Ireland: Day Nine and Ten - Coleraine, Dunluce, Ballymoney and the Dark Hedges

Day Nine: Ballycastle and Coleraine

I woke up refreshed in my bed and breakfast.  I had a glorious view outside a set of doors and small balcony towards the ocean and green hills and a distant peak of Scotland across the sea.  There were rabbits who came out and appeared on the lawn beneath the balcony… something that would annoy me at home, but somehow on a farm by the sea in Ireland, it was charming.  

I went down for my first breakfast, which was from a list of items I could choose for the typical Irish breakfast - or more appropriately for the region - an Ulster fry.  Man, that breakfast is a solid lump in your stomach.  But it stayed with me much of the day.  And I confess, now that I’m on my own I like to eat in restaurants less.  I don’t mind a tea house or coffee shop.  I am used to going to such places to write and be alone… but there is something about a restaurant that I prefer as a social setting.  So I knew my breakfast would be the big meal of the day.  

I was on my own and didn’t have to get a consensus of where to go.  I also had a car at my leisure.  I confess I ended up getting GPS in a last minute panic of being on my own without someone to help me navigate so I could keep my eyes on the road.  That said, I had very little direction for what I wanted to do that first day.  There are a lot of sights to see in that part of Ireland - a lot of natural wonders and beaches and landscapes, but all I had in mind for that first Sunday was that I needed to get a second adapter, because I realized after a week of not being able to use my laptop that it would not charge with the USB adapter I brought with me.

So I needed to go some place where there were shops.  I found Coleraine on a quick search.  It was a place with a lot of shops.  It was a rainy gray day, too… so if I found a place to get a cup of coffee and sit with my notebooks, that wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing.  

It wasn’t much more than a half hour drive from the b&b.  I went down the coastal route and through the villages.  Like I said, the roads in that part of Ireland are wider and (sort of) straighter.  There are still some places where you have to pull over and be patient while someone drives in the other lane, but it isn’t as tenuous as the navigation of Connemara.  I found a parking space rather easily… which it turns out is because a good part of that city shut down on Sunday.  A lot of the shops were closed.

I managed to find a Starbucks.  I know that is kind of - well very - lame.  And yet not.  I am addicted to Starbucks mostly because I used to sit in them in London.  I would write in my journal, sip a mocha, and listen to people talk.  I worked in Soho, so a lot of the conversations were about movies being made or negotiated.  So I got a mocha and settled down to catch up on my journal.  After that I found a bookstore and made a purchase.  I was pleased to see a couple bookstores on the stretch of pedestrian street.  I looked about for a place selling adapters and went up and down, even into a sort of mall where I found out TJ Maxx is a TK Maxx in Northern Ireland.  Go figure.  

I can’t say it was the most thrilling day to start the second part of my trip, but there were some interesting bits in the city.  There was a war memorial with recent poppy wreaths to commemorate the Battle of the Somme.  World War I is very present in the memories here.  We sort of discuss it in America… but not a lot outside of the context of Matthew Crawley or some other Masterpiece romance.  Not a lot of people stopped to look at the wreaths in the rain, but I was impressed nevertheless that they were there.

Another thing I discovered about that city was it was a stationing point for American soldiers during the second world war.  There were still army barracks as I drove into town.  After things I’ve learned in more recent days, I realize that was related to another conflict altogether.

Coleraine and much of the area through which I traveled felt much less Irish.  I’m not Irish, so maybe I don’t know what that means exactly.  I thought Coleraine had more of a Scottish feel or look to it.  Then again, I’ve never been to Scotland so that is just a conclusion to which I jump based on stereotypes.  But there were still Union Jacks flying everywhere (something I have since discovered why - in honor of July 12, Orangeman’s Day celebrating the inclusion within the United Kingdom).  The shops were British franchises.  Indeed, I came up short with my hunt for an adapter and did a quick search for a shop where I could find one.  Turns out, not too far up the road was a mega shopping plaza - where everyone WAS at.  I can’t deny I was a little giddy at the sight of a Sainsbury’s - total nostalgia from my life in the fall of 2001.  I didn’t really need groceries, but I went in anyway to buy some apples, a bottle of wine, and a grocery bag that I can use at home when I go to Wegmans.  Because I’m a dork.

Anyway, the adapter was found and I made my way back to the b&b.  

Day Ten: Dunluce and Ballymoney

I can’t say I felt any more directed the next morning.  I suppose I felt a little lost on my own.  Lost with possibility and freedom… but also a lack of focus that bothered me a little bit.  I chose that section of Ireland for a reason that I wasn’t remembering.  I still don’t entirely.  Something about folklore and ancient magic.  

I had a lighter breakfast that morning - opting for beans and toast instead of bacon and black pudding and fried bread.  I looked up some possibilities on the web and settled on Dunluce Castle.  I had it in mind that I was going to avoid things representing the gentry of English oppression - but then I found out this was a castle in that period of 1641 that so intrigued me.

The parking was a little hairy, as the grounds were already full of tourists at the start of the day.  I ended up accepting the audio tour that came with admission, but clearly was marching to my own beat because I followed it out of order.  I have been to quite a number of castle ruins in my visits to the British Isles.  In some ways, one is much like the other.  In some ways, they have their unique ghosts and shadows of what was.  

I liked the remnants of chimneys and windows that were still evident in the stone walls.  I liked the pattern of the stones on the floors.  I liked the tower steps.  I liked and dreaded the closeness to the sea - a closeness that was doom for parts of the castle and apparently a broken hearted young woman.  I liked imagining the kitchen hot and full of smells.  I liked the narrow steps down to the edge of the water and a cave that was carved (or eroded) into the stone beneath the castle.  It was green and blue and lovely.

But it was easily an hour’s worth of time, even when I chose to linger and gaze at the views.  I wasn’t entirely sure where to go next, so I thought I would head back and venture to the Giant’s Causeway… which apparently everyone else had decided to do on that sunny day.  There was a line of traffic to get into the parking lot, so I opted to keep on going and come back first thing in the morning another day.  I looked through the booklets and did a search for where to go next.  I saw there was a museum in Ballymoney and decided I would go there, as it talked about local history.

I found Ballymoney and parking and the museum rather easily.  The museum was free… and small.  It was in a building that was also a theater and cultural center, a combination that is replicated in a number of towns in this area.  I did enjoy the exhibit.  Nothing really grabbed me except a little bit about the fact that the local theater community was clearly an important part of Ballymoney.  It was also part of the linen industry that was huge in Northern Ireland for a long time.  There was also a plaque celebrating William Orange again.  

I remember I once wore orange to our family’s St. Patrick’s Day celebration.  It was a new shirt that I liked the look of, so I didn’t really care that such a thing was taboo.  Plus, I didn’t really get it.  Now I get it.  I also get that to some people in Ireland, they prefer orange.  And they aren’t wrong.  Nor are they the only right.  I can’t speak for everyone who lives here.  I have spoken to a few people about politics and such (it’s really fascinating to hear what they think of our healthcare system), but I can’t say all of them have that nationalism that I was made to believe everyone here has.  Some do.  Obviously, because I am in the United Kingdom, some don’t.  And they are proud of that history.  Enough to celebrate it in a museum display.

I find myself thinking about that in the context of our debates of the Confederate flag.  I don’t think they are the same because that was a symbol of segregation.  But, I guess, orange is that to some people here.  I guess the point is in spite of the fact it was a tiny museum, it really made me think about things.  

I found a pamphlet for an historic cemetery down the road and decided to find it.  Unfortunately, the gate I found was locked.  There was another church across the street and I paused to look at a few of those stones, but I felt a little rushed.  Then, in a surreal moment as I was walking on that street, a funeral procession passed.  It was a real procession, with the hearse leading a parade of mourners walking behind it.  A lot of them were young.  I didn’t want to stare, but I wondered if that meant the deceased was young.  Cars followed as they do in the States - and as they do in the States, some drivers were rude and impatient and attempted to cross between.  It was a strange intrusion of real life in the detached reality of vacation.

I gave up on the cemetery mission and headed back to my car, realizing I still had quite a bit of daylight left.  I had grabbed a pamphlet about the Dark Hedges at the museum/cultural center.  That was top most of the sights I wanted to see because photos make it seem so mysterious.  I found my way there and ignored the suggestion to park at the nearby hotel, but followed the suit of other tourists who just parked on the side of the road.  

The Dark Hedges are a tunnel of beech trees planted on either side of a road.  It was originally a length of drive to a private estate.  The estate is still in existence, but the hedges are on a public road.  So, yes, there are a lot of people walking on it.  But there are also still quite a few drivers - several of whom seem to not care that there are several people walking in the road stopping to take pictures.  There were originally 150 trees.  Over the years, they have gotten sick and now there are only 90 left.  So there are some significant gaps.  That said, it was still awesome.  They are old gnarly branches that fold into a roof above you.  They weren’t really that dark - but I was there when the sky was bright blue at 5 or so in the afternoon - which is like 3 in the States.  Supposedly it is best at dusk.  It is also supposedly haunted and a gray lady makes an appearance then.  Whatever the case, it was a sight worth seeing.  And I don’t even watch Game of Thrones.

Then I headed back to the b&b.  I confess the evenings when I’m on my own aren’t that exciting.  I catch up on this writing.  And I indulge in the BBC.  The BBC has some seriously bizarre programming, but also some unique shows that I wish would hop the pond.  Monday night there was a drama about the Bloomsbury group.  The episode I watched focused on Virginia Woolf and the start of her marriage.  I suspect that will show up on PBS or Netflix eventually.  Another show that was on another night was a nerdy reality show akin to the ones I’ve liked such as the 1900 House or the Colonial House.  Only the premise is a family agrees to live/ mostly focusing on cooking and eating like they did in every decade since WWII.  So each episode is a different decade.  I watched the 50’s which started with rations and ended with fish fingers.  

It was a full day. I had a plan for the next morning, but no idea how that day would end.