Ireland 2014

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I'M A WANDERER



For this entire trip, I had resolved to walk this trail along the banks of the Shannon River I had seen on Google Maps. I wanted really explore King’s Island, the Island on which the town of Limerick was first settled, which I had never done before.

Since there were no plans for Sunday until late in the day, I decided this would be the time to take the leisurely stroll. I had done a bit of the walk along the canal, but I hadn’t reached the Shannon yet.

I left the hotel with the sun just rising. One of the best things about Limerick, is that it waits for the day to be warm before anything stirs, so I had the city pretty much to myself as I wandered around with camera in hand.

I walked by St. John’s Cathedral hoping to get a different angle, preferably with the sun lighting up the spire. Walking down the street behind the cathedral I spotted our old laundry which had a checkered past.

During the early part of the 20th century leading up until the Eighties, the Magdalene laundries were pretty horrible places to work in. They were a repository for bad girls and unwed pregnant pregnant girls. Basically, if your father thought you were misbehaving he could incarcerate you at the laundries for an indefinite period time.

It was torturous slave labor and the girls were all abused. The Magdalene Laundries in Ireland, much like the pedophilia scandal were a symbol of the wrongs of the Catholic Church in Ireland. But their laundry was top notch and this was the place in Limerick were my father got his shirts done.

To be fair, this scandal only came to light after we had left Ireland. The Magdalene Laundry in Limerick closed in the Eighties and has since been converted into, well, a laundry.

So, I walked by and took some more pictures. I don’t know what attracted me to the large field in the middle of the row houses, but I did find three horses cropping the grass untethered. Seeing free horses in the streets is one of the enduring Limerick symbols for me. I always figured at some point that you wouldn’t be able to find them on the streets. But I guess that day still hasn’t come.

I shot a lot of pictures of the horses. I especially liked the one that was living in the front yard of one of the houses in the Garryowen section of town.

I made my way to the canal, happy not to see the collapsed drunk I had seen lying sprawled half on a bench, half on the ground. Yes, it had been several days, but I did see this guy walking around town and thought this might be his hang out.

On the one hand, the canal area is quite pretty with the ducks and herons nesting in the grass covered banks. There are plenty of 19th century bridges crossing the water providing excellent subject matter for pictures.

But the water is filthy, filled with all the detritus the Limerick people can find to thrown in it like bottles and old shopping carts. Swans don’t look very pretty when they glide through the brown scum of pollution. Angry graffiti covers all the concrete surfaces closer to town.
I tune this clutter out as I make way along the asphalt path. Although if I lived here I would give serious thought to Saturday afternoon civic clean-up. I still take pictures.

I eventually made it to the Shannon. I was happy to see the footbridge that I saw on Google Maps satellite view actually did span the canal. If it didn’t, I would be walking North up to the University of Limerick rather than South towards the Corbally road.

Plenty of friendly people passed me on the path. One women suggested I photograph a heron out on the river which I would see just after I got out of the tunnel of trees. A lot of people walked their dogs. None of the dogs wanted to help me with my dog fix and scampered away from the scary camera man.

Probably the oddest sight, were these four bright yellow contraptions that were on an isolated section of the path but had a great view of the river. They rose from the field near where the photogenic heron was hanging out. From a distance, I had not clue what they were. I thought they might be some sort of electrical sub-station because of the bright color and bent steel posts around them.

As I got closer, they finally evolved into exercise stations with leg presses and bar pulls and bicycle stations. Wow. Limerick finally moves to the exercise forefront. Except these were the only stations I saw on the entire walk and they were at least half a mile away from the nearest egress point to the trail. I walked by them on two occasions. No one was ever near them. Sure, not a representative sample to make a judgement but I’m making one any way.

I must say the path builders were also quite clever in the bench placement along this stretch of the path. Some of the benches faced each other. Others were arranged in a circle. It was like the planners gave some thought to people coming to these places and how they would like to sit when they got here. Again, never saw anyone on the benches.

I crossed the Corbally road and it’s big stone bridge to a much older path along the river. While the path up to this point looked freshly paved, this older path had an old stone wall alongside it and was paved with old concrete squares.

The path continued behind what looked like an abandoned toll booth for the bridge or perhaps a long disused pub. The local hooligans had peeled away a fence and broke some boards at the back in order to gain access to the interior. They also had a fierce thirst as evidenced by the pile of beer cans littering the ground near the broken opening.

I was startled by this large thrumming sound coming above my head. I couldn’t figure out what was making this disturbing noise until I saw the flock of five swans fly over my head. I don’t think I have ever seen Swans fly. God, do they make a racket with their honking and flapping. And no, I didn’t have time to get the camera out to photograph the white formation.

The walk gave my inner child a chance to do something stupid. I noticed stretching out into the river what looked like a man made pathway. Plants and trees grew out of it, but I could see very definite square bits in amongst the foliage. The path extended quite a ways out into the river, making a great vantage to photograph the numerous waterfowl.

It also looked slippery and treacherous. On many occasions, I have ventured forth, particularly when I was younger, out onto such precarious ridges and found myself in the water. I remember vividly such an occasion at Vasona park in Saratoga.

As I got closer, I saw that long ago this area had been cordoned off to make a swimming area on this stretch of the river. Cement steps lined the bank all the way down below the top of the river. There was also a sign saying this water was now deemed unfit for bathing due to contamination.

So, slippery rocks, poisonous water and a wrought iron railing followed by a two foot drop stood between me and the man made path out into the river.

I did what any mature adult would do. I took a picture of the rain slicked rocks and resolved to tell everyone about what I almost did. I even turned to continue down the path.

But then the ‘what-if’ voice kicked on. What if it is really cool out there? What if the great pictures are just on the other side of that greenery? Oddly, the what if you fall into the river didn’t come across very clearly.

Next thing you know, I’m stowing my camera into my back-pack so I can have both hands free to grab things and I’m crawling over the green fence and down onto the narrow walkway, bordered on both sides by water.

The path wasn’t that treacherous once I got out on it. My sneakers only slipped once to give my heart a little jump start. Fallen trees necessitated my crawling under the trunk of one tree. Ultimately, I made it to a concrete pad which showed the bank opposite me. I never got the big look into the river I wanted since the trail did become impassible.

It would have been passable if I had made just a little more effort. Yeah, no.

As I was pulling myself over the rail that blocked the trail, someone did spot me as they walked up the trail to my spot. I gave them the nonchalant, nothing to see here “How are you” as I scampered down the trail.

The trail ended, as I knew it would, thank you Google, at a little car park. A nice man brought his child out to feed the ravenous swans, who appeared immediately when the bread bag came out. They initially looked to me for food but I was still dealing with that crazy notion that bread wasn’t good for swans.

A tame kitten also made her presence known. I think she was looking for adoption despite the fact she wore a red collar. She accosted the man and child looking for affection. She even deigned to notice me for a few seconds. I asked the man if the cat was his, but he said no. Just some really friendly cat. The swans below us were giving the cat a lot of stink-eye.

Since the trail had ended it was time to find my way back to the main road. I had committed the path to memory and immediately screwed that up. I made a left into a very nice housing estate and walked along for about twenty minutes before finding myself only about twenty yards further along the road I should have taken. I’m on an adventure. Don’t judge me.

I made my way back to the Mill Road which led to the Corbally Road which ultimately led me to King’s Island. I had only been walking about two hours at this point. I was probably creeping out the two teenage girls who walked in front of me down the entire length of the Mill Road.

Just beyond the Athlunkard Boat club, I found the entrance to the foot path that led around King’s Island. Here at least was the beginning to the end of my quest. Right up until the 12 foot tall steel fence with warning signs saying the path was closed.

But, that can’t be right. I’ve come all this way. This was high on my list of things to do. You can’t have a fence blocking my path.

They can and they did. I headed around the Rugby pitch at St. Munchin’s onto the surface streets hoping to catch an egress back onto the path. I got a few stares from the locals watching a soccer match, probably wandering what this tourist was doing so far from the usual tourist places.

I immediately learned one thing as I walked down St. Munchin’s street, this place was a shit hole. The houses were in terrible condition. You could see scorch marks arounds the boards covering the windows. Serious security steel blocked entrances to other abandoned homes. Yard care was not a big priority in this area. There were a lot of vacant lots filled with trashes were it looked like houses might have once stood.

There was the occasional well maintained home that stood out because of the oddity of the houses’s well maintained aspect.

I got to thinking that this was one of those places I should walk through quickly and get back to the nicer parts of Limerick.

And I was going to do that. I’m a self preservation kind of guy. Until I saw the horse wandering among the houses. I would go just as soon as I photographed him. Him and his other friends standing out in the field.

Look there were a lot of horses just wandering around loose and that’s not something you see every day. Well, you might see it every day if you lived in this section of Limerick. I didn’t so safety be damned, I’m taking pictures. Especially, when I had Thomond Park stadium looming above us like some crashed space ship.

The horses wanted nothing to do with me. They would trot off the instant before I released the shutter.

I saw the closed footpath as well. Only on this end, it wasn’t quite so closed. I saw a couple of older gentleman walking through a gate out onto the path. I would investigate from this end just as soon as I got that horse with Thomond back-drop picture.

The path was open at this end. But about a hundred yards in, there was another forbidding fence blocking the path. However, there was a well trod path leading around this fence, so I could gain access if I wanted. Naturally, I did. But I didn’t go far. I figured they might be warning me off for a reason.

My first thoughts at the other end of the path was that locals had ruined the path, and looking at some of the houses, you could understand why I had that thought. Actually, tremendous storms had hit Ireland in April. A lot of this area was flooded despite the huge bags of gravel that lined the banks. I’m thinking the trail was wiped out by the storms.

I followed the open end of the path back to King John’s castle. I passed a field where I saw a suspiciously still young colt. I had to make sure that he or she was alive. Again, I walked into a field I probably shouldn’t have. The colt arose when I was about a ten feet away and headed off to the protection of his nearby pony-mother.

By the time I reached the Strand, I had walked almost eleven miles for my morning. I popped into the Strand Hotel bar and found most of the wedding party in there having lunch. The Bradshaws had invited us to go out to Marco Polos for dinner but I had to remind them that I had previous engagement to meet some High School friends.

I was to meet the McMahon’s out in Nenagh, a town thirty kilometers north on the road to Dublin, at 5pm. I figured I would leave early and take some pictures of the first Verbatim plant and Mount St. Lawrence cemetery.

I needed an update for the cemetery because I had a picture of it in my book only I couldn’t remember where I took it. I did discover it was the biggest cemetery in Limerick and I probably should have remembered that.

It was right by the temporary Verbatim plant, so I probably photographed it on the way to the Verbatim one day.

It didn’t take long to take the photos so I found myself just outside Nenagh at about 4pm. I had an hour to kill. Sure, I could have used that hour to get lost trying to find Mike’s home in Hogan’s pass, no street signs, no house numbers. But I had a pretty good idea of how to get there after I found the house on satellite.

Mike’s house is one of three secluded houses and is quite distinctive on the satellite shots. And there were only two turns to get there. I wasn’t worried about finding it. Knowing what I know about me, this should have worried me.

Well, you know what town is just ten miles North of Nenagh? Moneygall. You know what is in Moneygall? Exactly. The Barack Obama Travel Plaza. I felt it was worth the trip to see this now iconic spot on the M-7.

It is quite the travel plaza. There were restaurants and tons of pumps for gas. For some reason, there is even a Tim Horton’s doughnuts in there. I didn’t investigate too thoroughly. I just was there to take a selfie in front of the giant Obama Travel Plaza sign. Lots of people got a good view of me standing out in the field with my camera in my hand. Should have stopped on the road back for the picture of the billboard of Obama holding a pint.

I did stop on the rotary trying to catch some weird shots of the sunset which had this bolt of white light illuminating the brilliant green fields while being surrounded by shadows and dark clouds. I didn’t quite get that picture.

I had dinner with Mike, Helen, and their two kids. I was also introduced to Lucy who was alternately very affectionate and terrified of me. They tried to get her to do tricks but like all dogs faced with a camera was non-compliant.

I was visiting Mike so he could introduce me to the Nenagh Players creative people in order to pass on my set-building wisdom, if such a thing exists. They are about to put on the play ‘The Cripple of Inishman” and wanted some tips on light weight stone.

We ventured into the town of Nenagh with a quick detour to see Cordelia and Mike Cormac who Cindi and I had seen on a previous trip to Mike’s house. I think seeing Cordelia should be a required stop to anybody visiting Ireland. You need to sit with her for awhile to fully understand why.

Now, I thought I had been a pretty fair driver on the narrow roads away from the Motorway until I got in the car with Mike. Wow, did we go fast with not much concern about meeting oncoming cars. And we did meet oncoming cars. And we just flew right by them without batting an eyelash. It would take me a lot more time driving to get up to that rate of speed between the hedges.

In Nenagh, we went to the Nenagh Players Store where I had the meeting with the director, Set Designer and Set builder. Basically, I told my stories about Hollywood and gave them what little advice I had. It was quick and hopefully painless for them.