Dingle, Ireland

Day 20

We got off to a relatively early start so that we might make it to the Dingle peninsula before nightfall. It was a long drive with many new things to see and do. Stopped in the picturesque town of Dingle, walked around a bit, had tea, and went into the Dingle Record Shop to get a couple cd's. Thought it might be nice to listen to some Irish music while we rolled over the Irish landscape. Dingle is about as cute of a tourist town as one is likely to find anywhere. Pretty much has it all: a harbor, windy, narrow streets, colorful buildings and shops galore. The numerous outdoor cafe's seemed tailor made for those who enjoy people watching while sipping coffee and dashing off postcards.

By the time we left Dingle it was too late to visit the Gallarus Oratory, one of our principle destinations, So we followed the signs to Moriarty's B&B, just outside Ventry and spent a comfortable night watching Spain beat Paraguay in the World Cup match.

Lough Gur, Co. Limerick, Ireland

Day 19

While we consumed another massive dose of early morning calories, the young mother who owned and operated the B&B related a sad tale concerning the poor quality of healthcare at the Limerick hospital. She went on to relate her experiences with a grossly negligent pediatrician who very nearly killed her newborn daughter. The tale was so frightening that I was almost reluctant to drive back up there, in fear I might run into the malefactor myself, but the lure of touring the Hunt
Museum soon overcame my initial reservation.

Carol and I were equally impressed with the breadth and scope of the collection. The Hunts had eclectic tastes ranging from Egyptian art, Greek statues, to Roman and Stone Age artifacts. The bronze statue of a horse, made by Leonardo himself, was alone worth the price of admission.

Afterward we decided to head back in the direction of our B&B in Bruff and stop in at the Lough Gur Visitor Center, located only about a mile or two from the Grange stone circle. We were both keen on continuing our investigations of this unique area. Lough means 'lake' and this lake is absolutely gorgeous. Above the shore we were able to walk around and among the ruins of a Bronze Age settlement. Most of the foundations were intact as were some of the walls. It was a very impressive site. We spent 2-3 hours hiking the trails and sitting under trees overlooking the lake to inhale the essence of man's ingenuity and the splendor of nature.

Reluctantly we took our leave, as we wanted to have a look at a nearby wedge tomb before it got dark. Lacking any proper place to park, few visitors make the effort to visit these ruins. However, those that enjoy climbing over, under, and around ancient tombs at a leisurely pace undisturbed by other tourists will be handsomely rewarded.

At this tomb, yet another marvel of stone works, it occurred to me that future generations will undoubtedly discover many more artifacts using as yet uninvented technology. Considering that the Lough Gur area had been continuously inhabited for well over 2000 years, there must be plenty more burial sites undiscovered. Over that length of time, hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of people must have lived, died and been buried; but where are they? Wedge tombs contain the remains of only a handful of people. Gotta be somewhere.

Meanwhile, back at our B&B, it was time to switch gears. Turing on the TV we watched Ghana fall apart against Uruguay in the World Cup semi-finals. We were both rooting for Ghana as they were the team that eliminated the USA. Once the match was over we were greeted by a cacophonous roar outside our window. It seems that Bruff celebrates the summer with a wild parade wherein participants stage floats depicting whatever summer means to them individually. Very entertaining. We had a grand view from our second story window.

Grange Stone Circle, Ireland

Day 18

We drove out of Sixmilebridge through the Cooleycasey district, then on to Limerick. I thought about my grandfather living in these hills, and what his life must have been like. To leave his family and emigrate to America at the age of 18, it must not have been very pretty. Fortunately, places like America existed and peasants had a chance, albeit a remote one, to move up the social ladder and escape a life of ignorance, poverty and injustice. My father was born in Jersey City, New Jersey in 1914. He graduated from St. Johns Law School in 1938. He was the first McInerney to not only graduate from college but to become a lawyer. He practiced law in New York for nearly fifty years, becoming a millionaire in the process. None of this would have been possible had my grandfather remained in Ireland. One flew over the cuckoo's nest. Thanks Dad.

Entering Limerick, we crossed the River Shannon and got a good look at King John's Castle, as well as the cathedral there. We had hoped to visit the Hunt Museum but the traffic and lateness of the day prevented us from doing so, and we decided to come back the next day. We continued into the town of Bruff, where we had reservations at a comfortable B&B located within a former bank that closely resembled a fortress.

After getting our bags unpacked, we hopped back in the car and drove to the nearby stone circle of Grange, the largest (diameter wise) in Ireland. Located on private property, we were allowed access after a small contribution to Tim, the farmer who maintains the grounds. He was also kind enough to direct us to another stone circle in the adjacent field that we might otherwise have overlooked. There was also a huge standing stone a bit further from the main circle that suggests there was a lot of activity in this area at one time.

Thinking back on that day, that visit, I still find myself shaking my head in awe, fascination and mystery. Inside the circle we still had no luck conjuring a vision of the ceremonies that were conducted within these stones. I kept thinking, wishfully of course, that perhaps Carol and I were the ones. The ones who would be granted a glimpse of these ancient rites. To see, like a bird or spirit, the actual events as they transpired in real time, was something we both believed possible. In such places, do the boundaries of reality become less rigid? Could the ancients have known something we don't? Are there places in this world where the boundaries between dimensions are flexible? Is communication between such realms possible? I don't know. But I am willing to consider the possibility. I think as soon as one dismisses such thoughts as lunacy the brain closes off the receptors that allow such experiences to occur. Thought certainly has the power of creation. The universe is perhaps the greatest thought of all. Could these stone circles be portals that once opened to a vast unknown cosmos? Perhaps they functioned like worm holes, activated by chants and harmonic resonating. The older I get the less certain I am of conventional wisdom. Ultimately, anything and everything is possible. What other kind of universe is there beyond, or within, this one?

Walking out of the circle and into the next field we were greeted by numerous cows grazing peacefully on the lush grass. Seeing and smelling their by-products quickly led me to consider another possibility. Perhaps the stone circles were used for mushroom ceremonies. I don't know if cows grazed as they do today but most certainly mushrooms grow in the vicinity. Perhaps an extinct variety had incredible psychedelic properties that, when ingested, provided the participants with such powerful visions that it made constructing all these circles worthwhile. The magical mystery tour of speculation never ends—or will it?

McInerney heritage search, Sixmilebridge, Ireland

Day 17

After a good night's sleep and another hearty Irish breakfast, I left the b&b on my mission, leaving Carol to rest happily in the room. I intercepted the Poffster leaving church, and we walked over to the records office next to the rectory. If I'm ever to find any trace of my grandfather it is going to start here, with a baptismal certificate, unless his parents were ex-communicated, which is always a possibility given the McInerney family track record. Be that as it may, Poff turned out to be quite the fountain of information. According to her records, Grandpa Mike was born on the 18th of July in 1889. His father's name was Pat and his mother's Mary, nee Egan. He was the sixth of nine children. The parish at that time was sub-divided into several districts. These McInerneys apparently lived as tenant farmers in the Cooleycasey section, a hilly area just south of Sixmilebridge.

Carol's ankle had repaired enough for her to hobble around the town, so we spent a few hours in the local Sixmilebridge library, a converted church, to continue the research. I found some old photographs of a teacher, Pat McInerney, with his class, taken in the 1920's. Quite possibly my great uncle, but can't be sure until I get more information. From the local records I was able to surmise that the more recent McInerney clan were numerous and on the whole, quite successful. I left the library with more questions than answers; for example, what happened to the old homestead? Are there any direct ancestors still living in Sixmilebridge? Would the title to the farm have reverted to Irish ownership after independence in 1922?

After tea and scones at our cafe on the river, I decided to drive around the Coolycasey area and look around for myself. Unfortunately, things have changed. There aren't any buildings or stores to denote its exact location. From the directions I received it was more of a wave of the hand in a general direction, more an understanding than a defined area. Not surprisingly we did not find any homes or farms with the McInerney name on any signposts or gates.

The next stop was the old graveyard at Ballysheen, a few miles outside Sixmilebridge. Again, we didn't have much luck. There wasn't any family plot, although there were several McInerney's interned there. It was difficult to say if they were the ones I was seeking, or an entirely different branch all together. Considering the level of poverty that my grandfather escaped, I rather doubt that his parents or siblings could ever have afforded a fancy burial and headstone. I just don't know what happened to them. Maybe there's another cemetery where the poorer folks go.

While strolling through the cemetery I thought I remembered my father mentioning when we visited back in 1969 that his grandmother's maiden name was Mary Egan. That fits. But the current problem with all this is that according to the baptismal certificate that I saw, Michael McInerney was born in 1889. This presents a huge problem because that makes him 10 years younger than he should be. In order for everything else I know about him to fit into place, arrival in the US and the birth of his first child, he could not have been born any later than 1879. So, I'm still not sure how next to proceed. Everything fits except for the date of birth. Perhaps somebody will read this and supply the missing data?

Sixmilebridge, Co. Clare, Ireland

Day 16

We spent the night in a quaint but elegant B&B called the Lakefield Lodge just outside Corofin, and yes, we watched another soccer match. After a stunning breakfast I popped over to the Clare Heritage Center, only to discover that there is a three month wait before the researchers can begin a new project. Even more disheartening is that I'll need to provide far more information than I presently have; such as baptismal, marriage and/or death certificates, as there are over 1,400 distinct McInerney families in County Clare. It would seem that my journey into the past has only just begun.

We returned to Ennis to replenish our funds and also take a quick walk around. Just outside the cafe where I was enjoying a rather plump scone over a generous pot of tea, Carol slipped on some awkward cobblestone and strained her ankle. This naturally put a damper on the day, as well as put the kibosh on any further walking explorations of the town.

On the way to Sixmilebridge, we stopped in Quin to visit the local Abbey. I went in while Carol stayed in the car to recuperate. The caretaker there informed me, as had the Heritage Center, that McInerney is a very common name in this area, making my task all the more difficult.

It was a bit overcast when we pulled into the center of Sixmilebridge. The village has grown dramatically since my last visit, so much so that, other than the bridge, I did not recognize a thing. During the intervening years, Sixmilebridge has become a satellite commuter town for the nearby and considerably larger city of Limerick.

After installing Carol in a centrally located B&B, I went off to the parish church to see if I could at least locate a baptismal certificate. Unfortunately, the records office was closed, necessitating a visit next day. According to Bridget, the owner of the B&B, I would have to lay in wait to catch Poff the secretary, as she left morning mass, otherwise she might not open the office. Tricky business in Sixmilebridge.

By late afternoon it had started raining in earnest. Carol and were quite happy to stay up in our room to read and talk about the days to come. The absence of TV enables a person to think for themselves and engage in meaningful conversation. Everyone should try it sometime. Imagine life without television. We don't even have it at home.

By the way, the stone memorial in the photo by the river says, "Nobody is gone unless you want them to go. If you don't want them to go then they will be with you forever. In memory of those who are gone but will never be forgotten. Erected by those who will always remember them."

Say no more.

Galway, The Burren, Ireland

Day 15

After another sumptuous breakfast we headed for Galway where we stopped to take in the sights during our brief walking tour of the old city. However, it was to the Burren National Park where our interest for the day was focused. On any ambitious visit to a foreign country there comes a time when the traveler realizes that not every destination on the itinerary can be visited and some places have to be scratched off the list. Galway was one such casualty. Regretfully, we spent no more than two hours there but had a nice stroll through old town, replete with artists, shops and musicians. Carol lingered over a huge rock and roll tribute mural, and also had a spontaneous dance to a street singer's swanky rendition of “King of the Road”.

Exiting Galway, our next stop was Castle Dunguaire, picturesquely seated at the head of a prominent tidal inlet. We walked around the premises satisfying our curiosity without paying the admission price. Sitting on a stone bench beneath the towering walls we sat for some time watching the birds caper in the marsh below us. Sometimes the best things in life are truly free. The castle's main claim to fame are the nightly medieval banquets. At $120 per couple, I didn't think our two abstemious palettes would recover anything near the investment cost so we elected to move on, preferring the natural wonders of The Burren over the recreated and likely false portrayals of a medieval dining experience.

Arriving at The Burren, a lunar-like landscape, our first stop was at the famous Poulnabrone Dolmen. Constructed around 3500 B.C. it is still an architectural wonder. Viewed from any angle, the structure leaves most modern visitors shaking their heads. How did ancient, stone age builders ever manage to move such large and heavy stones? It seems like an awfully large bother to expend that much time and energy constructing a permanent resting place, in a thoroughly inhospitable environment, for so relatively few people. It's a mystery all right, one that I can't quite fathom.

The Burren is a landscape all its own, with an inviting array of flat stones and wildflowers spreading for miles. We wished we could have spent all day walking it, but instead we pressed on. After leaving The Burren we drove toward the town of Ennis. Along the way we saw signs for the County Clare Genealogy Center, the very place I wanted to visit before going to Sixmilebridge, where my grandfather was born. Unfortunately, by the time we located the building it was closed, meaning I'd have to return the following day to make my inquiries. Since I knew so little about grandpa Mike, I hoped the folks at this heritage center might provide me with additional information that would make my visit to Sixmilebridge more productive.

The last time I was in Ireland was in August of 1969. I was with my parents and my brother Tom. Mike, my other brother, named after my grandfather, was in the Marine Corp at the time, in Vietnam, and still alive. I don't recall too much from that visit to Sixmilebridge other than my father mentioning he wasn't even sure if the small village was the one where his father had been born, despite the fact that the surname, McInerney, was prominently displayed as proprietors of several businesses. I also wasn't sure how determined my father had been to learn more. It seemed at the time he was more interested in golf and drinking in the pub than detective work. On this present visit, I hoped to change that. With the advent of computerized records, I might learn some interesting information and possibly some startling new revelations. I thought to myself, if I don't pursue this, the link might soon be lost forever. My daughter has no interest in any genealogical information, particularly from my side of the family.

Kylemore Abbey, Connemara Nat'l Park, Ireland

Day 14

After another calorically challenging breakfast, we drove to Westport and stopped for tea and scones at a Main Street bakery. I checked the local book stores for the “Tipperary” book but came away empty handed. Back on the road we stopped at Kylemoor Abbey. For as long as I can remember there's been a large framed poster of the abbey hanging in our guest room. It was enormously gratifying to see the subject of this picture in real scale and in person. I felt a quick rush of nostalgia as well as a pang of sadness thinking about our home back in Arizona's high desert.

Further down the road we stopped at the Connemara National Park. Here we learned about the importance of the bogs and then took a short hike up one of the many park trails. High above the visitor center we sat on a bench for some time overlooking the lake while the distant mountains played tag with the slow moving clouds. It was ten or fifteen minutes before we heard the tell tale shuffle of hikers feet bringing our quiet solitude and reverie to a close.

Back on the road, we reached Oughterard, and spent the night in the Connemara Lake Hotel, the finest establishment this lovely little town has to offer. The Moulin Rouge suite contained a soft and spacious bed surrounded by red velvet walls. Very French. We weren't able to make use of the well furnished sitting room, but it was nice to have the additional space all the same. We settled into bed and were soon swept up in the excitement of the Brazil vs Chile soccer match. Later, while channel surfing, Carol found the movie Serenity had just started. It was one of our old favorites and we thoroughly enjoyed watching the cast of rouges and misfits do battle with the forces of darkness and deceit.