Monday, June 11, 2018. Glendalough Abby and the Rock of Cashel

At 10:00 we asked the concierge at the Fitzwilliam Hotel to bring our rental car around to the front door. Our luggage was loaded and we drove toward Glendalough, site of a monastery, now in ruins, founded by St. Kevin in the sixth century. The gateway is the only surviving entrance to a medieval monastic site anywhere in Ireland, according to Fodor’s. The site is very peaceful, nestled in a valley in the Wicklow Mountains next to two lakes.

A pretty stream ran between the visitors center and the site itself. We took a selfie in front of St. Kevin’s cross. It’s impossible to know whether the saint actually had anything to do with the cross, but it’s his cross now, anyway. Fodor’s has this to say about Glendalough, “A monastery founded by a hermit in the 6^th century, attacked by Vikings in the 10^th century, and plundered by the English in the 12^th century – your typical Irish ruins.”

The most intact building on the site is the six-story round tower. Its door is 11 feet off the ground, so the tower served two purposes. Someone could keep watch at the top of the tower, looking for approaching invaders or marauders, whether they be Viking or English. Once the enemy was spotted, the monks could flee to the tower and pull the 11-foot ladder in after them. At that point the other buildings might be looted, but the monks at least would be safe. Unfortunately the wooden floors inside the tower have all rotted away, and the ladder has, too, so there was no going inside the tower.

Back in the rented VW Passat, we drove over the Wicklow Mountains toward Cashel. The views were excellent, but I had to keep my eyes glued to the narrow, winding road to keep from running into other cars or scraping the stone walls that served as guard rails. We stopped in Hollywood for a lunch of sausage and chips (Abby) and a club sandwich (me). I told the waitress that I had never been to Hollywood before. When we said we were from the United States, she said that our accents gave it away. As we left the restaurant at 2:00, the road was lined with cars driven by mothers and grandmothers who were picking kids up from the school next door.

The Rock of Cashel can be seen from miles outside the city. It is both a defensive fortification on a hill and the site of St. Patrick’s cathedral, now in ruins. Cashel was also the seat of the kings of Munster until 1101. Curiously, many of the kings of Munster were also bishops of the Cashel diocese. Cashel is the spot where St. Patrick, in the fifth century, plucked a shamrock and used it to explain the trinity. I wish I had been there, because I still find the trinity hard to understand. A couple of nice ladies from Texas took my picture in front of St. Patrick’s cross, which has been moved inside to protect it from the weather. The cross rests on the original coronation stone of the kings of Munster.

Since our hotel in Cork was just 60 miles from Cashel, we expected to get there in about an hour. Unfortunately, my GPS was not working since AT&T apparently does not serve Ireland, and the directions provided by our travel agent were difficult for a couple of Americans to understand. After an additional hour or so of wandering around Cork, we finally came upon the Hayfield Manor Hotel. Let’s just say it is not on the beaten track. This was not the first time we would wander around a city looking for a hotel.

Once we were there, the hotel was delightful. Clare at the front desk, when she heard about our difficulty in finding the place, offered us a whisky liqueur made in Cork. Our room was enormous; the bathroom alone was bigger than some hotel rooms. The food in the “casual” restaurant was outstanding – Abby had the rack of lamb while I had the sea bass. The couple dining next to us had a 15-month-old baby who was captivated by his mom’s iPad. I wish we had had iPads when our kids were that age!