Fourteenth Ireland Post: The Rock of Cashel
In exciting news, Monkey was up and out of bed within 30 minutes of us waking her up. New family record!
This is the long way of saying we were up and out of the house by 8:30 a.m. As we drove out of the gate, I looked at Buds and said, “I’m sure we forgot something because that was the easiest house exit we’ve had this whole trip.” If we did leave something, we never missed it.
The drive to Cashel was the most mentally intense of any of our day-trips in Ireland. We were never on large roads, and we drove behind or by more semi-trucks than we’ve seen anywhere on this trip. We were all so glad to finally arrive.
Cashel’s history is fascinating to me, not least because of the connections to St. Patrick, a very familiar Saint to even the non-Catholic among us.
Here’s what the Cashel website says:
It’s huge, it’s complex, it’s iconic, there is nothing like it anywhere else in the world and it’s right here in Cashel at the heart of Tipperary. The Rock of Cashel (Carraig Phádraig), more formally St. Patrick’s Rock, it is also known as Cashel of the Kings. Reputedly the site of the conversion of Aenghus the King of Munster by St. Patrick in the 5th century AD. Long before the Norman invasion The Rock of Cashel was the seat of the High Kings of Munster, although there is little structural evidence of their time here. Most of the buildings on the current site date from the 12th and 13th centuries when the rock was gifted to the Church. The buildings represent both Hiberno-Romanseque and Germanic influences in their architecture.
In the Rick Steves’ Ireland Guide, we laughed at this story on page 163:
St. Patrick baptized King Aengus at the Rock of Cashel in about A.D. 450. Legend has it that St. Patrick, intensely preoccupied with the holy ceremony, accidentally speared the foot of the king with his crosier staff while administering the baptismal sacrament. But the pagan king stoically held his tongue until the end of the ceremony, thinking this was part of the painful process of becoming a Christian. Probably not that many other converts stepped forward that day.
The humor and humanity of that story make it resonate for me. St. Patrick, either from nerves, or excitement, or religious fervor, didn’t notice the king’s discomfort. The king, out of respect, and incredible self-control, held his yelp back. I like to imagine them sharing a laugh and repeated apologies from St. Patrick when they discussed the ceremony afterward.
This is one of the reasons we’ve so enjoyed the ruins we’ve visited: imagining the lives of the people who dreamed and worked and studied in the massive stone edifices.
Pictures with Buds in them were taken by Yessa.
After leaving The Rock, we wandered in the town for a bit, looking for a lunch spot. We were too early, though, so after a quick stop at a little shop for a treat, and time for Monkey to laugh at a series of “Letter From an Irish Mother/Son/Daughter, etc.” jokes, we headed out.
Buds guided us to Tipperary (love that name!). We parked and set off in search of a nice pub for lunch. The first one we wandered into was warm, clean, beautiful, and quite full. About 12 men were sitting at the bar and tables around the long space, and they all turned from their pints to look at us as we wandered in. It wasn’t uncomfortable at all, they were just looking to see if they should call out, “NORM!” or just smile at an unknown face. The lovely red-head behind the bar looked at me, and I asked, “Do you serve food?”
“Ach, no, but let’s see…O’Neill’s down the way. They do a lovely lunch. Cross the road, and walk down past the two banks, and you’ll see it on the right.”
“Thanks so much, ” I told her.
“Ay, and don’t worry about bringing us back a sandwich,” she said. “We’ll be fine.”
Several of the men smiled and wished us well as we left.
It was a lovely interlude, and then Buds and I realized…they were all there for “liquid lunch.”
Dang, I love this place.
On we went to O’Neill’s.
We did have a lovely lunch, although Buster had to get over his shock at realizing “beer-batter” coating on his chicken strips was not something to be grossed out by.
Buds found wider roads for the drive home, which I greatly appreciated, and then we came around a corner and found these waiting for us in the road.
The mountain was still missing when we got home, having been shrouded in mist all day. But it waited to rain until we were through our outing, for which I was thankful.
Home again, home again, then, one last trip of the day to CF Limerick and Tesco (grocery story), and we were in for the night.
Up next: Some non-Ireland stories.
