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My posting is pathetic. Pathetic, I tell you! I have another post in my drafts folder that discusses this at more length. In the meantime, let's talk about this week!

Chance started feeling puny on Tuesday, and I've picked up the same bug. It's pretty rotten - sinus headache and sore throat. Chance has a nasty persistent cough, but I've avoided that so far. Yesterday, though, the weather was just gorgeous, so I bullied everyone into going out for a bit. We chose the Beaghmore Stone Circles just outside of Cookstown, and finally made it out of the house about 3:00.

Getting there's not so bad - it's M1 all the way to the Dungannon exit, then only about 15 miles on the A29. Not so bad, that is, until you hit the "M1 closed, follow diversion" signs at Portadown. That diversion went all the way into Portadown, then back up to the M1, adding at least 30 minutes to the trip. Since it was getting on in the day, we stopped at a little chippery in Dungannon and ate some fine Irish fried stuff. OK, maybe not so fine, but it got some food into the kids. Thus fortified, we headed on to the stone circles and into the evening. But alas, just before Cookstown, we hit another diversion.

Rather than try to find something that we hadn't seen any signs for yet anyway, we decided to go east, toward Lough Neagh, and find the Arboe Cross. This 10th-century High Cross is said to be one of the best examples of the form in Ulster. As you can tell it's severely eroded, but it's still amazing to think that some of the New Testament scenes it depicts were nearly ten centuries old when the cross was made.

The cross is on the site of St. Coleman's monastery, built in the 6th century but completely destroyed by a Viking invasion in 1166. Rumors point to an extensive tunnel network under the grounds, but nothing's been discovered. Given the geography of the area, where the monastery site sits about 50 feet above the lough, caves would seem like a possibility. Today, though, the site holds a ruined 18th-century era chapel and what seems to be the family cemetery of the Martin and Devlin families. Some of the memorials gave us an indication that Ardboe residents were actively involved in Republicanism - Wikipedia verified this with one whole page on The Troubles in Ardboe, and another on Matt Devlin.

As an American in Northern Ireland, the Troubles don't generally jump out at you. True, there's the murals, but outside of East Belfast there aren't many, and the feeling I get is that they're more tourist destinations than political expressions. Some areas and towns fly the Union Jack and the Ulster banner, and have red, white, and blue curbstones, but that strikes a festive tone more than anything. But that may be because I've generally stayed in Belfast, and the Ardboe cemetary was my first closeup look at the Republican side of the conflicts. Generally the people I've spoken with about the Troubles - folks like cabbies, and some of the people I work with - say that the media overplayed the everyday risks faced. But the feeling I get is one of "if we don't talk about it, it will go away". I think Northern Ireland will certainly come to terms with the Troubles, especially as money continues to pour into the area (the best demonstration of a peace dividend), unemployment drops, and education rises. In the meantime, I "enjoy" a fairly privileged position among my co-workers as someone who's genuinely interested in the culture and history of Northern Ireland, and I get to ask some fairly direct questions. More on that later!

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Glenarm was our first of the Glen villages. We saw a sign for a "castle tea garden", which, when the situation warrants, apparently translates to desperate American parents as "bathrooms are here". Blithely ignoring Ginger's "this place looks kind of closed", I swung into the parking lot. After getting out and wandering around a bit, I was forced to admit that it was not only closed but bereft of bathrooms too. However, Glenarm has a nice little beach right down the road, with nice little public toilets! We walked down and got the kids going (so to speak), and I went back to move the car to the beach lot.

I'd be willing to bet money I was out of that gate for less than seven minutes. In 06:59, someone (likely a leprechaun) locked the castle garden gates on us. Big. Iron. Gates. With pointy little spikes on top.

Crap.

What am I supposed to do now? I'm sure I looked pathetic, squishing my face through the bars, vainly listening for anyone moving around, a car engine, anything. As a last resort, I used my trusty US cell phone to try to call the number on the gate (you know, the one just below the part of the sign that said the garden had been closed for the last half-hour). That tore my skinflint heart, let me tell you - almost as much as the phone never picking up. I saw some local police walking down the beach road, and told them my plight. While sympathetic, there wasn't much they could do except offer to try to get in touch with someone "at the station". Resigning myself to spending the night in Glenarm, I walked back to look for any weaknesses in the gate one last time (yes, I know, it's a 400-year-old castle, it can likely resist a pudgy computer geek), and glory be and halleluia, here comes someone! Maybe from "at the station"! Although when I asked he didn't seem to know what I was talking about. Probably couldn't understand my accent.

So once again, thanks to my amazing intellect, sinewy strength, and dashing handsomeness, the crisis is averted!

Lots of these little beach towns on the Causeway Coastal Route have little playgrounds right along the beach, and Glenarm is no exception. I have to hand it to the Northern Irish, they can build some pretty cool playgrounds. While the kids played, Ginger and I wandered around the wall of the St. Patrick's Church. You can still see some walls from the abandoned Franciscian friary (15th century or thereabouts) in the cemetery.

Just outside Cushendall is the Layd Church. After we left the playground we saw the signs, and took the detour that wended up the hill a wee way to the parking lot. There we were stuck a bit - there is a sign in the parking area describing the church and its history, but there's no directions to it. There's a path with a gate on the right, an overgrown trail to the left, and sheep straight ahead. We saw some man-made stonework up the path, so walked through it trying, with marginal success, to avoid the nettles. The stonework proved to be three steps to nowhere, but looking down the slope, we saw the real church. After slipping through the sheep gate (clever contraptions that we're finally getting the hang of), we finally made it to the site.

The church is roofless and tiny, and its location is literally "nestled in a dell". Just below it is a noisy stream, and the land rises sharply away from it on all the other sides. Scattered gravestones poke from the lush grass, mostly indecipherable. More gravestones, along with large marble plaques, are in the church itself. The base of the bell tower appears to be the only enclosed room left, but the brickwork on the ceiling looks much more recent compared to the stone walls. The whole area breaths of antiquity - the site has been used as a church since at least 1288, and services have not been held for more than 200 years.

It's easy to miss, but just inside the entrance to the grounds proper (you don't really realize it's the grounds entrance until you walk around the area a bit) is the Holed Cross. About 4 feet high, it's obviously much older than its base and seems older than even the church itself.

Of course, the camera was in the car and running low on battery otherwise we'd have many more pictures. Thanks to a well-situated picnic table, we did manage to get a group picture before heading home.

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So this post is covering events now more than two weeks out of date, but I have been shamed into posting. I mean, I'm in Ireland!!! When was the last time G Love was in Ireland, huh?

Now of course all you purists out there are saying "he's not in Ireland, he's in Northern Ireland - that's the UK." And yes, they're right, and yes, I'm one of those pedantic purists, but if you're reading this you likely already knew it.

When we last left our little band of adventurers, they were walking back to the car from touring Carrickfergus Castle. I left out the part where the boys (all three of them) were getting really grouchy. It was quite the "don't make me pull this car over" moment, which was added to by the fact that we weren't even in the car yet. But we did get back on the road and headed north up the coast.

The town of Larne sits at the mouth of a huge protected harbor, and is the main point of departure (aside from Belfast) for the Scottish ferries. Fortunately, it is also the home to Dan Campbell's, where we were able to sit and enjoy a pint and a bite. This was Ginger's first experience with "real" Guinness - she allowed that it was pretty tasty, but she'd like the opportunity to compare it to one or two or twenty other pubs, just to make sure the experience was authentic :-). Chance and Ginger had Irish stew, which was pretty different from what I'd made. Rather than chunks of potato and meat in a broth, it was really more like chunky mashed potatoes and ground beef. Don't get me wrong, it was darned tasty, and the food perked everyone up.

In a much better mood, we all proceeded on. In Ballygalley we stopped and walked on the beach for a while, and I got this great shot of Ginger and the kids under a rainbow. Spectacular scenery everywhere: nearly vertical cliffs that managed to be covered with brilliant green grass shorn by sheep who must be bred with suction cups instead of hooves. Whitewashed stucco seaside villages punctuated by 18th century church spires or ruined barns. Sights of Scotland (Scotland!) across the Irish Sea, 25-odd miles away. And always, blue sky with white and gray clouds.

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Yesterday (Saturday) was the first day since the family's been here that Paxton's felt well enough to get out a bit. We started out the day by checking out the St. George's Market. I managed to miss last weekend's market - Friday at work, but Saturday I was just lazy. But today we got there in plenty of time, and wandered around a bit to get a feel for the food and tschotchkes available. Lots of organic produce and meats, lots of fresh-baked goods, and lots of fresh-caught seafood. We ended up taking home some salmon fillets for dinner (baked, very tender and mild compared to what we get in the States) and some tasty scones for the next morning.

After lunch, we drove up to Carrickfergus. It's a small town just north of Belfast, home to Carrickfergus Castle (satellite view). I was using a very detailed street atlas of Belfast that included Carrickfergus to navigate, and had found the castle on the north side of town. Fully expecting to drive through town to get there, I was pretty discombobulated to round a curve in the middle of town and see the huge Norman keep there! Needless to say I drove right on past it. Ginger eventually convinced me this was what we were looking for. After we parked, I looked at the map - turns out I was looking at the wrong castle! I found the "real" one is smack in the middle of town on the map - oddly enough, just where it appeared to be in person. Who knew?

The car park was a few hundred yards away from the castle, and on the epic odyssey there Chance and Paxton required a short break to play on the one of the town's playgrounds. That out of their systems, we proceeded apace to the grounds, where a summer festival was in full swing with bouncy castles, ice cream, and a local rock band cranked up to 11. Hearing "Summer of '69" echoing off the walls made it hard to get into the spirit of things - I wonder if the wedding going on in the courtyard had the same problem?

Like most medieval castles, Carrickfergus is simultaneously huge and tiny. Built in 1177, it was continually garrisoned until 1928. The keep walls are between 3 and 5 meters thick, and the tower is about 30 meters high - each stone essentially hand-fitted. But the tower's only about 50 feet on a side, and was likely home to several dozen people. I thought the exhibits were pretty good, if a bit on the martial and gustatory sides.

Total time to do the castle proper was about an hour; obviously plan for a bit longer if you hit the playground on the way out and back like we did.

Tomorrow: Ginger's first real pub Guiness, rainbows, and scenery!

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If I did this right, you're seeing a picture of the Lagan river, looking upstream, taken from the east end of the Albert bridge. The building on the right is the executive apartment I'm in until the end of the month - my bedroom window is the right-most top porthole.

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