Taking The Path Less Traveled
This is the second in a four-column series on my recent travels to Ireland to explore my distant family roots and much more.
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Statue of Irish patriot Michael Collins
A dear friend of mine, a travel writer who has visited the four corners of the globe, always offers this reminder before I embark on a trip:
“Be sure to turn down a hidden alleyway or go inside a quiet doorway off the beaten path because that’s where you’ll find some of the most memorable experiences.”
During my recent fortnight in Ireland I again heeded Ken McAlpine’s wisdom. Hence, in addition to seeing the breathtaking Cliffs of Moher, historic Kilmainham Gaol prison and, of course, the famous Guinness Brewery, I also enjoyed some not-in-a-tour-guide-book experiences.
For example, during a scenic tour of County Cork our bus stopped at Emmet Square where we were greeted by a seven-foot statue of Clonakilty’s favorite son, Michael Collins. After learning about the founding father of the national self-determination movement who was assassinated in 1922, my wife and I went off to explore the town.
Artwork by Kevin Holland
In an alleyway off the main street I came upon a small music shop. Inside at the back was a half-hidden stairway. I went up to explore. Instead of more handsome acoustic guitars and beautiful African drums, I found myself face to face with a mesmerizing oversized mask sculpture resembling Abraham Lincoln.
A second face was below Abe’s copper countenance – storeowner Mark Holland looked up from his bookkeeping and shared: “I love it, too. Every time I look at it I see it differently and draw a new feeling from it.”
Over the next half hour, while my wife wondered where I had wandered off, I learned that the artist who created the mask – it was anonymous, by the way, not of Lincoln – was Mark’s brother, Kevin.
For good reason the mask carried a price tag of 2,500 Euro (about $3,200 – proving, once again, if you have to ask you can’t afford it) because Kevin is somewhat famous. His numerous public commissioned pieces throughout Ireland include none other than the statue of Michael Collins in Emmet Square.
Irish artisan working at is craft. . .
… and the final piece.
A serendipitous secret I collected upstairs off the beaten path: Collin’s shoes were cast from a pair belonging to Mark’s and Kevin’s father.
As my own shoes carried me down a road less taken in Galway Eire, I happened upon a much lesser known artist – an artisan who works with rock instead of metal. A master stoneworker by trade, Michael Daif turns discarded shale shingles into engraved elegance.
For one-hundredth the price of Kevin Holland’s copper mask, I brought home a lovely image of a Gaelic harp, Ireland’s national symbol. Daif skillfully added his name and a personalized inscription on the back.
A different signature, this one in blue ink, came about when my wife and I walked past a small independent bookstore in Dublin one evening, heard laughter, turned around, went inside and followed the voices upstairs.
And so it was we met Irish author Caroline Finnerty, whose book launch party was wrapping up. After a pleasant conversation, she signed a copy of her new novel “Into the Night Sky” as a gift for our daughter.
Frank McCourt & Me
Under a sunny afternoon sky in Limerick, a bronze bust caught my eye through a closed wrought iron gate on narrow Hartstong Street in the Georgian Quarter.
On closer inspection, the base below the familiar face read “Frank McCourt 1930-2009” with a feather quill below.
By chance, and by taking a new walking route, we had stumbled upon the Frank McCourt Museum – formerly Leamy School, where young Frank attended and lived in the 1930’s – honoring the Pulitzer Prize-winning author of “Angela’s Ashes.”
Galway Greyhound Stadium was museum-like quiet and seemingly closed the evening we strolled past. Hoping to sneak a peak through a side gate we found it ajar.
Slipping inside rewarded us with the sight of a lone trainer working out a handful of greyhounds.
Witnessing these magnificent animals bounding 40 mph as if on winged paws around the quarter-mile oval in an empty stadium, at brilliant sunset, was art and poetry and another most memorable experience.
Thanks, Ken.
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Woody Woodburn writes a weekly column for The Ventura County Star and can be contacted at WoodyWriter@gmail.com.
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