Hill of Tara, then on to Northern Ireland

Day 4

After another mighty breakfast we trundled back upstairs and packed our gear. Today was the day I was to pick up the car. Stowing our luggage in the downstairs foyer, we started on foot to the Budget rental office. The weather was good, sunny and warm. The office was less than a mile away so we got to see a different side of the city.

Upon arrival, the clerk informed me that my Visa card would not cover the insurance and that if had an accident, I'd be liable for the entire bill. I thought this was a rip-off considering I had called Visa before leaving and they assured me I would not need to purchase additional insurance but now, here in Dublin, the guy behind the desk was adamant. I didn't know exactly what to do, however, since I'd be driving in a foreign country on small, narrow roads as well as on the left side, I decided not to take a chance. Once they brought the car around, a new 2010 Peugeot diesel with less than 2000 miles on it, I felt I'd made the right decision. On both the left and right rear fenders were substantial scratches that would certainly have cost the previous driver a generous donation.

The journey back to the Abbot Lodge probably took longer with the car than on foot. The signs are confusing and I managed to make a few wrong turns to make matters worse. Anyway, we retrieved our things and set out to visit Eamon, a good friend of mine who lives near Omagh, in Co. Tyrone, Northern Ireland.

Once we got out of the city I felt a little more relaxed behind the wheel, the first few roundabouts notwithstanding. The Irish by now must be used to seeing drivers go round and round these traffic circles because no one so much as beeped their horn regardless of the number of laps I made until I could figure out which exit to take.

One of the first little towns we stopped in was Slane (or Slane's Bridge) near where the famous Battle of the Boyne was fought. We didn't stop to visit the battlefield principally because I knew the outcome and didn't really want to relive the source of protestant hegemony in Ireland. Besides, I was much more interested in walking on the nearby Hill of Tara. This is where the high kings of Ireland were crowned. One could easily imagine all the tents, pageantry and associated goings on when the court was in session. From the top one can see for many miles in all directions. I walked up the Route of the Chieftains, the very same way Brain Boru would have taken when he was made king. I was hoping to feel some tingling or DNA activation but such was not the case. For a moment there, as we lay in the high grass, with the late afternoon sun above us, it was pleasant enough to dream.

Back in the car we continued our journey north. I was surprised to learn there were no borders or check points between the two political entities. The only way I knew we were in Northern Ireland was that all the road signs were now in miles rather kilometers. Within an hour we were in Omagh, the site of the last senseless bombing that helped bring about the Good Friday peace accord that is still in effect today. I got out the Blackberry and tried calling Eamon. I knew he was in town awaiting our arrival so he could show us the way to his farmhouse in Drumnakilly, about 6 miles outside of Omagh. Unfortunately, I couldn't get through. There are too many codes and prefixes to enter just calling from Dublin to Omagh, no more than 150 miles apart, yet continents away as far as the telephone companies are concerned. Anyway, since I had his address I decided to just try and drive to his home. This proved more difficult than it seemed until Carol was able to talk to a pedestrian who happened to know Eamon and gave us directions to his house.

I was somewhat tentative pulling up the driveway. Long ago Eamon had showed me pictures of the farmhouse and this looked nothing like what I remembered. Anyway, we drove up and were greeted by Paula, Eamon's girlfriend for the last 5 years. She called Eamon, who was waiting in a pub in Omagh for our call, and told him we had arrived on our own. He said he'd be home shortly after finishing his pint and picking up pizza.

After the second pot of tea we were chatting away as if we'd last seen each other 10 days ago rather than the ten years it was in actuality. Old friends are like that. They always seem to make one feel comfortable and welcome. Eamon and Paula sure did.