arch.
And you know what? I didn't write any of it down, because sometimes it's nice to just enjoy your fantastic meal. (SO GOOD.) And then go catch some extraordinary music at The Crane Bar, on the way to which a lovely local man actually paused his phone call to see if we needed directions somewhere. Such nice people!
And such extraordinary music. I know they have live music at the Crane every night, but this performance had the feeling of an entirely improvised jam session, with musicians showing up late and coming and going as they pleased. It was incredible. (That's probably just what they do all the time, but for us, it was special.)
The next day was all about exploration again; first, we started in Galway proper.
Yeesh, so cute.
And so festive! (And very busy, yes.)
This guy was hand-etching these remarkable, intricate patterns into slate; we stopped and watched for a while, then bought one with a Book of Kells-inspired dog-knot thing. (It's way cooler than it sounds.) His goggie was helping.
A thing over a door. Old and neat.
We split the best-by-far fish 'n' chips of the trip, in my opinion, at McDonagh's, a no-frills establishment that (as far as I can tell) hasn't changed a bit since I was there in 2000. (I bought a t-shirt then, and got another one this time around. Full circle.)
Next we headed a little ways out to Dunguaire Castle, another tower house on the water.
Much more heavily-trafficked than Oranmore, but also better preserved and restored. (Which is both good and bad, in my opinion: this one won't crumble to the ground anytime soon, but there's also a fair amount of goofiness--like the banquet room for hire--here.)
Still pretty cool, though.
The aforementioned banquet room.
View from the ramparts.
A bit of modernity: while the walls of the castle date to sometime in the 16th century, this living room was created in the 1950s by the castle's owner (and refurbisher) at that time, Christabel, Lady Ampthill.** This room was quite cozy with the dormer window closed, and I could see myself very happily curling up in there to read a book and drink some tea. (I could live in a smallish castle; this isn't the first time I've found at least part of one altogether livable.)***
A handful of neat thatched-roof houses across the road.
Afterwards, we drove through to the Burren to another abbey ruin, Corcomroe.
This one's kinda in the middle of nowhere, all by itself, and just the drive to get there was ridiculously scenic. (The church was constructed in the early 13th century for Cistercian monks, whose way of life was ascetic and isolated--which definitely explains the location.)
There are some really beautiful details remaining, but they're a bit difficult to photograph, all fenced off.
Or up high.
The landscape from here, in every direction: high, rocky hills and low stone walls. (Most of which--and I'd guess there are thousands--are in far better repair than this one.)
From there we found our way back into Galway and had dinner at the superb, one-Michelin-star Loam, where everything was delicious and interesting. (And somehow, the terrific squid/shiitake/egg course also tasted like bacon and butter. What the...??)
After dinner, Mom opted to call it a night, and Mike, Dad, and I headed into the center for a little music. Which is where and when I learned that, if one wants to hear live music in a pub famous for it, one must really commit to dining there and then holding down one's table, since most good live music starts around 19:00 and ends around 21:00--just around the time you're finishing dinner elsewhere, dangit. So we found some fun, if brief, music at the Quay...
...these guys were good, and that kid on the drum was having a heckin' good time...
...then roamed from jam-packed pub to pub, trying to find more music and the space to watch it in, only to be met with complete failure. (Ugh. Sorry, Dad.) At least by then, these guys had set up on the street:
Sorry, this video is kinda long-ish, but I wanted you to see how they kept playing and getting faster and faster, and even faster after this (!), until I got the sense that the banjo player (whinging and stretching his fingers between songs) had begun to develop a deep and abiding hatred for the guy on fiddle, who appeared to be the one in charge of the constant speedings-up. Hah!
What an excellent way to say goodbye to Galway, which had fed and entertained us very well. Next up: a quick swing through Limerick, then on to Waterford and environs. Also wonderful, and crazy-rich in history. Wooo!
*Yes, yes, I know, it's a style of horse race, but I have, on many, many, an occasion, taken off in the direction of an unidentified, far-off church spire. What I do is far more literally a steeple chase than any modern-day, obstacle-laced horse-riding competition. So there. (Also..."steeple" is a fun word.)
**Her story is quite something, let me tell you.
***Interestingly, prior to Lady Ampthill's ownership, the castle was owned by Oliver St. John Gogarty, the surgeon-poet whose name graces a pub in Temple Bar, and who never lived in said castle, but began restoring the it and used it as a place to meet with his literary contemporaries including W.B. Yeats and George Bernard Shaw.
