“Pipe Browne!”
“ … Pipe Browne!!”
That’s the sound that bellowed across Jimmy’s pub as I returned from the bathroom, an exclamation from our new friend Decky (of what exactly I’m unsure). I’d stepped away for two minutes to find Piper embedded amongst Decky, Mitey, John, Sean & John, a pod of old timers who’d taken immediate interest in the new faces at Jimmy’s. They were joking and laughing like old friends and Piper was smiling in a way she usually won’t with strangers. Mitey pulled me in and began a homily on what a fine girl I’d married, more drinks were poured, more introductions were made, and eventually we were coerced into the center of the bar to perform a song - instruments were always close at hand Jimmy’s. What had an hour ago been a subdued scene became a boisterous evening with Piper and I at the center of it. Not as curiosities but as dues-paying members - equal partners to inside jokes and eager subscribers to the village tea. It was unexpected - the immediacy with which we were folded into life in Allihies, in the pubs and out.
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Subconsciously, I’ve been putting off writing this post. Maybe I’ve felt that our glowing reviews of other destinations muddied the waters and I won’t have the language to give Allihies its due. Maybe, I’m afraid that looking back on these posts in 5 years the enthusiasm of my writing won’t measure up to my memories, and that these memories must be unfaithful or invalid in some way. By procrastinating this post I’ve let our experience in Ireland ripen, so to speak, and while this has fuzzy-ed some of the details it has clarified the emotional impact. So I’ll just say it simply - Ireland was the best place we’ve been. It’s not particularly close and I don’t expect it to be topped, not by Porto, Palermo or Provence. Ireland stirred up a curiosity in my soul. Its lilting English with its lyrical delivery, its invitations to unlatch gates and wander down muddy tracks, its landscapes cozy and rugged with no in-between, its stone ruins turned to wild moss gardens. Ireland’s patient pace brought forth a new patience in me, and I felt at times like I was remembering ways to be myself. And with patience comes the slow build, the organic welling of energy that compounds and erupts and eventually diffuses into long restful nights.
We’d decided on Allihies purely by chance when our first choice rental was snatched up. This left the mysterious Dang Dang Chalet as our only viable option, and although the price was right the listing was sparse. Apart from the rental itself, Allihies lies in the remotest corner of Ireland - would we have reliable Wifi, access to quality groceries, coffee, wine (!?!?), and enough cultural touchstones to warrant a month-long commitment? We waffled on the decision, but the lack of alternatives forced our hand. Now, we look back at this trepidation and profusely thank whatever reasoning lead us to book the Dang Dang.
Allihies lies at the tip of the Beara Peninsula in County Cork. On one side of town is the coast, high cliffs and craggy coves forming a stiff wall against the open ocean. At the clifftops, the ruggedness abruptly gives way to smoothly parceled pastures divided by ancient stone walls to form an asymmetrical checkerboard of green brights and darks. The stone walls too are the color of grass as a few centuries of incremental incursions of soil & seed have clogged every gap, crevasse and pore. Past the farmsteads is town, without a single stoplight and with fewer than 5 places to spend a dime, but flamboyantly painted and proudly popping out of its surroundings. Beyond town, more parcels, and beyond them the ground tilts upwards into hills and the grazing land ends and the ruins of the old copper mine loom over it all. With the sea on one side and the hills on the other, Allihies feels hermetically sealed, a secure & cozy, “what happens here stays here” wholesome Irish Vegas of lamb rearing & fiddle playing.
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The countryside held a few surprises. Perched high upon the peninsula cliff and a stone’s throw from the Dang Dang is the Dzogchen Beara, an idyllic and welcoming Buddhism center. Western Ireland seemed to me like the perfect petri-dish for Buddhism. Dzogchen sprawls along the cliffside with cabins and gardens, lodges and lawns, a half-built temple (according to signs “to be finished in 2023!”), spindling trails, and to our delight, a cafe. The cafe looks out upon the adjacent peninsula and the open ocean and was perpetually abuzz with not only meditators and retreaters but local construction crews, sweaty cyclists, busy sightseers, idle locals, and the occasional American newlywed. This confluence is, by my guess, a reflection of the cafe’s intended purpose - welcoming those who may not have another reason to visit. We’d sit and sip our coffees, occasionally trading stories with a new friend, but mostly just losing ourselves in the birds-eye ocean view and processing the inevitable introspection it summoned. Five times per week the center hosts free and public guided meditations and also provides free online meditation how-to courses, but if those barriers are too high, the cafe is accessible to everyone and will draw a mindful moment from even the most anxious morning.
From this favorite perch of ours we could watch fishing vessels inch their way into port at Castletown-berehaven. Castletown is a quant and colorful colony where the surrounding villages go to shop, and during our first circuit through the cozy organic veggie market and village butcher we experienced what I am coining the Irish slow yes. As the butcher weighed our link of black pudding we asked where, in a fishing town like this, could we get some fresh catch? "Sadly nowhere, it all goes through the supermarkets - you’ll have to get your fish at Super Value”. Short silence as he prints our sticker. “Well, there’s a market here on Fridays, you can try your luck there”. Another short silence, butcher’s assistance chimes in. “You could go to the fishing co-op, their office is out on the docks”. Note the absence of follow-up questions from us, yet the gradual transformation of “no” to “yes”. We did our best to extract a set of directions from their slurring, melodious accents.
So off we went. Knocking on the nondescript Castletownbere Fishermans’ Co-op door, we felt meek amongst the towering boat lifts and the weary fishermen & dockworkers (who I consider the manliest breed of manly-men), and when the door was answered we were unsure what to ask. Yet a secretary greeted us warmly, and the slow yes played out again. “Sorry, you’ve missed your chance today, you’d better call at least a few days in advance”. We say we understand. “Well, I’ll see if we can get you something for tomorrow”. We’re silent, she makes a call. Then, “Hmm, is Haddock and Hake ok? You could have that if you come back tomorrow”. We say yes, that’d be amazing! Her: “Well, one moment” (makes another call). “Is it ok if he comes over right now and gives it to you?”. Us: **visible confusion**. Her: “He’ll be here in 5 minutes I hope Haddock and Hake is ok”. Us: **flabbergasted nodding**.
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After that we weren’t quick to walk away from any conversation. It served us well in our thirst for local insight and provided delightful glimpses inside the minds of the Irish folk we encountered. We learned about the daily noontime cold plunges with Sheila & the gals, Natalie’s sea kayak stashed in the cove, community center Yin on Thursdays (20 gals and Leo, as usual), Ella’s seaside yoga loft, Friday trad jam at Jimmy’s with Fiaich and the Hag-o-Bearas, the famous O’Niels’s Sunday trad session, Helen’s bar at the mussel farm, the secret waterfall trail revealed unprompted by the painfully cool area youths (aren’t hip youths always cagey??), the mobile sauna whose tow-er gave us directions to the ancient stone circle, and the list goes on. Who knows what we’d have missed out on if we’d never adapted to the pace of conversation in Allihies.
If there’s one thing I can be sure I’ll never forget about staying in Allihies, it’s the final time we joined O’Niel’s Sunday trad jam. We’d practiced a repertoire of ~15 songs and after the first hour(ish) of Irish jigs and rock classics we’d start getting called upon to pepper them in. The other musicians treated us like royalty (prima donnas?), persistently shushing the crowd so we had the stage. We’d get roaring applause regardless how we performed, slaps on the back, introductions from anyone we hadn’t yet met, and hear occasional realizations that we’re the “New Orleans people” staying at Sam Beshoff’s (Dang Dang owner. Also, we explained our actual origins when it came up). As the night roared on the bandleader started singling out people in the crowd. Bartender Natalie sang & strummed a spirited Johnny Cash medley, Guinnesses were poured in batches of four and delicately deposited within the jam circle. With every instrumentalist already called upon, the bandleader picked people out randomly, and somehow each one was ready with an a-cappella Irish folk sing-a-long (even the O’Neil’s heir apparent, Eric, though he’d told me the night before he’ll never sing publicly). A spirit overtook the bar, and not a single person called upon refused to sing, including any tourist brave enough to stay this late. Some were good, some were pitchy, some were astounding, everyone got a massive ovation. Even as the numbers dwindled the energy never did, as if the smaller the group was the more excitement each person put forth. The crowd was under a dozen when we began to say our goodbyes. Nobody would accept it, another ballad was squeezed out of Piper, and we were eventually honorarily subjected to a bellowing Irish goodbye song. I can now easily understand why disappearing without a word is an “Irish goodbye”, because the other Irish goodbye is endless. We did get to bed eventually, still glowing from the eve, and we sunk into a long and restful sleep. The glow still hasn’t worn off.
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We took so many beautiful photos, very hard to whittle down. Here are some favorites!
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You really took us there, Leo, with this beautiful, evocative post. Thank you! I feel like I just received a wonderful gift (and came pretty close to actually experiencing the magic of Allihies). I guess it’s settled - when do we move?
Wonderful! Thank you, Leo. ❤️