Trip to Cobh

Yesterday I took the train to Cobh, about 20 minutes south of Cork.  It's pronounced "cove," which was actually the original spelling of the name.  After a visit from a queen, it was renamed Queenstown, and then Ireland gained it's independence, the name changed back to a more Irish spelling of "cove," cobh.  Queenstown was where the majority of immigrants left Ireland from, as well as the final port of call for many ships, including the Lusitania and the Titanic.

I was trying to plan out my day in the hotel room (where there's internet), and looked up the train schedules.  They left once an hour, and the station was about 35 minutes away.  According to my quick glance at google maps, it was a 30 minute walk from the hotel.  Thinking I could make up an extra 5 minutes by walking fast, I grabbed my stuff and left.  I thought I knew where I was going... but I missed a turn.

For the first time in the week I've been here, most of which has been wandering around alone, I did not feel entirely safe.  I ended up basically walking along a highway.  There was a big stone wall on my left, and then a highway with cars driving very fast, and the river with the port on my right.  And no one else around.  No one.  Except the cars flying by really quickly, kicking up dirt that was getting in my eyes.  Oh, did I mention it was very windy and raining off and on?  And then there was this wire flying around loose from a telephone pole.  I could see little wires sticking out the end and had no idea if it was live or not.  I had to time when the wind was blowing to try to get around it.  Stephen says I should play frogger more to prepare myself for that kind of situation.  And then the train that I was trying to catch (which I had obviously missed going about a mile out of my way), went over my head.  *sigh*

So I sat in the train station for an hour.  Luckily I had the iPad and read, but unfortunately no internet.

Cobh was very nice.  Warmer than Cork (which is strange because it's on the coast), not raining, even sunny.

There are several memorials along the main road.  This first is for the Lusitania, whose last port of call was Queenstown (aka Cobh).  The two men represent the many people who made countless trips to the site of the wreck trying to rescue survivors and retrieve bodies.  It was because of their heroics that so many people were able to survive the wrecks and the families of those killed were able to bury their loved one.

The sculptor did an amazing job portraying the agony

and sheer exhaustion the men faced.

This is the cathedral, which was huge.

There are some crazy steep hills in Cobh, I tried to get some pictures of how the town just goes up the hill, but couldn't get a very good angle.

The Titanic memorial

I thought the curve of this building was interesting.

The park, again.

One of the museums is called the Queenstown Story.  This is the entrance, which has the cafe and souvenir shop.  It's a replica station with a "first class lounge."  I think people still use this as somewhere to sit and wait for the trains still since it is attached to the current railway station.

The museum itself was okay.  Parts of it were very well done, a lot of it was just reading information on signs.  In an age when we have the internet and access to a lot of written information from home, I was hoping for more tangible artifacts and recreations.  But they did some of that.  

Here's a line of "immigrants" waiting to board a ship to America:

Life was pretty miserable aboard the early immigrant ships.  You brought your own food and there were not many places to cook.  Seasickness and other sickness were rampant.

Conditions were even worse aboard ships taking criminals to Australia.  The word "criminal" could be anything from petty theft to political rebel to murderer.  Many were kept chained throughout the entire journey and the ships became known as "coffin" ships.  There were instances of rebellion on the ship occasionally, but it was usually between one prisoner group to another prisoner group (like gang warfare).

This may be too small to read, but I thought it was interesting that America sent a relief ship of food during the potato famine in the 1840s.

A man overlooking the "shipping yard"

Annie Moore was the first immigrant processed

through Ellis Island.  She immigrated from Ireland

with her two brothers.

Bigger and faster ships were built and the living conditions on board improved significantly.  People no longer had to bring their own food and staterooms were much nicer.  This is a replica from around the 1950s.

There was an area dedicated to the Lusitania sinking.  Not only did the men of Cobh rescue and recover people and bodies, but the town of Cobh rallied with food, clothing, and places to stay.  People opened their homes and hotels were filled to the brim with survivors.

The body of an American killed when the ship sunk.

There was another area dedicated to the "unsinkable" Titanic.

I thought this was an eerie picture.

What a story he could have told.

The train back to Cork

I think this dog is waiting for his owner.  He'd met my train when it came in, and then I saw him several times running around in town.  Somehow he knew the next train was due and came running back into the train station.  He ran as far down as he could when he saw the train and then ran full speed alongside it as it pulled into the station.  He went weaving through the people occasionally taking an extra sniff at a person.  I don't think his owner was on this train, but I hope he/she came soon.  The dog was wagging his tail the whole time and was obviously well fed, so I assume this is a daily ritual.

Some views from the train on the way home:

A rainbow as I was walking back to the hotel in Cork.

These are from our hotel window as the sun was setting.  There was some interesting light contrasts that I couldn't really capture on film, but at least it was something.

We had dinner with a bunch of people from Apple, a farewell to Mark and Claude who flew out early this morning.  We ate at Electric, a newer restaurant and bar on the River Lee.  Stephen and I both had a steak, mine came with this really good garlic butter.  (Stephen had peppercorn sauce, yuck).  The cheesecake was good, but very different than what I expected.  It was almost custard like, very light.

Walking back with Stephen, Mark, Claude, and Britta, I apparently decided I needed at least one injury on the trip and took a pretty nasty fall into the street.  Luckily there were no cars coming, but I banged myself up pretty good.  For those of you who have known me for any length of time, you know my history with ankle injuries.  I think all the walking I've done the last week has made my ankles weaker than normal and when I hit an uneven grate, down I went.  My knee got torn up and is going to have a nasty bruise, one elbow, the palm of one hand, and one of my ankles is twisted.  My adrenaline was going and I almost felt like I was going pass out.  Everyone was very nice about it, but I hate falling.  Especially in front of people I don't know very well.  This morning only my knee and ankle are sore, so I guess it's a good thing we go home tomorrow.  We're hoping to be able to go out to Blarney Castle today (they were closed Sunday when we were sightseeing), but Stephen's in a "mission control" with the launch of the new iPad, so he may or may not be able to get away.  It looks like this probably won't be his last trip to Cork, so we may have other opportunities to see the castle if we don't see it today.

A Walk Through Cork

We had dinner last night with Stephen's boss, Claude, who is a very nice guy.  He reminds me a lot (even in looks) to my Uncle Steve.  We ate at a place called Amica and then met up with two other Apple people, Eadoin and Britta at a bar off St. Patrick's Street called Mutton Lane.  Very funny people, lots of laughs and teasing Claude about his "baby beer" (a half pint).

Eadoin, Claude, Britta, me, Stephen

Left: Eadoin's (empty) regular beer glass

Right: Claude's baby beer

After breakfast this morning, I started a walking tour of Cork.  It came from a book from one of my mom's co-workers, Heather Miller.  (Heather, if you read this, thank you so much for letting us borrow your book, it's what we used on our driving tour and what I used today).  I slightly adjusted it to start closer to my hotel and not backtrack too much (as it is I went around 5.5 miles).

I started by going back to St. Finbarr's Cathedral.  When I got there, a sign said the service was in progress.  A couple that was standing outside said it was about 15 minutes longer.  There was a guy sitting on a gravestone (that is slightly bench-like, but still...) with his boombox playing "New York, New York."  Not exactly fitting for the cathedral.  Anyway, he started talking to me and I could tell something wasn't quite right.  He found out Stephen worked for Apple and wanted his phone number.  I refused, politely saying that he does not hire people and we have enough people we consider friends asking for jobs.  Even those people he refers to the website.  I finally got away and circled the cathedral:

That wall on the right is actually gravestones.

When I got back to the front, I could hear the organ music inside and was standing close to the door to hear.  The sign said visitors were welcome if they wanted to come to the service, otherwise no tourists until after the service was over.  I asked if I could go in, and the guy was very skeptical.  He told me I could stand in the entryway to hear the organ.  After a few minutes of that, he asked me if I was with the guy with the boombox.  I said no, and then he told me if I promised to just sit in the back row, I could go in for the service.  Apparently they've had a lot of problems with the public who say they want to go in to the service and then are disruptive and taking pictures while they're trying to have their service.  I promised I would be good and got to sit in the back pew.  The church was very large inside, pretty in an impressive sort of way.  There was some stained glass, not enough to make me think "wow," but everything was stone and still pretty.  I obviously didn't take any pictures, but I really enjoyed the service.  The reverend was in the back shaking everyone's hand and said "welcome" to me, and the guy who hadn't wanted to let me in thanked me.  It's pretty sad that his assumption about tourists is that they would be disruptive.

It turns out the church is affiliated with the Church of England, an Anglican church.  A sweet old lady gave me a program, which they read from directly for the service.  It reminded me of the Methodist services I've been to because the reverend would say something and then the church would respond with the words that were bold.  And there was a three person choir that sang a few times that was amazing.  It was 3 men, but I would have guessed there were at least 5 by how good they sounded.  The reverend and his assistant did communion at the altar and put a dot of ash on everyone's forehead.   I didn't go forward because I wasn't sure about the requirements of membership of the church and wasn't entirely sure what the beliefs were.  I didn't want to be disrespectful or participate in something I didn't agree with myself.

When I went out, Boombox Guy was still there and asked if I wouldn't give him my husband's name or number if I would take his name and number so Stephen could call him.  He said he had Bipolar Disorder (aha, I knew something was a little off), so he could process things faster than other people.  I told him I was very familiar with Bipolar disorder, my great aunt had had it.  He said his father was famous, everyone in Ireland knew him.  He pointed to a lady getting in her car and said I could ask her about his father's name and she would know it.  I don't remember what the name was, but at that point I just wanted to get away without being followed.  I told him I would give the number to Stephen and that I had to go.  I checked over my shoulder for a while, just to be sure. 

I continued on along the south fork of the River Lee.  The tourist office lady shut the door and lock it in my face (literally, my hand was reaching for the handle and it was a glass door.  She taped up a sign that said "out for lunch, be back in an hour" and didn't even make eye contact).  Fine.  I didn't need your information anyway.

The national monument

There are stairs up to the door which was originally the main

entrance when the river was higher.

I attempted to go to the Customs House, but it was locked.  I headed back along the river and went up the hill towards the Church of St Anne Shandon.

A store in one of the shopping centers.  It didn't look

like really "californian" clothes, but what do I know?

I stopped at the Firkin Crane Center and sat on the couch watching their videos of ballet for a while.  I went into the Butter Museum (apparently Cork used to/does export a lot of butter?), but it didn't look that interesting from what I could see and it was expensive, so I skipped it.

I went in to St Anne's and paid the attendant, an older gentlemen who said I was an explorer like the two people who mapped out the United States.  (To which I said, Lewis and Clark?).  Yes, that was who he meant.  Strange conversation...  Anyway, you put on ear protection and climb the tower where you can ring the bells.

I was expecting a big rope like the one in Runaway Bride, but it was these tiny little ropes along a wall.  There was a number behind each rope and a sheet with different songs on it so you could "play" one of the songs on the bells.

Here's me "playing" the bells.  Gold star if you can name that tune.

That was pretty cool.  You head up higher on these really narrow and steep stairs:

and pass by the clock mechanism.  There are four clock faces on the tower (one on each side).  Locals call them the four faced liars because until recently, all four clocks were slightly off from each other.  Climbing even higher takes you to the bells (and some views out the windows along the way).

I was expecting a big room with bells in the middle, but you get the the top of the stairs and hit a bird poop covered board with a bell right in front of you.  I actually didn't look that long because I was freaked out by a dead pigeon that was at the top of the stairs (which, mind you, were very narrow and I really didn't want to touch a dead pigeon).  And it was at the top right where you turned, so I didn't have any warning it was coming until it was right in front of my face.  Gross.  So I snapped a picture of the bell and went very quickly back down the stairs.

When I told the guy at the entrance about the pigeon, he told me I wasn't a very good Lewis and Clark.

I went back across the river (which was really high today, I guess because of the light rain yesterday) and next into the opera house.  There was an "exhibit" upstairs, so the lady allowed me up to the second floor.  (the exhibit was a few paintings on the wall, like 10 at the most.)  But the door to the stage was open upstairs, so I snapped a quick picture and left before anyone could tell me I wasn't supposed to be in there.

Sorry you can't really see the stage, I didn't take any time to check the photo.  Next I went to the Crawford Art Gallery, which had a couple of interesting exhibits (and pretty staircases).

This is made of wood!

The Penrose room (Penrose was a very prominent family in Ireland, they started the Waterford Crystal company) had some interesting family portraits.

This is a grandfather and grandson and shows

unusual affection in that they are holding hands.

This is a rare candid portrait.

There was also an exhibit called "All My Lovin," which was photographs of relationships between people.  There was friends, parents, families, husbands/wives, old and young.  There were tons of pictures and it was a really interesting look at relationships, some good, some bad, some sad.

I also read a photojournal book called "Days With My Father."  It's a son documenting the last days he has with his father after his mother passes away.  It is very touching, but don't read it if you don't want to tear up.  You can actually read the whole thing here:

http://www.dayswithmyfather.com/#/1

I stopped at a little shop that had cookbooks and chandeliers and drawer nobs (I know, not real sure what type of store it was) and struck up a conversation with the woman in there (Mary).  She was asking me about the iPad I had in my hands and then we talked about Cork, what to see, cake bites, and other random things.  I probably talked to her for a good 20 minutes or so.  

Then I stopped and got another hot chocolate.  This time milk and white chocolate with cinnamon and nutmeg, I liked the one I had yesterday better.  But this one was still good.  Plus, it was drizzling and hot chocolate sounded really good.  I'd eaten my leftover sandwich from yesterday for lunch, so I figured I could spend the money.

I passed another big church, the Church of St Francis, so I went in.

I don't think I've ever seen a real confessional.

There was a whole row of them, with the name

of the priest on the top of each one (the white paper).

The last thing I wanted to see was Fitzgerald Park.  I found this park first, but it turns out that wasn't Fitzgerald (which is good because this park did not live up to the description of Fitzgerald Park).

Really cute dog who wasn't going to be giving up that

stick anytime soon.

Then I found out that wasn't Fitzgerald Park, so I continued on.  The real thing definitely lived up to the description.  Tons of flower gardens, a pond with a couple fountains, some statues, old trees, right on the river, and a kid's playground a ways away.

Cork County Cricket Club was between the two parks

On the way home, I was thinking about this sign.  I propose we change the signs in the US that say "Speed Bumps" or "Speed Humps" to:

Speed Ramps!  Doesn't that sound so much more

fun than "Speed Bumps"?  And seriously, how many

people have made fun of "Speed Humps"?  I mean, really?

We had dinner with Claude, Claude's boss Mark, and another person from Apple, Valerie.  She was quite nice and we actually talked a little on our own walking home.  Here's the sun setting right behind our hotel as we were going in the door to the restaurant:

We ate at Cafe Paradiso, a vegetarian only restaurant (Mark's a vegetarian) that uses locally grown and made ingredients.  I was slightly skeptical, but it was wonderful.  I had vegetable sushi as an appetizer which was very authentic and then maple crusted mushrooms, gnoccci (pasta/potato type balls) in a sage and butter sauce, on a cake of leeks and walnuts.  I ate every single bite.  Stephen, the avid meat lover, had risotto and actually  liked it.  I had a brownie with white chocolate ice cream for dessert and it was probably the best brownie I've ever had.  And we all know how I feel about ice cream.  We all shared a bottle of wine and I actually had a glass.  It wouldn't have been my first choice, but with food it actually tasted pretty good.  Who wouldda thunk it?   

Quite an eventful day, I would say.