VICHY, C’ETAIT AUSSI LA FRANCE?

I go to the local “tabac” every morning to buy the newspaper. I usually buy “Le Monde” but occasionally I will also buy another paper to see the difference in style. I find I can read “Liberation” without too much trouble but the colloquial language of “Figaro” is harder for me to understand.
“Le Monde” has published a number of articles in the last few weeks that are lighter fare for the summer. Right now there is a series about different world airports and their role in “mondialisation”. Today, Moscow’s three airports were featured, yesterday it was London’s Heathrow, and before that articles about Lagos and Amsterdam. Two weeks ago there was a series about the great battles that shaped various religions – Kerbala for the Shiites, Jerusalem for the Christians, the expulsion of the Jews from Spain for Catholics, the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre for the Protestants of France, and the slaughter of Hindus by Muslims, Muslims by Hindus that led to the partition of India (really, the partition of the Punjab and Bengal).
Today, as part of the series “Rétrocontroverse” there is an article retracing the discussion between Chirac and Mitterrand about the culpability of the French State in the deportations and murder of French Jews. Chirac argued the neo-Gaullist line that the Vichy State was criminally responsible for these murders but that France was redeemed by the triumph of DeGaulle and the Liberation. Mitterrand argued that the Vichy state was not a part of France, the true France of the Republique. In fact, that state was the collaborator of the Nazis and therefore the enemy of France. He argued that the Republique didn’t need to apologize for anything since it was an equal victim with the Jews.
I’m not sure what I think about this discussion. It seems there are doubts about Mitterrand the Socialist and his commitment to a France free of anti-Semitism. Conversely, Chirac the Gaullist is championing the revisiting of a sordid episode in French history. Either way, it doesn’t seem to me that the crimes of the French State, whether Vichy or Free, are to the forefront of the political discussion around racism and immigration in modern day France. Can France truly deal with its present if it hasn’t even begun to deal with its past?

TIFFANY

Tiffany came by with Karen and Nico to say goodbye. She is heading up to Paris on Saturday, and then flying home to Chicago on Sunday. Nico took this picture of us standing in our kitchen. They all had an impromptu dinner with us.
Tiffany is Karen’s niece by marriage – her dad married Karen’s sister after he divorced Tiffany’s mom (I think I have that right). Tiffany is 19 and has completed one year of college in Chicago. She has spent the summer being Karen’s au pair, looking after Nico while Karen is away leading the bike tours that she manages for Butterfield and Robinson. She arrived in May, a shy, unassertive American with a little French. She is leaving as a confident young woman who has learned how to handle herself in a foreign country. Along the way, she has become quite competent in French and has a self-confidence that was hard come by working with Karen and Nico in the house and preparing the lunches for up to 20 cyclists at a time.
Unfortunately, because of Karen’s schedule and Tiffany’s commitment to her job we didn’t get to spend as much time with her as we would have liked to. We did have one memorable day out in Loudon, memorable because it rained, that we enjoyed spending with her without Nico. Maybe next year we will spend more time together now that she knows how to manage Karen.
Goodbye for now, Tiffany. Perhaps we will see you in California during the winter.

OLD POSTCARD OF MONTSOREAU c.1850

Our neighbors, Les Racinet, gave us a copy of this old photograph which clearly shows our house. The one story building to the left of our house was once the village blacksmith's forge. It is now the Racinet's garage.

THE WALLS

We have been stripping the walls of the wallpaper to see what might be behind it. Removing wallpaper, even under the best of conditions, is a very messy undertaking. We have spent about three days at it and have successfully removed all the wallpaper from the first floor bedrooms. We found several layers of wallpaper and in some places there was even newspaper, which I guess they used to create an even surface for the wallpaper.
We started this project after being invited next door by Les Racinet (the neighbors in #16) to see the kinds of restoration they have done in the ten years they have owned their house. We saw how beautiful the tuffeau stone is when it is protected in the interior of a house. Metta encouraged us to explore our own house to see what treasures lay behind the wallpaper.

We also had a chance to see the inside of another house across the street. A gentleman came to the door to welcome us to the town. He introduced himself (don’t remember his name) and invited us across the street to meet his “amie” (whose name we didn’t catch either). She told us that she was cleaning out the house of her mother who had died earlier this year. She was getting it ready for her daughter who would be using it as a weekend retreat from Paris. She showed us how thick the walls are and the stairway to the first floor and the grenier (attic). She speculated that her house was probably built in the 16th century. She showed us a built over archway and said the house was probably built as a chapel but was never finished.

What did we find? We found two walls that are entirely tuffeau stone. We will have very little to do to make that look fine. The back wall of the house and the end wall appear to a combination of tuffeau stone and fieldstone. There are some areas where there clearly was a window or door in the past and that was filled with fieldstone and plastered over. In these areas we will have to remove the old plaster and have a craftsman mason replace the mortar between the joints in a way that leaves the stone largely exposed but nicely finished.

GWEN’S CALL

We are sitting in one of our favorite places in Chinon – the Café Français. Rich just gets through saying that he will take Gwen here when she comes to visit, that it is exactly her kind of place. He is thinking of the ambiance, the Frenchness of it, as well as the really good music they have playing in the background. We are lounging in very comfortable leather chairs quaffing our glasses of red Chinon wine. The band is setting up for a live performance of New Orleans style zydeco later that night. Suddenly his phone rings. Guess who is calling?

COUPE DE CHEVEUX

We went to have our hair cut in Chinon. We go to a barber who only works with men. He can speak a little English but he refuses to allow us – we have to speak in French in his shop. Today, I asked him about the actor, Michel Serreult, who recently died. That started him talking about the great actors of the past. He continued with a treatise on the French actors who have appeared in Hollywood movies. Then he moved on to jazz and the world of great blues singers and musicians who had lived in Paris during the 1950s. All the time we have to stay engaged - he asks questions to make sure we understand. Our haircut turns into a French lesson. Towards the end he reminds us that we have had a haircut, not a horsescut. Our pronunciation has a long way to go yet.

SHOUT OUT TO MISS PEGGY

Dearest, Darling Peggy:

We hope you are feeling a little better after your recent health scare. You know we love you and hope you get better soon. We are praying for you (in our own way) and lit a candle for you at the church of Notre Dame des Ardilliers in Saumur (even though you are Pentecostal and not Catholic – God will hear our prayer, nonetheless).

Rich and Máirtín

NOTRE DAME DES ARDILLIERS

We have been whizzing past this church for the past couple of weeks trying to figure out when it is open. We visited this place five years ago when we first came to this area with Vladimir but we had forgotten why it is such a special place. Finally, tonight on our way home from a day of checking things out in Saumur we noticed the door was open and figured out that we could stop and visit.
Inside is a splendid church. An Italianate dome added in the 17th century and rebuilt after the Battle of Saumur in 1940 is the setting for a rotunda of eight smaller chapels. Above the chapels were eight medallions showing images of the four Evangelists and the four Doctors of the Church. Beyond this antechamber was the nave with a high alter that depicted the Crucifixion. To the left of this main alter was a smaller altar dedicated to Cardinal Richelieu and to the right another altar that had a large scene of the Flight into Egypt (pyramids and palm trees included).
The history of this church is particularly interesting. The church was built where a “Pieta” statue was found and an ancient spring gushed out of the hillside. In the 15th century the statue became the centre of a cult and the church that was built to house it became a major pilgrimage site. Later as the cult grew in importance the church was patronized by powerful people and became a royal chapel. Saumur grew rapidly during the period following the Edict of Nantes but after the king revoked the Edict half of Saumur’s population, the Huguenots, fled the city and a period of stagnation and poverty befell the city. During the Revolution the church was ransacked and priests of the parish were guillotined. Then the greatest tragedy of all: the bombing and firestorms of the Battle of Saumur that destroyed the rotunda and cupola.
For now, all the wars are over for this beautifully restored church. It was such a pleasure to drop our one euro piece into the box to turn on the lights in the nave. Around the rotunda is an inscription dedicated to the Virgin by “Ludivocus XIV. Dei Gratia Franc. Et Navar Rex.”, a reminder that Louis XIV, The Sun King, was present here as a child.

FONTEVRAUD, L'ABBAYE ROYALE

A scorching hot day. Anna and Jag were leaving in the evening to go back to Paris. They are flying back to the States on Monday. We decided to visit the abbey of Fontevraud early in the morning while it was still relatively cool.
When we got there I noticed a sign for a new annual pass that they are offering. The usual price of entry is 7.90 euro but for 12 euro we can go anytime we like for a whole year. What a deal!
I hadn’t been inside the abbey in more than five years. We headed straight for the kitchens, the beehive structure with the fish scale roof. Inside the octagonal building there are eight fireplaces and chimneys – an indication of the numbers of people that the abbey served every day.
We walked around, soaking in everything: the huge refractory or dining hall, the cloistered gardens, the main church with the graves of Henry and Elinor, Richard and Isabelle. The abbey is vast, the biggest abbey in France. When you are inside the walls you definitely get the sense of what it was like for a young women to enter and never leave, to pass her whole life in that world of women and God, cut off from the world of temptation and the Devil outside the walls.
At the mortuary chapel I read the account of how a dying nun was laid out on a bed of ashes to remind her that she came from dust and would return to dust after her soul went to Heaven. This account solved a problem that I had been trying to resolve in my own mind – why does the mortuary chapel that Karen bought have a chimney? The oven and chimney are used to create the ashes that the dead body is laid out on before burial, a critical part of the faith of the Plantagenets and the people who lived at that time in this part of France.
There is an exhibition at the abbey, “Heros et Merveilles”, that gives a good account of what life was like for most people in the Middle Ages.

CANDES-St MARTIN

Rich was meeting Duncan in Chinon to go pick up the box springs for our new “French” beds. Duncan has a big pickup truck that could easily accomadate the double bed sized box springs. We left Rich off with Duncan at the Hotel Sans Souci with its glowing orange plastic palm tree. It was so hot, maybe 30ºC. The girls didn’t feel like hanging around Chinon, especially since most things were closed on Sunday. We decided to go back to Montsoreau and hang out. Along the way I stopped in Candes to show them the church.
The church is built on the spot where Saint Martin is reputed to have died. It was built in the 12th century. The headless figures in the entry porch are evidence of the ferocity of the wars of religion in this part of France.
It was interesting to be in this church with a Sikh and a Hmong person, who although Christian is from a culture that is shamanistic and animist. The images and iconography were very familiar to me; they tell a story that makes sense in the context of Christian mythology. But for Anna and Jag they seemed very foreign to their experience. Later, while we were having a drink in the café at the train station, we had a good discussion about the nature of faith and why people believe what they do.

SAUMUR WALKABOUT

Saturday in Saumur. The girls wanted to do some shopping before they have to go home. They are taking the train back to Paris on Sunday then flying home on Monday. Anna will be back at work on Tuesday.
Rich wanted to go across the river to a brocante, a kind of antique store cum junk store, but everything is closed in the country until 2 for lunch. We wandered down to the Saint Nicholas district to have lunch. I ordered a salad with a “white sauce” and Rich ordered a burger and fries. The salad was more like a soup, canned vegetables like peas and corn mixed with small cubes of white cheese, all floating in the white sauce. I should read the menu descriptions more carefully next time. Rich’s medium rare burger was very rare, blood rare, and had to be sent back for further cooking.
After lunch I took a walk around Saumur by myself while Rich went to the brocante. I saw a sign for an exhibit of tapestries in the Chapelle Saint Jean. I followed the signs to a little 12th century church that had steps down from the street level. The church was originally built by the Hospitalers of Saint John of Jerusalem then later it belonged to the Knights of Malta. It had a typically rectangular form – the Plantagenet style.
There were 5 large tapestries divided into 19 panels. The tapestries told the story of Saint Florent and Saint Florian, two brothers who defied the edicts of the pagan emperors Deocletian and Maximian and continued to worship the Christian god. They were arrested, tried, and sentenced to torture and drowning for their faith. While they were being tortured an angel descended from the heavens to save Floriant but poor old Floran was drowned in the river. Florent traveled to Candes to receive holy orders from Saint Martin then went on to found a monastery on a hilltop just outside Saumur. I wondered why the angel didn’t deliver Florian.
The tapestries were very detailed, many of the panels had a main image and several smaller images that added to the story. Also, they were in remarkably good shape, given that they were used at one point as covers for birdcages.

L’ART DU BAROQUE

We bought tickets for a concert of Baroque music at our local church, Saint Pierre de Rest. The church is only open one Sunday a month for mass so this was a good opportunity to see the interior as well as to hear some good music.
It seemed like the whole village had turned out for the concert. The church is small so we had to sit on benches a distance from the action. In front of us our neighbors, Christian and Metta Racinet, were sitting in all their finery.
The church itself was built in two phases – the rectangular floored nave was built in the 12th century and had rounded windows reminiscent of the Romanesque period. The transept was more ornate with columns and Gothic style windows. That part was added in the 14th century. There were two side altars, one dedicated to Saint Peter. The church has been recently restored. The tuffeau stone has that “well-scrubbed” look that makes it seem to glow. Apart from the Stations of the Cross there wasn’t very much of visual interest on the walls.
The concert was a performance of vocal music by Vivaldi, Farinelli, Scarlatti, and Handel performed by a singer named Alexis Vassiliev. He was accompanied by Mario Raskin playing the clavichord who also performed some pieces by himself at the start of the recital.
At the end of the concert the audience was invited to take a glass of refreshment in the little place to the side of the church. The organizers were serving champagne of the region. We had a taste before heading home.

JAG AND ANNA

We picked up Jag and Anna from the train station in Saumur. They have been traveling around Europe by bus for the past three weeks. They flew into Rome from San Francisco on Air Canada then headed to Nice, Madrid, San Sebastien, and Paris with a bus company called Busabout (busabout.com) that allows for set down and pick up travel between major European cities. Their ticket allows them make six stops so they went back to Paris from Spain by bus then took the train down to the Loire Valley for a short visit with us.
We took them back to Montsoreau to leave off their stuff then drove together to Chinon. Rich and I had to go to a big store on the edge of Chinon (the Bon’AFF) so we left them to explore Chinon by themselves for a while. Later we met up with them for afternoon drinks at a funky bar called the Café Français on a backstreet behind the Hotel de Ville. They had many stories to tell of their travels. Jag is a Punjabi Sikh from Yuba City in Northern California. She attracts the attention (usually unrequested) of every Indian bachelor looking for a mate. Her traveling companion, Anna, is a Hmong woman originally from Southern California (her family fled Laos in the mid-70’s during the ethnic cleansings that followed the triumph of the VietCong and the PathetLao). Anna told us of one young fool at a disco in San Sebastien who showed his affection for her by biting her arm!
In the evening we took them to the Baroque music concert at our local 12th century church then had a wonderful walk around the village at midnight when all the righteous villagers were snug in their beds.

DONEGAL PORTRAITS

This is Klara from Germany, by way of the Czech Republic and Iran, who wouldn't let me post her picture to my blog last year but gave me permission to post it this year.

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CARMEL

Timmy and Helen threw Grannie a great garden party for her birthday. Lots of Buckleys and Meates were in attendance. The weather even cooperated for most of the afternoon.

ORANGE HALL, CO. FERMANAGH

WIKIPEDIA: ORANGE ORDER

DUNKEELY, COUNTY FERMANAGH

Three stones standing in a field, a boggy field, across the street from a Catholic church and graveyard. We followed a sign, as often happens, not really knowing what to expect. We were on the road from Beleek, going across Lough Erne to Kesh, in County Fermanagh to rejoin the main road to Enniskillan. We had taken a detour to see the famous two-faced figure in Caldragh Cemetery on Boa Island. About a mile from the crossroads we passed an Orange Hall with its defiant British flag. A plaque above the door said it was the Tubrid Orange Hall built in 1924. I wondered if Tubrid was an Anglicization of “Tobar Bríd” or Saint Bridget’s Holy Well. Barely a hundred metres further up the road we found the church and the field with the standing stones. These two places, the Catholic church and the Orange hall, were like the standing stones: forever linked but standing apart, their meaning only possible when read as a unit, if any meaning can ever be read from the history of conflict that we have suffered during the civil war of the last 35 years.

MYSTERIOUS JANUS FIGUREBOA ISLAND, CO. FERMANAGH

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LAST DAY IN GLEANNCHOLMCILLE

I took a quick picture of the house where I was staying - Liam's mother's house. The house is used by Oideas Gael for lodging. I had my own room and enjoyed meeting the other people who were staying there: Marcus, Emily, Paddy1, Paddy2, Gerald. The house had a good feeling about it - perhaps it was infused with the memories of good times lived there by Liam and his family, especially his mom.

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ROY, AT THE CEILI MOR

CEOLCHOIRM

Tonight should have been the evening for the
Sean-Nós concert. It usually takes place on the Thursday of Scoil Shamhraidh and is orchestrated by Gearoidín. But this year Liam summarily cancelled the sean-nós and in its place had a sean-nós choir give a performance instead. The choir was pretty good, three part harmonies with men’s and women’s voices. Gearoidín was scathing about the idea of a sean-nós choir. I think she was also very upset by Liam’s lack of respect for all the work she has done to keep the sean-nós tradition alive. And rightly so. Every year she assembles a dwindling number of truly great practitioners of the art to pass on the tradition. This year it didn’t happen and perhaps it will never happen again.
That being said, the choir (Cór Thaobh a’ Leithid) were very good. The sean-nós class also performed two of our songs. Gearoidín sang two songs and there was also a performance of Donegal dancers. A Scottish man, Griogair Labhruid, sang a sean-nós version of an Irish song, “Áirde Chuain”.

BESSIE

The AA mechanic finally arrived from Bundoran at about 11:00 (we had called the previous night!). He said he could do nothing for us but guide us down to a mechanic in Kilcar. He said the brake lining was rubbing against the wheel rim and that it would not be wise to drive the car back to Dublin without it being fixed. Apparently, this is the most common problem with older Renaults.
The mechanic in Kilcar said he would need the car for about a week to fix it. When he saw the look of astonishment on our faces he suggested another mechanic in Kilcar, JohnJoe, who he said would put it right for us.
We got directions and set out in search of JohnJoe. We found his house at the end of a little bothairin on a hill with a commanding view of Slieve League. He said he could fix the car but a part would have to be got from Donegal Town. He called the supplier to have the part delivered to a filling station in Killybegs. Pat agreed to drive us to Killybegs and bring us back.
We got to Killybegs at about 12:30. It was pouring down rain. We had a wait of about an hour for the delivery van from Donegal so we went to the hotel for a little lunch. We all ordered the same thing from the carvary - fish chowder. When in Killybegs . . . After lunch, things looked a lot brighter. We went back to the filling station to pick up the part and before long we were back with JohnJoe enquiring about the cost of the repair. He scratched his head and looked at the price on the outside of the parts’ box then said “50 euro”. We were expecting him to say something in the range of 200 to 300 euro so we were more than pleased with ourselves. He said it would be ready tomorrow morning. Pat drove us back to GleannCholmCille with more than enough time to spare for our afternoon class. Thank you Pat!

SEISIÚN CEOL

We had some car trouble tonight. A fierce storm came in off the Atlantic with gusts of wind and buckets of rain. Somehow that all upset Bessie (the car) and she didn’t want to work right. We did get her going again and she works fine as long as you are driving forward. Reversing is the problem.
We eventually made it to Sylvia and Edie’s house for dinner. Gearoidín was already there. Three men from the house, Brian, Seán and Rick were also having dinner with us. Brian and Seán are in my Irish class. We had a great dinner.
After dinner there was conversation. Rick talked about his parents from Mayo and the difficult life they had when they went to England. Brian and Seán made great efforts to speak in Irish and Gearoidín, in that wonderful quiet way of hers, encouraged them.
Myself and Treasa began singing the “Maighdean Mhara”. Gearoidín continued with two verses we didn’t have. Then she told the story behind the song, the story of how the man fell in love with the mermaid and stole her cloak to prevent her from going back to the sea. He hid it under the thatch until the day that her children found it. At that moment her longing for the old world of the sea overwhelmed her. She said goodbye to little Máire and Pádraig and went back into the ocean leaving them behind her, crying on the beach.

BIDDY’S

Development has arrived in the Gleann. Biddy’s, the iconic pub, is being transformed. A new wing is being built to accommodate the hoards of expected tourists. In celebration of this growth the owners threw a foam party last week, the likes of which has never been seen before in GleannCholmCille. I did not attend – in fact I haven’t even been inside of Biddy’s this year. Most of the action has been taking place in Roarty’s, a more comfortable place to listen to music or to hold a conversation.
Apparently there are new owners of Biddy’s. They want to spruce the place up, make it more attractive to younger people. As with so much else in Ireland, though, there is very little planning. The addition looks like an attached shed rather than an integral part of the building. I don’t like the way the classic profile of the building has been changed. I think it would have been better to build the addition at the back where it would not have distracted from the traditional façade. The new Ireland, where function lords over form, is suspiciously like the old.

CATHAL O SEARCAIGH

Cathal is in the shadow of the president as she greets him after his annual lecture and poetry reading.


BBC ARTICLE ABOUT CATHAL O SEARCAIGH

AN TRÁ BÁN

THE SILVER STRAND

I came home after the first day of the sean-nós class just ready to relax and be by myself. Treasa wanted to practise the songs. I started to make dinner for us both but it was extremely difficult to focus on my polenta with Treasa singing in my ear. I tried to be very explicit: I wanted to focus on what I was doing which was making dinner but I think Treasa was upset by my directness. After dinner she left and I felt I could have some time to myself.
I decided not to go down to the evening performance but to go instead to the Silver Strand. I actually started off by driving west to see what was beyond the hotel but I saw signs for the Silver Strand and didn’t remember ever being there before.
The parking lot was a high bluff. There was a steep path down to the beach. From the top I could see how bright and clean the beach was. In the light of the setting sun the sand reflected an orange color.
I was the only person there. I walked to the end of the beach, about a half a mile, then sat on the rocks looking out at the deep blue of the ocean. On either side of the bay arms jutted out to embrace it.
As darkness descended I made my way back to the car, grateful for one of the most beautiful and quietest moments of my life.

LEABA CHOLMCILLE

The advanced classes went out for a walk along the Turas with Jimmy, the local historian and expert on St. ColmCille and the pilgrammage route around the valley. The pilgrammage can be done at any time but it is traditionally done by local people on July 9, the anniversary of ColmCille’s death. There are twenty four stops on the pilgrammage route and special prayers are said at each. It is usually done barefoot.
Jimmy, who is in his eighties, was very hard to understand. Ray MacManus did a kind of translation into intelligible Irish but it was still hard to follow.
We made our way up the mountainside to the holy well associated with St. ColmCille. Along the way we stopped at ColmCille’s Bed. Jmmy explained how to a stone is passed around the torso and a blessing said. When we got to the well he showed us how a stone is thrown onto the pile by each pilgram. He told us that he threw his first stone in 1945.
It was such a beautiful day. From high up on the mountainside you could look east down the valley as far as the Eaglais Gallda (what the locals refer to the Protestant church as) and beyond that to Glenish. To the west the deep blue of the Atlantic was caressing the feet of Malin Mór. Centuries hung in the air between them.

ANOTHER COURT TOMB

I woke up early on Sunday with the intention of driving out to Tobar Naomh Ciaran to see the court tomb that is in the fields beyond. It was such a beautiful beginning to the day I didn’t want to waste the opportunity of seeing this monument. Last year I got as far as the cairn with Beryl and Madeleine but was persuaded from going further. This year Oi was determined to see it.
I picked up Treasa at the Teach Mór. She was as eager as I to see the tomb. As we went past Roarty’s we saw Edie and Sylvia walking up the road. We stopped and asked them if they wanted to accompany us. We had a great time in the car, singing and catching up on everybody’s story.
The monument looks a lot closer from the road than it actually is. It took us quite a while to make our way through the bog, over fences, across a stream, and down the steep hillside to the tomb. But it was worth it. It’s hard to describe in words the feeling of being in the presence of something that has been sitting there for millennia, suffice it to say we were awestruck.
On the way back up the hill to the road we found wild peppermint growing and two different species of orchids.

CREEVYKEEL

On the road back to Donegal from Sligo we saw a sign for Creevykeel Court Tomb. Of course we had to stop! Right at the entrance to the site there was a “rag tree”. This is a tree where people hang a piece of cloth or a strip of clothing that has touched the part of their body that needs curing. This tree was covered in strips of paper towel and paper napkins instead of cloth. I wonder if one person had done all the hangings.
The court tomb itself was very impressive. According to the information sign it “was built in the 3rd millennium BCE and consists of a burial chamber opening off the open central courtyard.” There are possibly two more smaller passage graves at the narrow end of the wedge shaped structure. From the mound you can look out at the bay in one direction and the mountains in the other. A really beautiful place to build the Taj Mahal.
MORE INFO ABOUT CREEVYKEEL

STONE PAGES: CREEVYKEEL

SLIGO TOWN

We got to Sligo Town at about 3:30 in the afternoon. It was such a beautiful day – sunny with big white clouds in the sky. Sligo is a busy place, and of course we were there on a Saturday, the busiest day of the week. We found parking along the river. We had to run the gauntlet of an aul’ one who might have been waiting for the space that we took. Treasa wanted to see the shops so we split up. I went looking for a cybercafe and she wandered around the town centre.
Later in the afternoon we got together again. I had already met Emily and Aaron on the street. They were in Sligo to pick up a rental car at the airport. Treasa and meself went to the Yeats Memorial Building (where there is a little restaurant) to have coffee and a sandwich.
By the time we were finished the shops were starting to close up. We hurried to Tesco to buy a chicken for the Sunday dinner. Tesco has self-checkout but that’s a misnomer since we had so many problems with the machine that the supervisor ended up checking us out. Whoever came up the concept gets my vote for most useless modern invention.
We left Sligo at 6:30 so that we could be back in the Gleann for the big opening meeting of Scoil Shamhraidh.

YEATS' GRAVE, DRUMCLIFF CHURCHYARD

“Under bare Benbulbin’s head” we stopped to visit Yeats’ grave. The cemetery is just outside Sligo Town on the road from Donegal. There were a lot of people about, the car park was full. There is now a tea room and art gallery on the grounds that weren’t there the last time I came through in 1982!
The church itself has been restored but it is now so new and shiny looking that it has lost all its old character. I suppose buildings must be conserved and restored but couldn’t they be renewed in a way that is sensitive to the centuries of struggle and strife that the building has been witness to?
There is a fine high cross from the 11th century in the churchyard. On one side panels depict the Fall of Man (Thank you Eve!), the Presentation in the Temple, and the Crucifixion; on the other side, Cain is slaying Abel and Christ is resurrected.

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DONEGAL TOWN

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We got an early start to the day. We decided to go down to Donegal Town to do a bit of shopping, and if we felt like it maybe drive as far as Sligo Town. It didn’t take us long to get to Donegal. It was a fine bright morning with little traffic on the road until we got beyond Killybegs.

As soon as we had the car parked we took a little walk about town. Treasa had postcards she wanted to mail out so we went looking for the post office. After that we dropped into the Blueberry Café for a spot of breakfast. There were at least two other people speaking Irish in the café. Brian, the owner came out to speak with us. He always remembers me and Rich and always asks about Vladimir. He is such a wonderful host, it’s not surprising his café is thriving. There is no longer tagine on the menu but at least he is trying other new things like coq au vin and tandoori salmon wrap. I wonder how the dour Donegallers are taking to that.

Treasa wanted to see the famine graveyard so we took a walk out in that direction after breakfast. Along the road the skies darkened and a heavy downpour caught us out in the open. We took shelter beneath a rowan tree until the rain let up.

FAKE VILLAGE (FOLK VILLAGE)

There is an incredible building boom going on in GleannCholmCille. Houses are springing up everywhere. There is a new small hotel with self-catering apartments by the fire station, and close to where I’m staying five new holiday homes have been built.
This expansion has been taking place all over Ireland but until recently the Gleann has been relatively untouched. Now development has arrived with a vengence. It seems every telephone pole has a planning application notice displayed. There are even more street lights too so it never gets quite as dark as it used to.

DEORA DÉ

It’s getting a little rough – sessions every night until 2 and classes every morning at 10. Last night there was a tremendous session in Roarty’s which wasn’t very crowded. When singers sang people actually stayed quiet! Margaret and Derek led the session with guitars and fiddle and others joined in. A woman played the harp and sang a haunting version of “Fields of Gold”, not exactly traditional material but beautiful all the same. And of course Salvatore was in fine fettle. How did we ever keep the tradition alive before Italians and Poles came along?

SUNSET

We have been singing since we arrived here. Last night we walked down to the beach to see the sunset. It had rained hard for most of the day, on and off between bouts of sunshine. But at sunset the sky turned pink and red and orange as the sun slowly sank into the Atlantic. It was magnificent.
On the road back from the beach we heard a flock of birds singing. Suddenly a black cloud rose up from the grass, swirling around in a dark mass before settling down again in the bushes. As they were moving we heard the sound of hundreds of tiny wings beating in unison. It was a vivid portrayal of the lines from the song “Eirigh Suas a Stoirin” that say “When the flock settles down together at night there are always two birds that rise up together in the morning”. Me and Rich.

THE BOOK OF AMOS

We went to the 12 o’clock service at the church. A visiting minister from Derry (he called it Londonderry) was officiating, and again they had the electronic music to enhance the singing of the small congregation. The first reading was from the Book of Amos. God tells Amos that he will be like a plumbline to the people of Israel. There was something about “the dressers of sycamores” which I didn’t understand. Later, Robin told me that sycamores meant figs but then why didn’t it just say “dresser of figs”. And what does “dresser” mean? At the end of the story God tells Amos that he will put the wife of the King into prostitution, and make his children fall by the sword and scatter the people of Israel. I’m still not sure how that all came about.
The second reading was from the Gospel of Saint Luke, the story of the Good Samaritan. The reverend used this story as the basis for his sermon. He spoke about Darfur and how “religious people” have forgotten their responsibility – like the priest and the Levite in the story of the Good Samaritan.
After the service I asked the woman who open the church and gets it ready for the service if the sacred music recital would take place again this year. She told me that the church organist has cancer so many similar things have been cancelled out of respect for her. I think this explains the boombox hymn accompaniments.

BASTILLE DAY AT LOUGH ERNE

I drove up to Donegal with Treasa. The great thing about going with someone like Treasa (besides the company – gearraoin beirt bothar) is that she is more than willing to stop along the way to investigate. So we stopped in Kells to see the high crosses again. This time I got to see and photograph the Market Cross with its depictions of Noah’s Ark and the crucifixion. We drove through Cavan without stopping since there is a new by-pass. As we moved into Fermanagh the weather turned glorious with bright sun, blue skies, and big fluffy clouds. Along the lake, Lower Lough Erne, we found a little spot to stop and park so that we could see the lake. It was magnificent, a truly remarkable sight. After that we had a brief stop in Belturbet for lunch. Across the street from the café (a misnomer, since there was only instant coffee available) was a sculpture of two figures, a young man and a young woman. The figures represented two sixteen year olds who had died on the same day. There was no other information about what it meant.
We arrived in the Glen at about 7:30 in the evening.

ADAM AND EVE, KELLS HIGH CROSS

We went for a drive out into the countryside today. Helen had the day of and Timmy is on Summer break from school. It was pouring down rain when we left but in the spirit of eternal optimism we set out for Tara and Kells in hopes that it might be better. It never did get better.

TARA PROTEST

Today was a World Day of Protest against the destruction of the Hill of Tara by the new M3 motorway.

BACK IN NANTES, EN ROUTE TO IRELAND

Today, I’m taking the Ryanair flight from Nantes to Dublin. I’m by myself. Rich took me to the train station at Saumur this morning to get the early train to Nantes. I had a layover of several hours so I decided to walk around the centre of Nantes for a while. I had coffee in the Place de Pilori and was even able to check email via a free wifi hotspot (free for 15 minutes after viewing a 3 minute ad promo, www.fon.com).
On the airport shuttle bus there was an Irish woman traveling with her 12 month old baby boy. I asked her if she needed help getting her things off the bus. But instead of me unloading her things she asked me if I would hold her baby while she did it. I was surprised that she let me hold her baby while she looked out for the more valuable Dunnes Stores wardrobe. Who says Irish people don’t know their way about the world?

OUR LITTLE HOUSE

This is our little house. Inside, on the ground floor is the kitchen/dining room/living room and the access to the back patio.
Right outside our door on the other side of the street is the main entrance to the chateau. To the left of the entrance you can see the house of the Mushroom Lady – the woman who grows mushrooms in the caves and sells them every Sunday at the weekly market in the Place du Mail. We sampled her wares this week.

GAY BAR?

We spent most of the day in Saumur. We found a construction company that does local work in the region. We had to wait until they were open. Most offices and many small stores close for lunch between 12 and 2 – a very civilized way of conducting business. When we came back we asked them about installing “historically correct” double-paned windows at the house. We had already decided that this is going to be the extent of the work that we are going to do this year. They said they couldn’t come out to measure and estimate for about two weeks. Then it would take another two weeks to fabricate the windows, but not during the annual holidays in August. So we are looking at September before any real work takes place. Everything moves a little slower in France.

When we finished our business we went for a glass of wine to a little café that we had been to before. The café – El Cafelito – is in the Saint Nicholas district. We have been to this café before but couldn’t determine if it was a gay bar or not. In France, and in Europe in general, everybody stares, so it can be difficult to determine if they are staring because we look so different or because they don’t expect non-French gay people to visit their café, or because they think we are lost straight people. Anyway, everybody stared at us the first time we went to this café so we knew we had found something like a gay bar. This time the signs were more explicit. An obvious transvestite/transgender was sitting at the bar having drinks with a man in leather pants (The leather pants is the giveaway, not the transgender). We ordered a glass of red wine but we didn’t have the temerity to enquire further about the bar.