Sabbatical Journal: 10. MID TERM BREAK: Cardiff, Cork

Tuesday 15 October - Friday 18 October, Saffron Walden. The gales approach Scotland. We are going to Ireland next week and the reports for the Irish Sea read "Rough" all week. That relaxing four hour crossing from Pembroke to Rosslare that I have planned somehow seems less attractive.

Saturday 19 October, Saffron Walden to Cardiff, Wales. Robert is out of school at 12:15, but we don't leave the house until after three. We turn off the AGA for the first time and also turn off the heaters, then we're on our way. Our route takes us south on the M11 to the M25, counterclockwise on the M25 to the M4, then west (retracing our path in July to Tetbury) toward Cardiff in Wales. About 220 miles. We get very lost in Cardiff for about an hour, but finally find our hotel by nine o'clock. (I knew where it should be and drove by a few times, but it's name had changed since I made the reservation!)

Saturday night at the hotel is how I imagine Saturday night at the Sheraton in Any Mid Size City, USA: a DJ with snappy lines, oldies, and a small audience of fun loving couples and lonely singles.

Sunday 20 October, Cardiff to Pembroke, Wales; B&I Ferry to Rosslare, Ireland; Rosslare to Cork. In the morning I go for a run in the hilly area by the hotel. Nice to see Jeffrey and Mara alone at breakfast upon my return. We try for 10 o'clock mass up the road, but the church is empty and, after last night's efforts, I decide that we'd better not waste any more time. We leave Cardiff at 11:30 and arrive in Pembroke, about 80 miles to the east, at 1:15. On the way we listen to Mara practice her times tables, which need work. In Pembroke we learn that because of the past week's gales, dock repairs in Rosslare have resulted in a departure delay of several hours. We will not leave until 5:30. I call our hotel to let them know, and we set out to explore nearby ancient Pembroke Castle. It is well preserved and we enjoy our two hour visit in the Castle with its labyrinthine corridors and rooms—one could very easily lose children!

Back at the port, we line up in the usual rows, waiting to drive on board. Thomas displays his new problem: gagging and nearly throwing up when he walks into a men's room and takes a whiff. He goes outside instead. As is typical, we are not grouped with the cars, but with the big vans and small trucks, and we must wait. We finally leave at 5:45.

The sight of the ship's enormous barf basins (dwarfing the size of comparable facilities on the Dover to Calais ships) brings home the thought of a rough night ahead. The crossing, however, is as smooth as my first Guinness, which I am admonished ("This must be your first Guinness") to leave alone until it settles. The beer tastes delicious, far different from what I've drunk at home in the bottles. We stake out a table and chairs in the smoky lounge. Most of the lounge passengers watch a television program about a couple who first met on the TV dating show and later actually got married. Afterwards, we are more interested in a Ruth Rendell mystery, though we lose our reception half way across, enhancing the lonely feeling of being out to sea on a dark Sunday night.

The children, however, now love the ferry. It's like Goldilocks: our first ferry, to France in 45 minutes, was too short; the return trip, at an hour an a half, was much better. This crossing, at four and a half hours, is just right. There's plenty of time to play; there's even a movie showing, a delightful children's movie called"Witches."

We land in Ireland at 10:20. There is no immigration. We do not stop at customs and head off to Cork. What should have been a not unpleasant Sunday evening drive, 136 miles south on non-motorways, is not enjoyable at all. We pass through Waterford around midnight. Amazingly, on a Sunday night, there are still a lot of people standing in front of the pubs and walking home. In Cork, we lose our way for half an hour looking for the hotel, but finally arrive at the Vienna Woods at about 2 a.m.. We think we are locked out, but there is a welcome note on the door with keys. Irish hospitality!

Monday 21 October - Wednesday 23 October, Cork. Our stay in Cork is not unpleasant, but, like the days themselves, cold and gloomy and quite short. Sunrise here this time of year is close to eight o'clock.

On Monday we rise late. We seem to be the only guests in the hotel, an old manor house. We are pleased to learn, however, that breakfast has been held over for us because of our late arrival. If the day is gloomy, the hospitality is nothing of the sort and the voices of the hotel maids are cheery, high Irish brogue, normal speech sounds like singing!

After breakfast, we all go for a walk around the hotel. The back is densely covered in green; Thomas becomes frightened and we walk instead around the front along a road with cows grazing in the fields behind the stone walls. Afterwards, we drive to downtown, walk around, do some shopping and take in the sights, which include the Buckley Brothers market. In the phone book, as promised, there are four full pages of Buckleys.

In the evening Cathy and I leave the children in the room with the television and dinner and try to find the Oscar Wilde play. We get lost again in the City, and go out to dinner instead.

On Tuesday, we pile in the car for an AA driving tour. First stop is lunch at Blarney, at the crowded Woollen Mills. We are intrepid buyers of woolens and are much disappointed to later on discover that there is a Blarney Woolen Mills in Cambridge! We are not at all tempted to kiss the Blarney stone, and head off after lunch on our tour. The scenery is absolutely beautiful and green, and the drivers are friendly as can be; but the route is hard to follow and the children more and more quarrelsome. We return to the hotel for cocktails (Guinness) and conversation in the lounge. We notice the mayor arrive at the hotel, where he is hosting a gathering. It is hard to miss a mayor in Ireland or Britain: the official insignia of the office appears to be a large silver chain around the neck, like one of those silver chains hung around a whisky bottle. We eat at the hotel.

Wednesday is our first sunny day. Jeffrey and I take a morning walk along the river. Our spirits brighten as we leave Cork at noon. For the first time on our trip, a place has left me disappointed. Cathy feels it too. I suspect it has to do with getting caught up in the emotional expectations of a visit to the Buckley home with no real plan of what to do and, with the short, gloomy days, an ever present feeling of time running out. Getting lost also takes away our time. What really hurts, however, is the timelessness of the suffering and pain told in Famine Diary, the hardships of our ancestors 150 years ago are too close for comfort.

We are glad to be on our way to Dublin.