I've been fretting that I couldn't get my funds together for Trip-For-Trash #3: Ireland. Well, it's all done now--surprised? I am. I'd like to think that I at least created a 2-for-1 (or 4-for-2?) travel opportunity for our family.
And what a trip it was. Before we left, I was worried about so many things: Would the magic of the place and people--which I feel saved my life two times--disappear if I shared it with my family? Would my family love Ireland and the Irish people as much as I did? And why couldn't I manage to hustle up the full cost of transportation and hotels (about $4,500), instead of a meager $2,550?
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| Even my short new haircut was a little too 80s Neil Tennant for my comfort. |
My worries pretty much evaporated by 10am the next day, however, since we were behind the wheel of our rental car, a brand new Renault Fluence...
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You, too, can rent a Fluence...a fluence...affluence?
The Gertrude Stein marketing division at Renault should be very proud of itself |
...and heading north from Dublin Airport to a site in County Meath I've been longing to see:
Brú na Bóinne, aka Newgrange.
Just the sight of green grass made the plane ride and drive worthwhile for the Badgerettes--it's been
that kind of winter in New York.
The gorgeous visitor's center (and superb cafe), sets visitors up for a decent walk along the shores of the Boyne River, which Neolithic folks fished in using woven mats as nets.
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Years ago, I saw drawings of these (reconstructed) ancient tools in the
National Museum of Ireland in Dublin, along with memory-haunting mummified Bog Men. |
It's a beautiful land, even though we were there before the trees leafed out.
At the end of the path, pick up a tidy little tour bus that delivers visitors to the main event.
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| Like a herd of jet-lagged sheep, our group follows our tour guide to the entrance. |
Older than the Pyramids of Egypt, the Newgrange mound features a narrow, curving stone passageway that channels Winter Solstice sunrise into a sword of light that just touches the far wall of the chamber.
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Our guide was careful to point out that the dark stones lining the entrance are not original,
and those wooden staircases are of newer construction, too. |
New Agey types travel the world to witness the ancient mystery and take in the magic of the view.
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| On the other hand, these Irish schoolgirls on a fieldtrip could not care less. |
These massive carved kerbstones, which ring the site, were covered by dirt, grass, and shrubs for many centuries. When Renaissance-era quarrymen dug in, they probably soiled their britches to discover the swirling patterns that proved the place to be manmade and therefore part of a decidedly un-Christian land and time.
Fear of the unknown kept tourists away for many years; but when they came, they brought their penknives to graffiti the place every which way.
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| Graffiti: the Selfie of the 19th century. |
See those short poles? Our guide said that they mark an area containing pig and dog bones from feasts gone by.
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| And adorable Irish sheep? Just look that way. |
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| Oh dear, does this path get narrow as you reach the inner chamber. |
Photography is not allowed inside, and keep your penknives to yourselves, please. So, I've snagged these images from various tourist sites and cheaters' blogs.
Our guide pointed out that no one really knows the purpose of this chamber. Some human bones were found inside, but it is not merely a passage tomb. The corbelled roof and the t-shaped interior chamber, one side containing a large stone bowl, add to the confusion: is it human nature to make sacred buildings this way, like (but not) a Neolithic Cathedral?
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| Which fluids were sacred enough for this massive stone bowl? |
Crave the rarest Newgrange experience of all? Winter Solstice, when a point of sunlight touches the lower center of the far wall, is the busiest day of the year, but don't fret. The guide turns off the regular lights, lets the group take in the chamber's natural shadowy depths for a moment, then flips on a secret floodlight. This way, every visitor gets a synthetic Solstice experience.
We carefully sidled our way back into the light of day, brains teeming with questions about ancient engineering and why humans give their own creations mystical value.
Right then, we were confronted with a modern miracle: a remote-controlled lawn mower trimming the 5,000 year old mound's grassy top.
Jet-lagged and disoriented, I gawped like I'd stumbled across a beta run of NASA's newest Mars Rover.
Wonders never cease.
Copyright 2015, Tanya Monier
