Shanagarry, Spring 2018
It’s been well over a decade since we last “enjoyed” a red-eye flight across the pond, but the price for a Norwegian one-way ticket to Ireland hovered around a hundred dollars, so it was hard to resist. (Note to self – next time spend the extra money and take the ship or a day flight as before).
It started at the Providence airport where we found Norwegian Air did not subscribe to the TSA’s Pre-Check program which meant our Government issued (TSA/Homeland Security) Global Entry cards were worthless. Off came the belts, shoes and whatever and out came the laptop. Additionally, Fran was selected for a “discrete”, full body search that delighted her to no end. Will and Marj loved it, because Marj has typically been the one selected for such honors and her passport had already triggered some sort of alert at the airline’s check-in desk that caused some staff consternation.
The Norwegian Airline check-in clerk had no clue if our in-flight meal (for which we paid extra) was a dinner or breakfast, so we opted to grab a meal at the airport just in case. For five minutes we waited in a queue at the food court as the clerk ignored us as she tried to untangle a paper jam in her cash register. Finally, she looked up, smiled and advised everyone the only food (from well over a dozen colorful meal selections) were chicken tenders. Oh yum, and we wandered further down the hall to a pizza joint for “dinner”.
The door to the plane closed right on time, but we were told that an unusually aggressive jet stream would cause a course adjustment that would add an additional hour to our trip to avoid the heavy turbulence along the usual route. Oh, and dinner would be served in about an hour.
We had booked emergency exit seats because of the additional legroom, but had unfortunately forgotten those seats do not recline and the new Norwegian 737-8 “Maxi” aircraft include seats probably designed for a city bus (rather hard and unforgiving) but appeared to be a tad wider than most 737 seats. Thank goodness for the foam neck-ring pillow I had brought for the trip and my anticipated overnight “nap”. For such flights in the past, my preferred seat was a window which allowed me to rest against a solid component rather than poor Fran or some inebriated garlic farmer (my usual seatmate). This trip was a mixed blessing because, although the flight was nearly completely full, the middle seat was empty. Fran was in a favored aisle seat across the aisle. The downside was that the aisle seat in my row was occupied by a bearded chap who appeared to be roughly 6’8” tall and insistently talked to himself and managed to stand and do exercises when he was not reading one of several books. This lasted for the entire seven hour trip and resulted in just occasional dozes for me instead of the hour or two I had hoped for. So much for planning.
Arrival in the Emerald Isle was preceded by several hours of the loom of the prospective sunrise followed by a full bloom sunrise an hour or two before the lush green hills and valleys of southern Ireland appeared.
An hour or two prior to landing, the flight attendant woke up those who were sleeping (or dozing as in my case) with those chilling words “Is there a doctor aboard?” Experienced travelers know that by the time they make that announcement, various assessments have been made by the crew and a dire prognosis has been rendered. In other words, somebody was in deep doodoo. Various uniformed crew members dashed up and down the aisle and focused on a passenger near the front of the plane where they spent the next several minutes with oxygen bottles and worried looks before finally settling down, having somehow dealt with whatever had triggered the alarms.
The remainder of the flight was basically uneventful until our arrival at the gate where EMTs boarded the plane and carted off a somewhat disheveled passenger in an ambulance before the other passengers disembarked.
(NOTE: In mid 2019, technical issues with the Boeing 737 Max 8 aircraft grounded most of Norwegian’s service between North America and Europe. The attractively priced airfares are now history. In September 2020, the EU re-approved the Max 8 so Norwegian may consider reestablishing service with that aircraft.)
Ireland is uniquely situated on the Atlantic Ocean that is directly impacted by the mild water temperatures delivered by the Gulf Stream that worked its way up the east coast of the US from the southern tropics. That option also delivered a considerable amount of rain and moisture to the region that results in the greenest of green landscapes one can imagine. I can attest that the late Fall and Winter moisture factors create a rather raw and blustery ambiance that encourages one to stay indoors during those seasons (Pubs or “locals” make ideal shelters). I have no experience with Irish Summers but am told that air conditioning is not a requirement. (Probably quoted from a tourism guidebook.)
Anyway, arrival in Cork was rather uneventful and we quickly found our way to the car rental kiosk to take delivery of our wheels. Would I be interested in a free upgrade? You bet (so long as it was not for a monster sized sedan that would not navigate the skinny Irish cart paths they call roadways (other than the motorways which are reasonably wide although going in the wrong direction). As in my previous visit to Cork, I somehow had selected the rental agency with parking furthest from the main terminal. Will and I left our bags with Fran and Marj and headed out into the hinterlands to find our car which we had been told was a BMW (upgraded from a VW Jetta). We eventually found the space designated for our “BMW” and discovered “BMW” in Gallic must be translated as “Renault” because that’s what we found after clicking the remote key fob that flashed the car’s lights. The previous driver must have been a Japanese midget because try as I could, there was no way I could fit in the car as configured. Will and I finally figured how to reposition the seat manipulate the pedals so, with some major contortions I could crawl behind the wheel..although I needed to fully extend both arms to reach the steering wheel while my knees were fully bent to manipulate the pedals. (Designed for short legged midgets with long arms?) Awkward to say the least.
In any event, once mobile, we figured out how to return to the terminal to pick up Fran and Marj and our luggage. There we were met with a line of temporary “Police, No Parking” cones along the entire “Passenger Pick-up Zone” and a parking cop waving to us to move on. I am usually a strong advocate at following instructions, but I had no interest in driving halfway to Dublin to find a spot to park for thirty seconds to load our bags. Thus, I simply played “Stupid American” and once past the cop, I had Will jump out and reposition a cone or two and eased into the now open parking space as Fran and Marj scurried across the sidewalk to load our things. As we closed the trunk (“boot” in Ireland), the cop finally turned around and discovered what mischief we had been up to and began waving his hands and yelling something I’m sure was in Gallic. I merely shrugged my shoulders and politely waved to him and struggled back behind the wheel and dashed off, watching the exasperated cop replace the repositioned cone.
It was about that time we discovered the GPS device we had been told came with the car, must have been in the BMW we had been rented..but it sure was not in the Renault. Ever the resourceful type, I had downloaded and printed directions from Mapquest a week prior to the trip, so Will was pressed into service as navigator and off we went. Other than experiencing the same level of culture shock as being thrown into a stock-car race, the fifty-minute journey to Ballymaloe House in Shanagarry went without a problem. I quickly rediscovered reflexes that had not been used in years and was glad the A/C unit evaporated my sweat before it became noticeable.
Arrival at Ballymaloe House was a highlight because it is nestled between hundreds of acres of verdant green, working farm pasture and bright yellow fields of rapeseed. Marj and Will were clearly impressed with the gorgeous views and Fran’s memorable smile recalled our past visit.
Marj and Will in Ballymaloe rapeseed field.
Our bags were quickly unloaded and we found our rooms were already cleaned and ready (two hours ahead of schedule) but we opted to sit in the drawing room to enjoy a spot of tea and some fresh scones to help decompress. We had pre-booked a driving tour of some nearby sites but discovered our late arrival (by an hour) had caused the scheduled guide to cancel our tour. The Ballymaloe Reception desk simply rescheduled another firm and Plan B (winging it) went into action.
Front entrance of Ballymaloe House.
As we awaited arrival of our new tour guide, our other son Chris and his friend Maria walked into the drawing room to everyone’s surprise. (He was supposedly attending a training course in New Jersey and could not attend to Will’s horse or our cat at home in RI). Gasps from everyone and hugs all around as Chris described how he and Maria had snuck away two days earlier and flown into Shannon and driven down to Shanagarry to meet us. What a wonderful surprise. They knew of our plans and had secretly booked their flights and a room at our hotel and had been playing tourist for the 24 hours prior to our arrival.
Our tour guide turned out to be a young mother who seemed to dream of being an Indy Car driver. It will probably take weeks to iron out all the finger marks in the van’s armrests and upholstery from our ride to and from the nearby town of Midleton. The woman clearly had a death wish as we careened along the skinny pathways in her big van (stone walls typically on either side with no breakdown lanes and speed limits for an Interstate).
Our revised touring plan placed a visit to the Jameson Whiskey Distillery in nearby Midleton as a top priority. (We had learned they offered free samples following a tour of the historic facility.). The hour and a half walking tour was actually delightful and was a snapshot of Irish life, both commercial and personal, over the past two centuries.
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Awaiting the Jameson tour.
Huge copper still at Jameson Distillery.
A feature of the facility was the largest copper still in the world..which we learned was one of several required to the making of a good whiskey. Jameson reportedly brought “Scotch” whiskey to Ireland and made it their own. We learned the primary difference between “Scotch” and “Irish” whiskey is in the process used to dry the barley (as basic ingredient). “Scotch” uses peat as a primary heat source. store whiskey and barrels are generally made off shore (often recycled from bourbon barrels from US distilleries). As a result, Scotch has a distinctive, smoky flavor as compared to a more mellow taste from well-used wooden barrels (used multiple times).
In any event, the tour was an eye opener, as was the sampling that followed. We also discovered the Jameson facility conveniently had a guest café, so lunch was another easy decision. I was almost tempted to ask for a beer, but settled on some iced tea to go with my delicious soup and sandwich.
Soup and Sandwich at Jameson Distlilery
The ride back to Ballymaloe with the death-wish queen (who really was a pleasant sort who just happened to drive like a maniac). As it turned out, she had been born and raised in the area and took us on a nifty scenic route back to the hotel that allowed us to see sections of the area we probably would have missed without her input.
The realities of sleep deprivation became obvious to at least four of us as we drew closer to the hotel and all decided a nap was in order before dinner. And so it was. Dinner started with cocktails in the Ballymaloe conservatory, a glass framed structure built into a wall of the former Norman castle and now decorated with various flowering plants and greenery. This room was directly above our assigned rooms; the River Room for Fran and me and the Bamboo Room for Will and Marj. Chris and Maria were further down the hall also on the ground level in the Lily of the Valley Room. The view to the north included a small river and pond with swans and ducks and a hillside of green dotted with various dairy cows. Gorgeous.
Riverview Room
View of the rear (note castle component).
Our table was called and a five course delight followed, capped by a desert trolley out of a coffee table book. No after dinner Port (our choice, although plenty was available), but no one complained. The conversation had flowed at dinner and everyone was at peace.
Dessert trolley at dinner.A full Irish breakfast kicked off the following morning. Chris had been blown away with the diverse selections he had found the previous morning and he agonized over blood pudding or kippers as a choice to go with his scrambled eggs (that of course followed a bowl of porridge).
Ballymaloe Irish breakfast buffet
Following our previous visit to Ballymaloe, we had spoken endlessly about the delicious porridge (oatmeal) we had enjoyed, and he found he totally agreed. Quaker Oats could not hold a candle to this slow-cooked porridge that practically melted in one’s mouth (especially with cream and brown sugar), Total yum.
Practically every food dish offered at Ballymaloe is gown or produced locally and from organic sources. The Allen family which owns Ballymaloe and nearby Ballymaloe Cookery School prides itself with its organic options (raising most of the beef, chicken, pork and vegetables on one of its adjacent farm plots that make up the 300 or so acres of the property. The fish and shellfish on the menus are purchased from local fishermen at Ballycotton.
Chris and Maria’s short visit concluded after our leisurely breakfast and they headed north to Shannon while we arranged for a walking tour of the Ballymaloe House facility with one of the owners, Rory Allen.
Fran with Rory Allen, Will and Marj in the walled herb garden
Rory and his wife manage the “House” while other family members handle other aspects of the business (like the internationally renowned Ballymaloe Cookery School, the Ballymaloe Shop and the related food business). The tour of the property was an historic eye-opener and Rory’s skills as a master story-teller were clearly evident.
An interesting point of note was a carved stone plaque in the massive wall of the original castle that now serves as an internal wall of Ballymaloe House. It commemorated the contributions of the Fitzgerald family (owners of the castle in the sixteenth century) in the various wars at that time between Spain, England and Ireland. (I admit that after Rory’s historical review and some additional reading on the subject, I still cannot say whose side the Fitzgerald’s were on.)
Fitzgerald plaque mounted in castle wall.
The Anglo-Norman castle that forms the core of the current facilities has been updated and reconfigured to meet the needs of the Allen family who have earned a reputation as leaders in the farm-to-table movement, using local, organically produced foods and three generations of Allens have followed that tradition at Ballymaloe House and the Ballymaloe Cookery School a few miles down the road.
More excitement to follow as Chris and Maria headed back to the States and the rest of us prepped ourselves for an afternoon at the Ballymaloe Cookery School the next day.