Doolin breakers.
CLARE SNAPSHOT
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Even though on holiday I’m aware of the insatiable appetite of all true blue Hermonites for the latest blog update, and here in my hotel room in Ballyvaughaun I have taken a night in to chill and write a blog. Since blogging on the dampness of our Irish summer the weather has more or less been brought to heel and has delivered so far, three really nice days with oodles of sunshine and not even a drop of rain. As ever the scenery down these parts is spectacular and with blue skies all round, the Burren has her best foot forward and is glowing in this late wardrobe change courtesy of the delayed summer. Today we spent time at Doolin Pier which seemed busier than Shannon airport with people queuing for the boats to the Aran islands. The crossing is always a rocky one , more especially on windy days as the Atlantic swell pounds against the boats while they plough onwards towards Innis Mor or Innisheer. We had planned to do a day trip but I thought yesterday was a bit ‘stormy’ and today we had a late start so the prolonged stop at the Pier as we made the trip by proxy and voyeuristically watched the hordes set sail for the islands. Doolin began life as the birth place of Mikko and Pakie Russell, two traditional musicians who became celeberities in the sixties as European folk fans flocked to the tiny Clare village to hear them perform in O’Connors' pub. The pub is still there although the brothers are gone and the village of Doolin has been transformed into a mini version of Killarney where the tourist and his or her dollar/deutchmark etc,. is king. Hotels, hostels and b and b’s dot this once pastoral landscape, but despite the vulgar encroachments of commercialism nothing can take away from the grandeur and the majesty of the panoramic ocean view from the Pier. As I watched the foaming waves dash against the rocky coastline some remembered words from a Shakespearean sonnet learned at school came to mind…” Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, so do our minutes hasten to their end, Each changing place with that which goes before, in sequent toil all forwards do contend.” The sea certainly enthrals as its vast waters heave and flow in perpetual rhythm, the heartbeat of our planet , an assuring fixed waltz in our increasingly uncertain world. Anyway enough of this global contemplation I think if we hurry we can slake our immediate thirst with a draught from the bar…
Even though on holiday I’m aware of the insatiable appetite of all true blue Hermonites for the latest blog update, and here in my hotel room in Ballyvaughaun I have taken a night in to chill and write a blog. Since blogging on the dampness of our Irish summer the weather has more or less been brought to heel and has delivered so far, three really nice days with oodles of sunshine and not even a drop of rain. As ever the scenery down these parts is spectacular and with blue skies all round, the Burren has her best foot forward and is glowing in this late wardrobe change courtesy of the delayed summer. Today we spent time at Doolin Pier which seemed busier than Shannon airport with people queuing for the boats to the Aran islands. The crossing is always a rocky one , more especially on windy days as the Atlantic swell pounds against the boats while they plough onwards towards Innis Mor or Innisheer. We had planned to do a day trip but I thought yesterday was a bit ‘stormy’ and today we had a late start so the prolonged stop at the Pier as we made the trip by proxy and voyeuristically watched the hordes set sail for the islands. Doolin began life as the birth place of Mikko and Pakie Russell, two traditional musicians who became celeberities in the sixties as European folk fans flocked to the tiny Clare village to hear them perform in O’Connors' pub. The pub is still there although the brothers are gone and the village of Doolin has been transformed into a mini version of Killarney where the tourist and his or her dollar/deutchmark etc,. is king. Hotels, hostels and b and b’s dot this once pastoral landscape, but despite the vulgar encroachments of commercialism nothing can take away from the grandeur and the majesty of the panoramic ocean view from the Pier. As I watched the foaming waves dash against the rocky coastline some remembered words from a Shakespearean sonnet learned at school came to mind…” Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore, so do our minutes hasten to their end, Each changing place with that which goes before, in sequent toil all forwards do contend.” The sea certainly enthrals as its vast waters heave and flow in perpetual rhythm, the heartbeat of our planet , an assuring fixed waltz in our increasingly uncertain world. Anyway enough of this global contemplation I think if we hurry we can slake our immediate thirst with a draught from the bar…
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Gerard O'Shea
2 comments:
That amazing photo of waves breaking across the rocks takes me back more than 40 years(!!) to times of standing there with Dad and Chris casting our lines and feathers into the sea for a tasty catch of mackeral. Enjoy your break away Gerry - have a great one. There really is nowhere quite like Co Clare.
Any sign of Bob? Keep your eyes open you never know where he might be. Have a great holiday Ger
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