A blog inspired by the beautiful County of my birth, Leitrim on the Shannon. I sometimes go off on tangents so be tolerant of my waywardness, I always come back home, eventually. Typically you'll find here a little history, a few short stories, some of my favourite poems, musings, scribblings and travelogues. To summarise – a busy fool beneath an unruly sky. COME IN, WE'RE OPEN
I read with interest that a County Councillor in Laois is unable to attend the St. Patrick’s Day celebration in New York this year because he is too busy with cows calving. People from a farming background will empathise. Farmers find it hard to get help at busy times but they are also terrible delegators.
A fellow councillor in Laois expressed the view “I believe these trips never amount to any extra tourists or jobs into the county from international companies. We would be better sending Homer Simpson of the Simpsons cartoon to represent us”. Firstly, I didn’t know that Homer had roots in Laois but that wouldn’t surprise me and secondly the debate about the merits and benefits of sending politicians local and national abroad at the time of our national holiday continues as it has now for decades.
In 2011 nine government Ministers travelled to eight countries. In 2019 the Fine Gael-led Government sent 37 representatives to 57 countries. Add in the County Council contingents and this is quite a logistical operation.
These trips suffer badly from the portrayal of them as junkets. Many Irish people might have a trip to New York or Chicago on their bucket lists but alas that is where they will remain. What the ordinary Irish person sitting in the M50 car park (who has a visceral hatred of politicians on junkets) might not realise is that most of these ministers and council chairpersons are accompanied by members of the IDA, Enterprise Ireland and business people who are promoting Ireland as a place to do business and a destination. The problem is that our carbon foot printing reps in the process of selling Ireland on these far-flung shores are failing miserably at selling the concept at home.
Maybe the message is falling on deaf ears and there might be dose of begrudgery involved also – who wouldn’t envy a compatriot heading off to Australia at this time of year and getting a bit of sun on their neck.
We have heard all the soundbites about connecting with our huge diaspora, using our well-known national festival to market our little country etc. However, it’s getting harder to sell this when our entourages are visiting places like Addis Ababa and Asunción. Last year Damian English TD even visited East Timor where I’m sure he was warmly greeted by the local branch of the Roscommon Association.
There needs to be some semblance of a cost-benefit analysis done to appease the scepticism of much of the taxpayers in Ireland. For the record I support these initiatives. My support is grounded partly on the economics but partly nostalgic. Coming from a County on the Western Seaboard I am acutely aware of the role far flung networks of county associations helped their newly arrived compatriots settle into their new country. These fraternities provided a home from home, a knowledge base, a comfort. Now they were also at times insular houses that perpetuated prejudice (my experience) but on balance they did more harm than good.
I recall a friend and fellow scribe pointing out that Mayo People cling together so much that they even had to create a Mayo Association in Galway. There was even a Leitrim Association based in Sligo.
Now when an invitation arrives addressed to the chairperson of a County Council from such a group, I think it is incumbent on the recipient to do their utmost to attend. It is imperative these bonds are maintained – this is the St. Patricks day junket at its micro level. One can never underestimate how much the presence of the chain of office of a county’s first citizen boosts an emigrant’s event. I believe these bonds will slowly dissolve but we should let them die naturally. One day that invitation will fail to arrive.
On the macro level we have our modern-day St. Patricks, missionaries proselytising all around the Worl,d proclaiming low corporate taxation in the emerald isle. The Word is Ireland Inc is open for business. Good luck to them if it brings some good. If there is wastage in Government, there are worse culprits. I just wish they could sell their message at home first.
The Taoiseach has somehow, needlessly, pointlessly snookered himself. “Apologists for the Black and Tans” –Is there a worse insult that could be thrown at Fine Gael? This the party of Michael Collins, the man who devised the strategy of undermining local policing which in turn led to the coming of the infamous auxiliary police force in 1920.
The Royal Irish Constabulary (RIC) is one of the last nettles that needs to be grasped in our comingto terms with the tumultuous events that led to us finally shedding the shackles of Empire. What we’ve learned in the last few days is that such nettles will not be clutched any time soon, not necessarily never, just clearly not right now.
Fianna Fail were quick to smell blood, Cllr Cathal Crowe the Chairperson of Clare County Council was one of the first out of the traps, going full Republican and announcing his decision to absent himself from the proposed Commemoration event. Cllr John Sheahen the current Lord Mayor of Cork soon followed. How could the current office holder possibly attend an event that would celebrate those that burned his city and murdered his predecessor, “I could not commemorate [the RIC] and then commemorate Tomás MacCurtain’s death a few weeks later… it would just not be appropriate.” Michael Martins comments were more measured. Mary Lou didn’t hold back.
The trickle of anger became a stream and now a torrent of opposition politicians are straining for column space to expound their abhorrence of this celebration of Black and Tannery. Social media is ablaze, as hot as any Australian bushfire in. How exactly has Leo, the proclaimed King of Spin, got this so wrong?
Was he blindly led to the sacrificial altar of social media or was it just a case of not having his eye on the ball? Is the whole affair symbolic of revisionism, the gospel of Irish historical academia, the word according to the evangelists Moody and Dudley-Edwards, gone completely awry? The assertion by Diarmuid Ferriter that the Expert Advisory Group (EAG) for the Government’s ‘Decade of Centenaries programme’ did not recommend this event suggests this was simply a huge political gaffe. Even Donald Trump couldn’t tweet his way out of this one but it didn’t stop the Taoiseach trying.
From a historiographical viewpoint we are in a crucial decade, with so many centenaries of events that have shaped the modern island we live on. The outcome of that seminal decade a century ago was the creation of two separate states, one devoutly Catholic, one distinctly Protestant and the genesis of all the necessary creation myths that were needed to provide the foundations for both.
As the revisionists would say “subordinating historical truth to the cause of the Nation”. In the face of such myths how can we know if we really possess the historical truth? For all those who in recent days have attacked “apologists for the black and tans” there is also a need for the people of this island, on all sides, to liberate themselves from the “mental servitude of myth”. Has revisionism by professional historians failed in this regard? Has it contributed to what Minister Charles Flanagan described today as the “disappointing response” by the public to the proposed event? Or is the real disappointing response that of the Government?
For at least forty years now revisionism has been the accepted orthodoxy of history and has produced some amazing tomes. No respectable domestic bookshelf in this country is complete without containing publications such as F. S L Lyons “Ireland since the Famine”, JJ Lee ‘Ireland 1912-85 Politics and Society” and of course T. W Moody’s “New History of Ireland” series.The production line continues. Irish History is thriving in the academic sphere, but what is it having any effect on the general populace, many who are often unwilling to accept the re-writing of “their history” and are more than willing to take to the keyboard (as I am – the irony is not lost!) to protect the edifices of their Nationalist or Unionist mythologies. The message for revisionist politicians is that you cannot tear down an edifice without replacing it with something equally sturdy. These last few days have clearly illustrated how enduring the Irish Nationalist narrative is. It is the accepted truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth of the struggle for independence and the formation of the modern Nation. This narrative gives this Republic its Title Deeds, its legitimacy, its sovereignty.
This is a great little country for Commemorations, from the 12th July up North to Arbour Hill, to Bodenstown to more modest annual gatherings at republican plots in local graveyards. These events are important in reaffirming the myths and creation stories, the heroic sacrifice and the struggle, “Lest we forget” as they say in a neighbouring jurisdiction.
This Commemoration is something an increasingly unpopular administration should not have engaged in on the eve of a General Election. We will find out in a few months the extent of the damage caused by this act of Hari Kari. Such incompetence should not completely condemn or derail what is a kernel of necessary reflection and a conversation worth having, but in a week where one of our worst flu seasons choked up an already malfunctioning and over-stretched health system, where homelessness continues to rise and affordable housing non-existent, this has been an extraordinary political own goal.
Political Gaffes do affect Electoral success. One of the most infamous occurred in the early years of the impoverished State, when Ernest Blythe reduced the old age pension. The move is credited with giving impetus to the newly formed Fianna fail at the 1927 election. “When the devil you know was notorious for cutting a shilling off the old-age pension, many voters decided to take a chance with the devil they didn’t know, or at least didn’t know that well”.
The Taoiseach this morning took to twitter suggesting that we should “be mature enough as a State to acknowledge all aspects of our past”. This comment only added fuel to the fire with its implication that we are not mature enough to have a commemoration of a body that did harmless stuff like collecting the census, taking weather readings and prosecuting inebriated men for having no lights on their bikes. My own great grand uncle spent most of his career breaking up Poitín stills in Connemara. That benign RIC is fine and dandy, big, strapping youngest sons of farmers could not be faulted for choosing respectable, pensionable positions when such opportunities were very scarce. But the peelers were also the eyes and ears of Dublin Castle and therein lies the problem. They played a crucial role suppressing the Fenian rebellion of 1867 (which earned the prefix “Royal”), they were Royal and Loyal. This without getting into their role in the revolutionary years. But what about all the many RIC men who turned their backs on their pensions because they could not side with the Empire against their neighbours and friends. At full strength in 1921 only about a fifth of those rostered were from the original pre 1920 force. It was the decision of these thousands of men to reject the crown atop their badge that necessitated the Black and Tans recruitment. Like everything in Ireland all is never as it seems.
Now Taoiseach this is not the time to cajole the Nation, now is not the time to talk down to people. Perhaps we are just not yet ready for this conversation. Pointing that out to us is not going to assist our conversion.
The “disappointing response” has now led to a deferral and doubts as to whether it will ever be held in the future. The toothpaste is out of the tube and it can’t be got back. Fianna Fail have been handed a gift horse to restate their Republican credentials, Sinn Fein have been energised, the radio waves and news feeds are abuzz, #NotMyTaoiseach is trending at number one.
Q. Former Inspector General of the RIC, Colonel Sir Neville Francis Fitzgerald Chamberlain invented what game?
It is a question befitting any Table Quiz. The answer is of course Snooker and it also hints at how the Taoiseach must feel right now and not the place his party candidates want to be either with the election on the horizon.
Its been a strange and intriguing summer of Sport and there is hopefully plenty still to come. The sight of a Leitrim Hurling Captain giving a winning speech on the steps of the Hogan Stand was surely a signal that something was amiss, the equivalent of an El Nino in sport. A Dublin lad lead the merry English Cricketers to their maiden World Cup win, more novelty perhaps than surprise. The Boxing world shook when Anthony Joshua got knocked on his backside four times in seven rounds by the unheralded Any Ruiz Junior. We all love the underdog and the mavericks, those who tear up the form book, upsets odds, beat bookies, overcome adversity and in so doing give us all hope.
The popularity of Shane Lowry’s win is as great for his
Sport as much as it is great for the small sport-obsessed island of Ireland. Lowry’s
personality and integrity transcends all the soundbites, barriers, all the spin
and sky-sport-speak. This Open was all set up to be a glorious home-coming for
Rory McIllroy and to a lesser and more local extent GMac.
After the Hollywood man’s disastrous first round the crowd needed a messiah. Lowry came in like an under-study when the lead has suddenly taken ill on opening night. Boy did he grasp the opportunity and as the days went by, boy did the crowd get behind him, Not everyone would be aware of the significance of the ‘British’ Open been played at Royal Portrush but for many on this Island this event had a great significance outside sport. The late Martin McGuinness of Sinn Fein knew the value of this tournament to Northern Ireland as did Arlene Foster of the DUP. Despite the inclement weather it was a resounding success and to have an Irish winner is the icing on the cake. The genuine warmth in which those citizens of Northern Ireland (those that identify as British) embraced Shane Lowry is evidence again that sport has the capacity to unite this island like nothing else. We’ve been here before, a sample of Jackie Kyle, George Best, Alex Higgins, Dennis Taylor, Gerry Armstrong, Barry McGuigan, Wayne McCullough, Darren Clarke – all Ulster men admired throughout the Island for their achievements. Lowry’s approval shows us that it cuts both ways. I’m not sure the few flags waving in the crowd on Sunday were greeted with the same enthusiasm by all, but it certainly was a novelty to see the Tricolour waving unmolested in Portrush in the month of July. The late ‘chuckle brothers’ McGuinness and Paisley would surely have had something to say to each other from the balcony on high.
You can’t help but feel that Shane Lowry can be a victim of his authenticity. His gregarious, humble demeanour and his beefy frame seem to distract us at times from the fact that he is a serious Golfer playing at the peak of his career. Lowry is a fierce competitor, focussed, professional, the product of years and years and thousands of hours of honing his craft. Lowry is no maverick, he is no underdog, he is the real deal.
Amidst all the success it was wonderful that Lowry, in reflecting on victory, was keen to praise others, his manager, his agent, his family and of course his current caddy, Bo Martin. He also reflected back to a time just one year ago in the very same competition when he sat in his car in the car park at Carnoustie, crying in despair, having missed the cut for the fourth year in a row in The Open. As the hordes of supporters and well-wishers descend on the champion’s home town of Clara this evening , we can also reflect on what is probably the greatest gift of his sensational victory – we will never emulate Shane Lowry but somehow he makes us all think that we could if we really wanted to. As the great Merseyside songsmith wrote “You may say I’m a dreamer, but I’m not the only one”
Shane Lowry is
about to tee off in the most important round of Golf in his life. The chance
for an Irish winner on Irish Soil of a Major comes around as regularly as
Halley’s Comet, but at the least the latter is almost guaranteed.
Lowry is an endearing, loveable character very much carved in the flat bog lands of Offaly. In the 1970’s, 80’s and 90’s and this small County in the heart of the island of Ireland competed and won All-Ireland Senior Football & Hurling Championships. To utilise the oft used cliché, they punched way above their weight. The Offaly hurlers were renowned for an unconventional approach to training. When asked about their preparations for an important game, one of the Offaly Hurling stars is reputed to have replied – “We’re taking this match awful seriously. We’re now training twice a week and some of the lads are off the beer since Tuesday”.
The Offaly footballers caused the shock of the century when they prevented the great Kerry team completing a five in a row in 1982. They were a tough, uncompromising team but this simplistic view masks the fact that they had some of the greatest footballers of their generation in their ranks. Anyone lucky enough to have seen Matt Connor in his prime will acknowledge that they were looking on a rare talent. These Offaly teams were also very tight knit groups, bands of brothers, cousins, neighbours. You can’t think of those halcyon days of Offaly sport and not think of the Dooleys, the Whelehans, the Furlongs, the Troys, the Connors, the Darbys and of course the Lowrys.
Despite the perception of Offaly teams as unconventional, devil may care, take it or leave it lads there always was this steely side to them, allied with great skill of course. Offaly Hurling was always admired for its style and speed, its footballers for their athleticism. One could argue that these glory days were fuelled by the steady employment given by the ESB and Bord na Mona at times when the rest of the country were taking the mailboat. That the footballers and hurlers in particular are nowhere near the heights they reached in the 70’s, 80’s and 90’s would seem to support this but nothing is ever as it seems.
The same could be said about Shane Lowry. Let’s face it he’s definitely no Gym bunny and he has that happy demeanour that the Aussies might describe as a ‘likeable larikin’. The New York times described him as “a bearded and bulky man with soft hands”. It is impossible not to like Shane Lowry – he is the “everyman” in the Irish sense, gregarious yet competitive, serious but self-deprecating, clever, composed, the sportsman strutting on the Global stage yet blending easily into the crowd at a hurling match in Thurles, just an ordinary guy doing extraordinary things. Joyce created the modern anti-hero in Stephen Dedalus and Lowry at times appears in the same mould. The great English Bard said “All the world’s a stage ….. and one man in his time plays many parts”. Today Lowry can play the super-hero and it will fit comfortably if it happens. It’s what the people want, there could hardly be a more popular champion.
It was a wonderful achievement getting The Open to this Island for the first time in almost 70 years. Many expected Rory McIllroy to be the star and the best bet to have a home winner. That expectation ran aground and sank on the very first day. Lowry though was also sensing this could be his best chance to win a Major. He has played some extraordinary Golf and has the lowest ever Open score after 54 holes. He has played himself into a wonderful position.
I once saw Sean Lowry, uncle of Shane when he had transferred from his native Offaly to play football for Mayo. Sean already had three all-Ireland medals in his back pocket but was very much in the twilight of his career. That wet day in Carrick-on-Shannon in 1985 Lowry lined out at full forward, his debut was the talk of the place. The crowd was giving him lots of abuse behind the town-goal but Lowry was in his element. The insults and barbs just bounced off him. The more the crowd tried to rise him the bigger he seemed to get and he could have carried them all on his broad shoulders. Today in Portrush all Irish men and women will be willing Shane on to victory and hopefully he too can feed off the crowd. Go on the Faithful.
I start the day with some lovely coffee courtesy of
our host. The troops are slow to get roused this morning but have slept well.
We catch the Tram at Andel and get off near the Charles Bridge (Karlov Most)
and walk across amidst the throngs. We really must do this crossing again at a
quieter time of day (or night).
First cultural stop is the Museum of Torture
and if anything proves that modern law enforcement is gone a bit ‘soft’ this is
it. We learn some interesting facts, such as, execution by garrotting stayed on
Spanish Statute Books in Spain until 1975! I read this on the wall in the
museum and haven’t bothered cross-checking that.
The torture tools have very romantic names – the ‘Virgin of Nurnberg’ was basically a sarcophagus with inward facing spikes, all mercifully positioned to avoid the victim’s vital organs – while simultaneously turning them into a human sieve. One recorded internee was inside this thing for three whole days. Another grape-like tool on display is called ‘The Spanish Tickler’, apparently it was useful in peeling skin off people who were unwilling to admit to doing stuff they probably never actually did. There was also the famous limb-pulling Rack and a medieval version of a water board. Most appear to have been reserved for witches and heretics. After this gruesome display we decided the only course was to repair, as quickly as possible, to the nearest Starbucks and once there we appreciated our iced macchiatos with new-found relish.
We wandered around the old quarter through its narrow
streets housing mostly kitschy souvenir shops and over-priced cafes. The Old
square is dominated by the Town Hall and it is a beautiful space if only it was
devoid of the plague of tourists inhabiting every square inch of it. The Town
Hall dates from 1338 making it one of the oldest still in use in the world. The
building has had many changes and expansions in the meantime and been lovingly
restored since its last significant damage in the Second World War.
One of the most common past times of the burghers of Prague
in medieval times was chucking people out windows. These events are better known
as the infamous ‘De-fenestrations of Prague’. Plural because there were
several. The first one occurred in 1419 when a group of reformists (later known
now as the Hussites) marched through the city towards the Town Hall. As
they were doing so some clown threw a stone from one of the upper windows of
the hall and struck the leader. Apoplectic
with rage (one of my favourite words that) the mob / rabble / angry crowd
stormed into the Hall. Harsh words were exchanged, and it appears things got even
more rowdy to the extent that somebody decided the only way of settling things was
to eject the Burgomaster and several members of the City Council by the nearest
exit. It should be pointed out that there not happening to be any elevators
invented yet, the nearest exit was in fact the windows of the main hall. The unfortunate
council members soon found themselves briefly airborne before coming to a shuddering
halt on the hard-cobbled street below. These violent actions started a long and
bitter conflict in Bohemia known as the ‘Hussite Wars’.
The next famous defenestration in Prague took place
almost two hundred years later at the Bohemian Chancellory. This time two
catholic lord regents and their secretary were thrown out a window by some irate
protestant nobles. The falling men survived the 70-foot fall. To their Catholic
supporters oy was a miraculous example of divine intervention. To the
Protestant chucker outs the intervention was believed to be a fortunately placed
dung heap. The event served to highlight the political & religious pressures
in central Europe at the time which would lead to the Thirty Years War, so
called because it lasted 30 years.
Back to the present – Huge crowds are gathered under
the famous astronomical clock awaiting the famous figurines to come out of hiding
on the hour. We walked a bit further into the newer areas around Wenceslas
Square before deciding that this was enough for today’s first cultural walkabout
and we got the underground from Mustek back to Andel. The metro system is impressive,
and transfers are easy to master. Tickets are relatively cheap at less than one
euro for an adult and half that for children for one 30-minute trip.
Cultural Tip – If you do happen to have a disagreement with a
Czech citizen please make sure to do so at ground level (highly unlikely I should
add – they are lovely people, really).
Afternoon session of great cultural learnings expedition
Klementinum is not some newly discovered mineral on
the periodic table. It is in fact a sprawling complex of buildings covering 2
hectares right in the centre of Prague. The place started as a Jesuit College before
becoming merged with the Charles University in 1654. The place is famous for
numerous reasons but the most interesting for me are the Observatory and the
Baroque Library. On a tour you are limited to a small group which is great and useful
as there are some very tight stairs to be manouvered later.
When it advertises a tour of the Library it is not exactly accurate. The Library is a UNESCO site and although still technically in use its not the type of library where you can borrow some books on Yoga & Mindfulness for a month. Many of the books here are first editions and hundreds of years old. The Vyšehrad Codex is also here – it is a Latin Coronation Gospel Book, considered the most important and most valuable manuscript kept in Bohemia. It was probably made to honour the coronation of the Czech King Vratislav II in 1085.
Now the Tour of the library is really only a glimpse into it. A door is opened and four or five of the Group are allowed into a cordoned off area for circa two minutes to savour one of the most beautiful rooms in the world. For Kultur Vultures this is the equivalent of Hamleys Toy Store on Regents Street for kids. The ceiling has amazing frescoes created by Jan Hiebl with the temple of knowledge at its centre symbolizing the raison d’etre of the library. The floor contains numerous globes and astronomical clocks including one map of the heavens. Two minutes is not enough to savour the grandeur and style of this place but hey on with the tour.
Next we all squeeze up (well I squeezed others just ascended gracefully) up into the Observatory Tower – the second part of the Tour. The Astronomical Tower has been here since 1722 and is adorned with a statue of Atlas holding the celestial orb. From the 1750’s the Tower began to be equipped with astronomical instruments. The penultimate floor has a meridian line passing through it which was used for determining the Prague High Noon – which was then announced to fellow Praguers by the waving of a red flag – cue lots of gentlemen removing pocket watches from waist coat pockets and nodding approvingly.
From the top floor balcony the panoramic views of the City are stunning. For €15 I would recommend this Tour for a brief glimpse of the amazing library and the awe inspiring city views from the top of the Tower.
It was too early to head back so I managed another quick visit to the mind curing Wallenstein Gardens. Got a few snaps of the Peacock as well.
We ended up eating noodles in Smichov washed down by thirst destroying homemade lemonade. Quick change and refresh at the Apartment before a final evening stroll. Regretting didn’t get some concert tickets – lots of choice earlier. So much to do, so little time … so Prague
SatNav lady and I are not on the best of terms. She still talks to me, but the trust is gone, too many road works, too many twisty nausea-inducing mountain trails. Secretly I’ve been trying to usurp her authority at any opportunity. To say she took us off the beaten track this morning is just too cliched, yet somehow, against all hope and expectation it’s worked out quite well.
The winding forest roads and sleepy hamlets have given way to rolling Bohemian wheat fields and beautiful vistas, so much so that we have got a wonderful insight into rural Czech life. At the end of the day isn’t this what travel is supposed to be about? So, by default my rebelliousness combined with Mrs Satnav’s condescending tones have given us a lovely morning drive to Prague. Normality resumes when the young travellers view the golden arches of McDonalds at Pisek (the driver would have loved an Espresso it must be said) but it was on the other side of the dual carriage way and by then we had crossed a bridge and the moment was gone. Phew!
Approaching Prague from the South you are almost on
top of the city before you realise it. One of the first things you see is the Žižkov
Television Tower which dominates the skyline. Monday Mid-day traffic is
relatively benign compared to some cities and we find our apartment building
easy enough. It is in the district of Smíchov in Prague 5. It is on the west
bank of the Vltava river close to the fashionable shopping district of Andel.
Our host Monika is on time and shows us to a sleek modern apartment on the
second floor. The building is quite old with a beautiful spiral staircase – we take
the lift. The apartment is spotless and previous emails from Monika were very
helpful with lots of travel and eating out tips.
Parking can be tricky in Prague if you arrive by car,
but we used a Mr-Parkit website which has lots of sites around town and we paid
€31 for two days. Our car park is quite a bit from the apartment – nearer ones
had all sold out. We drive over to the parking lot which is near Újezd. Once we
negotiated crossing the tram lines and getting through the narrow entrance alley
we are in a back yard and find our allotted space is taken up. A handwritten note
on another car advises their spot was also occupied when they arrived. We phone
the company and they quickly re-assign us another spot.
As soon as we turn the corner the young-uns spot a candy store which we dare not pass. Not what I had planned as our first stop on a walking tour of this beautiful city. A few minutes later we emerge from the cornucopia of food colourings and sugar with a small bag each of everything form giant cola bottles to Chernobyl green gobstoppers.
Mala Strana has changed considerably since I first visited Prague 20 years ago. The city was much quieter then and a bit shabbier. Now these streets can rival Paris or Milan for chic. Our plans are thrown awry a few minutes later when we discover the funicular up to the Petřín Gardens and Tower is closed. With limbs still aching from the Tour de Lipno Lake last Saturday we decided to walk instead through the more horizontal streets of Malá Strana. We had a late lunch al fresco at a restaurant at the corner of Karmelitska and Tržiště. The fare was simple, a Caesar Salad, Margherita Pizza, two grilled chicken breasts with fries, three cokes and a small glass of chardonnay – €86 – which frankly speaking was taking the proverbial. A quick look at TripAdvisor (always after the event I find) confirmed I’m not the only sucker who fell for this place.
Undeterred we continued up the hill to Prague Castle which as always delivers panoramic views of the city below. One delightful place I had never been to before was the House of Wallenstein. I’m always intrigued by the famous general who was assassinated by Irish and Scots Wild Geese serving the Austrian emperor. The baroque palace is complimented by formal gardens with imposing statues, koi filled ponds and of course a few peacocks. The best part is its all free (except for access to those buildings that house the Czech Senate). I couldn’t but think of the builder of this beautiful palace, the man whose life was ended by one Walter Deveraux from Wexford. How different the geography of Europe and how more united the German states might have been had the Generalissimo, who favoured a more ecumenical empire, had lived.
well over the rip off restaurant. We get the No. 20 tram back to Andel and
stroll around the shops before settling back in for the night at our lovely
apartment (ice cream and pastries in hand). I haven’t thought of SatNav Lady
all day until now, perhaps this break will both do us good.
Fellow travellers’ initial observations on Prague – compact, easy to walk around city, amazing architecture, beautiful views, great tram system, good shopping (and we haven’t even crossed the Vltava yet)
It’s been a wonderful sporting year thusfar and we have only reached the middle of April.
We’ve seen the small mix it
with the great. What a wonderful sight to see the half parish of Mullinalaghta
take to the field in Croke Park for the All-Ireland Club semi-final in
February. The last day in March saw
Leitrim – the Mullinalaghta St. Columbas of the County scene – also run out at
HQ, their first appearance there since 2006. A few days later Mayo picked up
their first piece of national silver ware in years making a talented Kerry team
submit in a titanic struggle.
April has been the month of the two Tigers. Tiger Roll the smallest horse, with the oldest jockey and the biggest heart made history in Aintree – the first horse to win back to back Grand Nationals since the legendary Red Rum.
This weekend Tiger Woods had commentators reaching for every sports cliché that has ever been uttered. It was easy to share in the joy of this moment. I would hazard if the great man himself was asked he might say that of all his great wins – 15 Majors now – this was the greatest. He will certainly be hoping his comeback will be longer than the little General’s Cent Jours.
There could be more to come in this year, in the full bloom of it’s promise and hope. Soon we’ll know if my beloved Liverpool will once again be champions. They certainly have stuck with the star laden Man City squad every step of the way, and its hard not to like the goofy enthusiasm of Jurgen Klopp. In 1990 Sean O’Heslins, a famous club from the town of Ballinamore in Leitrim won their 20th Senior Championship. If someone told me back then that in the next 30 years neither Sean O’Heslins nor Liverpool would win a championship, I would say that person was crazy. It shows that in Sport you can never take anything for granted. When Tiger (the Golfer) won his last major in 2008 I’m sure he would have thought by 2019 he would be comfortably ahead of the great Jack Nicklaus in number of majors won.
There is much to look forward
to in the months ahead – lets hope for great Hurling and Football championships
and there is also the small matter of the Rugby World Cup. We saw in the Six Nations
that our national team and their acclaimed manager have wings and feet of clay
after all. It could be the making of them but will be a massive challenge at the
World Cup in Japan, a tournament where we have massively underachieved. It would
also be a come back of sorts as to have a comeback you have to have a setback.
A semi-final finish would be significant, a win would be glorious.
In Sport one can fail, not everyone can be a winner, yet some where, be it the next game, or way off on the future lies the opportunity of redemption. We could all do with seeing life like this too, the possibility of redemption lying around every corner, and the chance to let the little Tiger in all of us, ROAR.