Translations from the Irish

Friday we went "mountain hiking" above the Nire River Valley (one of those places where the roads are deemed “Scenic Road” on the road signs). Actually we set off on foot in search of mountain lakes, which were on the map, but gave up and only hiked for 2 hours straight up and then a half hour straight down, instead of 3 straight up and 1 down. So, since we didn’t see any real lakes (just swamps, bogs, and puddles), we decided to call it "mountain hiking." Unfortunately, the entire mountainside was running and weeping water. I am surprised there was any soil left on it.



We encountered, along the way, some Irish sayings that we want to interpret for you. You will notice that Irish is a gentle language.

Irish: “There are some boggy bits.”
Translation: "The entire freaking mountain is so soggy you will sink up to your ankles with every step. Oh—and those sneakers you are wearing? Are you kidding me?"

Irish: “There’s a bit of a river to cross. All the streams feed into it.”
Translation: "There is a wide river that you will have to cross on stones, and either you will have to have the agility of a mountain goat or you will just have to give up and slog through the water in---oh, those sneakers."

Irish: “It’s a fine day.” (spoken by every person one meets)
Translation: "It’s above 60 degrees and not presently raining hard."

Irish: “This sheela-na-gig is located about 10 km. from Urlingford.” (exact directions given in a listing of sheela-na-gigs in Ireland)
Translation: "You will never find it. And what kind of a name is that for an Irish town? Did the Vikings name it? Why didn’t you take the town back?"

Irish: “Are you on holidays, then?”
Translation: "We don’t recognize your face, and maybe we’ve heard you speak a word or two, so clearly you’re not from around here. Can we befriend you?"

Irish: “Well, the sesion (a traditional Irish music session) is in New Birmingham (again, what kind of a name is that for a respectable Irish village?). Do you know it? Do you know how to get there? Take this road out of town, and go through the next village. It won’t look like much; just keep going through it. Then you’ll get to another village; it used to have a pub, but it’s closed now. Just keep going straight through. Then you’ll come to another village. That’s New Birmingham. There’s a pub there: O’Hoolighan’s. That’s not it. Across the street you’ll see a cart with peat in it. Do you know what a farm cart looks like? Well, go around back, because it’s like an H, and the sesion is back there. You’ll see dogs come in, and cats come in, and a turf fire going. I’ll be playing guitar, and Donnchadh Gough—you know him?—he‘ll be playing too. Oh, and ____--the blond guy playing the accordion last night in Dungarvan—he’ll be there too. We play Wednesday nights, but sometimes Thursday. Oh, and sometimes there’s one Sunday afternoons, too, but…come Wednesday night, about half nine. You’ll be able to have one [drink], now, won’t you, before you have to drive back?”
Translation: "If you manage to find this place, which will take you about an hour or so in daylight, if you don’t get lost, you will have one hell of a time and hear some great music."


We did manage to find two sheela-na-gigs (using much better directions than 10 km. from Urlingford) today, after our hike. We went, with our soaking wet shoes and socks, to the medieval (13th century) walled town of Fethard, which was quite an amazing place, with an intact original gate and the city walls still there. One of the sheela-na-gigs is in the city wall, at the Watergate over the river, and the other is in a wall at the old Augustinian abbey (I think it used to be IN the abbey, but got moved to an outer wall). The slightly drunk guy on the bar stool in Fethard said that his mother has one at her home (it might be the 10 km. one. Who knows?), and that some American offered her $5000 for it. Thankfully, she turned him down.

By the way, those musicians named are actually people who play with groups whose CDs you can buy “in American shops.” We heard some of them play Thursday night at Dungarvan, in The Local, which from all appearances is a VERY popular place with diverse kinds of local people. Our drunken bar-stool friend in Fethard said that the owner, who was one of the musicians, and who plays with Danu, a recorded Celtic group (look them up on line). He’s the big guy. He plays bodhran, but Thursday night he was playing the Irish bagpipes. We stumbled on this place, choosing it as the most-promising of the dozens of pubs in Dungarvan, and it seems our instincts were spot-on). Our friend also said that he and his Canadian folk-singer girlfriend—who was not at all drunk—would be going each weekend for the next four out to the western islands off Galway (starting with Inishmaan) to listen to and learn music—he said that if we were still around, we should join them. Unfortunately, we will be leaving Ireland next weekend.

Oh—and one last translation, from today, Sunday: “Kinsale” Translation: Gorgeous, touristy, medieval, amazingly lovely harbor town in what’s called the Gateway to West Cork, on the South-East coast. Greatest claim to fame: the Battle of Kinsale, whereby the last of the Catholic Irish Chieftains, with Spanish help, battled the Protestant British (boooo) in 1601, and lost, ending the Gaelic order in Ireland and legal Catholicism, too. This precipitated what is called “The Flight of the Earls,” as it basically became illegal and dangerous to be a Catholic chieftain any longer, and a number of them took ship for Spain, intending to return with an army to liberate their country, but never returning. Immediately thereafter, Queen Elizabeth put into place the Plantation system, first in Ulster, then in southeast Ireland (remember reading about that?), to more completely control the Irish population, which could only BE controlled through brutal means (this was to remain true for the three centuries).