In spring 2003 my parents rented a cottage in Ventry, a village in the Dingle Peninsula. Their plan: Stay on the southwest coast of Ireland for a few months, meet the locals, and host family and friends.
An old postcard marks the Dingle Peninsula in the lower left.
Going through old scrapbooks recently, I found a letter from the cottage owner to my dad. She offered directions from Shannon Airport to Dingle Town, cautioning against driving through Connor Pass unless weather and visibility were good. She further instructed him to watch for a church on one corner, Páidí Ó Sé's Pub on the other, and a corner store for "Irish Independent” on it.
My parents at the Ventry cottage base camp.
Our turn to visit fell during our son’s mid-March spring break. Our first sleep in the new time zone was at the Fitzpatrick Bunratty where an Irish wedding reception was in full swing. The father of the bride insisted that we join them. We felt at home and welcome.
After sleeping off our jetlag, it was time to hit the road. Driving in Ireland isn’t for the fainthearted. My husband bravely took the wheel of our Dan Dooley rental down narrow, winding lanes. En route to the obligatory castle dinner for our 10-year-old felt a little like a frantic driving scene from a movie. That may also have been the first time that we lost a side-view mirror in Ireland.
Country roads are scenic but tricky to navigate.
After a day visit at the Bunratty Folk Park & Castle, it was time to meet my parents in Dingle.
Our plan was to meet mom and dad in Dingle and follow them from there to Ventry.
Perfect weather magnified the stunning coastal views on the drive. In many pictures, including a stop on the road to Dingle, you see our son posing in his bright-yellow rain slicker, hands on hips, chest thrust out, big smile on his face. At 10, he recognized the country’s appeal.
From the cottage window we could see the neighbor’s sheep.
Travel guides advise against trying to cover too much ground in a short time. And there was plenty to do in and around Ventry and Dingle.
Dingle’s St. Pat’s celebration was simple and sweet: a small parade, colorful flags, dancing, music, and pub food and drink. We ate sandwiches with sun-dried tomatoes that we bought from a street vendor, and we still talk about their indescribable deliciousness. It was chilly, but we couldn’t pass up a boat ride to watch for Fungie, the dolphin in Dingle Harbour.
Irish dancers in the 2003 Dingle St. Pat’s celebration.
Other days we sampled scones from a little shop where you could look out the window and see the Blasket Islands. We explored prehistoric beehive huts. We crammed into crowded pubs to hear local music. We squeezed in day trips to see the waterfalls at Killarney National Park and the towering Cliffs of Moher.
Still the highlight was exploring nearby Slea Head, where we had clear skies and the spectacular coastline mostly to ourselves.
My husband and son walking to the Slea Head coast in March 2003.
Other friends and family cycled in and out of the Ventry cottage.
In 2007 my parents rented another house. This time base camp was in The Burren, a region in County Clare. Our nephew Nick joined us to keep Dylan company.
Our itinerary included stops at the Aillwee Cave and Monk’s.
Weather cooperated less this trip, but hiking, exploring beaches, and marveling again at the Cliffs of Moher compensated. From Galway we caught a train for an overnight in Dublin where we roamed the city in a light March snow in search of a cheap hotel.
My parents often stayed home during our excursions. But at night we’d gather around the table, talking and playing cards. Recently, my husband recounted the story of Nick telling us about his woodshop project that earned him an A+: a doorstop. That had us laughing.
One night the boys’ wild wrestling moves ended with a broken cottage bed. They tried to hide it, propping up the bed with a suitcase. But the truth caught up with them, and their letter of apology followed.
Nick entertaining us on the train to Dublin.
Cousins Dylan and Nick at Fanore beach in 2007.
For Dylan’s high school graduation in 2012, we rented a house in Dingle with friends. International travel can be dicey, and our flight was canceled hours before our scheduled departure. After rescheduling five flights, being assigned different layover cities, and losing my luggage, we reached our rental house a day later than planned.
Outside our Dingle rental in July 2012: my husband, son, me, and friend Mike Flanagan.
Our next Irish adventure was underway. Dinner down the street one night led us to a creperie owned by a French woman. Another night we cooked at home. To re-create photos from our 2003 trip we returned to Killarney. The Fourth of July took us on a leisurely drive to Waterford so Mike and Denise could check out Harley-Davidson. On the way home we stopped at Inch, a four-mile sandy beach, and waded in the Atlantic.
Thanks to a great tip from a local, we found this hiking trail.
One Christmas my husband gave me the Ancestry DNA test. For privacy reasons, I’m not sure I’d do it again. But it was interesting to learn that my ethnicity is estimated 52% Ireland (Munster, North Munster, East, Cork and Waterford, and Leinster) and 29% Scotland.
My maternal grandmother is Elizabeth Frances Burns Bormann, daughter of Thomas Burns and Margaret Ellen Murphy. Thomas, my great grandfather, is the son of Lawrence Burns and Elizabeth Hoben Burns of Kilkenny, Ireland.
Emmetsburg, where my mom grew up, has Irish roots and is a sister city to Dublin.
In high school I had a classmate named Tim Burns. Because my grandmother was a Burns, Tim and I always called each other “cuz,” without any genealogy homework that I can remember. Near our 40th class reunion, we reconnected over a few emails, gradually piecing together that his great grandfather James was younger brother to my great grandfather Thomas.
On my dad’s side, Thomas Broderick Sr., born in County Cork in 1825, married Ellen Linehan, born in 1823, of County Cork. Their son Thomas Broderick Jr. was my grandfather Patrick’s dad.
I have Irish roots.
And thanks to my parents’ generosity and hospitality, I experienced a small part of Ireland with them, my husband, son, nephew, and friends.
I imagine Ireland’s tourism has suffered greatly during the pandemic. I hope it rebounds quickly and fully.
This St. Pat’s will be quiet. My Two Chicks from the Sticks cookbook has a recipe for Catherine’s Irish Soda Bread that I like to make. A vegetarian shepherd’s pie may be on the menu. If I can find pretty fresh daffodils, I’ll buy bunches to tuck in vases around the house. The simplicity of the Dingle St. Pat’s celebration has always stayed with me.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day.
Nick and St. Patrick at the Cliffs of Moher Visitor Centre, Ireland, March 17, 2007.
Dedicated to Nick Joseph Medina, a lover of life and adventure, and my beloved nephew.
August 15, 1992 – February 19, 2021
“Being adventurous is a human characteristic. Some just have more of it than others.” NJM
© 2020 by Catherine Broderick Medina
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