April 11, 1994
"We do not remember days, we remember moments."
Cesare Pavese _ The Burning Brand:Diaries
Yesterday afternoon as I drove back to Dingle from Portmagee, I thought about my old girlfriend, Mary. Before meeting Maggie, Mary and I dated for five years and in September 1979 we visited this enchanting isle for the first time. For three weeks we explored its coast from Dublin to Donegal, and the one place that captivated us was Dingle, the village and the peninsula. We pent six days here, three during our first week and the final three days of our vacation.
During the day we would come out to Slea Head and explore the rocky hills and outcroppings along the coast overlooking Blasket Island. We would sit and talk, sometimes we would read or just simply lay down in the sun. In the evening we would come back here to watch the sunset. We were always alone and if the tide was out, we would sit on the beach and drink wine and as the sun slipped silently into the sea, we would make love on the sand. During that time we felt as though we were the only people on earth, the magical moment a special gift from the Celtics gods. As darkness descended we would drive back to Dingle for dinner and a night of Guinness and music in the pubs.
Some other memorable moments from that trip: visiting Joyce's Tower in Sandycove and when we reached the top, looking out and seeing a men's nude beach right next door; finding the alleged remains of Saint Valentine in Dublin's White Friar Street Church; driving through Mullaghmore where Lord Mountbatten was murdered by the IRA a month earlier; stopping at the shrine in Knock and seeing all the colorful decorations as it prepared for the Pope's visit; watching television a week later as John Paul II arrived in Dublin; arguing in the middle of the road in the tiny village of Kinvara on a Sunday afternoon, both of us yelling at each other - we must have been a sad sight, two tasteless tourist upholding the ugliness of appalling Americans.
I can't remember what we argued about that day because we argued a lot. Arguments were so much a part of our relationship, that I am amazed we stayed together as long as we did. Eventually, fighting was our downfall and undoing. But today I miss Mary and wonder about what might have been - if only she said hello, instead of hanging up the phone on that long ago Saint Patrick's Day.
I remember more than moments with Mary in Ireland, I remember a day - our very first in this country. Once the plane landed early in the morning at Shannon and we rented our car, we drove into Limerick and checked into the Woodfield House Hotel. After taking a quick shower, we walked into the city - children dressed in uniforms were walking to school, mothers were pushing prams and the smell of burning peat drifted through the air. We had tea and scores at Stella's restaurant and afterwards asked a woman for directions to King John's Castle and the Treaty Stone - she told us that she would take us there, which she did.
In the afternoon we drove out to Bunratty. We toured Bunratty Castle and Folk Park, then went to Durty Nelly's where we had soup and sandwiches and a few pints of Harp. When we returned to the hotel, we sat out on the patio drinking one pint after another until it got chilly. We then went into the bar where we met a wonderful, hilarious couple from Dublin - needless to say, we stayed until closing time.
That entire day was a memorable moment, a day worth reliving in a heartbeat. Tonight at Dick mack's Pub I'll toast Mary with a pint of Harp and thank her for all the fond memories I have this day - and wish her well wherever she may be. Slainte!
3:00pm - Slea Head - Dingle Peninsula, County Kerry, Ireland
contact: fortheheartcries@gmail.com
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