Dublin!

I was a little nervous about a day in Dublin, but many things worked in our favor. First, the roads changed into true highways. We exhilirated in the wide, fast roads and it took only 45 minutes from Navan to reach the outskirts. Most of the hotels for the weekend were either booked or were the cost of a college education, so I chose the Fitzpatrick Castle Hotel. I can’t say enough good things about this place - gorgeous location on the coast (by Dalkey in the southeast), reasonable price, great room, free Internet–LOVED it. They also let us check into our room at 9:30 in the morning. Amazing.

We took the DART train into the city and got off on the wrong exit for our bus station. Apparently the Connolly station is for regional buses, not city ones. Oops. After much confusion and getting bad directions from two bus drivers, we got our Hop On, Hop Off bus tickets. That is definitely the way to go. It drops you off at any of 21 different stations and the bus drivers tell jokes, explain the history of the city, and even sing to you. It was well worth every penny, but if I had to do it again, I’d buy my tickets directly at the bus (prebooking wasn’t worth it).

Our first stop was Trinity College. I apologize in advance for the not-so-good quality of the upcoming photographs. First off, my digital camera was completely out of power so I had to switch to traditional pictures. Second, I think something happened to the film because most of the pictures were overexposed. I manipulated them digitally, but they’re still not great. In any case, this first picture is of abuilding at Trinity College. One of the most popular attractions at Trinity is the Book of Kells. We didn’t actually get inside to see the book because there was about a 2-hour line outside and there just wasn’t time. The campus was very pretty, however, and we enjoyed seeing it.

Here’s a second picture of Trinity College, of the archway when you first enter. I think, for me, the most startling revelation was realizing that the Irish don’t pay for college. They take exams at the end of high school and if their scores are good enough, they are accepted into the university. I vote for adopting this system in the U.S.! Free college tuition based on academic achievement. Now there’s a great idea.

We are now relaxing and enjoying a weekend of our own alma mater sports: Notre Dame football. Last week’s game was a true nail-biter. I’m hoping that this week will be better. Go Irish!

Braveheart’s Castle

One of my favorite castles to visit was Trim Castle, better known as the site where the movie “Braveheart” was filmed. This castle was one of the greatest Norman structures we saw. I could feel the ghosts of knights and warriors. The Irish Heritage Society decided to let the castle remain a ruin instead of trying to restore it. Personally, I thought it was a great decision. The floors are gone, being made of wood, but they did build artificial walkways so you could go to the different levels of the castle.

The first floor held models of the castle at different stages. It was where court cases were held and judgments made. The second floor contained the small chapel. The original lime whitewashing was still there in places, albeit green and moldy. Still, you could almost feel the ghosts of those who had once lived there. Not to mention, you could imagine Mel Gibson darting around in his plaid.

Further upstairs, we visited the solarium where a fireplace was later added. In the 12th century, the climate was much warmer in Ireland and they were able to grow their own grapes and have their own vineyards. Later, when it cooled, they had to add fireplaces.

Up on the last floor were the bedrooms. We entered the constable’s room, which had its own garderobe built in. If you remember the scene in Braveheart where the prince’s lover was thrown out the window, we saw it here. Only in the set, they filmed it from the outside of the castle. It amazed me how much they built in 6 months for Braveheart. All the wood, the thatched roofs, and the sets needed for the execution scene were created at Trim. A friend of mine, Daisy Cummings (who writes as Abby Green for Harlequin Presents), worked on the film Braveheart and worked with the extras in the battlescenes. I learned that Mel Gibson was a bit manic on the set, with lots of energy. I can imagine that.

Trim was such a great castle, namely because they kept the history intact and let your imagination do the rest.

P.S.–thanks to all for your feedback on author goodies. I appreciate it!

The Hill of Tara

Tara will forever be associated in my mind with sheep droppings. It was meant to be the site of ancient High Kings, a place where men fought to rule Ireland. Now, that power has been subjugated to all that is ovine. So many sheep were allowed to graze on the site, that it was like avoiding land mines. Horrible stuff.

But if you can get past that, it has some fascinating things to see. Tara has been around since the 6th century. What you can see here is one of the mounds, which would be called a rath. Raths were basically fortresses where the Irish would build a dwelling atop a hillside. Usually there were ditches and palisades as protection. Tara has multiple raths, and there were also nearby prehistoric sites that were of a similar design. Legend has it that the seven roads converge here, and it was here that the High Kings ruled.

One of the more interesting artifacts is the Lia Fáil. It’s a standing stone where, the legend tells that the stone would cry out upon recognizing a man as King of Tara. I used this in my book Her Irish Warrior when the hero goes to Tara to appeal for the rights to his land. What man wouldn’t listen closely, imagining that the stone would cry out and recognize him as king? It’s also pretty evident that it was a fertility symbol.

A third interesting site is the Mound of Hostages. In the medieval period, it was a place for kings to exchange hostages. However, it was originally built in 3000 BC as a passage tomb. Most of the burials were cremations, but they did find the remains of a 14-15 year-old boy who wore a necklace of jet, amber, bronze, and faience beads. Near his feet they found a bronze knife and a bronze awl.

Hope you enjoyed the Tara tour!

I have another question for anyone who’s willing to give their opinion. I’m wondering whether it’s worth it to have bookmarks or other author giveaways made. On one hand, I’d like to have something to give people when they ask about my books. On the other, I wonder if people actually use or enjoy them. If you’ve ever received “goodies” from an author, what did you like? What items were worthless, in your opinion?

Prison Break for Sheep!

The winner of The Hallowed Hunt was Ruby Davis! Ruby, congratulations. Send me your snail mail address and I’ll get your book in the mail.

Now, let’s talk about sheep. Never in my life have I seen more sheep than in Ireland. Not only will you see them grazing in the meadow, but you’ll find them alongside the road, blocking traffic, and grazing on a mountaintop. It’s the mountaintops that made me nervous. You know the falling rocks signs that you see near mountains? My husband and I decided that there needed to be a falling sheep sign. You know, something to warn the tourists that poor Bessie decided she just couldn’t take it anymore and it was time to join the big mutton stew in the sky.

After we toured Carrickfergus, we drove to Slieve Croob, an area near the Mourne Mountains. It was gorgeous territory, filled with purple mountains, vast meadows, and sheep. At the inn where we stayed, I was amused by the sheep across the street. I watched as they studied the fence, poked their heads outside the wire, and managed to finagle themselves out of the pen. I could almost imagine their conversation.

Sheep #1: Run for it, Joe. This is our chance! Dublin, here we come. Fame and fortune: it’s ours, all ours!

Sheep #2: Um, dude, it’s dinner time. And the food’s in there.

Sheep #1: But this is our big break!

Sheep #2: Yeah, I’m kinda hungry. Think I’ll go back in.

Sheep #1: Don’t do it, Joe! We can make it!

The sheep were the dumbest creatures I’ve ever seen. They kept trying to squeeze their heads back in the gate, maa-ing with frustration. A few times they tried to push back through the wires, but with no luck. I was laughing at their efforts, and they gave me an indignant look as if to say, “Well, don’t just stand there! Let us baaaaaaaaack in!”

Carrickfergus Castle

I was a complete slacker yesterday. I was hauling myself through forty pages of revisions, trying like mad to get this next book ready to submit. And I forgot to blog. What was I thinking?

The winner of Out of the Night is . . .Sue Child! Congratulations, Sue! Send me your snail mail address, and I’ll get the book in the mail to you.

Because I got caught up in writing yesterday, I’m giving away two Harlequin Medical books today (and if you haven’t read a Medical, these are great fun. Think E.R. with a love story.) The books are: The Good Father by Maggie Kingsley and Mission: Mountain Rescue by Amy Andrews. Post a comment or subscribe to my newsletter, and they’re yours!

As one of the major 12th century castles in Ireland, I was really looking forward to visiting Carrickfergus Castle, located not far out of Belfast. There was an inherent problem, however. None of the roads were marked. Not a single sign. We had to rely on an internal compass, which I am sadly lacking. I could get lost in a traffic circle. Of course, I was appointed navigator. Go figure! And you’d think that a huge 12th century castle would be fairly obvious to find. Not so. But we eventually got there. Emphasis on eventually.

I had my first clue that Carrickfergus wasn’t exactly historically accurate when I saw a redcoat aiming at us with a cannon through one of the windows. I’ll admit, it killed the mood. I wanted a ruined, brooding fortress overlooking the sea. I got the equivalent of Disneyland.

To give you an example, when viewing the garderobe, we got a view of King John. Yep, that’s right. King John…on the john. My husband thought this was hysterical. And I’ll admit, it is a little. Okay, yes, it is funny. But all throughout the castle were plaster, life-size models of soldiers through the eras. It was meant to be kid-friendly, but it was a bit creepy. Like clowns, which I also find vaguely disturbing.

The tapestries were dated 1993 on the corner, and kid-sized plastic chess pieces decorated the Great Hall. I think I went into this castle with the wrong impressions. I was hoping for history. I didn’t get that. You had to really dig past the cartoony aspect to find the true nature of the castle. But I did find one interesting object on display. This was a salt cellar. Now how much fun would it be to pass that salt? It’s funny how we take salt and spices for granted now, and back in medieval times, it was truly a mark of wealth.

Coming Soon: Prison Break for Sheep. You’ve seen the tv show. But you’ve never seen sheep like this. (cue the Mission Impossible Theme Song)

Day 4 of Book Prizes, and the Bushmills Distillery

Yesterday’s winner of On a Highland Shore is comment #15…Susie! Susie, e-mail me your snail mail address and I’ll send your book along.

Today’s giveaway is a copy of Out of the Night by Robin T. Popp. I will draw today’s winner from my newsletter subscribers! If you haven’t already subscribed, you can join the newsletter by typing in your e-mail address below the menu bar. I only use it to announce book sales and new releases, so if you’d like to keep up with when The As of Yet Untitled Historical Romance with Hunky Irish Warriors is released, I’ll be sending out a note about the title later on. If you’re already a subscriber, you’re already entered to win!

Okay, more on Ireland. We went to the Bushmills Distillery in northern Ireland later the same day. My advice? Get there early. We barely made one of the last tours. And not only that, you can use your extra time to, er…browse the gift shop.

When we arrived in the parking lot of Bushmills, the heavens burst forth with angels singing. Golden beams shot down from the heavens, and the three of us were bound and determined to learn all we could about the whiskey that has been licensed since 1607. The tour offered four lucky visitors the chance to be whiskey taste-testers. Our hands shot up so fast, it’s a wonder we didn’t knock a few bystanders senseless. Then…joy! Rapture! Both my husband and I were selected.

The distillery uses sherry barrels to age their Black Bush whiskey, which is a little sweeter. Oak barrels are used for the Bushmills Blend and Originals. But one of the funniest aspects of the tour was the bottling plant. Not because of the interesting equipment (and let’s be honest, it’s always fun to watch them bottle any form of liquid)….but because they were bottling Jameson’s whiskey, their main competitor. The tour guide was a bit embarrassed, to say the least.

AT the end of the tour, the guide led my husband and me to a table set with five types of whiskey: Original Bushmills Blend, Black Bush, the 10-year Single Malt, Johnny Walker Red Scotch, and Jim Beam Bourbon. Most were buttery in flavor, but the Black Bush had a slightly sweeter taste (probably good for cooking) due to the sherry barrel it was aged in. I didn’t like the scotch because I could taste the smoky flavor. The bourbon was good, though. Out of the Bushmills whiskeys, I liked the 10-year the best. But to be honest, I can’t drink copious amounts. My brain would go to mush. I sipped a bit to try it and gave my husband the rest (he was suffering, I can tell you). I also prefer whiskey in Irish coffee, instead of by itself. It’s a little strong for me.

At the end, we received a certificate proving our status as official taste-testers. It was quite a tour!

Day Two of Celebrating…and the Giant’s Causeway

Yesterday’s winner of Lord of Sin was comment #9: Cathie! Congratulations, Cathie. E-mail me your snail mail address and I’ll put your book in the mail.

Today, up for grabs is Ex and the Single Girl by Lani Diane Rich. Just enter a comment below and I’ll draw another lucky winner for this book.

I’m still skimming the web for photographs and images for my first cover. It’s a little daunting, to say the least. I haven’t an artistic bone in my body. I will leave the decisions up to the masterful art department.

Okay, back to my Ireland blogging. On our second day in northern Ireland, we drove to the Giant’s Causeway. Along the way were breathtaking views of the coast. It was incredibly windy. Picture yourself wearing vertical hair. Yep, that’s about right. One of the more interesting castles was the remains of Dunluce castle, shown here. It’s crumbling into the sea right now, but it was originally built in the 13th century by Richard de Burgh.

When we arrived at the Causeway, we opted to take the shuttle down to the bottom of the coast. The Causeway is made of huge basalt hexagonal columns. They form a hill, similar to the old videogame Q-bert. We roamed the rocks and ventured a little closer to the huge waves. It was amazing, seeing the colors of brown and gray against the dramatic cliff. This is a picture of me at the Causeway.

Here’s one last view of the ocean along the North Atlantic coast. All I can say is, I would not want to be a fishing boat. Shipwreck city! One interesting facet of the northernmost part of Ireland is that it’s very close to Scotland. On a clear day, you can actually see Scotland from this coastline. The Scottish brogue has made its way into the languages, too. Many of the folks in this part of Ireland had Scottish phrases as part of their dialogue. I had to smile when the clerk handed me my “wee” credit card back.

Tomorrow I’ll blog about Bushmills. Feel free to post a comment to enter for a book! Thanks again to everyone who has posted their congratulations on my first sale to Harlequin. I am truly thankful to everyone for all of your support!

Devenish Island

After finding a lost relative, we spent time looking over the tombstones in Kinawley. Morbid, I know, but it was also fascinating. We saw all sorts of family names. One of the toughest parts was seeing the grave of an infant or child. Maybe it’s the mom in me, but I get very teary-eyed whenever I see a child who didn’t live. It bothers me.

We ended the day, searching for the ferry to Devenish Island. Upon the island, there is one of the best-preserved 12th century round towers. I was excited for the chance to go inside, because in one of my books His Chosen Bride, the characters hide inside a round tower. I wanted to understand how they would get from one level to the next. Ladders? Ropes? Stairs? Since we didn’t want to take the full Lough Erne tour, we went in search of a pier where we could just take a water taxi or ferry directly to Devenish.

From my husband’s watchful eye, he spotted a small sign leading to the ferry. Once again, we had to drive blindly down a one-lane road, which was even more fun because of all the mist and rain. We reached the small dock and found the boat house locked and closed. The ferry times listed in our guidebook didn’t match what was listed at the pier. Not to mention, the boat that was supposed to come, never did. Can you imagine being this close and not being able to get across the water? I was ready to hijack a canoe. Or swim. Or something! Here we are, in front of a tower that I NEED to go inside for research…and the ferry isn’t there. It was maddening. I vowed that some how, some way, I would find a round tower in Ireland to go inside.

We spent the night at Abocurragh Farm, which was a lovely guest house with its own dairy cows. We enjoyed watching the cows walk down the road to be milked. Rush hour in Ireland, I tell you. And to top off the day, our hostess was shocked to find that my father-in-law’s family grew up only a few miles away. For you see, the next door neighbors at Abocurragh had the same last name as ours. Small world!

Venturing into Northern Ireland

The trip to Enniskillen, in northern Ireland, took a bit longer from Donegal than we’d thought, even with the beloved green national roads. When we passed the border into northern Ireland, we noticed two things. One, there was no acknowledgement whatsoever that we had crossed into another country. No ‘Welcome to Northern Ireland’ signs at all. Second, the speed limit signs changed from kilometers per hour into miles per hour. This wouldn’t have been a problem, except that our rental car didn’t have mph on the speedometer. Complex math conversions! Ack! Curses!

To our left, we saw the shores of Lough Erne. The lake was much wider than you’d imagine, and it would take about 15 minutes via motorboat to cross to the opposite side (width). I was also surprised to see low mountains in the distance. When we reached the city of Enniskillen, I was very impressed. It’s a very European-style city with quaint winding streets, bakeries, and little shops. I could have spent hours wandering around. But we actually came here with a purpose in mind–to discover what happened to my husband’s great-grandfather who immigrated from northern Ireland in 1906. First stop: the Town Hall.

We went to pick up a package left by the registrar. It turned out that his great-grandfather Terence came from a small town called Kinawley in the parish of Coragh. The registrar unearthed a treasure of information. Not only did he have records, but he also had a map to the family homestead. He found the phone number of a man whom we believe was related to my husband’s family. Apparently the man who bought the land, bought it from his uncle Patrick. And his uncle? None other than a mysterious older brother, of my husband’s great-grandfather Terence.

Apparently, when they traced the birth records, they found siblings that we knew about…and Patrick suddenly showed up as the eldest brother. Who was he? Was he from a former marriage? Was he an illegitimate son? Where did he come from? We don’t know the answers. But we were ready to venture out into the countryside to find the family homestead.

Like Indiana Jones, we made our way to Kinawley, thoroughly prepared to get lost. Why? Because none of the streets had names. Directions consisted of–turn left at 700 meters, drive 350 meters and turn right. The area was all farmland, and some of the “roads” looked like private driveways. I voted for a stop at the local post office, and sure enough they knew the man we were seeking. But directing us on how to find his farm? That was another matter. After two wrong turns, we stopped for directions.

Neighbor #1: Oh, is it John McKenna you’re looking for? Well, I wouldn’t be knowing where this road is, but if you go back into town and turn left by the school, go down to the end, you’ll find him.

Neighbor #2: (after I showed him the map) Ah yes, it’s Coragh you’re wanting. No, I can’t say where we are on this map, but you’re not far.

Neighbor #3: You turned at the wrong school. Turn at the road on your left before the speed limit sign and you’ll see another school. Then you keep going until the road ends, make a U-turn, and you’re there.

Thank goodness, the last neighbor helped us find it. I had visions of being forever lost. Then we finally located the owner John McKenna. I don’t know about you, but I do see a family resemblance from the three men (John is in the center, along with my husband and father-in-law).

John showed us the remains of the family homestead, which consisted of a foundation and the back gable wall of the house. In the center of the two buildings, you can see the concrete foundation where the house began and the shed that’s on the right, built on the remains, still has the original wall. It’s hard to imagine 10-12 people living in a house of that size. I’d say the dimensions were 10′ by 20′ total. (The building on the left has nothing to do with the original house.) But it was really something to find traces of the past and imagine the lives of my husband’s family, struggling to survive here.

Donegal

The morning after we spent the night at Enniscoe, I tried blood pudding for the first time. It was completely different than I thought it would be. The exterior had a nutty, crunchy texture while the interior resembled crunchy hamburger meat. I think it’s an acquired taste.

Later that morning we drove to Crossmolina where a nine-year-old with a strong resemblance to Opie pumped gas for us. His father taught him to make change, and his chest stuck out with pride. He was a sweetie–I could have spread him on toast.

Anyway, we drove to Ballina where once again angels sang and hosannas rang as we drove onto the N26 to the N17. A real highway! With passing lanes!! There was great rejoicing throughout the land. We put on the Riverdance soundtrack and drove through the mountains with the lightness of heart that we weren’t going to die a fiery death off a cliff or be eaten by sheep.

When we arrived in Donegal, we drove through the town from one end to the other three times before we found our parking area. The town is incredibly small and you can walk the entire length, surprisingly. My husband wanted to shop at Magee’s, a store famous for its tweeds. How can you go to Donegal and not buy tweed? We bought our son a pie-pan cap, but didn’t find one for my husband.

We drove along the coast toward the fishing town of Killybegs and were thankful that our B&B was closer to Kilcar. Killybegs was very industrial and the harbor view was taken up by large ships. Near Kilcar, the scenery is peaceful and coastal with a gorgeous view. We made it to our B&B Inishduff and discovered that the boat tour of the Slieve League (the highest European coastal mountains) was booked. It meant we would have to drive on our own instead.

Our hostess recommended the coastal road, but in retrospect, it’s only fitting for suicidal goats. The road hangs along the cliff edge, has one lane, and parts of it go straight up where you can’t see oncoming traffic. It was terrifying. After missing the turn-off once, we found ourselves in the Gaeltacht where all signs were in Irish. My meager one semester of Irish wasn’t helping, so we turned around and eventually found the path.

We opted to drive to the top, once again risking life and limb. Although my face turned ten shades of white and green, it was well worth it in the end. The granite gray mountains have deeply carved ridges, and they plunge directly into a green-blue sea. The waves sound like a heartbeat as they crash against the rocks, are sucked into an inlet and are forced out again. Brilliant purple heather lines the mountainside and sheep grave above death-defying drops. Only a thin wire fence separates you from certain death.

There’s a stunningly beautiful quality to the Slieve League. Rugged, jagged, and fierce, the mountains stretch sunward. Seeing that cliffside is well worth the trip to Donegal. Even if you don’t find the perfect tweed cap.