Even on a cruise undertaken mainly for nostalgia, there have to be some new places to see. Terceira was one. Today's port is another.
It's not just that I've never been to Cobh or its neighbouring city of Cork before, although that's true. It's that today marks the first time, in over 6 decades of travelling, that I've ever set foot on the Emerald Isle, Ireland.
That Richter-level shaking you just felt was a whole long list of deceased Irish friends rolling over in their graves. The accompanying groaning sound was my dozens of living Irish friends and relations practising the roll-over for future use.
First and foremost: we got lucky. Zuiderdam got to tie up at the main pier right by the centre of Cobh. I was afraid we would get sent to the alternative Deep Water docking facility across the estuary at Ringaskiddy.
If that name, Ringaskiddy, sounds delightfully quaint and anachronistic, the estuary is surrounded by numerous other examples of unique Irish place names. Among them: Cuskinny, Barnahely, Coolmore, Kilnagleary, and Templebreedy.
And that's even before we get into the question of pronunciation. Let's just say that "Cobh" is pronounced "Cov" -- and carry on at that.
A century and more ago, back in the days when all of Ireland still smouldered under British rule, Cobh was called by the decidedly non-Irish name of "Queenstown," and was a seaport of considerable importance. Many of the great Atlantic ocean liners around the turn of the last century made their last port call before the long haul across to North America in this harbour. This map illustrates the reason why.
Base map from geology.com
Ships from nearly every port of any size in the southern regions of England, the northern coast of France, and even from Belgium, Holland and Germany would pass down the English Channel, while others sailed south out of the Irish Sea from Dublin, Liverpool, and many more. For almost all of them, a call at Queenstown on the westbound journey was a logical additional stop and part and parcel of the routine.
Many of the Irish passengers who climbed aboard those ships were making a one-way voyage, leaving the depressed poverty of their homeland behind for a chance at a better life in the New World. Almost all travelled in the "steerage" at the bottom of the ship, which was only just beginning to be more politely called the "Third Class." That nomenclature wouldn't catch on until after World War One. Even on the world's most deluxe liners (such as the Titanic or the Lusitania), the steerage accommodation was contained primarily in dormitories, although a few lucky ducks could get into a 6-berth cabin. In this as in so many other respects, James Cameron's epic film Titanic documents this aspect of the classic ocean liner experience with considerable accuracy.
I mentioned the two ships named above for a reason. Queenstown was the final port of call of the Titanic before she sailed away on her fateful maiden voyage, and the famous "last photo" of the ship was taken as she pulled out of the harbour. Given the immense and enduring popularity of the Titanic story, it's not surprising that Cobh has created a "Titanic Experience."
As for the Lusitania, the Titanic's rival, she met her end just a few years later, with nearly as great a loss of life, at the hands of a German submarine in 1915, and not very far west of Queenstown. The Lusitania, inbound from New York, sank in a mere 18 minutes some 12 nautical miles offshore, but within sight of the Old Head of Kinsale, itself less than 20 miles (32 kilometres) from Queenstown.
The tour I chose was to the town of Kinsale, and even though it's not really close to the Old Head, it still helped me to feel a bit closer to a story which always struck me as far more terrifying than the tale of the Titanic, even when I was a youngster. Sadly, we got only the most passing view of the Old Head of Kinsale through a thick sea fog, but that wasn't the end of the story.
Our drive from Cobh to Kinsale took us across several bridges, as we hopped from island to island before finally getting onto the Irish mainland. We then drove through beautiful, green, rolling countryside. "Green," did I say? There were so many shades of green that I couldn't possibly catalogue them all. It's no wonder that Ireland is so often called "the Emerald Isle." The weather was still a bit misty-hazy, so the vivid colours don't always show with absolute clarity, although the sheer beauty of the land certainly does.
Our first stop was at an English-built "star" fort, so called for its ground plan. Charles Fort was built on a height of land which commanded the Kinsale estuary. We just got a brief scenic stop in the parking area at the top or back of the fort, adjacent to the main gate. When I later saw some pictures on the internet, I turned a livid, envious green at the thought of not having had enough time to go inside. I could easily have spent several hours touring the massive ruins that spread all the way down to the water's edge.
We then drove down to spend an hour of free time walking into the narrow, crowded streets and along the picturesque harbour of Kinsale itself. This town is nothing if not quaint. I'd say that the quaintness is four parts genuine architecture to one part stuck-on staging for tourists. I'll let you judge from the photos. But it's definitely a fascinating place to walk around for a few hours.
Cobh is famous for it's "deck of cards" houses, but Kinsale has its own version of the idea -- trying not to fall down a much steeper hillside.
I'll assume that this pub's name is just a clever pun.
Another pub across the street displays its wares -- or at least the containers they came in.
We took a different route back to the ship, passing more lovely Irish countryside -- and in particular this field where our guide pointed out the existence of a "fairy tree" and told us all about how such trees had to be protected if you wished to have good luck and good crops from the favour of the wee folk.
Some of the others on the bus were laughing, but I wasn't. I was remembering the equal seriousness with which Hawaiians living on the Big Island, with its dangerously active volcanoes, speak with true respect of the Polynesian fire goddess Madame Pele.
As we drove back onto the islands, we passed Belvelly Castle. I couldn't help noticing that the current owners have allowed a tree to flourish on the roof of this ancient tower house. Another fairy tree, perhaps?
Back in Cobh, I got some lunch on the ship and then walked along from the cruise pier into downtown. Before going, I had snapped this view from the balcony of my cabin. St. Colman's Cathedral dominates the scene from its high hillside perch, but it's plain that the entire city -- like so many port towns around the planet -- crawls up a fairly steep hill as soon as you move away from the waterfront. It's not hard to guess why. If you want a steep drop-off under the water, to allow ships to come close in to land, look for a steep drop-off of the shore down into the water.
Walking along the main waterfront road in Cobh is a colourful experience, if nothing else. There's a very strong Georgian air to the architecture, suggesting that a great deal of development took place along this waterfront promenade in the eighteenth century. Today, it's a lively mix of boutiques and restaurants, coffee houses and bars, and on a sunny, warm day like this, plenty of outdoor tables and even some outdoor music. Look up, and you can see St. Colman supervising the scene with stately grandeur.
And then, in the midst of all the action, stands this stately monument. The grief depicted in the two large figures, and the posture of the angel above them, is unmistakable. The flowers laid on the base show that Cobh has certainly not forgotten the terrible tragedy of the Lusitania (the 109th anniversary of the sinking was just two weeks ago).
Across the street, a building which looks as if it might have been a Victorian pleasure pavilion houses the Cobh "Titanic Experience." I'm sure it gets more visitors every year. The drawing power of that legendary name is sometimes almost overwhelming.
All the same, it's still the story of the Lusitania's terrible end which moves me more deeply.
We were out of the harbour and on our way to our next port of call before dinner time. But this night was a special evening. Every Holland America Line cruise features one. You know it's a special night when I show up for dinner in something this bright.
The daily news bulletin advertised the dress code for the night as "Casual With a Splash of Orange." I splashed. So did many others. The "Orange Party" celebrates the Dutch national and royal colour, the royal family dynasty of the House of Orange stretching back for centuries. There's a special "Dutch" menu for dinner, and later on (after my bedtime) there's an "Orange Party" with dancing music in one of the nightspots. Some people go a lot further than just clothes. The orange colour spills over into accessories, jewellery, and even....
And why not? Let's have some fun! I only stretched the Orange theme far enough to have a shot of Grand Marnier with my after-dinner coffee. As for the menu, I got taken right back to my very first trip on my own to Europe (1975) when the headline main course turned out to be "Bami Goreng", an Indonesian dish which I first tasted in Amsterdam way back then. It's a concoction of stir-fried Indonesian noodles and vegetables in a sweet and spicy sauce, topped with a fried egg, crisp noodles, and served up with a skewer of equally spicy satay chicken. And I loved every bite!
Need I add that all the table napkins were orange too?
From this point on, the cruise becomes a little more fast and furious. There's a port call a day right up until the end of the trip on May 25. I'm already a couple of days behind here, because all the touring and walking and eating and sleeping (never enough of that!) leaves only so many hours available for blogging!
Here's the map to show our progress up to May 21.
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