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| My cycling buddy during our day on Inis Mor |
We left the UK in the middle of July. By the middle of October, I continued to find excuses not to write the final blog posts about our time there. The transition to the US is taking plenty of time and energy, and I've had a couple academic writing projects to work on. Deeper than that though, I avoided writing because I didn't want to write down that the secondment was complete. Surely someone once said that in the modern day, the experience isn't over until the last blog post is up? It's not the last blog post (one more coming), but it is the last one about a trip.
When we began planning our return trip to the US, one question that we considered was how to spend the time between when the container left the UK and when it arrived in the US. We decided to spend one of the "container in transit" weeks on holiday. After some back and forth about new versus familiar, we decided to return to the cottage in Kilkieran that we visited during the girls' May 2015 half-term break (blog post is here). We figured that the beauty of the Connemara peninsula would serve our spirits well as a bit of a refuge in between the flurry of packing up in Melbourne and re-entry in Indianapolis. With a little bit of creative travel planning, we booked our final re-entry trip from East Midlands to Indianapolis with transfers in Dublin and Chicago.
Our final full day in the UK had the very best of mild, clear Midlands weather. We took a picnic dinner out to Calke Abbey and enjoyed a final bit of climbing around a fallen tree that has been a favourite spot for the girls to play.
Our final partial day in the UK had the very best of rainy Midlands weather. The rain was sprinkling as we loaded the van, and departed the Coach House where we'd spent the week. The rain was falling respectably as we pulled up to the Avis kiosk at the airport to return our van. Naturally, the Avis kiosk was outdoors, the luggage carts next to it were connected to each other, and needed a £1 coin to get the going. It would of course figure that a certain father had encouraged his wife to spend all her British coins at Sainsbury's the night before because he thought (for a reason that he cannot justify anymore but is convinced was a good one) the carts at East Midlands airport were free to use. Fortunately, Kristine found a couple of £1 coins. She gave them to me, and then took the girls to the airport while I was left to load the (2!) carts and push them the few hundred metres from the kiosk to the airport. I mentioned it was raining, right?
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| The van handled our family of five, plus luggage (just barely) |
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| Thanks to a smooth and quick check-in, we had time to wait inside the airport |
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| Our plane for the flight to Dublin |
Our flight from East Midlands to Dublin was uneventful. This is an important statement. The flight was packed and the airplane was relatively small (4 seats across). Many passengers had to gate-check their larger carry-ons because of the packed flight. My larger carry-on happened to be a quite valuable Fylde octave mandolin that I purchased the previous week. The airline's version of gate-checking was to place carry-ons in an empty space at the back of the plane, kind of like a big closet with a canvas door. Fortunately for us, there was a group of women heading to Dublin for a hen party. They got on right before us, saw the family with lots of stuff slung over our shoulders, and voluntarily gate-checked their suitcases. This meant my octave mandolin rode to Dublin in the overhead bin. Kristine rightly pointed out that the women in that hen party, who were a bit loud on the flight, deserved lots of my gratitude and only a (very) little resentment.
Kristine's parents, who had flown from Chicago to Dublin the previous day, met us at the airport. We made our way to the Avis desk to get our two rental cars (we learned during our March trip to the Lake District that 7-seater cars can carry passengers or cargo, but not both). We got quite a shock when the fellow said that the small car would be a Mini Cooper. I'd assumed we'd get something like a Ford Escort. The Citroen van was manual transmission. The Cooper was automatic. Kristine, being the self-sacrificing woman of character that she is, pointed out that I was the only of the four adults qualified to drive a manual transmission vehicle. She graciously agreed to drive the Mini for the week.
We were happy to see that the cottage had lost none of its charm during the year we were gone. It was a lovely place of rest for the couple of down days during our week. We played cards, did puzzles (Kristine's dad brought multiple puzzles with him from the US, including a couple to leave as gifts for future guests at the cottage), and burned through lots of peat (partly for the novelty of the peat; partly because it made sense on the rainy days - of which we had several).
The girls were thrilled to find out that the neighbourhood playground, which had been closed during our previous visit, was open for use.
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| Nifty Mini in the foreground; cottage in the background |
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| Caught in the act of solving puzzles! |
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| (unknowingly) caught in the act of playing solo Blitz! |
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| Reading is always better with a grandfather's lap to sit in |
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| The ponies were much friendlier this year. I think they realized the girls were reliable sources of carrots. |
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| Elise tried to invent a new form of zipline-karate |
Our first day trip was a return visit to Kylemore Abbey. For some reason we had more adventures with rain. The story goes that someone (say Kristine) was sure that since it had rained heavily on Sunday, then Monday would be clear. It further goes that someone (say Shawn) was not so sure and lobbied for rain gear. It also goes that one more person (say Elise) heard the discussion, stepped in, and made sure that the rain gear was in the van instead of left at the cottage by a certain potentially forgetful father.
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| Notice the rain |
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| Did I mention it was raining? |
The rain greeted us on arrival to the abbey, but mostly let up by the time we walked onto the grounds from the car. A year of age and experience walking with the younger girls made a big difference on this trip. Clare still rode the shuttle from the main gate to the big gardens, but cheerfully walked around with no complaints.
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| The photo makes it look like I was the only one playing the musical instrument. Not true. I'm sure I shared. |
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| Eager explorers of the Abbey gardens |
We made a couple outings to the beach. On one of them, I think we finally learned our lesson about asking the girls not to get wet. I'm sure this is true - despite the lack of photographic evidence. No reasonable parent would take their children to the beach, tell them not to get wet, then let them in the water and not have towels or a change of clothes handy, would they?
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| You may get in the water, but only up to your ankles! |
The other outing involved a race against the rain. More specifically there was laundry on the clothesline at the cottage when it started raining at the beach. Because we had two cars, and because Kristine had planned for this contingency, she got to rush back to the cottage in the spiff Mini. The girls defied the rain, which turned out to be just a sprinkle. They stayed at the beach and got driven back to the cottage later. By me. In the not-spiff Citroen van.
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| I didn't get to drive the Mini, but I did get a hero shot |
Our second day trip was a return visit to Inis Mor. This was another one that needed some juggling of plans. Our previous trip involved a ferry across the ocean to the island. It was relatively inexpensive, but yielded two motion-sick family members and took quite a bit of time. With the forecasted rain, we weren't sure we could ride the ferry, make a bike ride, and get back to the port before the weather turned unpleasant. We decided to fly with Arran Airlines. This meant an 8:45 flight. Back up arriving 30 minutes early, add 30 minutes to get to the airport, and it was an early morning getting everyone out the door.
Early morning notwithstanding, the day turned out to be lots of fun. Everyone (adults and children) enjoyed the airplane ride. It took only 15 minutes, as compared with 45 minutes on the boat. Conflicting opinions about bumps on the ride (one parent was concerned about the potential for worse motion-sickness than the boat; another parent was sure it would be much smoother) resolved in favour of the smooth ride. This meant everyone was in good spirits when we landed on Inis Mor. Catching the early morning flight also let us land before the crowds from the boats. That got us in and out of the bike shop pretty quickly. We actually had time to do important things like dig through bins to find helmets that fit.
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| Daddy, that plane looks a little small ... |
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| Daddy, this plane is awfully small! |
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| The propeller made for cool photos and very loud noise. |
Elise got her own bike again this year. Kristine took Charis in a tag-along bike. I took Clare in a tag-along bike. Kristine's parents rode a tandem. We took the coastal path out to Dún Aonghasa. Between the easier ride compared with the inland route, the younger girls being old enough to meaningfully contribute both pedal power and cheerful conversation, and Elise being a year older and stronger so better able to handle the ride alone, we enjoyed the ride. This might be the first bike ride that Kristine has enjoyed with her husband. Last year’s ride on Inis Mor wasn’t so pleasant (someone saddled her with the trailer instead of the 7 yr old on the tag-along). That ride was 12 years after being conned into taking bikes along for a summer vacation in Maine (“We’ll just ride from the campsite to the trail and make a circuit. It will be fun!”). I’m fortunate that (a) she didn’t take another 12 year recovery period to try a family bike ride this time; and (b) it was enjoyable enough she might let herself get talked into doing it again.
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| Searching for seals (we saw heads that weren't photographable) |
Father learning note to self – bike ride plus hike plus bike ride takes more out of small legs than it does adult ones (or 10 year old ones with apparently limitless energy). Despite having to make this note to self during the hike up to Dún Aonghasa overall everyone handled it well. We explored the ruins, ate refreshments, and (in the case of the father who just commented about tired daughters) stretched out on the grass to nap.
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| Climbing to Dún Aonghasa |
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| This was one of the few places with a wall |
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| Look to the right. That drop is a couple hundred feet. |
Lunch complete at Teach Nan Phaidi Café, we rode back along the coast to Kilronan. The rain held off for the rest of the day, so the guys and children stopped at a playground while the women checked out shops. No machine-knit goods were procured. The smooth morning flight lowered apprehension about the afternoon return the mainland. All were in good spirits as we enjoyed the experience of flying on a small plane.
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| Cycling plus hike = tired daughter |
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| Courtesy shot of savory lunch |
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| Obligatory photo of machine-knit goods |
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| Short-lived experiment: can the girls play on the beach without getting wet? |
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| You may NOT cross the yellow line! |
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| I'm an engineer, so I'm supposed to find analog instrument panels inherently worthy of a photo |
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| Look at that ocean that we're not moving through! |
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| One more cool propeller photo |
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| And the last one. Note the disconnected propeller blade. |
For our final outing from the cottage, we drove about half-way to Galway and visited Aughnanure Castle in Oughterard. The more accurate term is Irish Tower House. It’s a fortified country estate that dates to the 13th century. Depending on the period of history, the structure was used by clans fighting each other, or by clans fighting together against the English, or given by English municipal powers to a supportive clan as a way of weakening power of non-supportive clans. After seeing the castles in Wales, this (considerably smaller) one was a bit of a recalibration of the mind. Let’s just say that reading the history of the castle was more entertaining than exploring the castle itself. Well, mostly. There were not as many stairways or walls to explore, but there was lots of green grass to run around on (if you were the girls) or take a nap on (if you were me).
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| Napping ... |
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| Running around ... |
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| This hole in the floor had a purpose when it was made. The girls used it to greet people below them. |
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| Find the hiding 8 yr old |
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| Begin sequence of embarrassing photos of Elise |
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| End sequence of embarrassing photos of Elise |
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| The playground in Oughterard was a bonus |
We finished the day with a meal of fresh fish in the cottage. Our friendly hosts picked up the salmon from the local fish factory. I hadn’t appreciated that when we asked him to get fish for us, it meant the fish, the whole fish, and nothing but the fish. Fortunately Kristine’s dad was there to do all the gutting, scaling, etc.
On Saturday we loaded up the two cars and made the drive back to Galway. We stopped for lunch at the monastery ruins at Clonmacnoise. The abbey, founded in the 6th century, was a major learning and commerce center until the town of Athalone gained prominence to the north. As a major commerce center, it was in the thick of lots of battles and changes in power. We learned about several while watching a video that conveyed the monastery's history in German. Someone got the times for the English video wrong and forced everyone else into the theater despite protests that it might be in a non-English language.
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| Farewell photo of the cottage. Note the un-spiff Citroen van. |
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| "How did it fall?" "And how does it balance on the hill?" |
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| Searching tombstones for hiding daughters |
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| Note the searching father in the background ... |
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| Unhappy at being spotted by the searching father |
The rest of the drive to Galway was mostly uneventful. There was a small adventure when my U. S. cell phone rang while we were on the motorway. "Hi Mr. Collins, this is your security company. The alarm at your house went off and we've had to send the police to investigate." Turns out there were heavy winds in Indianapolis, and the back door hadn't been closed completely by the person who came by the previous day to check on the house. All's well that ends well, and I'm happy that we got out of the experience with just a good story and a wrist-slapping letter from the Indianapolis Police department chastising us for making them respond to a false alarm.
We dropped Kristine's parents at a hotel for their return flight to the U. S., returned the Mini, and found our flat in Dublin. Access to the flat was via some narrow streets, ending in a couple of one-way alleys - the last of which had no sidewalk space because the folks at the end were holding a party. All my U. K. driving skills were put to the test as I backed the van out of both alleys and moved it to a nearby street.
The process was traumatic enough that I didn't take any pictures. It paled in comparison to Kristine finding out later that night (while the party was in full swing) that our flat did not have a corkscrew. Consider that she had been on the road all day, endured listening to me talk with the security folks, and how had a bottle of wine she wasn't going to be able to open. Consider further that my trusty Swiss Army knife, which I still travel with out of habit, did not have a corkscrew either. Some determined searching on Google shed light and humour on the situation. It turns out lots of people have had this experience, and many have documented their lessons learned for the benefit of others. Scissors were found, determined pillaging of the cork was conducted, and the wine was enjoyed.
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| Even after shifting some of our luggage to Kristine's parents, the van was still packed pretty full |
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| Creativity before capital |
On Sunday we drove the hour south to spend most of the day at the ruins of Glendalough. Kristine and I visited these ruins in 2005 when Elise was in utero. There was something cathartic about making returning to a place that we visited when we were closing one chapter of our lives (being DINK household) and beginning another one (parents of living children). The day enjoying the beauty of the landscape, the aging ruins, and the laughter of the girls running around, helped me come to terms with closing one chapter of our lives (being secondees in the UK) and beginning another one (establishing life in Indianapolis after a 30 month absence). I'm sure it helped that the weather was clear and the crowds were relatively modest.
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| In which mischief merges with adoration when gazing at her father (or something behind the camera) |
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| The girls decided that paths on the hill meant staying away from the main one |
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| I didn't |
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| They did, anyway |
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| Begin photos of daughters running from Daddy |
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| End photos of daughters running from Daddy |
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| This fellow wandered through the middle of the field by the visitors' center |
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| Obligatory photo of American-with-Irish-last-name-seeking-relatives. My grandfather's family was from Wexford, not far from here, so it's not out of the question. |
Visit to Glendalough complete, we walked into downtown Dublin and enjoyed a performance of Riverdance. Having spent many hours watching the Jean Butler "Best of Riverdance" DVD, the girls were excited to see it live. I enjoyed the versatility of the small band - fiddle, percussion, saxophone, and pipes / whistle. Kristine enjoyed the visual artistry of the costumes. The girls enjoyed Trading Taps, which they agreed was more fun than the DVD version.
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| The stage admittedly looked much better when it included performers |
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| Happy family as we complete our sojourn across the pond |
