Slipping through my fingers

We said goodbye to London this morning and flew off to Belfast. We’ll be spending the rest of our vacation in Northern Ireland. Unfortunately, the start to part two of our vacation was a little bumpy. Our flight was delayed a couple hours, my bag got completely mangled, and I had difficulty connecting with the rental car agency in Belfast...until I saw their sign in the airport. The information they emailed me stated they were off-site, so I was stressed that I couldn’t connect on my phone. I was about to bust a gasket (as my mom would say), when I saw their sign, just across the arrival hall. Disgusted, more than relieved, I approached the counter and unloaded the hundred documents that they required of me. Since I was declining their insurance, in lieu of the insurance coverage with my credit card, I had to have a letter from my credit card company verifying that I did, indeed, have coverage. As I signed the paperwork, the agent was less than reassuring, “You understand that you’ll be responsible if anything happens to the car, all the way to replacing it?” Yes, I understand that, but he kept pestering me about coverage and I realized with each comment, my confidence in driving Irish roads, was slipping through my fingers. When his assault on my self-esteem was complete, the agent next to him asked if he could check something. He said, “Is your petrol marked, where you come from?” I had no idea what he meant, which must have been obvious from my facial expression. “They are green and black here. You want green.” Got it, thanks buddy. I’m sure he smirked a bit.

We left the airport and found our tiny clown car. I tossed my broken bag in the bag but had to rearrange to fit Kim’s little suitcase in, too. It’s been a while since I’ve driven a stick shift, so I took a moment to get oriented. The agent’s voice wafted in my head, “You’ll need to push the clutch in to start it.” Right. I got it started and immediately rolled down the wrong window. Everything is oriented differently, when driving on the left. We got on the motorway and took the wrong turn in less than five minutes. After a tense, but loving, exchange, we eventually got on the correct road. Our first stop was Carrickfergus, where we popped into a little store to get change. Channeling my inner Sherri Hufford, I inquired where I might find a local lunch. The cashier told us to go next door, so we did. We both ordered the salad with chicken. The refrigerated case proudly displayed a bed of greens with a healthy scoop of egg salad on the top. I assumed that ordering a salad with chicken would mean getting the same thing, but with chicken salad on top. I knew something was amiss when she said, “Do you want (couldn’t understand), mayonnaise, or cole slaw on top?” I politely ask what my choices were again, and she politely repeated the same information. Since I could not understand all my options, I thought that Sherri would ask for a recommendation, so “What do you recommend?” And that’s how I ended up with cole slaw on top of a bed of greens, with some corn, a side of mayo (which I thought had been optional), and sliced chicken. It was odd but pretty good.

We took a look around Carrickfergus castle, which sits right on the edge of the water. It’s a large fortress but has little in the way of surrounding grounds. Just the ocean. The wind coming off the water was a bit much, so we hustled back to the clown car and drove up to the Chaine memorial. I’m still unclear if we saw a lighthouse or just a memorial, either way it was a huge brick structure that stands at the end of a walkway right at the edge of the sea. Chaine lived in the 1500’s and served 11 years in Parliament. Through his effort, the Port of Larne was built and the town grew, so there’s a good reason to memorialize him. Fascinating fact: Chaine was buried standing up in he Larne Town Park.

The coast of Northern Ireland is gorgeous. The weather was mild today, and the sun peaked out regularly. As we drove northeast, we detoured briefly to take a walk in Clements Woods. The heavily treed area is about 10 acres that have been put into a trust to prevent their loss from logging or other hazards that befall trees. The walk has large stands of oaks that were planted decades ago by school children in honor of the Queen Mother. When we came to the little wooden bridge, I threw down a Pooh stick challenge. Thanks to our friend Nick, in Manchester, we have found it impossible to walk over a bridge in the woods without racing sticks in the river. (For the original Pooh stick challenge, see the previous Hiking the Moors and Highlands.) Anyway, I lost the two out of three races, despite my best efforts. Our walk included heavy overgrowth that blocked the sun. With the mossy rocks, moist air, and restricted sunlight, it felt as though some mythical animal might appear at any moment. Luckily, we made it out safely and drove back to the Coastal Causeway, where we passed the madman’s window; a large rock formation that perfectly frames the sea. Local lore tells of a heartbroken an who came here every day to stare blankly at the sea, after his beloved died in the waters of Glenarm Bay. We had to do some scrambling to get up and over the hills to get to the rocks, but we flexed our agility and managed to avoid falling off the cliff. After a few quick photos, we headed to our final destination for the day; Glenarm.

Glenarm is home to Glenarm Castle, where we were looking forward to staying in the Barbican. Whilst in Lewes, we learned that a barbican is a castle gate or guard’s tower on the outer perimeter of a castle. So, technically not a castle, but a part of the grounds. As we drove up to it, I got more excited. It’s kinda creepy, but in all the good ways. I’ve stayed in unique places before (such as the yurt in Mongolia , as seen in the previous trip Across the Steppes or the masted ship in Stockholm harbor, which does not appear in a blog, since that was 1984 and the internet wasn’t invented), but this was something. Entering the creaky door, the spiral staircase invited us up...and up, and up, and up. The first stop is the bedroom, furnished with antique bed, armoire, and chair. Circling upward, the next room is the kitchen and sitting room. All of the place has been tastefully remodeled, while still retaining is castley charm. But wait! There’s more. The staircase winds up to the roof, where another staircase leads up to the top of the tower, overlooking the whole valley below. A meandering river passes by quietly, directly below, and I notice two boys dropping their lines in, hoping to catch something.

As we got settled, the bell rang. I was worried that Alison, the caretaker, would leave before I could get down the stairs. Almost dizzy from descending from the kitchen (third floor) as quickly as possible, I opened the door and explained, “I was in the kitchen and that’s a lot of stairs to come down just to answer the door.” She responded with “69.” OK, 69 corkscrew steps take a minute to run down. Alison was very helpful in getting me oriented with the ins and outs of castle living. Before she left, she gave me recommendations for a good chippy in the next town, as well as a nice walk nearby. “Just go around that wee corner there, and on the left is a wee gate. Go on through there and it’s a nice walk by the river, but mind the cows.”Read more