Tarquin Sails Again...the Celtic Circle
(around the British Isles, counterclockwise)
(around the British Isles, counterclockwise)
July 9 - 25, 2011
Hoping to avoid the doldrums that strike after transatlantic night flights, we flew first to Dulles, spent the night at the surprisingly OK airport Marriott, and then flew to London in the AM, once again stuffed into coach at Bill's insistence (perhaps he is actually Scottish). We were met by a driver from Holland America (the cruise line we are on) who whisked us to the splendid Grosvenor House (also a Marriott now...undoubtedly the jewel in their crown) around midnight, ooof! but with all luggage accounted for, yippee! (Bill has stayed here before some time back with the International Iron and Steel Institute and also Heinz and has v fond memories of it.) Apparently we looked deserving but profoundly in need of a restorative from a harsh world because - without being asked - they gave us a superb and huge corner suite overlooking Hyde Park; Tarquin not only had his own bed but also his own room! A fantastic start to this summer's adventure. (I had pre-warned Bill not to expect much as he knows London hotel rooms tend to be cramped and this was a pkg with Holland America...so were we surprised.)
The following morning we were effortlessly bussed to the ship docked on the Thames but in Tilbury...so had a city tour past Westminister, Big Ben, Parliament, Downing Street, Piccadilly, the Tower Bridge, the Eye, etc.
The ship is the Prisendam...mid-size (about 800 passengers, plus crew - mostly Dutch and Indonesian reflecting that country's previous colonial status). Our cabin is called a suite, named as always is the case by someone with a spatial distortion disorder but it is OK and has a large bathroom, walk in closet and wide veranda. Tarquin is not ecstatic but is suffering it silently after the Grosvenor House, meeting new animal friends. 
Invergordon way up toward the north of Scotland was the next port, on the Firth of Ness. (Firth = ocean inlet) Here is the bridge over the Firth of Forth!
The history is confusing as hell but the scenery is magnificent - lush rolling hills dotted with sheep; as they say here, sheep happens. Ben Nevis is the tallest of the "mountains" here and I breezed by it en route to Inverness (seeing seals frolicking at Seal Point). The walk along the River Ness (Loch Ness is a bit more inland and the only sightings of Nessie in Inverness were in shop windows) was splendid - a good stretch for the legs beside lots of wonderful architecture. v friendly Scots and bright flowers. Climbed up to the Castle, wondering why so many of the folks outside looked fairly dodgy; found out why - this is now a law court. It has been rebuilt countless times, but is near the site of MacBeth's castle, that one torn down in retribution for "the murder". Springy footbridges (a little like trampolines given the heavy foot traffic - quite a terrifying surprise at first) allow pedestrians to cross the river without breathing in car fumes - great idea. Went thru the Inverness Museum to continue trying to grasp Scottish history (signage and narratives were in English and Gaelic, the former making a valiant effort at an unlikely comeback).
The early inhabitants of Scotland were a hard group to conquer; the Romans gave up on "Caledonia" and created walls (Hadrian's being the one farther south and in England) to keep the barbarians out (the word barbarians apparently comes from the inability of the Romans to understand the animal noises made by these enemies which sounded like "ba ba ba..."). The locals at that point were called Picts, the painted people - a hearty offshoot of Celts, by the Romans, and must have been pretty terrifying as they were painted blue and used lime to bleach their hair. After that, the mingling of people gets murkier. Internal skirmishes, battles with England, and the Clearances (when the foreign - that is, English - landowners forced the crofters, the peasants, off the land so that sheep could be raised and real money could be made due to the price of wool) which led to a lot of immigration to British current or ex-colonies (Canada, New Zealand, Australia, US).
Once back on the ship and a reunion with Bill (who, as always, hated his bus tour on which he saw NOTHING of interest...but continues to take them), we were offered Scottish entertainment - an accordian and a bag pipe, two instruments I had not previously thought of as compatible...and still don't. While this was questionable (imagine this duo performing old Scottish favorites such as When the Saints Come Marching In), the group of very talented pipers and drummers who played on the pier as we sailed away was totally
engaging.
They ended with the lament of Amazing Grace as the ship's whistle blew and we turned back past several giant oil rigs and toward the North Sea; Bill tells me that the making of these rigs as well as the oil that they drill have greatly enhance Scotland's GDP which does not all come from whiskey (the local crop is virtually all barley) or (really really good) shortbread cookies or tartan kilts.
We then headed north to the Orkneys, off the northeast coast of Scotland (90 islands, about 20 inhabited but population is sparse). According to the Greeks who sailed thru around 200 BC, this is the "world's edge" and it is pretty remote. But also an archeologist's dream...apparently all one has to do is stick a shovel in the ground anywhere and up comes something of historical interest, followed by incoming hordes of archeologists (this must drive the farmers - who just want to get on with their animal husbandry - crazy). The weather is tempered, somewhat, by the Gulf Stream and it was a nice sunny day for us.
The approach tunnels to the center living space in the houses were crooked to help keep the gales out, and the living area looked reasonably cosy (tho adding smoke would have lessened the appeal). The roof of the living area was ribbed over with drfitwood (no trees here) and/or whale bones, covered with animal skins - also the source of bed linens. Also toured the 17th C manor house on the grounds, belonging to the local laird (laird = landed gentry, not nobility), the largest of the landowners in the area who was on the premises explaining his family tree (or at least the last 12 generations).
The tour included the Ring of Brodgar, a fine example of a stone circle and visitors are allowed to wander among them (no longer the case at its cousin, Stonehenge). The views were lush and the smell of the wildflowers (heather is everywhere) intoxicating. The islands here are full of tombs as well as standing stones, but the former (at least most of the ones found thus far) were looted by the Vikings who stormed in here in the 9th C and held fast for several hundred years.
We then saw Scapa Flow, of note in both World Wars. As negotiations were going on at Versailles to finalize the end of WWI (but set the world up for the next world war), the German commander in charge of the fleet anchored at Scapa Flow realized that the Allies would seize his ships and so odered them scuttled rather than have them fall into enemy hands...thus the British slang "scarpered" entered the language. This now makes for a deep, dark and dangerous but much sought after SCUBA experience. A German u-boat also sank a British ship in these waters in 39. The milk needs of the many serviceman stationed here caused the local farmers to overemphasize dairy production; after the war, cheese and ice cream making really took off as a result of the new capacities.
I took advantage of the Orkney ice cream, getting a child's 1 British Pound teddy bear cone ("millionaire's shortbread" flavor) in Kirkwall (the main and capital city in the Orkneys) and can testify it is damned fine stuff. I walked into town from the ship, mooing and baaing at the livestock along the way. (The walk absolved me of the ice cream cone.) The town is a happening place, at least in the summer months, and is dominated by the 12th C St Magnus Cathedral of red and yellow sandstone (Magnus was canonized after being slain by order of his greedy cousin who couldn't do the deed and had his cook commit the murder instead).
Sliding around the top of Scotland and on to the (Inner) Hebrides on the other side (northwest) to visit the Isle of Skye, part of Norway until after WWI when it was given to Britain, why we don't know - apparently Norway behaved badly and this was retribution. The main town in Portree, and pastel painted houses line the harbor (white is the other dominant color) making for a pretty scene.
Really bad weather necessitated something that doesn't often happen on these ships: a major shift in ports. So, instead of Oban, today we are in Glasgow (from the Celtic name for "greenplace")...or rather the Port, Greenock...and in the Firth of Clyde. We elected to take the tour of Glasgow (seeing its highlights such as the new Sydney-like opera house, locally called the armadillo). While steel and iron plants and shipbuilding brought the modern city money (until those industries went pretty much belly up), the main source of commerce in the 18th and 19th C was Virginia and Carolina tobacco (thanks to Sir Walter Raleigh commenorated here in stone)!
We decided to focus on a stellar art museum - the Burrell Collection. What a building and what treasures! The architect constructed a museum that brings the closely surrounding forest in, or takes the art to the trees. There were no (or few) exterior walls made of anything but glass - what a concept. Burrell had an electic as well as fine eye - and was a born haggler, often bawling out people who were bidding against him. (He also bought some items - doorways and window frames from ancient structures as an example - from Hearst, some that had never been opened after having been shipped to San Simeon). Unusual for these museum tours, we were given about as much time as we wanted to see the goodies.
While there were countless treasures, two that struck us were a Chinese vase against a flat background showing the whole vase (clever) and also a good sized mirror the frame of which was all embroidery, much of it 3-dimensional (in other words, the little shoes on the figure actually were little shoes made up of a zillion stitches)! If we get back to Glasgow after leaving the ship, we will revisit.
All set to next day finally get to the Giants' Causeway outside of Derry, Ireland (this would be the second attemmpt), we listened to the Captain describing the major gales that had unleashed themselves in beween us and Northern Ireland. While Bill and I liked the idea of 20 ft seas, the Captain did not. So, the ship spent the following day peacefully touring the Firth of Clyde...and seeing picturesque "widdle willages" along the way. (Staying this long in Scotland, we find we are now travelling with MacBear, formerly known as Tarquin.)
The photo of the bronze statues (taken from a moving bus so only got two of the figures in the frame) was near a replica of one of the coffin ships - the ships packed to the gunnels that took emigrants across the seas. Tho many died on the passage, none did on the 17 voyages this ship made. The statues are similar to Giacometti's (sp?), in their profound starvation thinness, but dressed in rags...followed by an equally starving dog...quite a visual statement of the Irish suffering after the blight hit the potato crop and England turned a greedy and thus blind eye to the starvation (with some forethought as this was another way to get the Irish off the land). (The plight of later generations of impoverished Irish led to the word and the tactic "boycott", named after a Captain Boycott who must have been a real bastard.)
After that, we separated: Bill on a tour of the Guinness plant (with samples).
A number of the stories we heard involved a writer whose name did not register with me - Brendan Behan...who called himself a drinker with a writing problem. He spent a great deal of time imbibing and a fair amt of time incarcerated for it and the problems it got him into. In Canada, he was asked if he thought he wasn't overdoing the drink and he replied that before he left Ireland he had seen many signs saying "Drink Canada Dry" and that was all he was trying to do. In Spain for the 1st time after the Civil War, in anwer to the question of what he'd like to see first, he replied "Franco's funeral" and was summarily deported. He was also tried for his part in the horrors; his best quote from that occasion was something along the lines of that he was tried and sentenced in absentia so he'd rather be shot the same way. (An entertaining book suggested to me that I am currently reading and involves him is called Running with the Bulls...obviously Hemmingway plays a larger part in this non-fiction volume as well.)
After an overnight in port (a rarity) the two of us took a bus south of town into County Wicklow to see the Powerscourt Estate and were not disappointed.
Enroute the still extremely attractive late-60's guide mentioned Bill's friend Sir Tony O'Reilly as we went down Fitzhugh Street (the site for the "Doors of Ireland" poster and where Tony's town house was) and which is now full of TO LET signs. In subsequent conversation with her, she and Bill exchanged reminiscences of Tony whom she knows fairly well (he had let us know before we sailed that he was in Paris so would miss our visit as Bill had hoped to see him...like most of Ireland, he has been greatly hit by the economic hardtimes that are here...the empty store fronts and for sale signs everywhere being a sad indicator of just how bad things are...our driver said one pub a day is closing, another practical barometer). She also spoke of the endless (tho now quieted down she said) problems between the Catholics and the Protestants - Orange (the Republic of Ireland where we used Euros)/the Nationalists and the Unionists - Green (Northern Ireland where the BP is the currency) and how it had affected her (from the south but Protestant, and married to a fellow from the north, where the Pope is still burned in effigy by Unionist/Ulster extremists every July 12th). I am working my way thru a new book on Irish history - but am still close to totally muddled. (In the middle of "kindling", I somehow stumbled onto a new book on the Crimean War reviewed in the NYT; one and perhaps the basic cause of that conflict seems to have also been religion - in this case, Russian Orthodox vs "the Latin" version of Christianity practiced by Roman Catholics/Protestants...plus fears by the West of Russian expansionism as the Ottman Empire developed cracks...travel really is broadening when armed with a Kindle.)
Back to Ireland. The friction more or less started with the invasion of the Normans (English) in the 12th C, when the locals tended to be pushed around or worse. With the reign of Elizabeth several centuries later who wasn't keen on "Papists" (her father having separated from the Catholic Church over his marriage issues and launched the Church of England, Protestant), matters intensified. As an example, she built beautiful Trinity College (where the Book of Kells now resides) - for Protestants only (no longer the case). Things continued downhill as the English used more force and something called the Plantation strategy - wherein settlers from England and Scotland were given lands belonging to the Irish. More bad news and violence under Puritan Cromwell who hated the Irish and Catholics and so doubly hated Irish Catholics and instituted the Penal Laws wherein Gaelic was forbidden to be taught, and Catholics could not take communion (priests held services in secret) or even own property; he also hated Presbyterians, the upstart followers of John Knox. (As a really great example of how prejudice and stupidity go hand in hand, the English did not adopt the Gregorian calendar - because it was the handiwork of a Pope, Gregory XIII in the 1580's - for almost 150 years!) This was followed by the potato famine in the mid 1800's which killed many of the ones earlier horrors did not and drove about a million to emigrate.
The land is so green it is almost neon. (There is a glorious -and struggling - Ritz Carlton hidden away on the grounds - we have added it to our list of hotels to visit.) The original English royalty (somehow related to "Fergie") retrenched back to England after Ireland (or at least the counties in the south that make up the Republic) separated in 1921 after a bloody insurrection that was followed by an equally bloody Civil War in the south (pro and anti the separation). (I recently read the novel Tipperary - the main players are involved in this historical tho fictional account of the goings on...an easy way to learn something.) Powerscourt is now more happily owned by a family that seems to have turned it into a going commercial enterprise.
Bristol was our next port...where the ship went thru a huge lock (this was remininiscent of going thru the Panama Canal) before docking in Avonmouth (at the mouth of the the River Avon and the major port for the city); this area has the second highest tides in the world (after the Sea of Fundy between New Brunswick and Nova Scotia - which Tarquin has also visited some yrs back). Our Captain told us that the highest measured tide was just this Spring: 45 feet! While Bristol was famous due to shipbuilding and shipping (not so anymore), the river is tricky to navigate and, thus, the source of the expression "Shipshape and Bristol fashion" because if the ships and their cargoes were not well balanced, the ships would go over at low tide. Because of its industrial importance, Bristol was mercilessly bombed by the Germans in WWII. Now, however, it is mostly the site of imported goods...notably several hundred thousand new cars waiting to be trucked out...an amazing sight.
Bill went on a tour of the city and the maritime museum, seeing the SS Great Britain, now in her glory and moored here having been brought back from its dotage from the Falklands just before being scrapped. It was built as a five masted ocean liner in the 1840's mostly to convey immigrants to the New World and is one of the designer Brunel's triumphs as, in the 1880's, he converted it to a half and half by adding a steam engine and by doing something to allow the screw propellor to be raised out of the water when the ship was under sail.
The only thing that Bristol and Bath share is the German bombing (...and today, a lot of rain). The Germans were so pissed at England for hitting some of their historic Hanseatic cities, that they took out their Baedecker guidebooks, found the four most beautiful little places in England and unleashed their bombers. However, the Georgian splendor remains in architecture such as the Crescent; as are almost all of the buildings, this structure is made of a very soft, golden-colored Bath Stone.
Bath had started to decline a tad when Jane Austen's family lived here for five years (much against her desire) around 1800 and where Persuasion and Northanger Abbey were written. Every year there is an Austen Convention and folks dress in period clothing!
The hot springs were known well before then - for the neolithic dwellers, the Romans and the Vikings. The Roman Baths were largely covered over by subsequent citizens but have now been excavated and are a major MAJOR tourist attraction. The Romans built amphiteatres, temples and baths wherever they established outposts, this one from 43 AD. (The soldiers departed around the 4th C to go back and defend Rome from the invading hordes.) The water in the baths did not appeal but some of the art was charming.
Next door to the Roman Baths is the Bath Abbey from around 1500.
But the sun came out for us in our next port of Ilfracombe, a fairly pretty little seaside resort in Devon...full of pasties and (real Devonshire) cream teas.
Why exactly we stopped here is a bit of a puzzle; it was too small of a port for the ship so tenders were required and, as a result, Bill stayed on the ship while I walked.
The last port was a real treat...the Isle of Guernsey.
While many of the spots we have seen have wonderful foliage, Guersney is bursting with color. Flowers are everywhere. And the houses are charming.
ambled around town and then spent the afternoon wandering through Castle Cornet.
