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Tuesday, Nov 26,
2002
Our drive north took
us through County Donegal, and we could see first-hand the
difference in the landscape of this side of Ireland. The
mountains are not quite as lush as the southwestern part had
been; in fact, it had more in common with Connemara in its
starkness than with Dingle and its verdant scapes. Eventually
we took a roundabout that took us into Northern Ireland. We
were expecting to have to show our passports, but the only way
we knew we had crossed was because the signs changed and there
was barbwire around various buildings, including a school.
This was our introduction to Derry/Londonderry (depending on
which side of the issue, and river, you stood).
Our destination was
still far away: we were heading towards the northern coast of
Ireland, to the Giant's Causeway. It took a few hours but we
finally made it, stopping first at Dunluce
Castle. Not a huge
tourist attraction, we nonetheless decided to stop and take a
look, mainly because it was empty and we had the ruins pretty
much to ourselves. Dunluce's claim to fame is rather bizarre:
in 1639, on a stormy night the Count of Antrim was hosting a
party at his castle when all of a sudden half the kitchen just
fell off into the sea. The guide told us that one could still
see the ruins down in the water, though we could not reach the
area since it was roped off.
"None
shall pass!" Danny at Dunluce Castle.
Nov. 26, 2002
Our quick stop at
Dunluce done, we headed towards the main course of Antrim, the
Giant's Causeway.
Formed by the Celtic
warrior Finn McCool in order to reach his lover in the
Scottish island of Staffa, the causeway is a natural wonder.
Geologists say that it was actually created by cooling basalt
lava some 60 million years ago, but we all know that
scientists must have their own silly explanations. Finn was
actually quite thorough, making his causeway all the way to
Staffa (off the coast of Scotland), though only the
foundations can be seen in Ireland and Staffa today, since the
rest lies underwater, after Finn's lover's brother tore it up
escaping from Finn's wrath as he fled back to Scotland.
We decided to take
the scenic path: it was 4:00 pm when we began our walk
(remember that). The view of the coast is amazing, though we
glossed it over as we wanted to reach the causeway before
dark. The scenic path was longer than we expected and then
involved going down the side of the mountain via a very narrow
path. Remember we mentioned it had been raining a lot in
Ireland before we arrived? The path was okay, though it could
have been better at parts. Suffice it to say that we were
very, very foolish to have taken this path and we made it down
alive thanks to the grace of God.
Via this approach,
we had to pass by The Organ first, so we stopped to take a few
pictures. The basalt pillars that make up the causeway are
actually all over the mountains in the area, and in this
particular place, the top layer of the mountain had fallen,
revealing the infrastructure of hexagonal pillars, making it
look like a bunch of organ pipes, hence the name. It was quite
impressive, especially when you stood at the bottom and looked
straight up (major case of vertigo), but time was running
short and we wanted to see the causeway.
Yvette in
front of "The Organ", one of the basalt formations
at the causeway.
Nov. 26, 2002
By the time we
reached the actual causeway the sun had set but there was
still plenty of light to see the formations. Immediately we regretted
having stopped at Dunluce, but we had made our choice and now
we had to make the most of it. The formations at the causeway
are incredible; no photograph can ever do them justice. The
photographs make it seem darker than it really was, though not
by much.
It is simply amazing
to witness these strange shapes conjured by nature, so many
perfectly fitted steps trailing off to the sea. Finn surely
did a great job.
The
hexagonal stones of the Giant's Causeway,
another proof
of how whimsical and fickle nature can be.
Nov. 26, 2002
Yvette
wanders as close as possible to the edge of the
causeway. The marker shows where the tide normally comes up to.
Nov. 26, 2002
With the light
fading very fast, we had to make our way off from the rocks
and onto the road. We realized we were alone--completely
alone--and no one knew we were down here. To make things more
interesting, a big storm was rolling in from the north, and
its windy herald was already upon us. With only the hint of
moonlight to guide us, we set out against the wind and up the
steep road. As we rounded a small corner, the wind buffeted
us, throwing Danny three steps back. The climb up was a feat
of endurance, with only a far-away light from the visitor's
center providing us a destination. Eventually we made it all
the way up; the place was deserted, night had completely
fallen and the storm had arrived. We got into our car and sat
there for a few moments catching our breath, giving thanks
that we had made it out of what could have been a really bad
spot. It was then we looked at our watch: it was 5:00 pm on
the dot. Our whole odyssey, worthy of its own epic poem, had
taken only one hour.
We went back to
Portrush and found a room at the Belvedere
Town House, a place recommended by our Rick
Steves' guide. After getting some food we hit the town to
check out the Portrush nightlife, meaning the arcades.
Portrush is a holiday spot, and that's exactly what it caters
to; it's full of bars, restaurants, amusement centers and
arcades. The arcades are actually very cool, a mixture of
oldand new games: video games stand next to 2p-slot machines
and air hockey tables. We had a blast for a couple of hours,
eventually heading back to the Belvedere to a very
well-deserved night of sleep.
Next:
Belfast
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