Connemara: The Quiet Man’s place

For a while, we debated whether or not to go to Connemara. I had heard the scenery was gorgeous, but what could you actually do there? In the end, we decided to try it. I think, like the Aran Islands, it’s among my favorite places now.

After the first three days of risking life and limb on narrow Irish regional roads, we went into Galway, fully prepared for traffic from the horse racing crowds and more narrow roads. To our surprise, the roads were much wider and almost like American roads. Angels sang and there was great rejoicing. I finally relaxed my white-knuckle grip on the handrest when we pulled onto the N-59. A tip here: N roads = good. R roads = bad. N roads are what I’m accustomed to, here in the states. R roads are where you try to squeeze two cars in the space of one lane. And you put a stone wall on one side. They are absolutely terrifying. :shocked:

But in Galway, at last we could actually drive the speed limit. (Aside–the Irish speed limits tend to be optimistic. I swear, the traffic folks were laughing their heads off. They will put a 100 km/h speed limit on a one line road that winds up a mountain. And then they will paint SLOW on the road. I think the attitude is–hey, if you can drive 100 km/h without killing yourself, more power to you!) We almost never drove the speed limit for fear of dying a fiery death.

Amazingly, the road stayed nice and wide throughout the trip. The scenery started to grow rocky and mountainous with mriror lakes and intensely green hills. Here’s a larger photo. Occasionally, suicidal sheep wandered near the road and we prayed they would decide not to throw themselves in front of the car. I have never seen scenery as lovely or as rugged as this. I could almost picture William Wallace screaming a war cry while leading his men into Connemara.

We stayed at Byrne’s Mal Dua House (great place!) in Clifden and then ventured toward the town of Roundstone, famous for the bodhran drums. Although we followed the directions given by our host, we were convinced we had gone the wrong way. The roads were so narrow, we had to swerve the car into a hedge a few times to avoid oncoming traffic. At one point, we thought we might have to drive into the Atlantic Ocean. The coast was littered with stones while fuchsia hedges and blackberry bushes lined the stone walls.

At last, we reached Roundstone. The drum factory was built on the site of an old monastery. Inside, you can see both modern and antique woodworking tools to prepare the wood and stretch the goatskin. I bought a small drum for my son, and they’ll engrave the child’s name for free. For my daughter, I bought a penny whistle. I swear, I’ll pay for that one later.

Then, since our hosts hadn’t steered us wrong on directions before, we decided to take their suggestion on the way back. There’s a road off the main R-road, that is simply marked “Clifden.” It is the Road That Must Not Be Named. Some of the locals call it the bog road, but truthfully, it’s unnamed. It wins my award for Best Road Ever. Because there are almost no cars on it (thank goodness!) and you drive right through the Twelve Bens, the mountains that rise up all around you. The landscape is harsh, with gray stones rising all around you, heather blooming amid the rocks, and sometimes you’ll spot a wild pony. We saw one standing atop a rocky hill, as if he were king of the world. Simply amazing. The road bounces your car, and sheep are everywhere. The sheep are spray-painted blue and red to mark them.

Here’s a picture of us as we parked the car and ran in the midst of bog territory for a quick photo. If you ever go to Clifden, definitely drive down the Road That Must Not Be Named.

The Aran Islands

One aspect of traveling in Ireland that we didn’t expect was the lack of ATM machines. Many of the bed and breakfasts require cash payment, and this can be tricky, given the cash limits on U.S. withdrawals. On the day we traveled to the Aran Islands, we had to be at Doolin to catch the ferry in the early morning. Thank goodness they accepted VISA because there wasn’t an ATM machine anywhere in Kilfenora where we stayed. (Quick note: We loved staying in Kilfenora. They have the best pub, Vaughn’s, which had an Irish ceili the night before. Imagine the entire town, aged 90 to 14, dancing at 10:30 at night. They did all sorts of traditional dances, and we had an absolute blast.)

But back to the islands. The weather was not on our side at first. The clouds were misty, almost obscuring our ferry view of the Cliffs of Moher. The Atlantic Ocean was almost black in color, and the boat trip over was very choppy.

Note the name of our boat. Gotta love it. We decided to tour Inishmor, the largest of the Aran Islands. The ferry ride over lasted about an hour and a half. At first I was afraid Inishmore would be a complete tourist trap, but truly, there’s no such thing. To truly enjoy the beauty of the Aran Islands, hire a jaunting car. We hired Kevin, our fearless guide, shown here on the far right with my husband and I. Kevin was quite the character. Like most islanders, his native language is Irish, not English. He had a wonderful accent, which reminded me of a pirates. I asked Kevin about some of the wildflowers blooming. “That be ragwort,” he said. “It be pizen for th’ horses. It’ll burn their liver. Bad stuff, it is.” Personally, I think Kevin was one of the highlights. It took about an hour to travel across the island, and here are some of the views we saw. Inishmor is truly a place lost in time. It was breathtaking to amble along the road, with Kevin’s colorful narrative, hearing the horse’s hooves upon the road. Along the way, Kevin would point out the ruins of a house or church, several hundred years old. My writer’s imagination would picture a medieval family, trying to survive on the island. Then Kevin would remark, “It be a fine shed. Put a roof on it.” A pragmatic man, our Kevin.

The trip across the island boasted narrow roads, stone walls made of limestone and granite, and the walls were covered in blackberry bushes. We took the horse up to Dun Aengus, a ring fort built in 1100 BC. The fort was right on the edge of the Atlantic.

Here’s a second view. If you want to see the full-sized photo, click here Part of the ring fort has already crumbled into the sea, but the vast majority is intact. The view of the surrounding countryside and ocean are just stunning. To me, this was better than the Cliffs of Moher because it still had the wild, untamed aspect. I could just sit and watch the view forever from Dun Aengus. And to imagine a dwelling still intact from over 3000 years ago was simply amazing.

We drove back, and Kevin was none-too-pleased at the mini-tour buses who overtook our horse and cart. A few times when children on bikes came too close, Kevin would say, “Beep-beep.” We ended our trip where I bought my Aran fisherman’s sweater. And to top it off, we got sunburned in 60 degree weather. Still, it was worth it.

If you want to see more pictures, here is our horse and cart. And here’s a Celtic cross. Here’s a view of a ruin and another of the countryside. Enjoy!

The Cliffs of Moher

Okay, time for a scenic photo. The Cliffs of Moher, shown below, are among the most popular tourist attractions in Ireland. They’re located not too far from Doolin, right on the coast. Take a good look. Because some of the scenery I’ll show you later is better. You won’t believe it.

The walk up to the cliffs is much tougher than it used to be. They’re remodeling the area and you now have to climb a pretty steep hill for about half a mile. In addition, there used to be very little in the way of safety. People could walk right off the edge if they wanted to. Now, they have concrete enclosures in place to avoid stupidity. Or it might be that erosion is making the edge unstable. Either way, enjoy the views!

Crannogs–artificial island dwellings

Sorry I missed posting yesterday. I was in the middle of revisions and when the writing is cooking, you don’t stop.

Okay, today I’ll share more information about Craggaunowen and the crannog. The crannog is a man-made island, and they’ve been around since the Bronze Age. Usually only a few families would dwell on a crannog, because there isn’t space for more than 2-3 huts. Here is a view from the mainland. There’s a little bit of land by the boat and then the water is just out of view. Here’s another photo. You get a better sense of the water here. The exterior of the island is surrounded by a wooden palisade, usually made of interwoven sticks/reeds. At the entrance, there was a gate house made of wood where people could keep guard. The reenactors had spears as weapons.

The houses I visited on this crannog were wattle and daub exteriors, which is basically a mixture of wicker and mud. The walls of a hut are made similar to the palisade, with interwoven sticks, covered with mud to insulate the hut. The doors were really interesting. Here’s a photo of one:

I was surprised to see that there wasn’t a smoke hole at the top inside the hut. I learned that if they had an indoor fire, they would keep the door and window open to ventilate the smoke. But more often, they would heat the hut using hot stones. Stones would be left in an outdoor fire until they were extremely hot, then rolled using tongs, into the hut. Basically, it’s a radiator effect. In winter, they might seal off the windows with stretched hides that were nearly translucent. In this next photo, you can see a view of the interior. Logs were used for seating, and the interior was all dirt. Very cozy, but there wasn’t much light.

Crannog dwellings were great for keeping animals such as wild boar out, but they were mostly for families. The men would marry and their wives and children would be there. Daughters would typically marry to another tribe and leave their homes.

Hope I’m not boring anyone with all the history. My next book is actually set in a hut like these, and it’s very intimate. I had a lot of fun with it, and I think there’s something to be said for variety in a setting. Castles with lords and ladies are great, but I wanted to explore something a little different. Although my new book In Your Eyes is not set upon a crannog, the hut is very much like this one. The heroine is a healer, and the hero is a handsome warrior from her past.

Craggaunowen–a reenactment village

After breakfast, we took our lives into our hands and ventured toward Craggaunowen, a Celtic reenactment village. We were introduced to the most narrow roads I’ve ever seen in my life. Barely one-and-a-half cars wide, we drove with a stone wall to our left and oncoming cars to the right. My hands were gripping the seat the entire time. Not to mention that the roads weren’t marked. I didn’t have a clue which road we were on, but we valiantly followed the little brown tourist attraction signs to Craggaunowen. I was a bit nervous about it, since the tour book called it overrated. I knew I needed the research for my Irish medievals (and I’d like to try an ancient Celtic book, too), so I dragged the men there.

Alright–fair warning. I’m going to go into a lot of detail on Craggaunowen over the next few days because I personally thought it was the coolest place ever. :shimmy: It was exactly what I’d hoped for. Today, I’ll talk about the tower house.

Most Irish tower houses were owned by either a chieftain, petty king, or an Anglo-Norman invader who decided to set up house. In your mind, picture a townhouse-sized castle, and that’s what they are. This particular tower house was built in the 16th century. Most tower houses were from the later medieval period, along with stone castles. Before that, the Irish used ring forts. They did have earth and timber structures similar to castles, however. When the Normans invaded in 1169 and brought over their castle architecture, the Irish eventually copied them and tower houses evolved from then on.

The tower house at Craggaunowen sits atop a hill, and it’s covered with blackberry bushes, ivy, and underbrush. When you walk in the main entrance (which would have had a large wooden door), tortoise shells about the size of a shield were mounted on the wall as decoration. The furnishings were not at all what I pictured. For example, these were the types of chairs used. The furnishings were fairly sparse (and likely all brought in to give it flavor, rather than the originals), but they were 16th century pieces.

This one is an example of a lord’s chair.

Remember the bride’s chest I told you about at Bunratty? Here is an example of that from Craggaunowen. The inlaid wood carvings were so intricate. I can imagine how it would take a carver 12-13 years to finish such a piece for a woman’s dowry.

I also saw numerous examples of weaving and naturally-dyed wool. In the common chair picture shown above, you can see a small hand loom they would have used, and here is a basket of some of the materials.

Another fascinating part of the tower house was looking at where people slept. Like Bunratty, the stairs were incredibly treacherous. They were made of stone and wound in a spiral, straight up. The common folk, would have slept on the floor, on a pallet. In my mind, I think I held a more romantic view of a pallet, rather than the reality shown here. The straw mattress is covered in burlap. The Irish learned (the hard way) to sleep in a seated position rather than lying flat. Superstition has it that demons could steal your soul while you slept. In reality, many were sleeping not far from a fireplace, and in the winter time, they would seal off the windows and cover the doors to keep in the heat. Sealed area plus a fireplace = carbon monoxide poisoning. Those who slept upright tended to get more fresh air and subsequently lived.

Last, here’s an example of the lord’s bed. He may have slept partially sitting up, but people were of shorter stature then. If I were sleeping in a bed that small, I’d roll over and knock my husband to the opposite side of the room. It’s barely wider than a twin bed. But I suppose if you compare it to a pallet, it’s fairly luxurious!

Tomorrow–a visit to a crannog, an artificial island!

Bunratty Castle and Medieval Banquet

We spent the day going through Bunratty Castle. The castle was originally built in 1425, and as you can see, it was very much a defense structure. There is an outer curtain wall and an inner bailey, with a courtyard. You can almost imagine the soldiers practicing here, or the folk going about their daily lives. When you enter the castle, there is a modern wooden staircase that was built as an entrance, but it wasn’t there centuries ago. Here is a cutaway view of what it might have looked like. You can see that the bedrooms would have been on the upper floors, while the banquet hall was above the entrance level. Lower levels were used for food storage, and/or imprisonment.

One of the things that struck me was the difficulty of the stairs. There are hundreds of them, winding up a narrow path to the battlements. Thighmaster has nothing on Bunratty Castle. My quads were burning by the time I reached the top, and I consider myself in average shape. The stairs were so narrow, and triangular-shaped, only one person at a time could ascend. Let’s just say that there would not be any hunky Irish warriors hefting their women up the stairs. If they tried, they’d knock her unconscious going around the corner, because her head would whack the center support of the stairs. Not very romantic.
But you know what was really amazing? The furniture. When a baby girl was born, her father would commission a bride’s chest for her. Over the duration of her life until she married, the woodcarver would work on the chest and it became part of her dowry. The amount of detailed work on the chest was just incredible.

When we arrived for our banquet, ladies of the castle presented us with cups of mead in pottery mugs. Mead is a fermented drink made from honey, and you can really taste its sweetness. In the meantime, one of the castle ladies played the Irish harp. Another appetizer was fresh bread served with salt. You had to sprinkle the salt on the bread, after taking it from a small wooden bowl. A man and woman were chosen to be the Earl and Lady of Thomond, and they were given crowns as well.

The castle “steward” called us into dinner and we were led to long wooden tables. The first course was parsnip soup with brown bread, which was delicious, except that we had no silverware at all. The soup had to be drunk directly from the bowl. Then the second course of pork spare ribs was served. During the meal, a man was selected to be cast into the dungeon. His penalty was to sing an Irish song, which he led with gusto. :whistle: Next, we ate a chicken with mead sauce, potatoes, julienned carrots and turnips, and for dessert, a raspberry mousse. Red and white wine were offered, along with water. :beer: All in all, we had a great time at the banquet.

Have you ever been to a medieval banquet yourself?

Bunratty Folk Park…Thatched Cottages and More!

I had the best of intentions of blogging yesterday, but I got my revisions back from Mills & Boon and I spent a chunk o’ time working on those. Back to Bunratty…

As I mentioned before, our bed and breakfast hostess was flying out the door, leaving us with the Cleaning Lady in charge. We never did learn what the “emergency” was, sorry. Cleaning Lady stared at us and said, “I don’t really like to cook. Is a continental breakfast okay?” I wasn’t quite sure how to reply. It wasn’t like we had a choice. Here I was, looking forward to my first Irish breakfast,:hungry: and Cleaning Lady was bound and determined to serve corn flakes. After that, she asked for us to pay for the room up front, in cash. I had visions of her taking our Euros and going off on a wild spending spree to buy more Lysol, but we paid for that and also for our reserved medieval banquet at Bunratty. I am a sucker for reenactment banquets. I loooove them. And by golly, I was going to drag my unsuspecting hubby and father-in-law to eat with their fingers and listen to madrigal singing.

But first, we went to Bunratty Folk Park. The Folk Park was much better than I expected. It has cute little cottages like this one (see husband and father-in-law pictured): . Most of them were 19th century, but a few things surprised me (not one of which was the size).

Inside the cottages were religious pictures everywhere, icons, and even a holy water basin near the entrance. I knew there was a strong Catholic identity to Ireland, particularly in the past, but this really struck me. Framed pictures of the Sacred Heart, as well as pictures of the Virgin Mary, were in every cottage we entered. There was a simplicity and a deep faith that I saw. Here is a picture of a reenacter who was making soda bread in a cast iron pot. At first, I didn’t even see the pot since it was buried beneath the peat ashes. Peat fires were used everywhere, and the peat is rectangular-shaped, like this outdoor fire in the courtyard. I actually didn’t mind the odor–it was a spicy type of fragrance. In any case, we sampled the warm soda bread, which was wonderful. It had a crusty outside and a soft inside. Mmmm…

Here is an interior shot of one of the cottages. All of the furniture had a loving, hand-made quality to it. I truly enjoyed visiting the cottages, because you could imagine the lives of the inhabitants. One cottage even had a fold-away bed, and several had lofts for the children to share.

This is a picture of one of the wealthier families, as you can tell from the phonograph in the corner and the china. I’m guessing it was from the Victorian era, given the decorations.

The gardens in the folk park were also amazing. Lots of cottage-style gardens, but these surrounded a manor house. Animals such as sheep, cows, and even deer were grazing. Stone walls were everywhere. We even visited two mills, a large one where you could see the bags of grain and flour being ground and a smaller one. Weaving throughout the cottages and landscape were tall fuchsia hedges, which bloomed with pink flowers and purple heart centers. It was gorgeous.

Tomorrow: The Bunratty Medieval Reenactment Dinner!

Ireland! The Great Saga Begins…

I am back from Ireland, and I have loads of trip details to share. So, hang onto your pie pan hats, grab your mug of Guinness or my preference Bulmer’s Cider, and I’ll share with you the tales from Eire. This will take a while, so hopefully I won’t bore you!

The trip started out with Michelle’s Typical Luck. Our flight to Boston was delayed…and delayed again…and delayed again. Would we even make the Boston to Ireland leg? It wasn’t looking good. The flight left at 9:15, and here it was, 7:00 and we weren’t going. At 7:45, we were sitting on the runway, and I knew that even if we somehow, by a miracle of God, made it to the plane, our luggage wouldn’t. Luckily, we packed out toiletries and a spare change of clothes in our carryon bags. :shimmy:

At 8:45, we landed in Boston and sat on the runway. Again. Finally, we made it off the plane and we were running top speed toward our gate, tossing little old ladies and strollers out of our way…only to hit another security checkpoint. :blahblah: As luck would have it, the man decided that I apparently was suspicious-looking, and began searching my carryon bag. He even unscrewed my lipstick in my make-up bag. Normally I would not have a problem with this, but it was now 9:05 and our flight was due to leave in…oh…ten minutes. And my husband’s father was waiting alone on us. Not good.

Finally, the man decided that I was not going to be a threat to the flight (although I was shooting him death looks for holding us up), and let us go. Literally, we were the last ones on the plane. They practically closed the doors behind us. But we made it. And this time, I paid attention to the safety information given out by the stewardess.:dance: ‘Cause you never know when the plane will suddenly lose pressure, oxygen masks will descend, and you can’t figure out how to get the freaking things out of the plastic containers.

Fortunately, we arrived safely in Shannon. As predicted, our luggage didn’t. My husband swears I’m cursed. Out of the three times he’s been overseas, they’ve lost the luggage twice. Both times he was with me. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had my luggage arrive with me, and being a military brat, I’ve done my share of overseas travel. Sadly, I believe he’s right about my luggage-jinxing skills. This wouldn’t be a big deal if we were planning to stay in one area for a few days, but they advised us to give them the address for the following day since there weren’t any more U.S. flights arriving that day. Lovely. But, we made our way to the ATM machine to pick up some Euros (ATMs are the best way to get cash, I swear) and then off to the Car Rental area. We basked in the blissful 60-degree Fahrenheit weather…ah…bliss! After enduring 90-100 degree weather in the States, I was thrilled to actually wear a windbreaker. There’s something to be said about going to a higher latitude country during the hottest part of summer. :headspin:

The Great Car Rental experience turned out to be more like the Car Rental Circus because the woman kept trying to upgrade our cars, get us to buy theft insurance, etc. We had to pay through the nose just to get an automatic transmission car, and then extra money on insurance because for whatever reason, American car insurance companies will not cover you in Ireland. Apparently it’s the second most dangerous country to drive in. Who knew?

When we picked up our lovely little Nissan Piece o’ Junk, I promptly handed the keys to my husband and said, “You’re driving.” Driving on the left hand side of the road doesn’t bug me. But the idea of sitting on the right hand side of the car as the driver’s seat, with everything completely backwards, was just too much to ask when you’ve been up for 24 hours straight. God love my husband, he agreed. :worthy:

The Irish must be accustomed to people being weirded out by driving on the left, because they have huge signs that say “Drive on the Left” and “No, the Other Side, you Moron.” Okay, so maybe not the second one, but the painted arrows and words directly on the road are quite helpful. The round-abouts also have arrows pointing which way to go. Even still, we were grateful to only have a 15-minute drive to Bunratty Castle, our first destination. They really mess with your mind, I must say. They make you think that all roads in Ireland are nice little 2-lane highways, comfortably wide, and with well-marked signs. Then, you take your exit, and all bets are off. :rotfl:

In towns, people park on both sides of the road, leaving you exactly one-and-a-half car widths to drive down. And of course, you will have someone coming the other way at 100 km/p/h, and you simply cover your face and think, “I’d really rather not die now.” It’s quite the adrenaline rush. More on that later.

And to leave on a little cliffhanger, as all good authors should, we arrived at our bed and breakfast and our hostess greeted us with, “I’m so sorry, I have to leave, I have an emergency.” :shocked: (To be continued….)

How about you? Ever have any near-disaster or truly disastrous traveling days?

Notes from Hilary Sares, senior editor at Kensington

Cover letters should resemble back cover copy of novels. She wants them short and to the point.
It should contain the who, where, when, what in the first sentence and preferably an emotional high point in the second sentence. Be compelling, hint at secrets. Make her want to read the book.

When submitting to her, send three chapters or the complete novel. For her, a synopsis is unnecessary and she doesn’t care about it.

Always hit the emotional high points and go out on a limb with your stories. She wants real heroes and strong stories. Don’t worry about the little things.

Notes from the Agent Cartel

What’s hot right now?
Avon: wants darker stories, paranormal, historicals
Warner: looking for Georgian romances
Pocket: wants paranormal and historicals
Berkley—paranormal, historical, and women’s fiction
Ballantine—wants women’s fiction
Harlequin – keep on their new Nocturne line (paranormal), and they want more vampire stories.

Tips on getting along with your agent: communicate well, look at their track record, and have realistic expectations for your career. Don’t shoot yourself in the foot by ranting online.