(Full credit to Lisa for coming up with the post title while we walked the city today. We were walking the walls of Old Derry and reading the signs. Lisa noted that one building was described as having been originally a Bishop’s Palace, then a military barracks, and finally a Freemason’s Hall. “What a string of patriarchal powers,” one of us said. “It’s a conspiracy!” I said. “It’s not a conspiracy it it’s on a plaque” my wife replied, leaden with sullen truth.)

We had a lovely day in Derry/Londonderry, sometimes called “Slash City”, unironically, by locals but this wasn’t how it started. Let’s back up, shall we?

The morning dawned warm and sweaty – if you recall our last post (and if not, welcome to the blog!) our hotel room had some atmospheric issues that we resolved to the best of our ability; which is to say, not all that well. Nevertheless we seemed to get a good night’s rest and sprung up with a renewed sense of correcting for the previous day’s stresses. Lisa had consulted a number of restaurant reviews and her eyes set on a spot in “old Derry” called “Born”. First of all, it was located in what I couldn’t help but think of as “Irish Queen Anne”, which will only make sense to Seattle folks. It was a lovely neighborhood with a lot of families and small shops, and the food was quite good. Also, the breakfast was legit, both the Irish and the American-inspired varieties. I know it’s starting to sound like we’re those jerk tourists who just want American food, but really nothing could be farther from the truth. It’s just that, having been divorced from it for roughly nine months, suddenly having access to buttermilk pancakes with syrup is a real treat.

Mildly amusing moment – while sorting out our agenda over breakfast, we had a mild kerfluffle because we were looking for something called the “Craft Village” but google maps kept taking us back to where our car was parked. One of us cottoned to the issue before the other (no reason to name names) but eventually we both realized that we had serendipitously parked right next to the Craft Village without even noticing. Probably, we were distracted by my having to parallel park, on a hill, with everything being backwards. Turned out really well on the first try, by the way thankyewverymuch.

So, breakfast over, we start to head for the sights of old Derry, particularly the Walls. And now let us speak as succinctly as possible about the history of this fine city. (Note: all facts are as recalled by a tourist after reading them once. Writing a paper? Go get a book.) In 1689 James I was about to invade the city. (Ringing any bells? We’ll circle back in a minute.) Thanks to the quick thinking of 13 apprentice boys of Derry the gates of the city were shut before James could arrive and a siege instead ensued. It lasted for 9(?) months before being lifted, James never having breached the city. The city’s relief came in August of 1690. Guilds/clubs called “Apprentice Boys” (not youth organizations, despite the name) sprang up in 1814, and the parades started a little later.

So what’s up for real?

The whole William of Orange vs. James I thing was not memorialized like this for more than a hundred years. However, it was retroactively latched on to by Protestants for the potent symbolism, i.e. “Protestant king beats Catholic king” and since then history surrounding those campaigns has been … well, I was going to say “fetishized” but that sounds judge-y…. on the other hand I can’t think of a better word. Just like the bonfires in Belfast, this Apprentice Boys parade is a huge event that draws plenty of Protestants AND Catholics, who run counterpoint events over in Republican Derry areas. And I told you ALL of that to explain a) why we couldn’t get a better hotel room, and b) to tell you that we saw a bunch of things about the siege of Derry today and a lot of it is fraught.

Before we even did the walls, though, for logistical reasons we first went to “the People’s Gallery” just outside the walls. Numerous buildings in this area have murals depicting pro-Republican images; Bobby Sands, Bloody Sunday etc… The message on the wall in the image, “You Are Now Entering Free Derry” has been there since 1969, dating back to a period of about 3 years when a portion of Derry was barricaded against British soldiers. The neighborhood was then and still is a Catholic stronghold; the median in the street has giant memorials to the hunger strikers (martyred IRA members). Fair warning, if I explain every reference in detail I’ll never go to bed, so I am not going to. There are also symbolic trees from around Ireland and also, more recently, an olive tree from Palestine. (Some Republican Irish relate themselves to the Palestinians and a lot of cross-pollination goes on there.) It really is a striking area, between the memorials and the mural art the place has a real air to it. One interesting note: London/Derry at this point skews widely towards the Protestants and Republicanism, and the Catholics (despite the Apprentice Boys pomp and circumstance) are actually a clear minority in the city. It makes for odd vibes – ostensibly the Republicans are the oppressed people in Northern Ireland, but this is undeniably their town. I have thoughts, but I also don’t assume I can solve an issue that so many have failed to do, so on we move.

After rummaging Bogside for a bit we trundled back up the hill and on to the Walls of Derry. I am not entirely certain how much is original work, well-maintained, and how much is restoration, but they are in great shape. They encompass a relatively small portion of modern Derry, but are still pretty massive. Numerous churches and other important structures were built right up against them, so walking the walls get you both good views of the city and a quick rota of historical points of interest. Once again the Presbyterians rear their most honored heads; Presbyterian leaders were at the forefront of the defense of the city in 1689-90, and were rewarded with prime land for a meeting house as a result. “Oh no, we couldn’t,” would be the response if my elders are anything to go by, before a quick “well since you insist, I can picture the walls going up over here, probably white paint” and so on. Numerous cannons (Note the double nn) still exist from the period and are placed where they would have been, with excellent fields of view in all directions. No wonder James couldn’t take the place. Well, cannons plus he was Cat- never mind, this place is starting to get to me. All in all, walking the Walls is a lovely way to both see the city and get up close looks at some impressive old buildings.

After the Walls we did in fact find the Craft Village, which turned out to be an artist collective where a side street-cum-alley is dressed up like a small village high street. It’s somewhat twee but is also a charming spot full of local craftspeople selling their wares. If you like gathering up a tchotchke or three when you travel I’d say this is ground zero for your shopportunities. Alas, we were visiting on Sunday and many of the shops were closed, but it was still fun to take a stroll round and window-graze. That done, it was back to the car and, double alas, back to our hotel room. Another day older and wiser, we still could not manage the warmth of the room. We did step out for awhile to a lovely dinner at Browns in Town. Capsule review: “A” for inventiveness, “B/B-” for actual fooding. Side note: another parallel parking success! Maybe we should get a right-driving car for forever! (This is very funny humor, hee hee ho ho.) Fat and happy, we got back and packed ourselves up, ready to be out of the hotbox and on to our next adventure.

Dear Lord I’m getting good at these. Even if you don’t call them cliffhangers.

Thrills! Chills! Spills! … Honestly, what kind of trip would that be for two people in their 50s visiting ancient burial sites? The new Jumanji sequel? No, we had your usual placid day of traveling to and seeing interesting stuff, right up until things took a turn, and even then it was mostly annoying. But before the turn, we had a lovely day. We picked up a rental car at the airport (automatic, naturally – we have “some” experience with manual transmissions but combining the stick shift with everything being on the opposite side just seemed like one obstacle more than is necessary. Besides, they offer automatics, why not take advantage?) In any case, we made sure to have total coverage in place despite the cost and hit the- what? Why total coverage? Well.

I’m pretty sure we’ve written about this before, but it was back when this blog was called Sasha’s Doghouse and it had a very different flavor. (More meandering, if you can imagine.) Lisa was doing her research preparing for our first trip to Ireland, and she came across consistent advice on a single topic. She sent me some relevant links and I looked into it as well. What she found was: the Irish are consistently extortionate (good word honey, thanks!) in one way: rental car damage assessments. I know I know, generalizing about groups of people is wrong, but is a stereotype a stereotype if it’s 100% true all of the time, right? :p We found numerous reports in trust-worthy locations of truly awful experiences with rental car returns in Ireland. Invisible damage, over-charging, you name it. On that first trip we got the total coverage and were so glad for it after two weeks careening down one-lane tracks with stone walls on either side. I can still remember the disappointment on the face of the employee as they came out of the office to check us in and then noticed the coverage clause on our contract. And so, with nary a consideration given we upped the coverage on this car. In any other situation we are perfectly comfortable with the typical coverage granted from your credit card. Ireland? Buy the coverage.

Car sorted, we oriented north and made for the countryside. The agenda for the day was to start with a couple of bronze age (give or take an era) stone sites (basically our favorite thing to do ever). First up was, honestly, what may be my all time favorite; certainly top two or three: The Holestone in Doagh. The Holestone is an outcropping of rock in otherwise rolling fields – the topography has surely changed over the millennia but this would have stood out against the terrain for most of that. Very rough steps let you ascend to the top of it, where a “holestone” has been placed. It’s a pillar into which (science tells us) a hole was deliberately bored. The original purpose is lost to time; I note that it is not particularly aligned, for example the sun at a solstice or equinox does not pass through it. What we really found interesting was that a historian in the early 1800s noted that there was “already a well-established tradition” of lovers ascending the stone, whence the female (sorry, the times are the times) would place her hand through the stone. Her partner would then clasp her hand and they would then pledge themselves to each other. Folklore being what it is, if this is “well-established” in the 1800s there’s no reason not to suspect that this sacred place has existed all this time for a very similar purpose. It is also, one observes, a wide enough plateau, and secluded enough, that such a ritual could be consummated with ease. Indeed, the stones are currently covered in foliage of many types and an area one might see as a bower existed to one side. Good for the Irish, I say.

By the by, getting to the Holestone is reminiscent of many sites we’ve been to over the years. The local populace has respect for these traditional sites but they don’t fetishize them. The Holestone has some simple signage, and it’s even marked on the road, but it is in the middle of what is now privately-owned pasture. So, we parked the car on the side of the road (no car park, natch) and wandered up and down until we found the gate in the fence that didn’t have a padlock on it. The gate was a big, 10-foot wide livestock fence, not some pretty entranceway. Once in the field, you are navigating cow patties, and not new ones that hadn’t been attended to – it’s clear that they never are, and it’s walker beware. There’s also no marked path per se, just “look, the big rocks are in that direction.” None of this is bad/wrong in our opinion, it’s just interesting. (We saw a ring of stones on our last trip that was in no way sign posted. Local lore said they existed, we read about them somehow, and followed old-fashioned (non-googled) directions – e.g. turn left at the church, then right at the big tree – to find it.) Anyway, we love and highly recommend going to see these sites, but it’s definitely a special kind of tourism. Upside: there’s never a crowd.

From Doagh, we made our way to Dunloy, home of Dooey’s Cairn. “Dooey”, if you’re wondering, is not the name of an ancient clan or even an archaeologist. In contrast to the Holestone’s situation, the site of this court tomb was donated to the national trust for such things, and was named after the family who generously did so. Still, even at these donated sites they tend to be the land it’s on plus a wee stretch for public access; we were surrounded by cows as we examined the place. In any case, Dooey’s Cairn is actual a “court tomb” which was a community grave site – there’s actually a subterranean portion where cremated remains would be taken, these stones are (as far as I know, I’m still a novice at this stuff) more ceremonial / there to mark the site than they are functional. That said, in the “court” (think courtyard) there are two stones in particular that mark the entrance to the tomb – if you had a shovel and permission that’s where you’d start to dig if you wanted to see what was there. Those things were acquired many years ago in this case and the archaeology has been completed, but the site was still basically intact and so it was re-interred. I’m a broken record if you’ve been reading along for awhile, but it will always be true that what I most get out of these places is that ~6000 years ago humans still had a sense of community and belonging enough to do things like have their version of a cemetery.

By now we were hungry, so we made for one of the numerous restaurants that Lisa turns up in her research; in this case it was Nadine’s Diner. Nadine’s is the best of an American diner bolted onto friendly Irish people and some distinctive food. I had the best hamburger since we left the states (Braga has many proprietors, but they all want to put their own spin on things… JUST MAKE A BURGER) and Lisa had a more traditional small fry up. It was yummy and an interesting change of pace from both Portuguese cafes and Irish pubs. 10/10 would kill my gall bladder again.

This, alas, is where the day began to take a turn. First of all, we got to our next stop at Kinbane Castle, which was both underwhelming and a little more difficult to reach than we were willing to spend on such a little bit of nothing. (The travel privilege is starting to show – “that’s the castle?? we’ve seen better…” but still… we had.) On the other hand, if I’d known how the rest of the day was going to turn out I probably would have pushed harder to spend time here. Alas. Our next stop was going to be at Giant’s Causeway. OOoooohhh neat, right?

So, here’s the thing. We arrived in Northern Ireland for what has been, for them, balmy weather. Sunny, mid 20s (high 70s), just gorgeous. We loved it too for the opposite reason – it’s been in the 30s for a long while in Braga now, so we were enjoying the coolth. Heading out to the countryside, we completely forgot that this is the kind of weather that would draw the Irish out to do all the fun family things that are a drag in the dreary time. Combine that with it being a Saturday (we honestly do lose track of what day it is now…) and the bigger tourist attractions were crrrrraaaaaawwwwwwling with local vacationers. Which is right and natural, of course, but also a total pain in the ass. There’s a visitor center controlling the best access to the Causeway, but passes were completely sold out. Other access points unsurprisingly have car parks grown up in front of them, and all of those were full. Almost unbelievably we had to give Giants Causeway a pass; and thus the itinerary for our next trip to Ireland begins to coalesce. Please note that this is the second time we’ve given Giant’s Causeway a pass.

Sadly, this same sequence repeated itself at the other two places we’d plan to visit that day, Lissanduff Earthworks and Dunluce Castle, and other than a glimpse of the castle as we drove by they were utter failures. Naturally the frustration level was also rising, and we decided to punt on one or two other minor attractions and make for Derry. We made it to our hotel, Da Vinci’s, and settled in… except for the final indignity. Our room did not have air conditioning. Like, at all, there’s no vents or anything. Well, ok, it has these nice big windows… which open about 3 inches. AND, while we can only speculate it feels like a pretty good guess, the hotel laundry is located in the room next door. It’s not noisy, but it’s warm. AND (AND) not only is the hotel completely booked so is the entire city. It’s a thoroughly unpleasant though somewhat manageable situation, and the only reason we didn’t move is that there were no rooms to go to. We’ll get into some Derry history tomorrow, but a huge “celebration” was going on in town this weekend and between that and the “counter celebrations” (my term) the town was bursting with visitors. It was this or nothing. So, we opened the windows as best we could, propped our room door open as wide as it could go (because who doesn’t want to get to know their neighbors in a hotel?) and created the best cross-breeze we could. All in all, the day was a mixed bag, but honestly writing this has been a little therapeutic, going over how great the first half of it was. So thank you all for that, and we’ll talk about a mood recovery day next time. Could that be another cliffhanger? Who is this madman?

(Actually, John, these haven’t really been cliffhangers. Even “teaser” would be generous but it would at least be closer. Yeah yeah. . . )