Wednesday, September 26, continued

I got ahead of myself.  When I came upstairs to meet with the Symanskys, I brought my computer and my breakfast up with me.  When I am traveling, I often have a meal replacement shake, like Ensure, for breakfast.  It’s a good vehicle or swallowing all those supplements I take, because I don’t eat veggies.  It’s handy, and it holds me until dinner time, with just a tiny snack in the afternoon.  I set myself up on the kitchen table, Ensure beside computer, and I shook the thing.  It’s a shake, after all.  Only I didn’t notice the cap was off, and I shook it all over my clothes, papers, computer, etc.  Yes, computer.  I have killed a few laptops in my day, first with Coke, then with wine, and now, Ensure.  It’s the circle of life.  The good news is that Ensure is very viscous, and over a week later, the computer is running fine.  But, oh, the shame of it all.

I wiped down the computer, and everything else in sight, and changed my clothes, while Judy put the chocolate soaked ones in the wash and wiped the table and floor.  Then she put what was left of the Ensure into a glass, to protect me from myself  I finished my breakfast, and got busy on the cruise.

Cruise booked, I went back to Ternis’ for a couple of hours but I had to leave at 2:30 pm to get on the road to Ile Bizard, before the traffic made that a 2-hour project.  My Royal Banker had given me a good route, that became better, when I missed the turn off to Hwy 40, which would have led me west, then up St. John’s road, to the Société des Alcools du Quebec, and Ile Bizard.  There would be a lot of traffic on St. John’s, which usually has its own share of orange cones.  I was on the phone, you see.  I realized my error, when I passed the last exit on the Island of Montreal, and crossed the bridge to Laval.  Luckily, I used to live on Ile Bizard, and had clients in Laval, so I knew there was a ferry if I could just find it.  Google Maps doesn’t always work for me here, and it kept telling me it was offline, so I just followed my nose, and called Rod and Claude.  I had trouble following what they were telling me to do, but following my nose west worked just fine, and soon Boulevard Samson turned into Bord du Lac, and I knew I would find the ferry from there.

It’s a funky little ferry, and it only fits three cars, but it uses the current for power, so it’s nice and quiet and does the environment no harm.  I got right on and was at the Andersons’ house by 4:15 pm.  I was a terrible guest.  All I wanted to do was hop onto their Internet, catch up, and finish my travel work.  I worked until 7:00 pm, when Ginger and Scruffy got there for dinner.

Claude had really knocked herself out. The table was gorgeous.

Her passed hors d’oeuvres were home-made savory pastries, filled with cheese and either olive, ham, or a huge blackberry.  For a sit down appetizer, she had made foie gras millefeuilles, with layers of spice cake and foie.  The main course was braised lamb shank, and she had made tarte tatin for dessert.  I was very impressed.  I was also very exhausted, to the point that I didn’t drink much, nor did I tell many stories.  I actually went to bed at ten-thirty and slept around the clock.

I woke up refreshed on Thursday, got a blog out, and did a full set of exercises.  I was in fine fettle for the next party.  It was at Chris and Marge Mapp’s house, just across the bridge in Pierrefonds.  I got Rod and Claude to muster a bit early, so I could make the SAQ stop I missed on Wednesday.  The party consisted of JoAnn Dery, Adam & Judy Symansky, Rod and Claude, and moi-même.  Four of us were AOPis, three from McGill and Marge, who met Chris, back in the day, at McGill’s French Summer school.  Adam and Chris were at McGill when I was there, too.  These are seriously old friends, I want you to know.

The Mapps had knocked themselves out, too.  We had duck rillettes and shrimp dip for starters.  The rillettes came on crackers and the shrimp dip with veggies.  Luckily they had extra crackers.  Then we had broiled bacon and basil wrapped shrimp on skewers, which was wonderful.   Our main was grilled filet mignon, baked potatoes with all the trimmings, and green beans.  Marge made her own apple pie for dessert, too.  I am very spoiled.  We rolled out of there pretty late, Rod and I propping each other up.  It was a good idea, until I fell into the ditch and he fell in after me.  Yes, Claude was driving.

Friday, September 28

I didn’t wake up in the pink of condition, but a couple of Advil, a long shower, and another full set of exercises helped a lot.  I stopped by the Patisserie de l’Ile Bizard, on the way out, where I had been told I could get pastries to rival the now defunct Gascogne.  I bought three custard millefeuilles, and an apricot tarte, which were very well received at Ternis.  Paul has been steadily improving on a diet of treats.  He can have dessert for every meal, now, for all that it matters.  He can’t get well, but he can get stronger and livelier, as he faces his planned end.  It’s kind of surreal, and stressful in a way I cannot describe.  I just feel the need for more sleep that usual, which is why these blogs are so late.

I stayed for most of the afternoon, entertaining Andrea, Jennifer, and Paul, each in a different way.  With Jennifer, we plan Paul’s celebration of life, with Andrea, we talk about our upcoming trip, and with Paul, I hold his hand and we talk about our adventures at IBM in the early days.

I took the Symanskys to Le Quartier Général, to repay their extraordinary hospitality.  Their basement apartment would be my base for three weeks by the time I leave.  The restaurant is on Gilford, in the East end, near where I went to grade school.  You bring your own wine and eat fabulous French food.  I had foie gras, for the third time, rabbit for my main course, and churros for dessert.  OK, so they’re Spanish.  We’re not actually in France, so the restaurant could get away with it.

Saturday, September 30, I worked away, on my computer and on my body, and spent the afternoon at Ternis.  Paul has limited visitors to people he has known forty years and more, as he has limited energy.  He is still with us, though, very alert when he isn’t asleep.  He needs a lot of that.  Andrea had gone to Magog to get a couple of days off from the stress, and to pick up pictures that would be needed for a slide show for Paul’s Celebration of Life.  She had seen the venue, atop Montreal’s mountain, and was well pleased with it.  I had left this weekend free for Terni projects, and wanted to try a new Thai restaurant in Westmount that the Symanskys love.  I proposed Thai take-out to Jennifer and it was the perfect idea.

Ordering was easy.  The menu was online.  Pick-up at “Pick Thai” was a nightmare.  Though it was not at all far from where I used to live, and though I haven’t forgotten how the city is laid out, I couldn’t find the place.  Between the orange cones and the double bike lanes right in front of it, I circled four times.  They were big circles, too, the same ones I had to make to get to the hospital, earlier in the week.  Eventually, I made it and got the food.  To my delight, Paul liked it, too, and had a healthy, for him, portion.  Jennifer and I were both exhausted, so we made it an early night.

Sunday, October 1, I met Roslyn and Real for Dim Sum at Kam Fung in Brossard, again.  It seems to be all I ever do with these guys, but it’s not broken, that idea.  I brought food, and their love, back to Ternis’ around one.  Then I went back to Westmount to exercise, and have a little walk around the old hood.  There was a snotty French woman in my favorite clothing store, so I saved a lot of money.  My optician wasn’t there, but I had a great experience in Lululemon.  I found two tops I liked, to replace those which I had forgotten to pack, and a charming sales person called around to get my size from two other stores.  I’ll have them to travel with.  Lulemon is a Canadian company, manufacturer of casual and exercise clothing, in innovative fabrics.  They started ten or fifteen years ago and are all over the continent now, if not the world.  Nice.

Judy and Adam were hosting Symansky family Sunday, and I enjoyed cocktail hour immensely, with this wonderful family.  All three of the Symansky daughters have charming significant others and there are three grandkids:  Alex, who is in the midst of choosing where she will go to high school, Malcolm, who is still in the very middle of grade school, and very charming, and Oliver, who’s still a kid, and the life of the party, noise-wise.  I would have stayed but Andrea was back from the country, and I joined her, Jennifer and Paul for duck confit, salad and yummy treats, of which there are never any shortage there.  It would have been an early night, but Adam and Judy were cleaning up when I got back, so it was more wine and more great companionship.

Sunday, September 23

Sunday morning, the three little AOPis, JoAnn, Judy and Helen, were scheduled to go to Three Rivers to see the painting I commissioned last April, at a show in Fort Mason, San Francisco.  JoAnn, however, wound up in the hospital Friday night, suffering from a fever of unknown cause.  They fixed her up, but not so’s we could take her on a road trip today.

It was a busy road trip.  I did the fulfillment for the two cruises I sold on Saturday night, using Judy as my administrative assistant, while I drove.  By the time we got to Three Rivers, both cabins were bought and paid for.  That’s a good day’s work.

Zabel’s atelier is the front room of her house.  Her husband, Jean-Francois, is delightful, and gorgeous, and they have four lovely children.  They all came out to be introduced in English, so cute.  My triptych was almost finished, and I took pictures, but I don’t think I want to spoil the vernissage, by showing one here.  You will all have to wait to come party with it.

We sort of skipped lunch, but I stopped by a “patate” and bought French fries and gravy.  That’s poutine, without the cheese curds.  We shared it.  Judy had about six fries and I ate the rest.  Urp.  We took the side road along the river, going through a few small towns, and more bedroom communities.  We ended up coming in to Montreal, along Sherbrooke street, just in time for the Symansky family dinner for Judy, and dinner with Snell and Bev, for me.

Linda Snell and Bev Rowat have the most gorgeous new apartment on Wilder Penfield.  That’s downtown, but up the hill, near the Old Royal Victoria Hospital, and just up the street from Ginger’s town house.  It’s bigger than all three floors of their old house, very bright, well laid out, and it has a wonderful, ginormous patio.  Wendy Sissons was there, too, and we all ate warm dead bird and drank wine.  I can easily do that every week.  Linda and Bev have been spending so much time in Japan, these past few years, they waved me out.

Monday night found us at the same dinner table again, but this time in Chinatown.  Our old “Dump” has closed after about forty years, so we went to Keung Kee, about as authentic as it still gets.  Linda has Chinese Residents, and they know.  By Residents, I mean young Doctors.  She teaches Medicine. Our Crew Dinners, get smaller every year, like everything else from the past.  It was just Linda and Bev, Kathie and Peter, and Theresa Benedek.  It was so wonderful to see everyone again, and the lobster with ginger and shallots, was as good as ever.  They had Dungeness crab, done the same way, and I wanted to try it.  It was just as good as the lobster, but no better, and twice the price.  Don’t bother with that.

Tuesday morning, I had an appointment with Linda in her professional capacity.  I like her checking me out, knowing how my medical life is progressing.  It’s nice to know that I am very healthy, for someone my age.  She always shakes her head, as my diet and alcohol consumption should likely have killed me by now.  But here I am, still trucking along.  Rod Anderson gets the same diagnosis. We laugh about it and try to do better, but we’re having too much fun.  I was late for my appointment.  I had checked out the whereabouts of the new McGill University health centre and had proudly told Linda the night before that I knew exactly where it was.  Knowing where it is, didn’t mean I knew how to get there, though.  First I couldn’t turn left, where I wanted to turn left.  Then I couldn’t turn right, where I wanted to turn right.  Then I ran into another detour, etc.  I was fifteen minutes late.  I could probably have walked in the half-hour it took me to get there.  I parked in the short term parking lot, because I was late, and when I was done with seeing Linda, the paperwork and the waiting, it was two and a half hours and $25 later.

I spent a couple of hours at Ternis’, as I do every day.  Paul is still very bright, and seems to be getting a little better every day, as we all spoil him with treats.  I was supposed to be at Justine Sentenne’s at 5:30 pm but I was busy getting Andrea’s air for our Christmas get-away, and you can’t get off the phone in the middle of one of those calls.  I was finally released by the Royal Bank’s rewards person, because his computer was acting up, and he couldn’t finish the itinerary.  So, I was late meeting Justine, and he called back just when my main course was hitting the table.  I think it took another half-hour, during which time, Justine finished her dinner, while I watched her eat, and agreed to everything the man said, which was what we had agreed to before, but he had to repeat it all.  The food was great, when I finally got it, and she watched me eat.  They have a good chef at “Vistas”, which is an assisted living facility for seniors, with much the same structure as FGL, only it’s a high-rise, near the center of the city.  I had roast pork and it was lovely, but I didn’t get to sample their desserts, Justine had been shopping at the Patisserie de Nancy, and look what she brought home:

If I hadn’t been so busy the last couple of days, selling cruises and booking air and hotels, I would have invited a couple more people, but I never got it done.  So I pigged as much of that as I could and took the pistachio cake in the foreground for Rod Anderson, who had called Justine an hour ago, as he expected to find me there.  Well, Justine’s sister Helene, had died two years ago, and she thought Rod wanted to speak to her.  Apparently, it was quite the conversation. She felt a peace offering, of the pistachio cake in the foreground, was in order, and we were never going to finish all that.  I didn’t mind it being just us one bit, though.  Justine is always very interesting.  What a great friend to have.

I went back to Symanskys, took my computer out and looked at cruises with them.  They already knew pretty much what they wanted.  Wednesday morning, I called Viking and got a quote, looked at air, etc.  Then we had another meeting and finalized.  They’ll be on Viking Ocean, in the Baltic next May.  Nice itinerary, Stockholm to Copenhagen, with three days in St. Petersburg.

Thursday, September 20

Got up at Rosemary and Nick’s in Long Sault, did a bunch of exercises, taught Rosemary a couple of my favorites, and presented myself in John’s dental office at 11:15 am.  I got a clean bill of dental health, but my jaw will need a nighttime splint to keep It from slipping, which is sometimes quite painful.

Then I was back on the road and made it into the center of Montreal, where the Ternis live, in one hour, instead of the two it took to get to Cornwall.  The whole city is a construction zoo (not a typo). You never saw so many cones and detour signs.  Even the people who put them up can’t cope with it, so there are signs missing, all over the detours.  People get lost and make matters worse, etc.  Add to that the fact that Montreal has a new mayor and she likes pedestrians and bicycles far better than she likes cars.  Not only can you not turn right on a red, you can’t even turn right in the first 30 seconds of a green, in case you might hit a pedestrian.  You’re a car.  You have no rights.  You can’t drive over the mountain any more, either, because someone killed a cyclist with a car.  My friends tell me it was the cyclist’s fault.  The car was, of course, blamed.

You can, however, pay to park, and pay, and pay, and pay.  It’s $3 an hour outside the Ternis’ door.  Elvon would be pleased, though.  Manulife Financial are sponsoring the bicycles that you pick up in one place and drop in another.  The Manulife logo is all over the place.  Elvon was on the committee that selected it, probably 30 years ago.  He likely chaired it.  They had names for the various logos presented by design firms for their consideration.  Elvon was the proud parent of the one that won.  He christened it “The three Sperm.”

I spent about an hour at Ternis.  I showed Paul Elvon’s slide show, which he liked, but it was late in the day and he was tired.  I had to leave, anyway, as I had an appointment with the Royal Bank of Canada at 5:00 pm.  The only way they would accept Elvon’s death certificate, close his account and transfer the money to me, was if I showed up in person, with an original and a copy of his will.  We got stuck on the fact that the will was a copy, but I have never had an original, and it would have cost me lawyer’s fees to get one.  I had cleared this with them on the phone last February, but…oh, well.  It got done.

I just made it out in time to meet Marilyn and Ted Salhany in St. Laurent at Il Boccalini.  They look great, which was nice to see.  I am having quite enough of dying, this year.

Friday, September 21

I had managed to pick up a 6-pack of wine, between Ternis’ and the bank, on Thursday, but I needed a few more things.  So, I did a little shop and got to Ternis around 2:00 pm.  I offered Jennifer her choice of dinner out with me, or a date night with her husband, who had driven up from Worcester, Mass, where they live.  She took the date night.  I spent some time with Paul and walked down to St. Catherine Street for a bottle of wine and a couple of Montreal treats.  Andrea had some nice salmon to cook, so we three back at the apartment were all set.  Jennifer and Phil saw “Crazy Rich Asians”, and brought back take-out.  The night out was good for them, and nice for Andrea and Helen, too.

Saturday, September 22

I was up at the crack of dawn to have my hair cut by my old coiffeuse, at her home on Bellechasse.  She’s a teacher now, but she still sees a few old clients.  I had a little time before I had to be on the South Shore for Dim Sum, so I drove down the street where I lived from the time I came home from the hospital until I got married.  It’s a very ordinary Montreal neighborhood, but it’s clean and pretty, with nice mature trees.  We lived upstairs on the right in the stone one and downstairs in the brick one, which is twice as big.  These are triplexes, one flat on the ground floor and two on the second floor.  It’s typical Montreal housing, with outdoor staircases, in one of the fiercest climates in the world.  Go figger.

The best Dim Sum in Montreal is now in Brossard, where the Chinese population is centered.  It’s a lot richer Chinese population than it was forth years ago, and it’s reflected in the food.  Oh, yum. Roslyn and Real and I pigged out, like we have been doing for more years than I can count.  We bought a bunch of extra dumplings, spare ribs, spring rolls, char siu, etc. for the Terni house.  Jen and Phil were delighted, and Paul was happy to eat some, too.

Andrea was coming out as my dinner date.  We ate at Le Margaux, a yummy BYOW (bring your own wine) restaurant on Park avenue in Outremont.  Rosie Morgan and Patrick Brunet, who have been feeding Elvon and Helen tirelessly for years, chose it.  I was paying back.  I also invited Jean Paul and Ellen Morneau, for the same reason.  We are all friends because of the Ternis, and JP and Ellen have extended plenty of hospitality to yours truly, too.  The meal was terrific.  I had foie gras three ways, pork at least two ways, and three profiteroles for dessert.  We drank Sancerre for Elvon, and three other bottles, for ourselves.

We talked travel, as I had invited Andrea to share my cabin from Buenos Aires to San Antonio, Chile, December 23 to January 6.  I figured that Andrea would need serious distraction at Christmas, as it was Paul’s birthday, to make matters worse.  It’s pretty good, 3 days in Buenos Aires, with a nice Tango Tour, already booked, followed by 14 days on Celebrity, Buenos Aires to San Antonio, around Cape Horn, then a 3-day wine tour.  The Chilean wine valleys are above and below the straight line that connects San Antonio and Santiago, from which the planes fly out.

I am going to be able to deduct that meal come tax time.  Both the Morneaus and the Brunets are going to join us and help us widows over our first Christmas alone.  What fabulous friends.  The Scalbergs are considering it, too.  Anybody else?

Monday, September 17, 2018

I flew on Elvon’s points, which are easier to use than to have transferred.  I wasted enough time on that to know.  I got routed through Calgary, which wasn’t too bad, but I didn’t get to Montreal until midnight, and I had left the Lodge at 8:15 am.  The United points algorithm allocated me seats at the very back of both planes, so I upgraded them to Premium Economy for about a hundred bucks, total.  This gave me more leg room, and, in both cases, a free seat between me and my seatmate on the aisle.  If you pick a row, where one of the aisle or window seats is taken, and book the other one, odds are no one is going to pay for the middle seat.  If you are a couple, pick both of them for the same result.  Don’t say this blog isn’t educational.

Hertz gave me the choice of a Corolla, or a mini-van, and I picked the Corolla.  It’s a good bit bigger than the one I had 20 years ago.  Nice.  Montreal is still a full-blown construction zone.  The Turcot interchange is downright scary at 1:00 am, with almost no one on it.  It’s a little like a roller coaster, without the rails to keep you in line.  You have to do that yourself and it’s not easy.  You can’t go the way you want to go, either.  I managed to get on Decarie, where I was expecting to have to cross three lanes in a hurry to get on to Sherbrooke, one of the stupider traffic circles in the entire world.  Well, I guess they are fixing it, because I was past Sherbrooke when I got on and had to cross three lanes of traffic, in a hurry, to get off at the next exit up, Côte St-Luc – Queen Mary.  Then Côte St-Luc was blocked, so I had to take the service road to Queen Mary, ride that east to Victoria, and come down on my destination. I know the territory, and Adam had generously ceded his parking spot, and called Westmount for permission to park on the street.  We are close to downtown, right in Victoria Village.  Parking on this street, and all the ones around, is 1 hour, overnight by appointment.

I crawled into bed and slept like a log, until woken by a client at 10:10am.  Dealt with her request, as best I could, greeted Adam and Judy, got on the Internet, and sent out all that I had been writing on the plane.  The important thing was to get my schedule out to my Montreal friends.

Then I went to see Paul Terni.  He is dying of cancer, and has elected palliative care, at home.  He’s very weak, but still as sharp as ever, and still my manager.  His nephew, Peter Aglaganian was there, having lost his job of 38 years.  He managed three large datacenters for CGI, one if the biggest Canadian firms in that field.  But companies change, new management teams get control, and next thing you know, you’re out looking for a job at 50.  I asked him if he knew of Roslyn.  She got me good people when I was DP Manager at Direct film, and she got me my job at Tandem, when that fizzled.  She also brought Paul a lot of good people for the places he managed.  Roslyn’s a hard ass, but she knows her job, and she doesn’t mess around and waste your time.

Peter thanked me and said we could take this off line in a day or so.  Paul, who you would have thought was sleeping, said “Call her now”.  So Peter’s initial interview was played out over my speaker phone, in front of Paul.  It seemed to please him immensely to be getting something going from his deathbed.  He has no illusions, whatsoever, and is ready to meet his fate.  After all, no one gets out of here alive.  His daughter, Jennifer, missed her calling as a nurse, she’s fabulous.  I’m sure she prefers her real career, though.  Her email signature reads, in part: Jennifer Terni, Ph.D., Associate Head, Department of Literatures, Cultures and Languages, Associate Professor French, University of Connecticut.

I stayed a couple of hours, picked up some pastries, sadly not from the Patisserie de Gascogne, which is no more, and three warm dead birds, from Chalet BBQ, with fries, sauce and coleslaw, and pointed the car towards Cornwall.

Mine is a very small family and these are most of it, my cousin, Rosemary, her husband, Nick, their son John, his wife, Joanne, and their daughter Lily.  John’s two sisters live in Kingston, and his daughter, Sarah, is off in Nova Scotia, at a super private school.  Cornwall is a very working-class town, and they didn’t think much of its educational possibilities.  Joanne’s parents live nearby, so it’s all good.

Traffic getting out of Montreal was hideous, and it stayed so most of the way off the islands of Montreal and Ile Perrot.  It took me two hours to get to Long Sault, arriving at 6:30PM.  Out came the wine, duck liver mouse, cheese ring, crackers, and Sancerre, Elvon’s favorite wine.  We toasted him, and I loved the idea.  I’ll be buying Sancerre, myself, this trip.  The warm dead bird was its usual nurturing self, and Rosemary was happier than a clam, not to have had to cook. We don’t drink like we used to, I am sad to report.  I was in bed by eleven.

Wednesday, September 18

Since I hadn’t touched the computer in three days, and I had travel business to attend to, I spent most of the day on the computer, apart for an exercise hour and a 20-minute walk.  Next thing I knew, it was cocktail hour, and I hadn’t even started this diary.  We dropped some of Elvon’s ashes, from their dock, into the St. Lawrence, opposite the Eisenhower Dam.  He always liked it there.

Lily’s birthday was coming up in a couple of days, so we celebrated it early.  I love this picture of Lily and her father with the plastic cake form.

Wednesday, July 11th

We were ready for another adventure and so we set out in three cars for Ballymaloe house in Shannonbridge, Cork.  Marilyn Hotard had noticed its founder Myrtle Allen’s obituary, in the New York Times, and brought it to my attention.  I remembered Ballymaloe House from 2004, when Elvon and I, Pat Gustafson, and Mary and Sean had given ourselves an overnight treat, there.  It hasn’t changed much, but the shop is significantly expanded, and just what Cheff Scott needed.  He picked up a lot of interesting bits and bites to enhance our Lisheen culinary experience, among which, an oyster shucker.  I got a nice sweater and a jar of good mint jelly, two, actually, one for the castle and one to take home.

The house and grounds are beautiful.  Lunch was nicely served, by a motherly server, who really seemed to care about us.  It was unexceptional, though.  We are very spoiled.  We passed on touring the cookery school, and made for home.

Our car decided to stop at the Rock of Cashel, because Carolyn has friends by that name, and she wanted to photograph a few gravestones.  It’s one of Ireland’s better ruins, so we crawled all over it and watched its video, before we realized we might be wanted back home at the castle.  Don’t you love how that flows out of me?  To the manor born, I am.

This was Chef’s night off, and the plan was for us all to eat in Thurles, and go to the pub later, when the music started.  There’s music once a week in Thurles, and it’s on Wednesday night, you see.  Scott wasn’t totally on side with that idea, as the leftovers were accumulating in the fridge and he had a plan for them.

We had drinks on the patio and a meeting, punctuated with phone calls to the pub and Ritchie Fogarty, who had a van to take us there.  The music wasn’t to get going until at least ten o’clock, and O’Gorman’s Pub doesn’t serve food after eight.  We could have gone to Mitchel House, Thurles only five-star restaurant, but Scott really did not want us to.  He promised it would be no work at all to make a curry out of Monday’s left over leg of lamb and Sunday’s left over risotto, from the chicken dinner. Add a salad, left over potatoes, and some homemade chutney and raita, and we were done.  We even had mango sorbet in the freezer for dessert.  It was a real treat, and it took Scott all of about twenty minutes to whip up.

By the time it was time to go to the pub, there were only three people interested, John Hotard, Chef Scott and myself.  Richie Fogarty came to pick us up and had a nice conversation with Kathy and Jean, doubtless distant relatives.  The area around here is full of Fogartys, now.

By the time we got to O’Gorman’s Pub, there were eight or ten musicians playing.  They have a core group of four, whom the publican engages, and people come from all around with their instruments.  At the peak, which was around mid-night, there were nineteen musicians, playing various instruments, all acoustic.  There were four fiddles, three or four bodhráns, Uilleann pipes, a flute, two tin whistles, a harmonica, a couple of banjos, maybe, three, at least three guitars, and three very different accordions.  Yes, I know that’s more than nineteen, but some of the musicians played more than one instrument, you see.

We made friends, because you couldn’t help it, with one Patrick Fitzgerald, who was likely the town drunk.  He was an out-of-work engineer, because he had a DWI accident, and could not shut up about the Canadians who were there last week and only wanted to play golf.  He wanted us to experience the very spiritual ruin, Kilcooley Abbey, which we promised to do, and then didn’t, but we promised in good faith, and it seemed to help.

John Hotard got four local women to talk to our young, handsome chef, and it took me, John, the publican, and Richie Fogarty about a half hour to pry him out of there at 1:30 am.  It was a good night.

Thursday, July 12th

I didn’t get up any too early the next morning, so I don’t really know what the others did.  I stayed home, worked the spreadsheet, and caught up with whatever other travel work was outstanding.  Mid-afternoon Scott and I went to Kilkenny to meet the others at Smithwicks Brewery.  We got there too late to take the tour and still go to Kilkenny Design House, to see if Scott could find a present for his girlfriend.  He did, and I hope she likes her Irish earrings that look a little like spoons.

You can only get oysters on Thursdays in Thurles, which, by the way, is pronounced tur-less.  When Scott opened up the ones he got in the morning, they were mussels.  I made the run to exchange them for our order, which is why we missed the beer tasting.  The oysters, however, were well worth it.  They were tender and delicious and we had them out on the patio, where the weather was glorious, as it had been, ever since we got to Ireland. 

For dinner, we had Caesar Salad, a pork chop, with an excellent sauce, cauliflower, roast potatoes, and homemade peach cobbler for dessert. There were a lot of Irish coffees, too.

On Thursday nights, in the neighboring village of Upperchurch, Jim O’the Mill comes alive.  It was named Ireland’s best pub in 2015,There are stories you can google on the Internet.  Here’s one: https://www.irishcentral.com/travel/pub-with-no-beer-six-nights-a-week-named-irelands-best-pub  It looks like a great idea, but it starts even later than O’Gormans, and we only had two takers, John and Scott.  I probably should have gone, but even I run out of gas.  John was certainly glad he had gone, as it was very interesting.  It has expanded considerably, since the original article, and now the music is in the barn, with the house just used to serve the beer and provide necessaria for the elimination of same.  Jim greets you in the kitchen, as you go to the loo.  There are folk of all ages from too young to drink beer, to too old to sing.  This Thursday, there were no instruments.  The whole performance was a cappella and the participants just took their turns, some egged on more than others.  The regulars know who is good.

They got back from that one at two-forty-five in the morning.

Friday, July 15th

Half of our group went off in the morning to play golf in Thurles.  Carolyn and I were in the other half, and it was our day for KP.  We cleaned up the kitchen after breakfast and I begged another couple of hours to finish up the accounting.  In the afternoon, Candy, Carolyn, the Hotards, Scott and I went to Holy Cross Abbey, originally a Cistercian Monastery, where there is a relic of the True Cross.  It has been ruined and rebuilt many times over its thousand-year life, and what we saw proved it.  There were ruins of the Abbott’s house, and gardens, alongside a functioning church, where there had just been a wedding.  The participants were strolling the graveyard, when we arrived.  We visited it ourselves, when we were done visiting the church and ruins.  It was probably the most interesting part, with graves right up to the present.

Dinner was a kitchen salad of bacon, blue cheese, broccolini and whatever else Scott found in the fridge.  We had an excellent lamb stew, that had everyone coming back for seconds, and yummy Pavlovas for dessert.  Scott went around the table, asking everyone what their favorite meal had been.  It was hard.  The seafood extravaganza in the formal dining room won, but every meal, except maybe the rotisserie chicken, got at least one vote.  Scott got a lot of much-deserved applause.  Then he went out to play tennis with Zane Everard, the castle owner.  He’s unstoppable.

Saturday, July 14th

We didn’t see Scott the next morning, as he had left for Dublin airport and an early flight.  The rest of us were not all that far behind him.  Thanks to Google Maps, the cars got back to Hertz, and we re-united all the luggage at the Camden Court Hotel.  Carolyn and I had a pub lunch, with the Hotards,  at The Bleeding Horse, next door, and they went off to the airport.

We took a short nap, and walked over to The National Museum of History, which had been recommended to us.  It was good, but our backs and feet hurt, so we moved to the elegant Shelbourne Hotel for a cup of tea.  We followed that with a real drink, killing time until it was time to meet Candy and Ernie for dinner at Cliff Town House, almost next door.  I think we’ll stay at the Shelbourne, the next time we are in Dublin.  Dinner at Cliff Town House was excellent.  It’s just steak and seafood, but very well done and we were happy to be just the four of us, at last, kind of like winding down.  After dinner, we walked over to The Merrion, where the Hales had stayed before the barge.  It looks like nothing at all from the front, but has an amazing courtyard, and is a lot bigger than it seems.  It, too, would be a good choice, for a Dublin stay, maybe even better than the Shelbourne.  The Hales sure loved it.

Sunday, July 15th

And so, as all good things, it came to an end.  We took a taxi to the airport, had breakfast there.  Our plane for Rekjavik was late leaving, etc., the usual.  Thanks to all who came, old and new friends, and especially to Carolyn, who put up with me as a roommate.  There are things, up with which to put, all right.  My boat crew knows.

Today’s News – another cruise

I just signed on as the Distinctive Voyages Concierge Host for a holiday cruise.  I think I’ll be happiest at sea this year.  If anyone wants to join me it’s:

Argentina & Chile Holiday – 14 days on Celebrity Eclipse – https://tinyurl.com/2018BAtoChile

I think Christmas in Montevideo will be just perfect.  Are you coming?

My 2019 Assignment – Maybe a cruise for you?

Seas of Enlightenment – Oceania Insignia, March 4 to 31, 2019, yup, 27 days

Enlightenment or not, this is a dream of a cruise.  I got early access to this for long and faithful service, as a concierge host.  The starting and ending ports are Sydney and Tokyo, places I’ve always wanted to explore more fully, I love Indonesia and the Philippines, and what’s not to love about Oceania?

https://tinyurl.com/InsigniaAsia190304   Australia, Indonesia, Philippines, Taiwan, Japan

Most categories are already wait listed.  That no longer scares me.  Three months before, plenty of cabins open up, and the wait list clears.  It is important to be on it.

And in October, 2018:

It’s a Mediterranean Cruise. We go Rome to Rome on Holland America’s Koningsdam.  I have clients booked in two cabins and it’s a Distinctive Voyage.  I bid for and got it.  Who else is coming with me? Take a look:
https://www.hollandamerica.com/details?webItineraryIdForAudit=E8M10B&fromSearchVacation=true&guestsCount=2&voyageCode=K862&selectedMeta=Interior&shipId=KO  October 8 sailing.

It’s seriously inexpensive.  Treat yourselves to a suite.  Comes with a free cocktail party and shore excursion.

 

Sunday, July 8^th, continued

Dunnes has a Montreal-style chicken rotisserie, and since shopping was taking so long, and there was a new batch of chickens coming out at noon, Scott and I followed our noses.  By the time we had procured the wine glasses at the EuroStore, and the ramekins at Dunnes, it was time for the booze and chickens. The chickens smelled so good, we had to sneak them into the castle, for fear they might become lunch, and we’d be back to square one for dinner.

Scott made that rotisserie chicken look like a three-star restaurant meal.  He concocted a complementary risotto, and made a creamy gravy that had us all licking our lips.  We have had phenomenal weather the entire time we have been here.  The sun shines every day and the highs range from 72 F to 81 F.  There’s a cocktail hour on the stone patio, every night, and Scott makes us hors d’oeuvres for this, too.  A good few are cheese and charcuterie, but we have seen gravlax, sautéed shrimp, and just wait until you see what we got on Thursday.

The ramekins got used the first night.  Scott made individual lemon upside down cakes in them.  Yummy.  After dinner there are country walks, as the sun doesn’t go down until about eleven.  The Fogarty sisters and their husbands play cards in the cosy library, and the rest of us keep drinking where we please around the castle, until we fall into bed.

Our bedrooms are pretty, posh, too, complete with period furniture, for the most part.  Carolyn and I have the only twin room, with an ensuite bath, and it’s over the breakfast room, where we eat most of our dinners.  Unlike Terry Letson, who brought his wife, a teenage daughter and a friend of hers, Scott came alone, so we are the servers, and we aren’t schlepping everything to the formal dining room.  I think it’s about a quarter mile from the kitchen.  The breakfast room opens on to it.

Monday, July 9^th

This is where we departed significantly from the standard tourist offering.  We were off to Kill, where Mary and Sean have had a country house for 25 years.  It’s very near the coast, just a little west of Waterford.  We went out in a convoy around 10:00 am, and all three cars made it there on time without event.  This is more of a feat than it sounds, given what it’s like to drive in Ireland.  A lot of the roads are not two cars wide, let alone a car and a lorry.  Sometimes you just pull over quickly and cringe.  Add the manual transmissions, and the wrong side of the road, and you get the idea.  It’s better now than it used to be, mind you, thanks to Google maps on our phones.

We met up in the 2-pub town of Kill, adjusting with WhatsApp, until we were all at the same pub.  Then Mary came out and led us to the house, where the O’Beachains had laid on a spread of salad and smoked salmon, with excellent soda bread and Irish butter, cream cheese, and capers.  Carolyn had got her way, and Mary had made shortbread for dessert. It was all very good, and we got to see what an Irish vacation home is like.  Theirs is interesting as it is an old peasant house, significantly enlarged and modernized by its new owners.  Twenty-five years of ownership is quite new here.  After lunch, Mary led us to the sea, less than five minutes away.  She was disappointed that none of us had brought a swimsuit, nor showed any interest in bathing in the sea.  There were sure a lot of locals out doing it.  The weather was that phenomenal.  They did look like they were having fun, but the business of getting ten of us into bathing suits, in which none of us looks good, then getting out of them and showering to get the salt off for the ride home, might have taken more than a day.  It’s not like there were public facilities, we would have had to have gone back to the O’Beachains.

From the ocean, the Scalbergs and Hotards left us, to move on to Waterford, on which their hearts were set.  Mary couldn’t understand it, as she knew the crystal company had long since closed down, and all that remained was the tourist trap. It turns out local knowledge was wrong, this time.  The Japanese, who had bought it, had sold it back to Irish interests, and it’s back in local production.  I am not clear on this story, but Candy and Ernie saw crystal being made and came back with two enormous wine glasses to prove it.  I’m sure all their good wine will taste even better.

Mary led the Panetta car, and mine, off for a tour of the copper coast, which extends west from Kill.  We decided it would be fun for Mary and Carolyn to be together in her car, so we took off with them in front, the Pannetta car in the middle, and me bringing up the rear.  It worked well for a couple of stops, until it didn’t, and I found myself alone on the road to Cork.  We were all trying to call each other, but somehow, we never connected.  The Panettas and Fogarty-Downings gave up on us and pointed their car towards Lisheen castle and cocktail hour.  I had no such option, as Carolyn was in Mary’s car.

I figured I should just keep driving until I found the first town with a pub with WiFi, which is all of them, now.  That turned out to be Dungarven, about fifteen miles West, but at least two of my readers will be pleased with my choice of pub. 

With the help of WiFi, my phone behaved better, and I was able to contact Mary, who arrived about a half hour later, with Carolyn.  I used the time to replace my map, which had gone AWOL at the castle that morning.  The new one won’t be leaving my car.

We beat the Panetta car home, because Lou hit a stone and got a flat.  That could have been a terrible experience except for the wonderful hospitality of the Irish.  Our people couldn’t get much sense out of their phones either, so they knocked on the door of the nearest farmhouse.  Mike and Tina took them in, and helped them to sort everything out and get the tire to the nearest garage to get fixed.  They also offered beer and nibbles, I think I was told.  Anyway, happy people arrived back at the castle, still in time for cocktail hour.  Gives a country a good name, that sort of thing.

Carolyn had gone straight from the car into the kitchen, as she had become Scott’s sous-chef.  She’s enjoying it and learning a lot that she can put to use when she manages the church suppers back home in Ohio. I, of course, needed some computer time.  I always need some computer time.  That’s how I stay in business, from all over the world.

Tonight we had roast leg of lamb mint jelly, fried potatoes and peas, baker’s pies and ice cream.  It was like the Sunday dinner we all grew up with, with more imaginative sauces.  Even the mint jelly was better.  It had come from Ballymaloe House; of which you’ll hear more later in the week.  The bakery pies were no roaring hell, though.  We won’t be buying those again.  The ice cream was the best part of dessert.

Tuesday, July 10^th

I had thought we might go to the Cliffs of Moher, on Tuesday, but no one was ready for another long day of driving on Irish roads.  Carolyn and Scott went shopping for seafood, and etc.  The Scalbergs and Hotards went to Kilkenny, in the afternoon, to buy wine.  I don’t know where the other car went, but mine went nowhere at all.  I was catching up on paperwork.  We had an ambitious plan for dinner.  Mary was coming to stay the night.  Everyone was so happy to have her, that we decided to eat in the formal dining room.  We hired a girl named Lisa to do the serving, so we could behave like the nobility that we are.

Mary got lost because she was too stubborn to use the simpleton’s directions I had given her.  They would have taken her a bit out of her way, but cut about three-quarters of an hour off the time she eventually made.  She probably circled Lisheen for a half hour, until a local lady took pity and led her in.  Oh, the shame of it all.  It sure made me feel better, though.

The formal dining room is pretty impressive.  The table would easily sit twenty.  Look at all the elbow room we eleven had.

Yes, our chef manages to find time to sit down with us.  Did anyone recognize him here?  He’s Scott Kendall, chef-owner of Carpe Diem in downtown Napa.  Check it out on Open Table and see that an impressive 94% would go back rating.  That’s Mary behind me, and Carolyn behind Scott.  Candy and Ernie are on the other side of the table.  The dining room’s vaulted ceiling is done with paintings of Irish legends, with Everard family members in the various roles.  It was the Lloyd family’s castellated home, built in the1850s, torched by the IRA in 1921, and restored by the Everards in the 1990s.  The Everards are an old Norman family, long resident in Ireland.  They had a real castle in Tipperary, Burncourt, which was built around 1641, but somebody else owns that, now, and it’s still a ruin.

The appies were Scott’s home-made graavlax, started when he arrived on Saturday, and just right now.  The starter course was fresh mussels, there was a beet salad somewhere in there, and the main was hake and salt cod.  We had buttered new potatoes, and a couple of vegetables, which I ignored, of course.    Dessert was chocolate pots de crème, which were cup-licking good.  So much for nobility.

After a little Bailey’s Irish Cream, we dispersed a bit, and after a couple of hours, I had to throw Candy, Carolyn and Scott out of the living room to get Mary to myself for a bit.  She was very popular, and so she should have been.  I don’t keep a friend for sixty years if she isn’t a winner.  We ended up in Mary’s room, still talking at 2:00 am, just like the old days.  There’s a sad note here, now.  Mary’s brother, Arthur, is dying of cancer in Vancouver, B.C.  We all loved Arthur.  That man had the most wicked sense of humour.  He was brilliant, and a good friend to many of us.  Life is short, we need to live it to the fullest.  We are the lucky ones.

Forgot to mention, after dinner we were treated to a harp recital by Ethen, which is not how it’s spelled, but how it sounds.  Ethan and Ivana are the only two staff Rory and Olivia have.  The four of them do absolutely everything, from washing the boat and van, cleaning the rooms, cooking and serving three meals, plus snacks and drinks at all hours, wasking up, moving the van to where it has to be next day, etc.  Rory just takes a cab back.  They are fabulous.  The Shannon Princess is highly recommended.

Friday, July 5

I had been feeling peaked most of this segment.  First I blamed the drink, but when I quit, and the heartburn persisted, I staryed to worry.  Worrying and heartburn will keep you up at night.  There wasn’t anything seriously wrong, but enough to be a bother.  Net, on about three hours sleep, with a ton of work piling up, I skipped the days touring, stayed back, exercised, walked, took care of business and wrote to you all.

I am told I missed a brilliant day.  Rory took everyone to the hand weavers workshop, and especially to Adare Manor with its Birds of Prey.  They got to put the big gloves on and hold the birds and all.  Everyone seemed very happy with that.

Dinner was delicious, and served more formally than usual.  We had Chilled Pea and Mint Soup, a Loganberry Granita, Baked Black Sea Bass, with a salad of Wild scallops and Mushrooms.  It was my kind of salad.  The garden lettuces were on the side. 

We finished with local farm cheeses, chutney, Vintage Port and Oat cakes and an Eton Mess, which seemed to be a pavlova that had met with a violent attack, and lost.  It was delicious.  Liqueurs, and chocolate, and, alas, packing.

Saturday, July 7^th

They sent us off with a full Irish breakfast, rashers, black and white pudding and all that.  That sets you up, all right.  We needed the Irish courage for the Irish roads.  Rory got us to Shannon Airport nice and early, but, between us and Hertz, it took an awful long time to get our cars.  We got on the rad around 11:30 am, I think, and by 1:00 pm, we were in Thurles, three-quarters of an hour late for the 12:15 pm, that Marilyn and John Hotard were on.  We were all pretty shaken, too.  I am not sure which was worse, being a driver, or being a passenger.  The passengers complained more. Irish roads take some getting used to.  The Arch Bar in Thurles provided a bracing lunch, though, and we got some wine, and I got some probiotics and Omeprazole.  A day later, a good night’s sleep, I am feeling a lot better.

Zane Everard, our castle owner, was waiting for us, with great stories, and an amazingly beautiful castle.  The Internet doesn’t even do it justice, but go there anyway www.lisheencastle.com.  Scott Kendall was in the kitchen, having flown all night, and shopped all day, and he was cooking.  He provided bruschetta on the patio, and braised beef with mushrooms and caramelized onions, and potato-sweet potato-roasted garlic mash.  Try that sometime. It’s easy and delicious.  Don’t forget the cream.  Dessert was gluten-free brownies, with strawberries and cream.  Hard to beat.

Some went walking, I just did a wash and sat out on the patio with Scott, and later a few others, while the clothes went around in the machines.  It suited me.

Sunday, July 8^th

New day, new woman.  Things to do.  The plan was to go to Kilkenny, but the castle needed some provisioning.  We had a page and a half list, from shampoo to groceries, like yoghurt and Bailey’s, and ramekins and wine glasses.  We’ll leave this castle better than we found it.  Scott had actually whipped up a lovely scramble for breakfast, which we had with toast and jam and off the two of us went.

We found it all, plus two butchers, a baker and a fish monger, but none of them would be open until Monday, so we settled or a very nice Dunn’s.  It was in a shopping center with a EuroStore, which we knew would be a good source of glasses, but it was closed.  The folks in Dunns told us the stores would open at noon.  That seemed far off at 10:30am, but we filled all the time, and then some.  We went to the Euro Sore at noon, got the wine glasses, and went back to finish up at Dunn’s, where the off-license (read liquor) shop opened at 12:30pm.

In the Euro Store, there was a little kid, about three, schlepping a full basket saying “Daddy, it’s getting too heavy for me, Daddy, Daddy, I can’t hold on to it much longer, Hello, Daddy” in multiple iterations.  Daddy was good at ignoring her, after about the third run, she just subsided with a quiet “Oh, God”, that sounded just like Mary O’Beachain.  She doubtless learned that at home.   I cracked up.

It’s fun shopping with a good-looking chef, half your age.  I wondered what people thought, and was pleased as punch to be doing it.  The last time I was in this situation was in New Zealand in 2016, rebuilding my computer with Michael Holt, also half my age.  We had to rent a day room to get decent Internet, and you can imagine what THAT looked like.  When I protested to the desk clerk, that it wasn’t, he felt obligated to add “and I’m gay as Christmas”.  Scott isn’t.

I’ll close now.  It smells too good in the kitchen.

Thursday, July 4

We docked in Portumna and visited its castle with its walled kitchen gardens.  Olivia gets as much of her produce as she can from here.  Our guide, Roger, was very informative.  This is another castle, where public money is being used to restore and preserve.  It’s lovely.  Lou is convinced that Sean Ryan should have taken some public money, too.  No one disagrees but Sean Ryan, who is fiercely preserving his autonomy.

There’s another interesting issue in the West of Ireland.  Roger’s surname is Waterson and his family has been here for five hundred years or so, but he is still treated as an outsider, because he hasn’t a real Irish name.  I guess there’s always the mistrust that one of his relatives, who obviously came from England, might have been a nasty bastard, a term we hear a lot.  The gardens had some interesting features, like trellised apple trees and this is Ernie, sniffing “Green Manure”.

It was probably an hour’s drive to Galway, so Rory got to talking about the potato famine, which wasn’t one.  It was just the failure of the crop that fed the poor people.  Lots of other things grew just fine, but they were contracted to be shipped to England, so off they went, leaving the poor Irish to starve.  To make matters worse, an Irish serf paid the rent on his land by selling half of his crop.  When they didn’t have potatoes to sell, many of the landlords evicted them and burned their houses so they wouldn’t sneak back in.  See what they mean by “nasty bastards”?

Lunch was at “The Derg” in Galway Bay, which was amazingly quaint for its size, and the food and ale were good.  I had a “Galway Hooker” pale ale, which was very nice, despite its name.  The town of Galway has gone very touristy, such that a walk around it is just a long succession of shops, not unlike Cape Cod, Quebec City, Villefranche—sur-Mer, Mikonos, Sorrento, etc.  Getting jaded, I guess.  Want the old Galway back.

We got under way in the late afternoon and sailed into Lough Derg, as the sun came down very slowly, as it does in this Northern Country.  We had our cocktail hour on the upper deck, and a buffet dinner downstairs in the great room.  This time a picture is worth a thousand words:

My 2019 Assignment – Maybe a cruise for you?

Seas of Enlightenment – Oceania Insignia, March 4 to 31, 2019, yup, 27 days

Enlightenment or not, this is a dream of a cruise.  I got early access to this for long and faithful service, as a concierge host.  The starting and ending ports are Sydney and Tokyo, places I’ve always wanted to explore more fully, I love Indonesia and the Philippines, and what’s not to love about Oceania?

https://tinyurl.com/InsigniaAsia190304   Australia, Indonesia, Philippines, Taiwan, Japan

Most categories are already wait listed.  That no longer scares me.  Three months before, plenty of cabins open up, and the wait list clears.  It is important to be on it.

And the one in between:

It’s a Mediterranean Cruise this October. We go Rome to Rome on Holland America’s Koningsdam.  I have clients booked in two cabins and it’s a Distinctive Voyage.  I bid for and got it.  Who else is coming with me? Take a look:
https://www.hollandamerica.com/details?webItineraryIdForAudit=E8M10B&fromSearchVacation=true&guestsCount=2&voyageCode=K862&selectedMeta=Interior&shipId=KO  October 8 sailing.

It’s seriously inexpensive.  Treat yourselves to a suite.  Comes with a free cocktail party and shore excursion.  I’ll have no trouble booking you from wherever I am.

 

Sunday, July 1, continued

Dinner was a serious oinking. It started with a little cup of gazpacho served with Village Style West Clare Crab, Chive and Tomato Salsa.  We had a palate cleanser of Elderflower & Black Current Granita and moved on to the serious stuffing.  We each got our own little Fig, Ham Hock & Sweet Onion Tart, a Traditional Slow Cooked Duck Leg, Sloe Gin & Herb Sauce, new Potatoes, Mint Butter Leaf Salad, Dilisk Seaweed & Sherry Dressing.  This was followed by Irish Artisan Cheeses and a Date Cake, served with vintage port.  Dessert was Local Strawberries, and Rose Marshmallows, served with Liqueurs.  Yes, of course there was wine, but I didn’t take notes. What a meal.

Monday, July 2

I could be feeling better.  I could be feeling worse.  I mustered and showered for breakfast by 8:45 am, and it was worth it.  Olivia had laid out everything we wanted, and then some.  She makes her own breads and pastries, too.  It was all excellent.  We had yoghurt with fruit, compotes, homemade granola, soda bread, raspberry filled croissants, raisin bread, potato rolls, oatmeal crisps, on and on.

I wrote the diary I sent on Monday, and dealt with some travel agent-type work, until they needed the table for lunch three hours later. Lunch was not to be believed.  There were about fifteen items, ranging from chili, to kimchee, to guacamole to bean salads, to a potato and onion tart that was to die for.  Only the Irish would make pizza with potatoes and it was fabulous.

In the afternoon, Rory took us to Kilbeggan, the oldest whiskey distillery in Ireland, dating back to 1757.  Its water wheel still works, but they don’t use it for making whiskey anymore.  Anyway, that’s two whiskey tastings in two days.  I couldn’t do it justice.  We got off in Athlone to walk around and spent all our time in Athlone Castle, which has been restored and re-done as an historical experience, with costumes and games as part of the experience.

Rory was interesting in the bus, on the way to the whiskey tasting.  He talked about the Celtic Tiger experience.  At one point, not too long ago, Ireland had the greatest number of private helicopters per capita in the world.  That bubble burst and Ireland will be recovering for a long time.  Fabulous place to be a tourist, though.

Back on board, there were Mohitos and Thin Gin martinis.  Thin is pronounced “tin” here, of course, and chef Olivia knows the family that makes it and swears the story on the back label is true.  It reads: “Thin Gin is a fun fruity and fragrant gin that often appeals to the unconventional and naughty.  When Isaac Thin couldn’t find the exquisite gin he’d tasted in Paris during an afternoon assignation with the wife of an Austrian Count, he set about creating his own. Hiding in Ireland, Thin conducted his experiments using juniper, coriander, citrus and Irish hedgerow fruits.  He settled on thirteen; one for every lady he’d kept company with.  “  The gin drinkers tell me it is very good.

Tuesday, July 2

After another lovely breakfast, we sailed through The Callows, lush grazing meadows full of contented cows, and a crazy number of hay bales per acre.  Lush, in this case, means many, many blades of grass per square inch.  Carolyn knows.  She’s a farmer.  And here’s what I love about river cruising, we moored right at Clonmacnoise, and walked up to the ruins, which have been excellently tarted up for tourists.  Michael, our guide was clear and a font of early Irish history.  The place is over a thousand years old.  It was a major town, but of course the townsfolk lived in wooden houses, which have long since passed to fire and decay.  The religious buildings survived as ruins and are being restored.  Particularly interesting is a nine-story tower, probably a lighthouse, that proved to be a lightning rod, not long after it was built.  Somehow, they managed to move the top part a hundred yards away and set it up again.

Back on board, we sailed through lunch and docked at Shannonbridge.  There we visited Leap Castle, probably Ireland’s most haunted house.  It’s owned by an ageing hippie, meaning our age, named Sean Ryan, who is a famous tin whistle player in these parts.  He bought it about twenty-five years ago, and has been restoring it ever since.  Well, the part he and his wife and daughter live in, might be restored.  We never saw it.  The part we did see was pretty original, which is what made it fun.  Sean is a character and loves to talk, and play the tin whistle.  We were invited to climb up to the second and third floors, one of which is a reception/dining room, to which I wouldn’t be carrying plates anytime soon.  The other is the famous chapel, from which many were tossed, dead and alive, into the oubliette, a long shaft, with long upright spikes at the bottom.  Dead would have been my preference, as no one ever got out alive, and some did have prolonged agonies.  The stairs are steep and treacherous, so it’s not for the faint of heart, but well worth it.  See https://tinyurl.com/qhj9omh for more.

Back on board the cocktail of the day was another ginny concoction, with Campari and God knows what else.  This wino stuck to wine.  Dinner was fabulous again.  We found out that Olivia, Rory’s wife, our chef, studied at Ballymaloe House, in Cork, where we are going for lunch next Wednesday.  Brilliant.  We ate there with Mary and Sean years ago, can’t remember which trip, but it was a wonderful meal and I am looking forward to another.

After dinner, a game of 45s broke out, as it tends to, and Candy and I went to the upper deck, while Ernie gave a running commentary.  There were a few ducks about and we fed them the last of Trader Joe’s Sea Salt Peanut butter pretzels.  They liked them, even if they did stick to the roofs of their bills.  Must find more food for them.

Wednesday, July 3^rd

Again, we cruised in the morning, and again the scenery was beautiful.  By lunch time, we were in the village of Terryglass, usual wined of Ireland’s “tidiest town” award.  We walked to our bus, which, by the way, is a very luxurious Mercedes Sprinter, and had a short ride to a very nice pub, which fed us a very nice lunch.  On to Birr Castle, home of the Parsons family, since 1620.  The fact that they are still living in it is testimony to the fact that they were good to their surfs.  The peasants, and later the IRA, took care of families they didn’t like by burning down their castles.  We didn’t get into the house itself, but there was plenty to see around the grounds.

The parsons were ahead of their times and had the worlds’ biggest telescope, built by the 3^rd Earl in 1845.  It held that title for 70 years, no mean feat.  The Earl discovered the Whirlpool Nebulae, which was the first hind of the existence of other galaxies.  This place, too, is restored by public money, and has its museum and Science Centre.  Another good visit.

Another good ginny cocktail, for those that drink it, and another good dinner awaited us back on the Shannon Princess.  We had Cured Howth Salmon, Pickled Cucumber, Wasabi and Honey Dressing, followed by Roast 30 day Dry Aged Westmeath Beef, with Sautéed Duck Liver, Mash, and a Beef Morrow Bone Sauce., a Garden Leaf Salad and Local Farm Cheeses, served with Fruits, Membrillo, Port and Oat cakes.  Dessert was Duck Egg Crème Brule and Verbena Poached Aprocots.  The bitter chocolate fudge that came with the Liqueurs, tea and coffee was special. There’s always a fudge and they are all special, mind you.

We had a bunch of soda bread left from lunch, and we tried to feed the ducks again, but there were only three of them, and it was a big marina.  I think they got enough from the other boats.  They ate enough to be polite.

Answering yours:  I’ll be back in Santa Rosa late night July 15. There are a few of us at Fountaingrove Lodge who will be glad to see you, Sue and Mike.  I now have accommodation, too.

Thursday, June 28, 2018

We went to Bewley’s for breakfast, again.  It’s not cheap, but the quality is high and the place is beautiful, with its dark wood, tile and stained glass windows.  It’s our local.  One full Irish Breakfast was enough, though.  Now it’s yoghurt, granola, croissant, damn near the same price.  Once fueled, we walked to the National Gallery of Ireland, where they had a print exhibition and a show of circus art, as well as the usual old masters, which are never hard to take.  The weather remains beautiful, too beautiful, really. But after we had been walking around a museum for a couple of hours, it was time for a HopOnHopOff bus.

We rode it all around the city in the glorious sunshine, and got off around 4:30 pm.  We bought yoghurts and water and ginger ale and went back to the room, at The Fitzwilliam.  So began a saga of calling for ice, to keep our yoghurt from spoiling, and being offered free drinks.  This happened at all hours of the day and night, for our entire stay.  It’s the Irish solution to everything, it seems.

From five to seven, I worked on the blogs you already have and ran into a strange snag at WordPress.  I toggled to HTML from Visual view, and could not get visual view back.  The toggle just would not toggle.  So I embarked on a chat with them.  It took a good half hour, but the remote support person finally got the job done, no one knows exactly how, but, while he/she was interacting with me, he/she must have been reading my first excerpt, because this is the last I got from the WordPress end:

“I’m not sure either, as it was appearing on my end. Sometimes it’s just purely a matter of refreshing the page, mixed with some patience! It sure sounds like you have lot of fun adventures! If you need anything else, we’re happy to help!”

By the time Carolyn and I got out into the streets, it was hard to find a pub that was still serving food.  There was plenty of drink and music about the place, though.  There was a busker every half-block along Grafton Street, and every one of them was terrible, including the four-piece band outside of Bruxelles.  The side streets were full of pubs and the patrons has spilled out into the street, such that it was a continuous party over a good few blocks.

We must be getting old.  We went around it and found a more or less quiet pub, Davey Byrne, where we had smoked salmon and Irish stew, and it was fine.  Back in the room, we got more ice and a free Scotch – 19 yr old Glenfiddich, no less.

Friday, June 29

Carolyn needed to be off her feet today, as a bandaid she had on the sole of her left foot yesterday, had come off with a couple of layers of skin, and we didn’t want that getting any worse.  I needed to make up a bunch of itineraries, complete with Google maps, for out day trips from the castle, too.  So, we went to Bewley’s for breakfast, again, and came back to the room to take care of business, get more ice, etc.

We went to Bewley’s for dinner, too, and it was really good.  Don’t laugh, Mary, you introduced me to it 48 years ago.  And they are honest, too, the smoked salmon is “served as an open sandwich, with a side of mixed leaves.

Saturday, June 30

God bless WhatsApp.  It is working a treat.  Candy and Ernie Scalberg were coming down from Belfast, with Kathy and Lou Panetta, in a van, and they were cutting it fine.  We had 11:30 am tickets to tour Kilmainem Jail.  There was traffic to worry about as it was Pride parade day, and it’s a big one in Dublin.

Carolyn and I were in the lobby early and had Martin, the concierge, order a taxi for us for eleven o’clock.  At five to, the Scalbergs arrived, checked their luggage, and off we went.  The jail tour was excellent, and they released us at the end of it.  Candy and I went right out again and joined the Pride parade.  We never managed to see all that much, but we did get a few ideas for next year, and a good facinator. 

We walked to dinner to meet the Panettas, Kathy’s sister, Jean Fogarty, and her husband Bob Downing at Delahunt on Camden St.  Mary and Sean’s daughter Mairin, had recommended it highly.  That was no mistake.  It was excellent, and it was fun eating in what had been the office of a mid-nineteenth century grocery store.  It wasn’t as lively as the rest of the place, but it was a bit quieter for us to get to know each other, and for Kathy and Jean to catch up.  Delahunt doesn’t serve pub grub.  It’s very fine dining.  We walked back.  We needed to.

Sunday, July 1

This was barge-boarding day, but God-forbid that should stop us from squeezing in a Whiskey tour.  We had breakfast at Bewley’s again, and walked down the street to the Irish Whiskey Museum, where Oine (Owen) regaled us with whiskey lore and plied us with drink.

Ruari (Rory) Gibbons, our Skipper, Driver, Cruise Director, picked us up a little before three and we were off to Athlone, to collect Hope and Sandy Hale from the train station.  Sure enough, they were there and we boarded our barge in Glasson without a hitch.  A little champagne, with our hostesses, Ethan and Ivana,a lot of unpacking, and we were ready for dinner.

What a dinner it was.  I am going to have to start taking pictures of the food, as Rory’s wife, Olivia, is a fabulous chef, and a real artist.  It’s wonderful.  We had a fabulous dinner, and spilled into bed.  Urp. I could have slept better, but that was no one’s fault but me own, for bein’ after drinkin’ too much.