Brigid, send me some poems...

June 19, 2019

Brigid, send me some poems...

Dunguaire Castle

For €65, you can eat in this room.

Kinvara (Brigadoon?)

Jack Roberts' book.

All those castle stairway chase scenes in movies? Didn't happen.

View from castle battlement.

Kildare Train Station

Day before yesterday, I had a few hours to spare before I met up with Evelyn. I decided to take a bus to a little town called Kinvara, where there was a 16^th century castle, Castle Dunguaire. It was only about a 45-minute bus ride from Galway. The bus stops in the middle of Kinvara’s downtown (the town is VERY tiny, about the size of Burbank SD). I ran in the Centra (there’s a Centra in EVERY town) and asked how I get up to the castle. After giving me the “say what?” eye, she said, “You just follow this road up there. It’s a really short walk.” Yep. A really short walk.

By the time I walked the bazillion miles, uphill, to the castle, I just wasn’t that impressed. Sure, it was a cool slice of history, and the spiral tower stairs were both treacherous and awesome. But the castle was surprisingly small inside and mostly empty, except for an add-on gift shop (of course) and the 2^nd-floor dining room, where they’ll serve you a 4-course “medieval” dinner, with medieval “entertainment,” for €65.

I walked back to town to catch the bus back to Galway, but on the way, I spotted a tiny hole-in-the-wall gift shop off the main drag. I stopped in, and the shop was owned by Jack Roberts. Kismet. Jack is an amateur archeologist who specializes in the Celtic (and likely pre-Celtic) Sheela na gig figures so prominent around Ireland. In fact, if you check out the Wikipedia page for Sheela na gig, I believe they mention Jack. I have a poem to St. Dymphna, an Irish saint and the patron of the mentally ill, in which the speaker becomes a Sheela na gig. Anyway, Jack and I had a great chat, I bought one of his handmade Sheela na gig figures for my home altar, and off I went to the bus.

Yesterday, on the other hand, was a test of my patience and sense of humor with Irish nonchalance. First, I bought a train ticket in Galway to Kildare. It said right on the ticket, “Kildare.” So naturally, the train, which was loud and jammed with people going to the Pink concert in Dublin, whizzed past Kildare and didn’t stop again till Dublin. At the Dublin train station, I told an official that the ticket SAYS Kildare, but the train didn’t STOP at Kildare. He said, “Huh. Get on the train to Portloische, and that’ll take you back to Kildare.” “Where’s that train?” I asked. “It’s the #1, all the way down the platform, behind that other train.” So another 5-mile walk to another train, which DID take me back to Kildare.

When I got off, I asked the guy at the station if I could get a taxi to Solas Bridh (the retreat center where I’m spending a few days). He laughed. Then he told me to take the free shuttle instead. So when the shuttle came, I told the driver where I was going and asked if he could drop me in town to buy a few groceries, and I’d catch him again on his next run (they don’t supply food at the center; you have to bring your own). He said no, he only stops at the train station, the Japanese gardens, and the outlet mall, and he said he’d never heard of Solas Bridh.

I knew my retreat center was somewhere near the gardens, so I took the shuttle there. I had half a pack of crackers, a pat of butter, and some jam in my bag, and I figured with some responsible rationing…. I got out at the gardens and called the center. Geraldine, from the center, kindly came and rescued me. Then, praise be, Sister Phil took me to town, dropped me at an Aldi store for groceries while she ran errands, and brought me back to the center.

Now I’m settled for a couple days at a non-denominational, but definitely Christian, retreat center dedicated to St. Brigid, a patron saint of Ireland and of poets, blacksmiths, and healing. The center doesn’t shy away from the knowledge that St. Brigid and the Celtic goddess Brigid are inextricably intertwined. I’m in a little round hermitage, one of three, with a tiny wood stove, lovely gardens and a new oak grove, and within walking distance of one of St. Brigid’s wells. Behind my hermitage is a tall, wildish hedgerow, and at the base of the hedgerow is a veritable bunny village. From my bedroom, I can watch the burrows, see the parents scamper back and forth, and stare, entranced, at the babies as they go in and out, practicing their grooming, eating, and standing at alert on their hinds, but never getting too far from their burrows. It's all Watership Downs up in here.

I have no WiFi here except in the center’s office, so I probably won’t post again until I leave here. The last stop on my journey is Edinburgh and Rosslyn Chapel https://www.rosslynchapel.com/. And yes, bring on the haggis. ;)