Sweden 2019

     I like to think of my father in law, Villy, as a modern day Francis of Assisi. He’s very kind to the critters in his domain. There’s a tailless magpie that he makes sure has food, he strategically places the bird bath under a tree so the smaller birds will be protected from predators, he shoos bees and other flying insects out of the house without swatting them. He is obviously a sainted fellow. Unless of course you happen to be a snail. In that case you will find yourself cast into a pail of salt water in which you will slowly die. So much for “all God’s creatures”

Snail Hunters

It’s been quite a few years since we’ve been in Sweden at Midsommar. It’s so incredibly beautiful! Hans, Hanne, Villy, Svend and I decided to go to a real Midsommar fest in the afternoon and then go home to eat mass quantities of picked herring and other assorted midsommar goodies like shrimp, smoked salmon and more picked herring. Oh and of course some decent aquavit. Midsommar is like Christmas in Sweden. The big important celebration is on the "Eve" So imagine our surprise when we got to the field that advertised the big midsommar fest to find it looked like a ghost town and the fest was scheduled for midsommar dag (day) Now that's just ridiculous. I refuse to blame my imperfect Swedish. Having a midsommar fest on midsommar day is like having a New year's eve party on New Year's Day. The day after is recuperation time, not festival time. What is happening to Sweden?
Anyway we went home, dragged the table out under the tree and had our mass quantities of food and drink.

We were visiting Sweden before and after our big Italy trip with the Danes. The timing was perfect. In addition to Midsommar, we were there for little Leonora's 2nd birthday. I guess she would be Svend's  great great niece. Or is it great grand niece? Whatever it is she's cute and sweet. 


So we are all going to Italy to stay in a villa and 90 year old Villy is going down to a farmhouse Denmark to look after Egon and Anna's dog. And the cows I guess, seems fair.

Italy 2019

Italy is hot, the roads are twisty, places close for undetermined amount of hours, they don’t speak English, Italians couldn’t care less if you have a complaint, Rome is full of trash, they don’t believe in railings and there’s wild boar in the woods. What’s not to love?

Two years ago we made our first trip to Italy, we said it was great, but we would never go back during the summer. Is June 29 to July 13th really considered summer? Maybe not in Denmark, but yes, it was summer, it was hot, there were crowds at times, but you know where this is going. It was an incredibly wonderful trip for many reasons.

The merry crew initially began with eleven Danes one Pole, one Swede and only one crummy American (me) Our trip from Denmark was uneventful. We smoothly flew from efficient Denmark via smooth-sailing Brussels to Italy. Notice the lack of adjective there. Yes we got from Denmark to Rome  with a layover in Brussels in about 5 hours. Then we went to the Avis counter in Rome Fumicino Airport where it took us SIX HOURS to get our pre-ordered, pre-paid for vehicles. Don’t even ask me to explain what the problem(s) were. Just imagine eleven Danes (one of whom is 2 years old) one Pole, one Swede and one American (me) at a car rental office at Rome airport for six hours. Oh and by the way, Svend lost his wallet in one of the cars we almost rented, but then it wasn’t the right one so we had to repack into another, which was then stopped at the exit for not being on the list. At that point the crummy American snapped, jumped out of the car and stood in front of the exit and said“ we’re not going back, call the Police, or I should say cabinari! Yes, what fun.  

Fast forward, we finally escaped and drove for two hours into the rustic Tuscan countryside, arriving at our possibly beautiful villa sometime after midnight. At that point we knew the 200 year old stone house was beautiful inside and very dark outside. 

It was a great relief  to get up the next day to see the beautiful vista and more importantly the glorious pool. We had sort of made fun of the Danes for making sure we brought food from Denmark for breakfast. We said, “of course we’ll be able to buy groceries” not anticipating the 6 hours at the Avis counter. Nothing beats stinky cheese, serious rye bread and Coffee in the AM! 

Svend and I had to return to the hated airport the very next day to pick up our beloved Erik because of course we could never coordinate properly and arrive on the same day. But at least I had another fellow American to speak un-accented English with.

Now it was truly time to appreciate our place in the sun. We spent the next few days either not moving from the villa or making small local jaunts to our town Saturnia or other nearby locations near our remote villa. 

Tuscany is of course a well know location, Florence, Sienna, Pisa - these are world renowned locations, I mean they have Michelangelo’s David for crying out load! But most people don’t know about Saturnia, Pitigliano, of Montemerano. The remoteness of the area we were in had its good and bad points. On the good side was pretty much everything; on the bad was driving around the twisty hairpin, mountainous roads. 

After all the hubbub with Avis and driving to Rome again, it was high time to do nothing but lounge around the pool, eat good food and good afternoon limoncellos. And we did that all very well.

The Danes consisted of Egon and Anna (the Pole) Gitte , Lars, Nicklaus, Jackeline, Mathilde (the adorable) Janne, Anne, Rikke, Martin and Peter.  Age range 2-82, a perfect mixture. The first evening there Egon invited us all out to dinner to celebrate his birthday. Yes Italy is comparatively inexpensive (especially) compared to Denmark. But fourteen people, four course meals with plenty of wine was an extremely generous gesture. Don’t tell any Dane that in America you get gifts on your birthday, not give them. Needless to say we had a wonderful evening.

After several fine days in southern Tuscany, Svend , Erik and I drove north to the Tyrolean Alps to the town of Brixen, where although you are still in Italy you would swear you were in Austria. Mainly because everyone speaks German, the menus are in German and it looks like Austria. It is a very charming town with a big river running through. So what brought us to Brixen? That crazy young woman who is our daughter, that’s who. Many months ago when we were planning our big trip to Tuscany she decided to look online for a “run.” Lo and behold there was an extreme marathon in Brixen so she signed up. Hello? This is a person who never did a marathon before. I distinctly remember her saying after a half marathon that she wasn’t interested in doing more. You can’t trust anyone these days. And you can’t trust her friend Rico who decided to do a 28K alpine run to keep her company. Needless to say it was a tremendous day where they both were on the podium  for placing in their age groups. Amelia actually was number one. Very impressive!                   

I did not get a single medal for going up a steep and scary chairlift which brought us up to a fantastic vista in the Dolomites. However the finish line was nearly an hour’s trek further (uphill-in case you’re not following) only Erik was able to deal with that climb (in his Birkenstocks-again bad planners) So Amelia and Rico had someone to greet them at the end. The poor runners then had to walk down for nearly and hour to get to the place where we mere mortals were waiting.                                        

The next day is where poor planning worked well. Rico was going to Venice and we were going to go back to our beloved villa in Tuscany. But we said, “ We can’t not go to Venice!" Amelia and Erik have never been and everyone has to see Venice. So we decided to drive Rico and spend a day and a half. What a great decision! I’m not going to describe Venice, you just need to get here yourself. Along with the gazzion other people from everywhere. Our best time was Sunday evening after the cruise passengers were gone. The sky was amazing after a rainstorm, the music from the band, clad in white tuxedos, was surprisingly wonderful, the drinks were delicious and expensive and worth every cent. Especially since Erik paid.

On our way back to southeast Tuscany we took a side trip to San Marino, one of the worlds smallest country (which, PS was in the opposite direction.)  But it was beautiful, we had dinner and a walk and a long drive back through the dark small roads. We did see a lot of Italian wildlife that come out at night. The majority were cats. Cats own Italy at night. We also saw foxes, hares and the best, a big wild boar right on the side of the road. Oh my.

The Danes were not idle while we were away, they went to the actual ocean for one day and to a water park on another. Both of which they enjoyed very much.

There was a lovely outside room over looking the Tuscan hills where we generally ate dinner together. The cooking was done by various teams. The Eriksens barbecued pork with delicious sides, we did Fourth of July - steak, hamburgers - potato salad, Egon and Anna made a delicious Danish meal with beef, Nicklas did a gorgeous paella, Janne and Rikke went Italian with a Bolognese, yum! and Amelia and Rico did ceviche and other tapas dishes,
also yum. So as you can see, it was not a dieter’s vacation. Vegans and vegetarians would be welcome, but it wouldn't take long for them to give up their lifestyles and go carne. The bella vita!

So there went the Tuscan trip, that we planned for a year. When I say we, I mean the big three, Gitte, Janne and Rikke, the Danish mafia mommas. The rest of us benefited from their hard work. Next trip, we promise to help.

 

Ciao.

Ireland 2019

What can be said about Ireland that hasn't been said a million times? It's beauty, charm, history, language, music, poetry. all come together into a wonderful experience that fills the soul.

Twenty one travelers, one bus with the most wonderful driver/guide, an excellent itinerary, beautiful weather and amazing scenery all combined to make a memorable McDonough family trip to the old sod.

 We've been throwing around the idea of a family trip to Ireland for a least a few years and lo, it came to pass (I love the word lo!)  We owe a lot to Chuck for whining about it for years, Patty Ann (that's what we call her) for being a perfect tour guide and to Dennis for being a tremendous sleuth chasing down the family history. The initial consanguineous group (don't be lazy - look it up) consisted of Ma and Pa's direct descendants, Chuck, Sheila, Bill, Nancy Jen, Chris, Jackie, Patty, Patty and Dennis add a side mix who came a few days later, still consanguineous, Maryanne, Kathy, Michael, Samantha, Stephen, Sean.

Cousins of cousins, Maureen and Kathy. Friends Kelsey, Joyce, a group of fabulous Floidians - the Golden Girls - Katie, Marian, Adrienne and Louise along with Ferrel, Nancy, Juan and Maggie all melded together to become a merry mixture of happy travelers.

Our Dublin guide gave her informative spiel to a busload of sleepy tourists most of whom had no memory of what she said. I think the gist was that Dublin is a wonderful town! The idea of getting off a plane and touring for a few hours before checking into a hotel makes perfect sense, it saves you a days hotel charge. It's important to get ahead of jet lag by not taking naps on that first day. So off we went on that busy Saturday morning to a whirlwind tour of the Book of Kells and the Guinness factory in zombie-like fashion. Finally, the amazing Dermot squeezed our mega bus into the tiny courtyard of the Clarage hotel and we happily settled into our comfy rooms. Heaven!

Turns out the Dublin guide was right! Dublin is a wonderful town. O'Connell streets and squares and pubs all over the place. Yes I know it was a McDonough tour, but I have a natural draw toward O'Connell locations, especially the pubs. On our first full day in Dublin's fair city we took a walk downtown and ran into the the statue of that famous fishmonger Molly Malone. From the back she looks like an old fashioned peasant, from the front she looks like Dolly Parton with a good bit of her assets on display. Funnily that part of the bronze statue was shining brightly. Looks like a number of good luck rubs were had.

Being Sunday we felt a Church visit was in order and we tried, we really did. Maureen and I popped into a Polish church to light a candle and then we all tried to get into the Cathedral but alas it was closed to the public because they were actually using it to praise God. Inconvenient for us, but God was probably pleased. Anyway, what to do? The Brazen Head, Dublin oldest alehouse you say? After all it was past noon already. So through the magic of Google Maps and a few wrong turns were in front of the Brazen Head, established in 1198, by golly. It was one of those wonderful old buildings with many rooms which the more savvy Dublin crowd had already filled, for the most part. We managed to worm our way into a spot in one of the lesser rooms and ordered 5 beautiful Guinness. We were becoming Guinness experts by this time, after all we did tour the factory the day before.There is something beautiful about a freshly poured Guinness and there is no more beautiful place to enjoy it then the old sod. 
Through more magic of that text thingy we added a few more travelers to our table, namely Bill and Dennis. Add Patty, Jen, Maureen, Kathy, me, Guinness and Dublin's fair city and you get a fairly silly afternoon. I'm not sure how we started skåling disasters, I think it was when Patty said here's to the 9/11 museum and Billy went off on a Billy tangent-here's to diphtheria, here's to malaria etc, etc. If you know Billy, you know what I'm talking about. And if you know Jen, you know how much we were laughing.

One of the rooms of the Brazen Head was a library. Maureen Chase had been there the year before and put a prayer card of Noreen, my niece and her cousin who passed away far too young. Liking that idea we added prayer cards of others from our families who have passed, Kevin, Pat and Jay. It's a good place, the Brazen Head.

Chuck, the patriarch  (that means oldest -sounds better though) of our consanguineous group was prowling the streets by himself and lo and behold found himself at O'Connell's Bar down by O'Connell's statue in O'Connell square. What a coincidink! So the Brazen Head crowd joined the O'Connell Bar individual and carried on with our Dublin love.

In addition to all the O'Connell stuff we went to a typical Irish entertainment evening which included traditional singing and dancing. The landlord had a heavy hand with the traditional whiskey so everyone enjoyed the entertainment immensely.

After such a busy weekend in Dublin, no one really minded a day of driving to get us to the wonderful west coast.  Dermot, the Amazing, squeezed our giant bus out of the tiny hotel courtyard and we were our way, gazing at the picturesque countryside, napping, listening to  lovely Irish music, stopping every now and then for a Kodak moment,

 One of those stops was at the Rock of Cashel, a huge castle ruin that looms up from the pastoral landscape of Tipperary and takes you by surprise. Dermot, the historian, gave us a run down of Brian Boru and the Irish Chieftain that was an important part of the history of Ireland. I would love to say I caught all the nuances, but I didn't. Short version Brain Boru was the first declared king of Ireland for a short time until he was killed by those lousy Vikings in a battle. The O'Brien family can claim him as an ancestor. We all need to brush up on our Irish history!

Part of the stchick in Kilarny

Phase two of our trip was a three night stay in Killarny. That town is probably the epitome of a perfect Irish adventure. Yes it, touristy, because it should be. It has everything a tourist could ask for - amazingly picturesque scenery, friendly people, good food and wonderful music.

Additional it is a hub from which one can take day trips to those two Irish gems, The Ring of Kerry and the Dingle peninsular. Add the fine weather, the multitude of baby lambs in the fields, the big beautiful Atlantic ocean, the wacky family group and what more could one ask for? Even a big mouth like me can't describe the beauty properly. Just go there!

The beautiful lasses 
in County Kerry

Of course Patty Lee knew people who were in Killarny so we met up with them an a pub. At elevenish on a Monday night, the band finally started up and WOW! It wasn't traditional Irish music, but it was fantastic. Think "Queen" on a late Monday evening in a little bar in Killarny. As great as it was, the next night with a jam fest of traditional music was better. Another small bar in Killarny.

One of our companions Maureen had a pleasant surprise, or maybe shock would be a better word. When we met for drinks that night at out hotel pub, the handsome stranger at the other end of the bar was her very ownhusband who just happened to be passing through from Franklin, TN. And it just happened to be his big birthday. SO for a few days we added another traveler, Bill Chase to the group.

We had to eventually leave that touristy wonderful town. and head north to Galway. No self respecting tourist could head north along the coast and not go to the Cliffs of Moher. What "moher" can I say. (Connie's daughter, sorry!.)

The cliffs remain awe-inspiring and we were all properly awed. 

So off we head to the ancient homeland of Galway. Our hotel was right across from the ocean at Salthill. That's the very same ocean that washes up to our home town of Boston. Hell you could get to Ma and Pa's hometowns from Tenean Beach if you had a mend too. Much easier to grab a flight from Logan though.

Added fun to the already fun tour was the fact that a mini group of yet more McDonoughs arrived.. Within walking distance of us and a great bar called O'Connors. It was such fun to see the youngins hanging out in the Old Sod (with the old sods)

Not actually billed as a pub crawl..

The Fahey Women in Galway

Anyway back to Salthill, the very place that Ma went dancing! More than a hundred years ago now. Dennis has been working furiously to get the family tree in some semblance of order and arranged with Dermot, the Irish jack of all trades to take a side trip to the hometowns of the Ma and Pa. Carraroe for Pa and Tir anNach or something like that for Ma. Chuck, Dennis and Dermot went on an excursion to that area of Connemara and reported that it looked like the dark side of the moon and no wonder everybody left. Which had some truth to it but of course we had to see for ourselves. So the big ass bus went down some little ass roads the next day and we got a chance to really see the places that Ma and Pa spent their childhood days.

I Carraroe we had no idea of Pa's actually address so we went to the town beach area and pictured him there, gathering what was useful for the stew pot. There was a monument stone there commemorating the babies who died before Baptism. Dermot said that was not an unusual sight. Many communities erected these stones for the infants that couldn't be buried in consecrated cemeteries. Some of them were placed near Viking or pagan grave sites, in the hopes that God would be nearby.

A picture of the old church,
 inside the new church in 
Carriroe

Jackie and I also wormed our way into to parish church which appeared locked, but we found a door in the back. It was obviously a new fangled Catholic church with the alter in the middle, but there was a photo of the ruin of the old church in a respectful place.

The great grandfather of these 
two gentlemen
 surely walked this beach.
 Steve and Mike in Carraroe

So off to Ma's small village where Dermot swore it was the first time a luxury tour bus graced the back roads of  this part of Ireland. After some searching in the drizzle we found the ancient ruins and took a few pictures of the place where Ma was a young wan. This is the time to tell the story, in case anyone does not know it, of Ma's subterfuge to get to America. 

The childhood home of Ma McDonough.
Where she no doubt hatched the false
 story that got her to America.

Being  one of the younger of the siblings McDonough,  Ma went to school and learned to read and write in English. When a letter came from a relative in Pittsburg offering to lend the money needed to take a ship to America to Martin,(the boy) if he could be spared. He could pay them back when he made enough money working in America. Catherine (Ma) translated the letter to say Martin could not be spared, but Catherine could come. Parents agreed, Ma wrote the letter and the rest as they say is history. None of the other siblings ever left the old country and we sadly do not really know what happened to them. We know for sure that the oldest sibling (probably named Mary) died young. That would have left 3 boys. It's hard to believe none of them married and had children. Others who have traveled to Ireland may know more than me. I may not be 100% on the name of the brother being Martin, it might have been Tom. Which just goes to illustrate the saying that history is written by the iffy people-or some such verbiage. 

OK, this blog has long since become long and boring - so to wrap it up - went to Belfast via Sligo (visited Yeat's grave, Dermot recited some of his poetry of course) In Belfast we stayed in the hotel which had the distinction of being the most bombed hotel in Europe. Dermot wisely didn't mention that fact until we checked out. We went to the Titanic museum and road through the "Troubles" neighborhood which was very interesting to see the opposing billboards (Revolution vs. God Save the Queen) 


I enjoyed Belfast, even though we had to find  English money for tips and such. Problems of the first world citizen you say?

The "wild Atlantic Coast" of Ireland is a respectable contender for any "Most Beautiful Vistas in the World" competitions one might like to come up with. OK, Connemara's beauty is a bit peculiar. But many people love boulders and rock filled fields. The big picture Ireland is an experience that is worth doing again and again. I for one intend to be back!

At least they're working