Seals and Selkies

Walking near the Smugglers' House on Rathlin, I heard the loud and unmistakable sound of snoring.  I could see some seals in the water, but it couldn't be them - because the sound persisted even when they went underwater.  I looked around for some stray smugglers who might have sampled too much of their wares, but there were none to be seen.

Eventually (and because one of them moved) I realised that what I thought were piles of driftwood were actually lounging seals.  They had arranged themselves on the rocks and in the rock pools.  Some were entirely out of the water, others had their noses and the tips of their tails out - but their bellies submerged.  They were snoring and sighing and snuffling and calling to each other in very human-like tones.

And the legend of the selkies - creatures who are seals in the water, but abandon their skins or cloaks on land and take human form - made perfect sense to me.  I could see the seals becoming human - or I could imagine myself putting on a seal cloak and diving under the waves.

Would it be to much to ask, in my selkie life, for a seal husband who doesn't snore?

Rathlin Island

As documented here and here, I am endeavouring to visit all of Ireland's inhabited off-shore islands.  Last year I went to Cape Clear, in Co. Cork, and last week I went to Rathlin Island, off the North Antrim coast.  So that's one on either end of the island of Ireland ... and, at the current rate, I'll have visited all the islands around about my 75th birthday.  Might need to increase the rate slightly.

A few quick facts about Rathlin: it is shaped like a capital 'L' (as seen upside down) and is 6km from east to west and 2.5km from north to south. The island is almost as close to Scotland as it is to Ireland.  To get there, you take a ferry from Ballycastle, 10km away.  You can buy ferry tickets on the day although it is advisable to book ahead for weekends in the summer.  Depending on whether it's the fast or slow ferry, the journey will take between 20 and 40 minutes.

Ballycastle Harbour

1 x mama, 1 x aunt

The morning we went was sunny (!), the sea was calm and we had a marvellous view of Marconi's cottage (where he pioneered wireless radio transmissions) and some friendly porpoises.*

The first thing we saw on Rathlin was the village at Church Bay, which consists of a six-pupil school, two churches (one Catholic, one Protestant), a hotel (which houses pub, restaurant, shop and medical centre), a second pub, a post office, a visitor centre and a fish and chip shop. It is entirely typical that an Irish island with a population of fewer than 100 people should have two churches and two pubs.

Church Bay

Manor House

The Village

Rathlin is a famous bird sanctuary and home to a colony of puffins.  The ferries are met by two buses, which will take you to the RSPB sanctuary at the West Lighthouse for a small charge - the entertaining commentary is free.  But I begged to go to Bruce's cave** first - or at least the East Light, which is the nearest accessible point. En route we spotted cows, cottages and Scotland in the distance.

The cave is only accessible by sea, so this is the closest I could get to a photo of it: I drew the line at lowering myself over the cliffs.

Bruce's Cave is about 10m down and round to the right

The route to and from the lighthouse is a loop and on our way back we visited the two churches.  The Catholic Church contains a stained glass window in honour of St Eithne, which I found pleasing.  My aunt remarked that she didn't realise there was a St Eithne (thought she was some rando, made-up saint) but clearly the people of Rathlin do.

The Church of Ireland church has, rather beautifully, pebbles inset into its walls.

Its churchyard is also the (multi-denominational) graveyard for the islanders and contains these graves: all sailors who were washed ashore in World War I.

We stopped at the Manor House hotel for tea and scones and a slice of island life as we waited for our tea to be made.  I watched (and eavesdropped, sorry) fascinated when the postman came in with stack of letters and mail order catalogues and much discussion of ordering and receiving of parcels.  I know we hear all the time about the internet revolution - but can you imagine just how much the internet and online shopping have changed island life?

After scones, we got the bus to the West Light, unusual - even unique? - in that it's upside down.

The light, you'll notice, is at the bottom of the building, instead of the top.  There was an explanation concerning cliffs, sea levels and optimal heights for ship-to-shore light viewing but I didn't entirely understand it ... sorry!  Apart from the unique lighthouse configuration, this is where the RSPB hangs out and volunteers will point out different birds to you, lend you binoculars and help you work out what you're seeing through the fixed telescopes.

1 x blogger plus new puffin friend

Kittiwakes, razorbills and one peregrine falcon - honestly, they're all there.

To complete our lighthouse set, we walked to the South or Rue Light.  Close by is the ruined smugglers' house.  No smugglers now but lots of seals.

Our last stop was back in Church Bay for fish and chips.  I had read that Emma's Chip Ahoy was 'award-winning'.  It was suggested, meanly, that the award was for best fish and chips on the island, but actually the award in question was impressive and the fish and chips (fresh mackerel) delicious.

And then - it was time to say goodbye.

On the boat back to Ballycastle I pondered two things. First - that my island-hopping seems to coincide with rare good weather in Ireland. Second - could I live on a small island?  I don't know ... but I'm excited to explore the next one.

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*One of our party thought they were sharks ... but the consensus was porpoises

**The Bruce of the story is not some stray Australian who was marooned on the island but rather Robert the Bruce, now best known as yer man the narrator of Mel Gibson's Braveheart ... The real, historical Bruce was king of Scotland in the 14th century.  Before he became king, however, he was defeated in battle and forced to hide on Rathlin.  The legend is that he fell asleep in a cave while watching a spider struggling to spin a web across the cave mouth.  When Bruce awoke, there was a beautiful web - seeing it, he resolved to  keep on fighting.

Ireland or Greece?

No, not some kind of existential challenge, but a new game.  Just look at the following photos and guess whether they were taken in Ireland or in Greece.  Ready to play?

My dears (and the clue is in the fact that I'm wearing jeans and a shirt in the blazing sunshine) they were all taken in Ireland last week.  I threw in the picture of the Orthodox priest as a bluff but it was sheer coincidence that he turned up outside the tiny blue and white church of St Gobban's in Port Bradden just as we were remarking how Greek everything looked.

I spent a couple of days in the North of Ireland last week, working on no. 21 on my Life List: Visit all of Ireland’s inhabited off-shore islands.  I was in the company of my mother, aunt, uncle, assorted cousins as we were also celebrating one big birthday and revisiting childhood haunts.  The sunshine was an unexpected, but glorious, bonus.

More on the island hopping, sunshine and nostalgia to follow.

Let's Go

People have asked me whether we saw any evidence of the political / economic turmoil in Greece.  Mostly, the answer is no - we spent much of our time eating, swimming and sleeping.  But, we did encounter this demonstration on the streets of Thessaloniki.  (I asked one of the guys nearest to us if he would donate one of the banners to the project I'm working on but he told me the banners were counted on the way out and the way back in!)

'Pame' means 'let's go', but I have no idea what they're shouting for (or against).  Life in general, I suspect.

Gyros at Midnight

The Three Sisters (non-Chekhovian, non-depressed variety) went for cocktails in the nearest town.  After two rounds of lethally strong Caipirinhas (or the Greek interpretation thereof) we realised we needed something to mop up the alcohol.  Being in Greece, the obvious solution was to head to the Gyro shop.

At the time, a full gyro with the works (tzatziki, chips, mustard, tomatoes, onions etc) seemed the obvious way to go and I went happily to bed afterwards, feeling no ill effects, or so I thought ...

Had the strangest dreams all night, culminating in one where Barry Manilow was my boyfriend.

Caution: Handle with care.

Giddy Aunt

This is the time of year when I rack up the air miles, not in pursuit of the day job, but in my alternative career as Universal Aunt.  (Which along with Giddy Aunt and many, many others was an alternative name for this blog.)

I've spent the past three weeks between London, Greece, Devon and Kent, with nephews, goddaughter and other small people - with a 1st birthday party, house move (not mine) and charity cake sale thrown in.  Oh, and a visit to No. 10 - but that's a story for another day.

What To Do in Giverny ...

When You Don't Want to Visit Monet's House?

I was in Normandy for a couple of days in June with my parents.  I suggested to them that they should visit Monet's house and garden at Giverny, which I visited a couple of years ago.  Instead of going in with them, I had a coffee next door and then wandered through the fit-for-a-landscape village.  At the far end, I discovered the church of St Radegonde (patron saint of skin afflictions) and the grave of Claude Monet, lui-meme.

Both the church and the graveyard were so charming and interesting that I was sorry I'd missed them the first time I was in Giverny - but then, I suppose if I had I wouldn't have had the pleasure of stumbling across them this time.