Tallyho, Ballycotton!

Sunday we left Cork City and first drove to St. Finnbarr’s Cemetery and to a town called Cobh (pronounced Cove) where so many left for a better life over a century ago. Sadly, one of those ships was the Titanic. We never did get to Cobh, though, because the directions we plugged in required a ferry so we headed on to Ballycotton and will catch Cobh on our way to Bantry next week. 

We arrived at our lovely AirBNB which is above a little shop and is quite busy and loud during the day and the early morning, which I kind of like, and nothing a little white noise can't drown out for Fred, who has a hard time tuning it out. Had lunch at Blackbird — great space --  fried monkfish and chips. Later, I had tea at the cafe below our apartment while Fred walked and explored and drew. Mary Ivers -- whom Fred met via FB looking for ancestry and is a second cousin once removed -- dropped by and we made a plan for coffee in the am. Dinner at Schooners where the bartender and his daughter knew people with all the last names of Fred’s ancestors: Walsh, Lane, O’Keefe, Ivers. Funny. 

Evening view out our kitchen window.

Tumbling roses on a white-washed wall.

 

The hydrangeas here are insane. Ballycotton had a Bermuda feel to me.

Sweet touches.

A message from the beyond. If you know, you know.

Morning view from our kitchen.

Monday — 9:30 coffee with Mary Ivers at her sister's home, two doors down from where we were staying. Coincidental. She is a fascinating person -- a nun who left Ballycotton for Equador where she works with the indigenous. She is my kind of nun -- irreverent and spunky. She stayed with us till 12:30 at which point I dropped Fred off in Churchtown South, basically a small crossing of two streets, where his great grandmother Ellie O'Keefe was born. I walked and chatted with my folks. We had dinner at Schooners, a little family pub in the center of town. 

Tuesday. The Fourth of July. Dinner at Ballymaloe House. (Pronounced Ballymaloo.) This is a famous restaurant run by chef Darina Allen, Ireland's Julia Child. I hate to be negative — I think we’re glad we went but we remembered we don’t do well with sitting at a table in a restaurant. What IS that????  We tend to sit at the bar when we're in the States. NOT to chat up the other bar sitters, but there's just something less precious about the setting of a bar.  One of our worst nights out was an early-on wedding anniversary at Number 9 Park, on Beacon Hill. The tiny little artful dishes take all the joy out of eating for me... I'm a fast eater. It's just a bad combo. Fred's fish and chips course (not really called that) could fit on a spatula.

The food was all very tasty -- especially the  ice cream for dessert. Insanely good. Then little truffles. Had a cocktail on a balcony first. 

The people watching was very good. We had a waitress named Caoimhe to whom I said, Guess what, Caoimhe, I know how to spell your name! She lit up. So cute. She was about 18 I would say, with braces. Caoimhe (pronounced QUEEvah) is a friend's daughter’s name. Later she told me she loved my outfit so naturally she’s my favorite all-time human :)   The clientele was interesting. VERY varied. One couple we’d seen at the Blackbird pub -- super outdoorsy looking. She doesn't drink. He does. She was loud and super annoying in the Blackbird, but quiet here. Again -- the atmosphere is stifling when you could sneeze and blow your $60 amuse bouche right off your plate.  Naturally she was subdued. There was a young couple who were also very quiet. Barely spoke to each other. She was a cross between Laura Linney and Amy Adams. Very cute. Her husband had the same cuteness quotient. Another table of two generations were there to celebrate the parents anniversary. I later saw them in town where T-shirts that said "Would you marry me again" on the front, and something irreverent on the back. Another table was two seemingly gay guys and a large woman. She asked her male waiter all kinds of questions about his life and goals and looked him up from head to toe after each question. 

We were in one of many rooms of this large estate. The wallpaper was stained and the white marble fireplace dirty.. maybe they’ve taken a hit during the pandemic. Who hasn’t? We had another waiter who was a lovely woman my age about. I asked if she has ever served Gabriel Byrne (Fred heard he’s been here) and she said, Yes, actually, I have! Will you be seeing him? As if we were friends! hahaha!  THAT's the kind of clientele at the Ballymaloe House!

Tuesday — Not a big day. Fred drew. I had tea and blogged at Ballymaloe House, a separate sweet little cafe where I stayed a long time after dropping Fred off in the middle of nowhere. Later, I moved him to another area in Churchtown South, but stayed this time. I was just too tired to go back and forth. I stayed. He was drawing the house of his great grandmother Ellie O'Keefe and asked the woman who came out of the house  —Kathleen O'Connell who lived there if she knew the name, and it turns out both her grandmothers were O'Keefes.  I said, and you turned out okay! Thankfully she let out a big laugh. What's curious (but maybe not) is that she was more shy and reserved when Fred was there alone, but when I came, she popped back out of the house and was chatty and asked for a selfie! I think it was because I came and made it less awkward to be chatting up a man, asking for a selfie. She's an only child and inherited the home and barley farm. Back in town we did the Cliff Walk, quite stunning. So much less retricted than cliff walks in the States.  I had some work to do before dinner, but then had dinner at Sea Church — another Church of Ireland turned into a restaurant. (Nothing makes me happier than the sacrilege of this!  They want to steal a country? There's a price to pay once we get it back! 

Wednesday — Coffee with Mary Ivers again and learned even more -- history and life lessons. Then off to Midleton -- home of Jameson's. We were driving home and passed one of those honor system farm stands and pulled over. It was a closed cabinet sort of structure, inside of which were so much more than we'd anticipated. Not the usual baskets of anemic tomatoes and gnarly summer squash, but tons of canned preserves -- jams, beets, chili sauce (!), etc. 

I brought Mary with me to pick up Fred because she had some more stuff to tell him about another Ivers who was interested in talking to Fred. John Ivers. He lives by the water and would meet us outside the house if we were interested. I dropped Mary back in town and Fred and drove out to the other Ivers house — we had a phone number. Fred called it and left a message, and just when we were about to head home, a man called Fred's name. John and Patricia Ivers had us up to the house to chat geneaology and have tea and homemade fresh-from-the-oven scones!  Fred and John are third cousins once removed. Whatever that means. 

This jam was made by the woman who lives in the old O'Keefe house -- not the one with the Barley farm, but the one in Churchtown South. A widowed English woman lives there now. 

Tomorrow we're off to Bantry, our last stop. And all vacation. No ancestry to speak of.