Ireland and a Royal (Air Force) Wedding (2005)

Photos by H. Darr Beiser

This is the final in a series of Margo on the Gone blogs necessitated by the lockdown. The next blog post should be about going, going, going again. 

Ireland

Even the sheep are colorful

With the lyric 'We're Going Away to Ireland Soon' from The Roche’s song “The Troubles” burrowed in our brains, Darr and I flew into Shannon Airport in September 2005 as the start of our 25th wedding anniversary trip. 

Within minutes of landing, a couple of magically delicious things happened. I was at the Hertz rental car desk and after looking at my driver’s license the clerk asked me if I got really sad on my birthday. I thought he was referring to the fact that I had recently turned 50 and I assured him that it wasn’t sad, I’d had a big party in New York City with my girlfriends. But what he meant was that with the European system of dating, he read my birthday (November 9th) as 9-11. So we had a big laugh and he apologized for making me think it was a comment on my age. 

The next magically delicious moment was when the rental car crew, after recognizing Darr’s status as a Hertz Gold Plus Rewards Member, decided to “upgrade” us. They proudly rolled out a tiny Honda Accord with leather seats, saying it was “the luck of the Irish” that this wee car was available. 

 

Killarney National Park

We were jet-lagged and had a five-hour drive ahead of us. Or should I say Darr had a five hour drive, because I wasn’t going to be able to drive in Ireland due to my disability of not knowing right from left. We stopped at Killarney National Park where Darr could lie in the grass and take a nap. 

Dunguaire Castle, Kinvara

The assault of beauty began immediately on our drive, we saw endless kaleidoscopes of thousand shades of green, hills and vales, winding dirt roads, sweeping freaking vistas of the sea, and sheep that appeared to be painted pink and blue. I thought I was having a jet lag hallucination until I saw one of them move. 

Tahilla Cove, Ring of Kerry

We stayed at the charming Tahilla Cove Country House in a room with a bay view. We were on the Ring of Kerry at the recommendation of a friend named Kerry, an Irish-America lass who helped plan much of our trip. The proprietors were James and Deirdre, they had two cocker spaniels named Harry and Monty. At dinner the first night a stern woman came to me with a serving of carrots and said “carrot?” I wanted to tell her we say “carrots,” but I refrained. 

Village of Sneem

Deirdre had recommended that we visit the nearby village of Sneem where she works as a doctor. In Sneem every house was a different color. According to my guidebook, this scheme was designed to help drunk residents identify which abode they should stumble into. Sneem, despite its apparently large population of roaming drunks, had been awarded the designation of Tidy Town. And tidy it was, from its sweet town square to dreamy swans in a stream. 

 Staigue Fort (2500 years old) Castlecove, Ring of Kerry

Our first day was a driving tour of the Ring of Kerry and the Dingle Peninsula, the “Big Sur” of Ireland. There is nothing uninteresting in this country. The mood is never broken by strip malls, factories, ugly office buildings. It is a continuum of amazing sights. I was awed by the fact that a farmer with a modest cottage could have the same sweeping ocean views that buyers in La Jolla or Martha’s Vineyard, would have paid millions for. 

Castle Kilcogan

After a few days of wringing out the drenching beauty of Kerry, we went to county Galway to stay in an 11th century castle, Castle Kilcolgan, owned by one of Kerry’s friends, and the site of her 40th birthday party. Enormous rooms and we were the only ones there which made it kinda ghost-y. 

Castle Kilcogan at night

The owners run a horse farm on the castle grounds.The kitchen was as big as the one in Downton’s Abbey with enough room for Mrs. Patmore to boss Daisy around. But we had to be our own servants. We had to figure out how to make our own coffee (there was only instant) and make our own beds (they call this castle living?) The castle all in all was a little shabby chic, holes in bedspreads, showers that weren’t working, peeling paint, burned out lightbulbs. Admittedly, we were there off season, so perhaps that's why there was no warm welcome and tours of the castle as described in recent Trip Advisor reviews. 

Irish lass

We ate at Moran’s Oyster Cottage, recommended by another Irish friend. The waitress had lived in Rockville and knew Bethesda well. We spent a day driving around County Clare which has a number of quaint beach towns. All of your Irish stereotypes were fulfilled—lots of redheads with freckles, girls in Catholic school uniforms, old men wearing tam o' shanters and using walking sticks. 

Cliffs of Moher

The second day we drove to the Cliffs of Moher, 3000 feet above the sea, which featured whipping winds. Like a bitch slap from nature, but it felt good. The ocean was very angry that day. Darr waited in vane for sunlight on the cliffs. But Irish weather clings to its grays, its mists, its clouds and its overcast like a favorite blanket. My journal is a sea of superlatives awash in spiritual awakenings and realizations about the meaning of life that grew increasingly profound and peaked at the Cliffs of Moher. 

Happy hour on the grounds

The castle was much more appealing outside than in, and we had a classic happy hour with cheese and smoked salmon from Sheridan's Cheesemongers. The setting was bucolic with a kind of quiet I rarely  experience. We discovered a huge underground cellar with a tunnel that runs to the bay haunted by big black crows. 

Abandoned mansion near our castle

We drove to Galway which I found disappointing in some way, there were students and bustle and hustle and shopping. We then drove down the coast to Spiddal, a little fishing village where I experienced moment of complete happiness staring at the ocean from the rocks (my blog’s cover photo). Years later I learned through Ancestry.com that my Irish relatives came from that very village. 

Spiddal

London 

Susan and Jerry, Holy Trinity Church, London

We left Ireland for the country of Oppressors and found ourselves in the very British lobby of Thistle Hotel Hyde Park Kensington Gardens. My journal reports that we were in the midst of “all things Brit, I don’t know, butchers, ladies, revolutionaries, green leather chairs." I had taken a brisk walk to Oxford Street in search of a hat for the wedding day. I was repeatedly shamed by the shopkeepers for not bringing my purse and dress so that they could be properly matched. I did not buy a hat. 

Susan and Jerry (the bride and groom) treated us and the other out-of-town guests to a double decker bus ride for sightseeing around London. The tour guide was Bob and he used to be a Bobby. 

Jerry with his grandsons

The rehearsal dinner was held at Shepherds Tavern. I got to see the marvelous O’Grady family in its entirety, and meet Jerry’s three children, and his grandchildren who have wonderful names like Magnus and Scarlett. 

Cutting up and cutting the cake

Such a pretty wedding at Holy Trinity Church.  Susan had to wear a shawl because those Anglicans don't want to see any skin exposed. I described her as radiant and regal and tall and thin with perfect red hair and “so freaking happy.” 

With the combined force of British and Irish wit, the wedding reception, held at the Royal Air Force Club, was a  laugh riot. Jerry’s son John had several pages of jokes about his father’s cheapness, claiming that he once disassembled a lawn mower in the US and carried the parts in his luggage back to Britain, because the price was so much better in the states. Jerry told the story of Susan, that when they were waiting for a cab to get from the church to the reception Susan pushed ahead of a man with a baby in a stroller saying “I’m a bride. Give me a break." Jerry said this showed that “You can take the girl out of New Jersey, but you can’t take New Jersey out of the girl.” This was met by sustained screaming and applause by the  O’Grady tables. 

Susan and I

This was one fantastic trip, but when you have adorable children to go home to, there is no post vacation let-down. I was eager to see my boys and Franky was eager to tell me about the new terrarium at school filled with crickets and rolly-polly bugs, one of whom was pregnant. And while none of this was quite as glamourous as a trip to Ireland and a Royal wedding, it was delightful all the same.