Back, Barely

I hate JFK airport. It's got to be the...oh, why bother to relive yet another hellish encounter with this monument to corporate, bureaucratic, and design inefficiency? At least our plane was only an hour late leaving...

We arrived in mostly on piece, sans a suitcase that was delivered this morning. I slept until noon and want to go back to bed. It is awfully nice outside, or so Premium T. keeps assuring me. The restaining and refurbishing of our deck was completed while we were gone -- rotten boards replaced, remaining boards sanded, all boards restained, nails leveled. You can walk on it bare foot. Looks great...

On the flight back, I read Dermot Bolger's The Family On Paradise Pier,  a fascinating fictional account of the life and times of the Anglo-Protestant Goold Verschoyle family, whose idyllic life in Donegal becomes shattered by World War I, the Irish revolution and Civil War, as well as long-simmering sibling rivalry and family guilt about its relative wealth amidst poverty. Two of the three brothers turn to Communism while their sister -- the sheltered, romantic Eva -- learns to accommodate the realities and compromises of life without surrendering herself to them. Events take the family from rural Ireland to Dublin to London to the Spanish Civil War to Moscow and to Stalin's gulags. 

Threaded throughout is the antagonistic relationship of the Irish Catholic Church to the Stalinist radicals who sought to elevate Ireland's poor. Bolger shows how the Church's deeper understanding of the fears and traditions of the Irish people easily triumphed over Stalinist ideology even in the face of economic devastation. Compulsively readable -- I devoured most of it in one sitting -- it's one of the most insightful novels about class and the personal relationship to it that I've read. Includes cameo appearances by Brendan Behan, his indomitable mother Kathleen, and James Gralton, among others.

And, Family is based on the on an actual family named Goold Verschoyle. Bolger met the character based on Eva over 30 years ago, taped many of their conversations, and waited for them to ferment into a novel. Accomplished and highly recommended. More on the Verschoyles here...

New Orleans writer Julie Smith says that it's the secrets, not the crime, that make the Crescent City a great setting for mystery novels...

Besides sitting around listlessly and reading depressing accounts of racial divides and near bank runs, I've spent the morning trying to wake up to the strains of some new music that arrived in my absence:

• The Band Of Heathens, The Band Of Heathens. Austin band that wears its allegiance to Little Feat proudly. How can you miss when Ray Wylie Hubbard produces and Patty Griffin joins in for three songs?
• The Long Black Line, Spencer Bohren. Slow blues from New Orleans' Bohrens describes the long black line left by Katrina on every home it affected, then goes down from there, introducing a cycle of songs related by "tragedy, disaster, and the hardships of the human condition." Bohren mixes his own material with songs by blues masters of the 20's and 30's to make a strikingly original album unified by its theme and by his spooky Delta blues guitar.
• 504 And Then Some. Assortment of live performances available to WWOZ donors and subscribers, many taken from the Piano Night they sponsor every year as part of Jazz Festival. I was already glad I'd subscribed, but this is the icing on the cake.

Oh, the president says that everything is peachy keen.

Spencer Bohren performs "Wade In The Water":

Inishowen

Wednesday, we circled the Inishowen Peninsula of County Donegal. Inishowen is, to say the least, a heart-stopping place of staggering beauty. Our route took us to Malin Head, the northernmost point in Ireland. It also took us to Farren's, the northernmost pub in Ireland. (Things can get pretty wild in Farren's, although it was quiet enough when we were there.)

Our day started on the small ferry -- from which we watched a pair of horsemen take their mounts through the water to a gallop along the beach -- that transported us and the reliable Nissan across Lough Swilley to the town of Buncrana. From there, we proceeded north to Fort Duncree, where we hiked up to the redoubt overlooking the lough. Big surprise: Splendid views abounded. From Fort Duncree, we proceeded through the Mamore Pass to Dooagh, where we visited the Irish Famine Village. (Premium T. describes the village, which was not what we expected, here.) Then it was on to Malin Head and Farren's, where a young publican greeted us with a cheery Donegal "How are yiz?"

He took about three seconds to identify us as Americans and, after ascertaining where we were from, asked us if Seattle was near Oregon. Notably, he pronounced "Oregon" correctly -- it's "Ore-gun", not "Ore-gone" -- something almost no one outside of the Pacific Northwest manages. It turns out that just about everyone in Malin Head can pronounce the name correctly because one of local lads has a relative in Portland. Which explains the local man's nickname of "Oregon," although the publican admitted that he at first thought the nickname was "Organ." (As in, he said, a heart or a lung, but one wonders whether that's really what he thought.) We wound up chatting at length with a couple from Dublin who like Mediterraneo, our favorite Westport restaurant. Premium T. captured the ambience on film here.

From Farren's, we consulted our ordnance map and decided to track down a stone circle a few miles away. (BTW, the Ordnance Survey Ireland maps are indispensable for navigating the Byzantine back roads of this country. Among other things, they show the precise location of virtually every antiquity in Ireland.) Premium T. has become exceptionally adept at reading these necessary but tricky tools, and she got us to the site -- a cow pasture, as it happened -- without a hiccup.

We'd been out for a while by then, and from the stone circle cut straight down the peninsula, then over to Buncrana in time for the last ferry. This was our second trip to Donegal, but it won't be the last...

What? WHAT?  Next thing you know, the French will be drinking Australian wine and the Russians will be downing Scotch vodka...

Fort Dunree, Donegal

Wednesday, we circled the Inishowen Peninsula in Donegal. Our first stop was at Fort Dunree, originally built and garrisoned by the British during the Napoleonic Wars. Although located in what was then Irish Free State, the English only formally ceded it to Ireland just prior to World War II. Today, it is a museum that also offers stunning view on the hike up to the redoubt commanding Lough Swilly. Abandoned barracks and other outbuildings afforded the photos seen here.

Four corrugated window covers (click to enlarge), with apologies to Sean Scully:


More on Sean Scully here.

Friday's Choice: The late, great Rory Gallagher channels Muddy Waters' "Out On The Western Plain"

Westport Pubs (II)

We're off to Donegal for a few days. Even though Donegal is part of the Republic of Ireland, it's in the province of Ulster, along with counties Cavan and Monaghan. (Ulster's six other counties comprise Northern Ireland.) Donegal has the shortest border with the Republic along a thin strip of Sligo. It's beautiful and remote (the northernmost part of Ireland is there, in the peninsula of Inishowen); Irish remains the primary language among many of its older residents, especially the further north one penetrates. We visited the lower part last year; this summer, we're pressing up higher.

In the meantime, here are some more of Westport's 37 pubs.

Incredibly, Nolan's is closed with no sign of reopening any time soon. We suspect that the building is cursed.