Can you get more Irish than Dún Chaoin (Dunquin) and An Daingean (Dingle), on the Corca Dhuibhne (“Seed or tribe of Duibhne”; the Dingle Peninsula) on the southwestern-most reaches of Ireland’s County Kerry?
I very much doubt it!
After staggering into Dingle from Annascaul, wet and windblown, we were pleased to have two nights in one place and an official “rest day” on our walk around the Dingle Peninsula.
Dingle is delightful. We ate fish and chips and mushy peas while the football played on the TVs one evening. The next night, as we were listening to an old and expert fiddle player, we and our tables were pushed back to make space for the dancers. Not the Irish Dancers we know from television: those unsmiling girls in short kilts whose legs stomp and twist while their arms never move. No, these were four pairs of everyday-looking people who turned into whirling dervishes once the fiddler took up his bow: swirling and spinning around in patterns so fast and complex my head spun just watching them.
Pretty, even in a drizzle and under gray skies; Dingle, Co. Kerry.
National Geographic once called Dingle ‘the most beautiful place on earth’. Even in the morning drizzle, with gray skies overhead, it is a pretty town.
Of course, I was loath to waste our day in Dingle “resting”, so we caught a lift to Dunquin to catch a boat to the Blasket Islands – or so we had hoped. With the rough weather, the boats weren’t making the crossing, and we settled for a few interesting hours in the Great Blasket Centre instead.
An exhibition of photographs of the residents and houses, etc, from Great Blasket Island.
The unnamed statue that I like to call “Against the Wind” evokes the feeling of hardship on the island.
It looks calm enough today – Great Blasket Island, off the southwest coast of Ireland.
This whole area is Gaeltacht – the Irish language word meaning an Irish-speaking region – and Great Blasket Island was the language cradle that allowed this to happen. By the end of British rule in Ireland (1920-22), Irish Gaelic was spoken by less than 15% of the population. Great Blasket Island (An Blascaod Mór), however, sitting off the coast, with no modern conveniences, no priests, pubs, or doctors, was fairly isolated, allowing the old language to survive and thrive. The small community (160 people at most) that lived there until the final evacuation in 1953, had rich oral traditions, which they were encouraged to write down after visits by Irish scholars and poets in the early twentieth century. This led to a remarkable number of writers who published works in Irish; many of which have been translated into other languages. Spoiled for choice in the Visitor’s gift shop, we settled on “Twenty Years a-Growing” by Muiris Ó Súilleabháin (Maurice O’Sullivan), first published in 1933, and read by me with a smile on my face.
Once finished at the centre, we booked a cab to meet us later at a local pottery workshop, and set off walking across the roads and hills.
Wind-swept and isolated – the houses of Dunquin, Co. Kerry.
Looking back down the quiet roads…
Tiny flowers grow in the stone walls along the roadway.
House on a hill.
Curious, we followed the bus-loads of tourists up the stony hills at Clogher Head.
We were greeted by large granite rocks –
– and treated to a fabulous view! The little beach of Clogher Strand, Ferriter’s Cove and, in the distance, the peaks of The Three Sisters.
Flowers on the Edge
Like something out of the “Irish Spring” commercials of my youth, a woman – dwarfed by the landscape – runs down the hill…
Cape, Cove and Cave: The beach at Clogher Strand, Ferriter’s Cove and, the mountains the distance.
Daisies growing wild. Ballyferriter, Co. Kerry
Standing stone with a viewing hole –
– lined up with another stone with another viewing hole.
Some properties have a killer view!
Strange creatures greet us as we finally reach the Louis Mulcahy Pottery complex in Clogher –
– while other works, like the beautiful pieces for sale inside the shop, are the epitome of stylish grace.
Back in Dingle, the afternoon sun shines long enough for us to get from one shop to another.
Ceramic babies in the shops are ready for the extremes of local weather.
Young women take advantage of the sun to get their hair decorated…
… and women walk home with their shopping.
Back in Dingle, during intermittent rain showers, we browsed in shops displaying local pottery, woven and knitted goods, jewellery, musical recordings and instruments. When the sun came out, we enjoyed locally made ice cream. Everywhere, we heard people speaking Irish Gaelic between themselves, before switching to English to speak to us.
Modern expressions of age-old crafts, language and music are alive and well here, and it was a joy to partake – even if only for a day.
Ursula, thank you for this report. photos of a really beautiful landscape and the ceramic babies are lovely. I wish you a pretty weekend, DietmutReplyCancel
[…] by bus, and then from Camp by foot. We had spent days trudging through rains, down country lanes, into museums and shops and churches, over hills and through bogs, over mountains and across beaches. We were sore and […]ReplyCancel
Energy, the costs of energy, and the real costs of renewable energy are hot topics in our house and our neighbourhood at the moment. In Australia, black coal has traditionally accounted for more than half the country’s energy production. For almost 20 years, I’ve been paying extra on my electricity bills to help promote the development of renewable energy; seemingly to very little effect, as only 1.7% of total production (2009 figures) is from renewable sources. In 2010, the Australian government introduced schemes – large and small – aimed at increasing the proportion of renewable energy to 20% by 2020.
Good idea, surely: but it opened the floodgates for some poorly thought-through but well intentioned plans; some enterprising profiteering; and some outright scams. Our townhouse benefited from government-subsidised ceiling insulation, so when our hot-water heater exploded, we were ineligible for a rebate on the solar hot water that we installed. It would seem that all the current “sales” on domestic solar roof-panels stop just short of our small town, so the ones we are installing will take years to pay for. All part of the cost of sustainable energy…
For the sake of putting my money where my mouth is, I’m prepared to foot these bills. Some costs, however, are too high.
Late last year we attended a local public meeting in Eden, Australia, to discuss the proposed seven-turbine wind farm on the headlands of Twofold Bay. Opponents risked being called “NIMBYs” (Not in My Back Yard!) and worse, because wind energy, the fastest growing renewable energy sector worldwide, is virtually pollution-free and one of the lowest-priced renewable energy sources. However, location is everything, and as long as we still have options, detracting from beautiful coastal views by building turbines three-times the height of Boyd’s Tower on Red Point seems insane.
Canada has always generated a significant part of its electricity from hydroelectric dams: many built before the environmental costs to local ecosystems were assessed in quite the same way as they would be today. I always took hydropower for granted; we used to boat and fish in the lakes created by dams, and I remember visiting a power plant in the Rocky Mountains as a child. Of course, now I am more aware of the huge impacts of new dam projects on down-stream watercourses, and the communities and wildlife that depend on them.
But, we have been consuming energy for a long time and we have to get our power from somewhere.
While I was in British Columbia (BC) last July, I was intrigued by the opportunity to visit a hundred-year-old powerhouse at Stave Falls; once BC’s principle source of hydroelectric power. So, my husband and I borrowed a couple of children and set off for an afternoons’ exploration.
The Stave Falls Powerhouse, originally built in 1912, now operates as a museum/educational facility.
The museum houses memorabilia from the early days of the Powerhouse’s conception and construction…
… examples of local flora and fauna…
… and hands-on displays.
Looking down over the generator hall, with the turbines and generators installed in 1912.
Remember this?
Generator – circa 1912.
Alternating ammeter ~ of course!
The power station’s original penstocks: floodgates controlling intake to the turbines.
Rusty pipes: original penstocks.
Original turbine.
Hundred-year old switches.
More old switches.
Almost abstract: Ancient electrical bits and pieces.
Almost abstract: metal parts.
“Next to Sunlight” Electricity ads through the ages.
Electricity meters.
Old electrical machinery.
Watt meters and time keepers.
Downstream from the dam: the MV Shirley, a tug used on the reservoirs to gather up timber and debris.
Original glass insulators.
Blasting spike in the rock wall.
At the entry/exit there is a crossing to the upstream side.
Keep out of the dam!
The extensive waters of Stave Lake lie beyond… where the newer Alouette-Stave-Ruskin generation system is harnessing electricity further upstream.
The world has changed so much in the hundred years since this power station was first opened – electricity is such a part of our lives that world consumption of exajoules per annum is more than ten times what it was back then. On average, each of us is consuming more than two and half times what individuals used in 1912.
As long as we keep using it, we have to come up with ways of producing it – and minimal-impact, renewable sources like waves and water, sun and wind, do seem like the only viable options.
I wonder what it will all look like in another hundred years?
Great Post Ursula, what was the outcome for Ben Boyd Point. I happen to think Windfarms are beautiful, serene and practical but some places of significance such as Ben Boyd need to be considered very carefully. thanks for the shareReplyCancel
Hi Signe!
I can’t find any late updates on our local wind farm – I don’t know if the proposal finally died, or if it is still sitting on a government approval desk. Fingers crossed!!
I, too, think wind farms are beautiful: in the dry hills of a prairie landscape (eg. California and other western US states); out behind grazing lands and an occasional lake (eg. Lake George, NSW); in short, in large spaces where people don’t have the need or desire to get too close!ReplyCancel
Monks lining up for lunch – Kyakhatwine Monastery, Bago, Myanmar
I love food – all kinds of food.
I live for food. I run so I can have an extra piece of chocolate; cycle so I can have a glass of wine with dinner.
Why am I telling you this? Because I cannot begin to imagine enjoying life without the pleasures of food! And, with a tendency to hypoglycaemia and a family history of diabetes, I like my meals small and frequent.
Buddhist monks, however, eat only two meals a day. The sixth of the ten basic precepts that order monastic life is to abstain from taking “untimely” meals – with “timely” defined as between dawn and noon. So, the last meal of the day, at 11:00 am, is an important one.
On the second day of my PhotoTour with Karl Grobl in Myanmar, I was lucky enough to visit the Kyakhatwine Monastery in Bago in time for the monks’ lunch. We were strictly observers, mind you, and our guide, Mr MM gave us clear instructions ahead of time, so that we would not interfere: no speaking and no crossing in front of the monks as they walk in and out of the lunch hall. This is a teaching monastery, housing up to 1000 monks and novices at any one time, and their lives are ordered by immutable routine. Visitors are welcome – provided they stay out of the way!
The Dining Hall is ready and waiting.
All is quiet in the corridors of Kyahkatwine Monastery.
The statue in the courtyard at the monastery struck me as incongruous; I never found out who the local hero on the horse was.
A senior monk and our guide MM negotiate our presence at the monastery.
At ten minutes to eleven, a monk hammers the gong, all the temple dogs start howling, and the monks materialise from where ever they were hiding.
The monks come from several directions; soundlessly and in orderly queues.
Each carries his own alms bowl.
One step, two steps…
… the monks keep coming.
A silent face in the queue.
Mindfulness.
A temple dog knows the routine and waits for its turn.
I feel sorry for the younger ones; they must get very hungry before the day is finished!
Rice out of a massive pot is scooped by the plate-load ~
~ into the alms bowls of the waiting monks as they pass.
Silently, the monks find their places, sit, and commence eating.
Focus on lunch.
As noiselessly as they entered, table by table, the monks start filing back through the room…
… and out of the dining hall.
By 11:20, clean up is well underway in the kitchen –
– the cook still stirs a pot on the fire –
– and the cleaned teapots are ready and waiting.
And, finally, the dog gets its reward.
Food that is not consumed one day is not meant to be saved; it either goes back to the community that gave the donation, or to the indigent people or stray dogs that might make the temple their home.
Buddhist monasteries are completely dependent on the lay community outside their walls: they do not produce or purchase their own food. Therefore they get what they are given – whether by central collection, as is the case with large teaching monasteries like this one, or by way of daily alms rounds, and monks are asked not to favour one food over another.
I would find that almost as difficult as only having two meals a day.
Food for thought, indeed, as we left the monastery to have our own, rather more sumptuous, lunch at a restaurant where we chatted, and picked what we liked.
Fascinating I cannot imagine for one second Phillip not being able to chatter through a meal, sit quietly and focus… some of those boys looked even younger than 11 (Phillips age).
I know routine is good…not sure how I”d manage myself.
Hey, Lisa! Yes, I loved Kyakhatwine. 😀 Thanks for stopping in.ReplyCancel
Ben -March 25, 2017 - 4:05 am
So interesting to see how untouched this experience was 5 years ago. We were there last week, and now it is always packed with tourists who are watching the lunch line up. And it is far from quiet.ReplyCancel
Hi Ben,
I’m sorry to hear that! We were clearly told what we could and couldn’t do before we went into the area, but even then some tourists are less than respectful, and spoil things for everyone!
Cheers, UrsulaReplyCancel
Roelof -October 29, 2017 - 7:33 pm
Hi,
In september 2016 i visited thus monastery. While the monks passed me in the long corridor to pick up the rice, I was strucked, I got a spiritual moment. Dificult to explain, but the only thing I wanted to do that moment was helping with pooring in the rice in the bowl of the monks. I gave my camera to my wife and started helping. From that moment on I was in trance, I never felt so lucky, it felt as if I was coming home. After helping, I went into the dininghall, I sat down against a wall and started crying. Pure happiness. The days after I was searching for an explanation what to me. I’m still searching.ReplyCancel
The humpback whales of the Australian east coast are currently making their annual migration south.
Starting from the Great Barrier Reef, where they mate and give birth in warmer waters, they begin moving towards their summer feeding grounds off Antarctica in late July. By October and November, humpbacks are commonly sighted in the sheltered waters off Eden, on NSW’s south coast.
Off course, “sighted” is a relative term. While we were on Cape Byron, in northern NSW last month, we were alerted to the presence of whales: I managed to photograph a spec of a tail on an expanse of Pacific, a splash, and a few smudges of foam on the ocean surface. So much for my first “sighting” of the season!
So as not to miss out entirely, on Wednesday we joined a whale-watching cruise with Cat Balou Cruises in our home port of Eden. We’ve sailed with them before: back in March, we enjoyed one of their Twofold Bay Discovery Cruises. The coastline around Eden is stunning, and during the migration season, Cat Balou guarantee whale sightings, so a morning on the water is a pretty safe bet.
All aboard! Entry point for Eden’s whale watching cruises.
Of course, like other whale watching operations, Cat Balou can’t guarantee that the whales will actually do anything. We were lucky enough to see our first wild humpback whales back in July, in the Pacific Northwest off the coast of Vancouver Island – and they were almost indistinguishable from floating logs!
So, we bundled up warmly and crossed our fingers.
“In the unlikely event…” Owner-operator Gordon demonstrates the lifejackets before we set off.
We weren’t on the water long before we met the strange sight of Australian fur seals (arctocephalus pusillus) “rafting” – floating with their flippers in the air.
Common dolphins (delphinus delphis) raced along side the catamaran as we head off in search of whales.
Smaller and daintier than the better-known smiling bottlenose dolphins, the common dolphins were a delight to watch.
Looking a bit like colourful fried eggs, jellyfish float past us.
As we found our first humpbacks, I was reminded of the well-known Indian story of the blind men and the elephant. You know the one: six blind men try to describe an elephant after feeling only one part: one says the elephant is like a pillar after feeling only a leg; one says it is like a rope or a paintbrush after touching the tail; one says it is like a fan after touching an ear; one says the elephant is like a wall because he felt the body; etc.
I could not get a whole humpback in my mind’s eye: the whales were indeed out in our waters, but we were seeing only the small dorsal fin, or a huge tail, or a broad, barnacled back, or long pectoral fin – never the whole whale!
The dainty dorsal fins of a mother and baby humpback whale just two kilometres or so off Aislings Beach, Eden, NSW.
Boyd’s Tower, Red Point, NSW.
A Humpback dorsal fin and tail fluke south of Red Point.
All cameras are trained on the bits of whale in the waters.
Passengers on a small fishing craft get lucky as a mother and calf pass directly in front of them.
Owner-operators Gordon and Ros keep watch for more pods from the upper cabin of Cat Balou.
It was a beautiful day on the waters, even if the whales refused to breach. Red Point, NSW.
A “footprint” on the water, created by the humpback’s powerful tail flicks as it dives.
Water splash and barnacles on the broad humpback back.
A spectacular humpback tail slap.
In a shallow cove, a large humpback with her long pectoral fins does slow rolls…
… while calves and dolphin play around.
Phosphorescence glows under a humpback fluke as it slaps the water.
Humpback head and blowholes.
A group of humpbacks heads out of the cove…
… in a tangle of massive bodies.
Black-faced cormorants rest on the water as we head home.
A great cormorant sits guard at the harbour entry.
A baby fur seal sits on the sea wall.
The boat is ship-shape and docked ~
~ and the upper wheelhouse is empty.
There is something magic about whales. The deep roaring rumble they made as they “called” to each other was amazing and it was a joy to watch the massive animals in what can only be described as play.
I admit: I was disappointed that none of them breached in the leaps that humpbacks are famous for – especially when the front cover of our local paper the next day featured a perfect jump photographed only the week before! Like a blind man, I still have only bits of the whole.
But, I feel lucky for that privilege. And, maybe next time, we’ll get even luckier!
How was your return visit to Hervey for the whales? It is just the best place to really experience the whales up close.. And such an amazing feeling when they just roll over and look at you.. Did you have some great experiences again this time?ReplyCancel
[…] We were extremely lucky last year: we participated in whale-watching tours twice. Once was last October, during the antipodean spring, when humpbacks make their annual migration south – past my home in Eden, NSW – to their summer feeding grounds in Antarctica (Watching Water 2). […]ReplyCancel
Mori Flapan -May 3, 2021 - 6:02 am
Hi Ursula
As a fellow traveller (6 years on the road), I really enjoyed your photos. They are the ones I wish I had taken.
I have used two of your photos from this page for the Eden Lookout Point icon. They have been credited to you and I have kept your copyright symbol. The map is not commercial. Please get back to me of you have any objections.
Location, Location, Location! The giraffes at Taronga Zoo have a commanding view overlooking Fort Dennison and central Sydney.
As politically-incorrect as it might be, I love visiting zoos. There is something magical about being able to get up close-and-personal to some of the world’s wild creatures.
Ok – so they are not entirely wild creatures when they are held, and often born and bred, in captivity. I understand the arguments for and against zoos, arguments which have changed over time, and have led to changes in zoo design:
Modern zoos, with their focus on ethics and animal rights, are designed as much (perhaps more) for the comfort of their creatures than for the convenience of their visitors. And although, philosophically, I agree with this, I can’t help but think there is something ironic about being able to get better animal pictures in the wild!
These were some of my thoughts as I dragged the cameras across Sydney Harbour and around Taronga Zoo in Mosman in February, and along the roadways and pathways on the three kilometre stroll around the Taronga Western Plains Zoo outside Dubbo, in central New South Wales, earlier this month. On both visits, many of the animals took refuge away from prying eyes and lenses.
Don’t get me wrong: I loved the zoos themselves. Both the Tarongas are in killer locations.
Opened in 1916, the original Taronga Zoo is located on the shores of Sydney Harbour in the suburb of Mosman. The views across the harbour and over downtown Sydney are stunning. While we were there, a woman told me that the view from one particular spot was Heritage Listed, although I could later find no evidence – outside the view itself – for her claim.
In the Mosman koala house, we found one sleepy marsupial. They were all hiding when we went through the Western Plains Zoo.
The tiny corroboree frog is one of Australia’s most critically endangered frogs.
Small lizard on a log in the reptile house.
Chimpanzees in a huddle, Taronga Zoo.
Most of the chamois were hiding among the rocks, but this one stood out against the sky.
The silverback and his family pointedly ignore the audience.
After a patient wait, the best I could get was the male’s profile, as he delicately extracted the kernels from a pine cone.
A gibbon peaks out from the foliage.
A cheeky rainbow lorikeet with a bad foot mooched food from us as we ate lunch.
Zoo-Keeper Joseph explains the habits of the blue-tongue skink to a small audience…
… and hands the skink carefully around.
Ironically, we get a better look at pelicans at home, as we watch them on the lake, than we did at the Mosman zoo, where the only one we saw was hiding in sleep.
Although it makes efficient use of its space and houses a lot of animals, the 52 acre Mosman site has no room for growth. The Western Plains Zoo was conceived in the 1960s as a facility to allow for the breeding of larger plains animals and to give grazing animals the room they need to roam. An old WWII army training camp in central NSW, about five and a half hours north-west of Sydney by car, was converted into 300 hectares (about 3 sq km) of irrigated grasslands and opened to the public as Australia’s first open-range zoo in 1977.
Welcome to Taronga Western Plains Zoo where they are currently celebrating Kenya and the animals of the savanna.
A we guarded our lunch, an Australian white ibis raided a chip from the empty table next to us.
On their own island, protected by water and distance, ring-tailed lemur can ignore the visitors.
I had as much fun watching the local birds – this one a cheeky apostlebird – as I did trying to find the elusive animals.
Although they don’t have the harbour views that their counterparts at Mosman enjoy, the giraffes at Western Plains have been busy. Little Fanana, meaning ‘to resemble’ in Swahili, was born in August.
The animals are often elusive, but the times for feedings and and zookeeper-talks are posted. So, if you have the time, you can plan your days accordingly.
Zookeeper Melanie explains the habits of the hippopotamus.
After years of living in Thailand, Asian elephants have become almost common-place to us. It was nice to see the African elephant – even if she looked pretty bored, stirring up dirt in the bare paddock.
The magnificent Sumatran tiger didn’t even flick his tail. We commented to each other that we’d been closer to tigers at the Ranthambore Tiger Reserve in Rajasthan.
White Handed Gibbon
It is spring: delicate white blossoms adorn a eucalyptus tree.
A babbler searched for slugs and bugs.
A siamang, largest of the gibbons and lesser apes, takes a flying leap –
– while mother and child come in for a landing.
The young zebra born 24 August, is named Neo, meaning gift in Setswana (Botswana).
Purple wildflowers add colour to the grasslands.
Swamp Wallaby
The little swamp wallaby, drinking cautiously from the pool, reminded me what a privilege it is to get so close to a wild creature.
For while it is true that we have seen many animals better in the wild, in their natural environments, there are many others that we haven’t. Even local animals, like the swamp wallaby, we are more likely to see dead at the side of a road, than drinking from a pool. And, habitats are shrinking the world over.
Fabulous Ursula, its been a few years since I’ve been at either but I love them both. I get that you are torn, me too. But some of these precious creatures aren’t going to survive man, so we need to have safe havens for them, and sometimes a zoo is the only place that can make an income to support them. Hard but necessary I think.ReplyCancel
- Performing the Ganga Aarti from Dasaswamedh Ghat, Varanasi
- Buddha Head from Shwedagon Pagoda, Myanmar
- Harry Clarke Window from Dingle, Ireland
- Novice Monk Shwe Yan Pyay Monastery, Myanmar
Packets of 10 for $AU50.
Or - pick any photo from my Flickr or Wanders blog photos.
As long as we keep using it, we have to come up with ways of producing it – and minimal-impact, renewable sources like waves and water, sun and wind, do seem like the only viable options.
I admit: I was disappointed that none of them breached in the leaps that humpbacks are famous for – especially when the front cover of our local paper the next day featured a perfect jump photographed only the week before! Like a blind man, I still have only bits of the whole.
Ursula, thank you for this report. photos of a really beautiful landscape and the ceramic babies are lovely. I wish you a pretty weekend, Dietmut
Thanks for your visit, Dietmut!
We really enjoyed this part of Ireland – in spite of the rain. I hope it is not too cold where you are. 🙂
[…] by bus, and then from Camp by foot. We had spent days trudging through rains, down country lanes, into museums and shops and churches, over hills and through bogs, over mountains and across beaches. We were sore and […]