Stowaway’s Adventures Again

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Meeting the Gruffalo at Well’s House, Wexford, Ireland.

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Kilkee, Clare, Ireland

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Burton-On-The-Water, Gloucestershire, UK

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Swallow Falls, Wales, UK

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Powis Castle, Wales, UK

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Stowaway montage, Mullaghmore Beach, Sligo, Ireland.

Happy days…


 

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You know how I said, ‘no more photos…’

You won’t be sorry, promise because here I combine wonder with cuteness.

On our holiday, with thanks to my patient, long-suffering husband, we travelled with a small mouse called Stowaway.

This is his story…

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Fountains Abbey, Yorkshire, UK

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Captain Cook’s Cottage, Staithes, Yorkshire, UK

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Scarborough Castle, Scarborough, Yorkshire, UK

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Examining the exhibits at Whitby Museum, Whitby, Yorkshire, UK

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Chatsworth House, Bakewell, Derbyshire, UK

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Blenheim Palace, Woodstock, Oxforshire, UK

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Wiseman’s Bridge, Saundersfoot, Wales, UK

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Church mouse at Dore Abbey, Wales, UK

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Bunratty Castle, County Clare, Ireland

 


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Picture Perfect V

The final post of pictures from our travels…

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A beach near Ballinphull, County Sligo UK

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Trim Castle, Trim, County Meath, Ireland

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Newgrange Monument, Brú na Bóinne, County Meath, Ireland. Although made only from stacked stone without mortar, this site had remained water-tight for the last 5000 years. Mind. Blown.

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Menai Strait, Anglesey, Wales, UK

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Snowdonia National Park, Wales, UK

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Swallow Falls, Betws-y-Coed, Wales, UK

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I love the juxtaposition of this. Old vs new. Rhuddlan Castle, Wales, UK

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Squirrel montage, Powis Castle, Wales, UK


 

nanopoblano1Bloggin every day in November!

 

Picture Perfect IV

Are you getting sick of these yet? Sorry.

On a positive note, I took 2,000 photgraphs, so you have a lot to be grateful for.

Favourite photos from our travels…

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The Cliffs of Moher, County Clare, Ireland.

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The Burren, County Clare, Ireland

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Kilkee Coast, County Clare, Ireland

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King John’s Castle, Limerick, Ireland

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Lough Gur, County Limerick, Ireland

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The Gleniff Horseshoe, County Sligo, Ireland

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Glencar, County Sligo, Ireland

There’ll only be one more photography post. This year. Promise.


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Cross Your Heart

We visited Ireland two years ago and it felt like home.

I could say it was my Irish ancestry, but my last ancestor set foot in Ireland four generations ago – it’s not like I have relatives beckoning me back. I could say it was my vague Catholic upbringing, but it seems I only attended church (and Sunday School) to please my grandmother and The Church because my mother had to prove she’d denounced Protestantism. Pretty much like my Protestant grandmother did in the previous generation.

Hypocrisy aside. I’m getting off track.

Australia is home too, but Ireland resonated with me in a way I cannot easily explain.

As readers here probably know, I’m not especially religious, in that, I no-longer attend church. And while religion plays a part here, this post is mostly about people. Random people who briefly shared a moment of their lives with us when we visited Ireland.

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The Rock of Cashel

In Kilkenny, I followed an older woman down the street carrying two grocery bags, one in each hand. As she walked, she shifted the groceries from her right hand to her left. She crossed herself and returned the bag to her right hand. We’d walked past a church.

I don’t know why I loved this so much. It was so real and honest and an action I’d never witnessed outside of church.

I have always loved churches. They’re like buildings of made of peace. History has shown us, of course, religion has caused much conflict. But churches for me are sanctuary, bundled by walls and pews. I’ve always found them to be peaceful, beautiful places.

I lingered around the entrance of a church in Wexford and wondered if I should enter – could I take photos? A woman bustled up beside me. She dabbed her hand into the font at the entrance, crossed herself and went in. I followed her. She lit a candle and rested it, flickering amongst the others. She said a prayer.

I crept around to the aisle of the church – my camera a heavy thought at my side. I marvelled at the windows and the architecture. With old habits I crossed myself and took a pew and noticed others already had – their heads lowered in thought, or prayer.

I mentally confirmed with myself it wasn’t Sunday.

Then I had another thought: People are actually using this church.

It made me feel so areligious. Australia is so full of empty churches.

I sat there. I took a moment.

I didn’t take any photos.

While in Wexford, we stayed at a Bed and Breakfast. It was unlike any other B&B we’d stayed in, simply because the owners had made little attempt to separate their business from their house. Essentially, we were boarding. We’d had an awkward introduction because minutes before we’d arrived, our host had received unexpected guests looking for a bed. We were ushered to our room, which wasn’t quite ready.

‘Weren’t you arriving on the 4 o’clock ferry?’

The next morning, our host was calmer, but frustrated because the other guests had decided to sleep in for breakfast. Which was a shame, because it was delicious.

We returned to the B&B after a day’s touristing, but struggled to get a park. Once inside, our host had prepared some salmon for us. She knew Seamus, who knew Peter, who knew a fisherman. She asked about my Irish roots and the places we’d been in the day, adding comments like, ‘you would have seen Eamon’  or ‘you must eat at Patrick’s’. Our host was a living street directory.

There was a knock at the door.

Our host’s neighbour’s neighbour greeted her. ‘Oh, I’ve just come from Siόbhan’s, I don’t know if there’s more I can do.’

They entered the kitchen and my husband and I were sitting there, munching on salmon. Introductions were made, but their conversation continued.

‘I’ve just taken around a casserole.’

‘I went around and did the dishes.’

‘You’re a good woman, Caitriόna.’

An elderly woman in the street had passed away. Everyone knew her. She had five children and several more grandchildren and great-grandchildren. The street was in mourning and a funeral procession was expected in the coming hours.

‘Will you go?’

‘Probably,’ our host nodded, ‘You?’

‘I don’t know, I don’t like an open coffin…’

Conversation circled like this for a while. Talk of life and death and family. We asked questions which were answered honestly.

The sense of community was overwhelming.


We saw many wondrous things during our travels through the UK and Ireland.
These unexpected and beautiful moments were among my favourites.

Do you have an unexpected, wondrous moment to share?

Reminiscing: Ireland

Final post from my photographic blog series. For your information – one week in Ireland is NOT long enough. *throws arms in air* Now I’ll have to go back!

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The breathtaking Trinity College Library. I loved this so much I pinned it up on Pinterest a year before I knew I would see it in person.

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The gorgeous setting of Powerscourt Estate.

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The wonder and mystery of Glendalough, Co. Wicklow.

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Monastic site at Glendalough. The lower ‘window’ is actually the front door. Monks apparently used a rope ladder enabling them to pull it inside for security.

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Partial panorama on the road over Sally Gap. Co.Wicklow.

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The Rock of Cashel complete with scaffolding. They are currently trying to preserve the structure and the ancient Celtic art within.

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Beautiful scenery on the Ring of Kerry road, en route to Killarney, Co. Kerry.

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Looking up to the heights of Blarney Castle

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Looking down from the heights of Blarney Castle. Gave the stone-kiss a miss.

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Really enjoyed this wander through this amazing cemetery at Youghal, Co. Cork. Especially as at the time, I was in the middle of reading ‘The Graveyard Book’ by Neil Gaiman.

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Enniscorthy Castle and a roadwork sign demonstrating a little known dance move called ‘The Shovel’.

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Stowaway taking in the history at Enniscorthy Castle

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The shadow of Hook Lighthouse on a glorious day at Hook Peninsula, Co. Wexford.

Normal blog posts may now resume.

Reminiscing

Perhaps it is the jet-lag, perhaps it is the 371 emails jamming up my inbox or perhaps it is the five-week social media exodus but I feel wordless. I find myself melancholic like I’m experiencing some kind of holiday bereavement.

Holiday. Yes, I’ve had one. An amazing one at that. I’d largely forgotten about Twitter, haven’t glanced at Facebook and barely had the time to read my favourite blogs. I have to remind myself what is normal but then I’m left wondering if I ought to restructure my normality.

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Click to enlarge

So my husband and I travelled to the UK and Ireland.

We landed in Manchester (P) and you can trace our approximate journey following the letters from B back to P.

Everything was made of magic. So I’ll try and avoid a clinical analysis of our holiday and instead focus on my favourite photographs from the 1,500 we took on our journey. You’ll also get to meet Stowaway – so named because he was the little mouse that stowed away.

Stowaway, discovered by my husband in Manchester

Stowaway, discovered by my husband in Manchester

Perhaps I should begin with England…