Bunratty Castle, Part 2, tponetom
Almost from the beginning, I knew this was going to be a good night. Because:
Our Master of Ceremonies was a very tall, [[6’4") very charming, very young man, with a magnificent deep bass voice that carried to each corner of the room. And as a bonus, the 12 lovely young maidens, dressed in their beautiful medieval costumes, who doubled as entertainers and as waitresses, had equally resonant voices that were easily understood. Their singing and other recitations were a delight.
The festivities began with goblets of ‘Mead’ being served. I would describe the Mead as a semi-sweet sauterne. Actually it is a liquor of fermented honey and water, to which malt, yeast, and spices are added. Not bad at all, but a little bit goes a long way.
During the Mead drinking, the M.C. gave a discourse on the history of Bunratty Castle from its inception to the present. This lasted about one half an hour during which the maidens entertained intermittently with song, dance, and fiddle and harp music. It was an excellent program that served the purpose of getting the audience warmed up. And they did..
We were then guided to the Great Room where the Banquet Tables were set up. They were simply elongated picnic benches. We were at the tail end of the crowd and were among the last to be seated and I feared for the worst. Most of the guests were part of 4 different tour groups, and each group was seated as a unit. When the usher got to us and asked us what group we were with, we told him we were not with a group. He turned and surveyed the hall and said, "Oh, follow me, I have two vacant seats over this way." Once again our leprechaun had intervened because the usher led us to the end of one table that abutted an aisle that paralleled the stage and so there we were, front row center. [[Leppy had a smug look on his face.) The lovely young harp player was about six feet away from us. Peggy and I sat across from each other, each of us having an end seat. This was incredibly important to me because I could stretch my aching legs into the aisle or I could stand up and stretch a bit as I did about six times during the lulls in the ceremony. I have hated picnic tables with a passion all of my life because to me they are not only ungodly uncomfortable, but because you are totally immobilized if you are sitting anyplace except on the end. Thank you, Leppy!
Pitchers of Red and White wine were set on the tables along with pitchers of water. Finger bowls were in place, with good reason, because our place setting consisted of an 8" wooden plate, a wooden handle knife, and a mug for the wine or water. No fork, no spoon, nothing else. They did supply an excellent cloth bib that would double as a napkin. Both wines were exceptionally good and the mugs were of a good enough size that you did not have to keep reaching for the pitcher for a refill. So far, so good.
The M.C. kept up a running patter from the stage that was a delicate mixture of legend, lore and comedy without being too intrusive. He knew when to get off and when to get back on. The maidens really began to earn their keep when they started serving. The serving was done from both ends of each row of tables. A trolley of soup bowls started things off. The waitress would hand me a bowl of soup and I would pass it on to my neighbor and it would be passed on until it reached the center of the row and in very short order, our half of the row would be served. The empty dishes were returned in the same manner.
The potato and onion soup was served with bread and we had to drink the soup from the bowl. No spoons!. Perhaps this is why all of the soups we had been served were pureed.. The soup and bread were delicious. All of the breads we had in Ireland were exceptional.
An appetizer of short ribs, swimming in barb-b-que sauce was tantalizing. I thought it was the main course. After a half dozen of them, my finger bowl contents looked like tomato soup. My bib did yeoman service.
The harp and a soft fiddle played soft Irish ballads all the while.
The main course was chicken cooked in a wine sauce along with an abundance of potatoes and other vegetables.
We had little if any trouble eating our dinner solely with a knife. We had previous experience. Back home, we had gone on an Airstream Travel Trailer Rally and we were served a dinner of soup, a rice casserole and Jello for dessert without any dinnerware. Everything had to be eaten with fingers only. Try picking up Jello with your fingers!
Dessert was anti-climatic and unnecessary.
In between serving the various courses of dinner, the maidens were doing solo numbers of song and they all had the voices of angels. It was an outstanding event.
And Leppy guided us home through the darkness of the night.
Ireland, Day 21.
Monday, September 29.
We slept in this morning and had a late breakfast. We visited with Olivia and Mrs. Mullane and some other guests for awhile and then made another inspection of the gardens of Ashford House. We never tired of looking at the flowers and especially the green, green grass.
Our enjoyment of Bunratty re-charged our batteries and we decided to go back to the Folk Park and visit all the things we had missed the previous two days.
The same lady cashier was on duty when we arrived. I asked her if perhaps we would be entitled to "frequent flyer miles" because this was our third visit to the park in as many days. She easily remembered us and with a big bright smile, she said, "Oh for goodness sake, you don’t have to pay again, just go on in!"
We had already seen all of the medieval village attractions but we had not seen the 18th and 19th century scenarios. A complete replica of an Irish village with Pub , Bank, general store, fabric shop and a dozen other business. There were a few items for sale but it was not in any way a souvenir excursion. Rather, all the stores were filled with artifacts of the particular era. Fortunately Mac’s Pub did sell beer and sandwiches and the ice cream parlor did likewise. As I mentioned previously, pub’s were not a part of our agenda because they were too smoky and too crowded
Also the illusion of the American tourist walking into a local pub and being greeted enthusiastically by a group of local townspeople is 99% fantasy. There was an occasional exception but my general perception was that the locals preferred their own company and privacy and did not make much eye contact with tourists at all. If I lived in Ireland I am sure that I would be more than a little annoyed with the tourist hordes
Leaving the village area there was a farming area featuring a huge vegetable garden, and then a flower garden, then a pasture with deer with incredible racks.
I would guess that this park encompassed about forty acres of land. The ambience of each section was peculiar to that section only. The smell of burning peat in the medieval village. The smell of grass in the pasture land. The vitality of the people in the village section. The aroma of flowers in the garden.
For the first time tourist, this attraction should be their first exposure to Ireland.
