Before disembarking from the horse-drawn jaunting-cart, our very Irish driver-guide, John Costello, had told us to walk a hundred yards or so along the gravel path where we would reach a footbridge. So, while the horses take a break, we begin our stroll along the tree-lined trail. The spring wildflowers here in Killarney National Park are spectacular – waves of bright yellow on a sea of rich green! “When you reach the bridge,” he had said, “look up the hill to your right and you will see the Fifteenth Century Ross Castle,” yet another abandoned stone castle. “For a remarkable view of Lower Lake, you will want to make your way up to the fortress.” But before walking on to the castle, he had directed us to stop about half-way across the bridge and to look downstream – to the left. “Peer through the branches that overhang the stream banks and you will see, in a small clearing, a group of hookers.”
Hookers!?! In this incredibly beautiful park!?! “Yes, and they will be in bright, vibrant colors, very clean, and in an orderly line awaiting the arrival of their morning clients.” John had alerted us in advance that we would not have time to take the hookers out this morning and that after taking a good look we should move on to see the castle. And just as sure as John had described them, there they were – bright blue, green and yellow with natural trim – sterns in the water, bows on the bank, oars in their locks, angled up and ready for the firm grip of calloused hands.
O’Golly! I am so sorry, I forgot to mention – “hooker” is the Irish word for a small wooden fishing boat originally designed for use on Galway Bay. Hookers are built in a variety of sizes and can be propelled by oars or by sails. When sails are used the sailcloth is usually a deep red-brown color and the hull is coated in pitch making it black. Here in Killarney National Park hookers have been painted bright colors and adapted for pleasure rowing.
An Irish National Guide like John possesses the knowledge and skills to make an escorted coach tour educational. Such a guide also has the talent and demeanor to make a tour entertaining. Under the direction of a quality guide, a traveler can laugh and learn at the same time. It is not a stretch to conclude that John loves his job and his country. Another thing about which he is very serious – it’s Costello (Cos’-tu-low); NOT Costello (Cos-Tell’-o)!
One warm afternoon after winding through miles of very, very narrow country roads of County Clare, John announces over the coach speaker system, “Na ya know – Y’all don’t deservit abit, but we’re coming up on a village that is home to the Lisdoonvarna Matchmaking Festival. And here they have a wonderful ice cream shop. I think we’ll see if they’re open.”
One can learn a lot licking and listening. It seems that every autumn, following harvest, the population of this quaint town, Lisdoonvarna, swells from about eight hundred souls to around forty thousand. These are not just local farmers; folks come from all around the world, and the vast majority of them are seeking a mate – or so they say. Plaques are strategically placed around the town to offer words of encouragement and suggestion for young men seeking a life partner. For example, a chap might offer the following proposal to a blushing lass, “How would like to put your feet under my table?” Or for the more serious suitor, the invitation to the young lady might be, “How would you like to be buried with my people?” I have to suppose that many leave the festival disappointed. One sign leaves me a little puzzled – and concerned. It simply states, “The craic in Lisdoonvarna is very good!” My oral reading of the sign is promptly corrected by a storekeeper. “It is pronounced crack – not crake,” says she. That does not allay my concern at all. Continued . . .
May All of your Travels Be Happy and Safe!