Flotsam and Jetsam: Miscellaneous Observations and Anecdotes of a Temporary Expatriate

This will be a post of meandering thoughts, to be told in a combination of pictures and text:

One always worries about fitting in seamlessly in one's new culture.  Thanks to the foresight of our landlord, we know the intended use of each of the provided utensils.  Now, if only one's golf clubs came with similar idiot-proof instructions...

I can't adequately explain the pleasures of wheaten bread and Kerry Creme butter.  No pictures here, I'm just sayin'...

On the subject of breakfast, we've mostly been eating in a healthy fashion, yogurt, toast, bananas, and multi-bran cereal.  Prior trips have featured the ubiquitous Irish or Scottish breakfasts, an LDL-athon of eggs, bacon, sausage and toast.  Though one night early in our stay we ventured ten miles north to the Rust Nail restaurant, only to find that they don't serve food during the week.  We then changed course to a restaurant in Carndonough, pronounced something like Car-in-DONna, though in our early days we assumed it would be Car-don-Ach, which unable to remember morphed into Kreplach.  As you can readily see, we spare no effort to endear ourselves to the local populace.

In any event, this restaurant featured an all-day breakfast, and I was able to satisfy my irish breakfast Jones.  Unfortunately, I made the mistake of ordering a beer.  Lest the reader harbor any doubts, beer and salty breakfast meats do NOT go together at all.  I mention this so others shouldn't suffer.

The wifely unit makes an Irish breaky on an off day from golf.

As readers will have noted, we've been amazed at the warmth and openness of the Ballyliffen residents and club members.  Though, as you'll see in the photos below, perhaps I've reached my sell-by date in the estimation of some:

Top, Mary the starter and Joann graciously pose at the golf shop counter.  Bottom, from left to right, Ashland, Trish, Gareth and an unidentified lady look for cover as I enter the shop a mere few days later.  I can only hope that AC and Kent at our home club don't take awy any ideas from this.

Speaking of the warmth of the locals, T and I were sitting in the bar area having a bite of lunch yesterday when a man of a certain age came over to our table and asked, "And, how was your day out there?"  John Doherty is his name, as we discovered when I put out my hand and introduced ourselves, and we briefly told him of our extended stay in town.

But of far greater interest was what we learned from John, as he was a member in the formative late 1960's.  The club had previously maintained a rudmentary nine hole course on leased land.  However, when it became apparent that the lease would not be renewed, the club was able to purchase 400 acres of common grazing ground for a mere pittance (John indicated 5,000 pounds but I've also read elsewhere it was 500 pounds to each of those with a stake in the grazing grounds.  The term in Scotland would be corfters, but not sure that's used here).  

But the best part of John's story was his description of how the members themselves graded and shaped the teeing grounds, greens and bunkers, using mostly hand tools.  It took them a couple of years to build, as one can imagine, but one can only imagine the emotions of playing that which one's own hands created.  Similarly, one can imagine the emotion when the shaping of a landform kicks one's own golf ball into an impossible lie in the deep hay.  We're down to a precious few days, but I'm hoping for an opportunity to buy John a ppint or three to pry more stories from his vault.

We had an amusing postmodern (or would it be premodern) moment last evening as we crawled into bed.  Theresa had checked her e-mail on her phone and handed it to me to read a delightful note from our favorite Scottish housewife (inside joke) Elsie, reacting to my kitty blogging.  I realized that because of our lack of Internet at the cottage that Theresa, the blogger's very own wife, was reading a review of the post before reading the actual post.  Just seemd curious in the moment...

I've yet to focus on Ballyliffen swag for myself or as gifts for others, but the lovely Joann models an item seen frequently that will NOT be coming home with the Simpsons.  It's a BGC hat deliberately styled to resemble a Boston Red Sox cap (a "G" and "C" are cleverly inserted in the open spaces of the "b").  I'm not prone to excessive moralizing, but some things are just WRONG!

Update:  Forgot to add an intended blog stat update.  Hopefully I'll get this in before most have read it.  The blog is approaching 400 pageviews, a clear indication that many of you have far too much time on your hands.  These include the readily explainable hits from the U.S., U.K. (thanks Elsie) and Ireland.  But it also includes 20 pageviews from Russia, 3 from Sweden, the one from Germany (clearly he didn't enjoy his visit) and one from, of all places, Peru.  Writing for a global audience is daunting, indeed.

The Matches: Saturday on the Glashedy

Hostilities, suspended for the Member's Scramble, resumed on Saturday morning on the Glashedy Links.  The day started overcast, but gradually cleared as the day and round wore on.  The winds were of medium strength, but more significantly had turned 180 degrees around, changing the playing charcteristics of virtually every hole.

Theresa stumbled out of the gate, making an 8 and a 6 on the opening holes, to my two pars, and going two down.  Unfortunately that condition would not persist, as Theresa played the next seven holes in a mere 31 strokes, her best stretch of play on the trip.  She hit the green on both Par 3's, no easy task on this beast of a links, and well deserved to be three up at the turn.

Your humble blogger tees off on the Par 3 fifth (called Clochan Beag - your guess is as good as mine), top, and the well-protected 6th green (Doras Mor), bottom.

Theresa couldn't keep up her pace, and combined with my improved play resulted in the match going back to all square after thirteen.  However, sloppy short game work by your truly sealed my fate, and Theresa closed me out 3 & 2.

A nice view of the 8th and ninth holes of the Glashedy, on the walk to the 14th tee, top.  A trip to the Captain's bunker on the home hole necessitated a contribution for the kids, but an up and down from the bunker made it my pleasure indeed, bottom.

Theresa finished the day with a 99, which somehow didn't capture the quality of her play.   I played better than it might seem from the above, posting an 85 on a most difficult track in an unfamiliar and reasonably significant wind.  Most importantly, I teed off on the 16th hole with the very golf ball with which I started the day.  And although I lost that Penta on the 16th, in the search for it I found a low mileage Pro V1, what my frineds in real estate would consider a tax-free, like kind exchange.

One last bit of fun from the day can be found below:

Theresa is being a good sport here.  She didn't want me to video her actual shot, so after playing safely to the left fringe of the green, she allowed me to drop another ball and create the above video.  I can's say for sure that she deliberately hit the ball thin, but that's the risk we were  identifying for the viewer.

Current Standings:

T. Simpson   2.5

S. Simpson  2.0

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Bring Me the Head of Malin

After our Saturday round and lunch in the clubhouse, we headed due North to the head of Malin, the northernmost point in Ireland.  We fortuitously ran into Captain Patrick as we were leaving the club, and he told us of a turn that would take us on a small road to the highest vistas.

The road less traveled, top.  Looking south towards a cute church and cemetary that we would later visit, bottom.

 

More Irish eye candy.

And finally to the end of the Earht, at least Irish Earth.

Malin Head has a rish history in the defense of the Island from all sorts of petential invaders, and we've been told there's all sorts of armament buried in the waters.  The locals have marked the northernmost spit of land for wandering pilots, top, and there's all sorts of ruins to be found on the road there, bottom.

At about 8:30 that night, Theresa suddenly blurted out, "Husband, take me to the beach."  Despite the beatdown she had inflicted on me earlier in the day, it seemed a reasonable request and we trundled down to Pollan Bay with many other residents and visitors.  It was far too cold for T to dip her toes in the water, but we were treated to a bright, partial moon coming in and out of the clouds.  We slept well.

The best spot to end our days in Ballyliffin.

The Member's Scramble

As previously recounted, the club's Captain, Patrick Lougue, invited us to play in the member's nine hole scramble on Friday evening.  This was a great opportunity for us to meet members, as well as to see the course in the evening light.  I play a ton of evening golf when home, and was interested in whether there was an equivalent evening culture here.

The separated T and I in order to maximize our exposure to club members, and Patrick placed us in the first two groups out (important in order to maximize the bar time afterwards).  As we awaited people we were concerned that turnout might be so low as to result in cancellation, but they ended up wtih 51 participants, solid turnout on a Friday evening.

Theresa practicing those dastardly 4-footers awaiting the start of the scramble.

Team Ollie:  My teamates on the ninth tee and walking up the night fairwya, Dan, Keith and Ollie, from left to right.

Since we were on the Old Links, I also used the evening light to improve the images of the wild contours of the fairways.  Not sure it helped all that much, but judge for yourselves.

Not a level lie to be found.

Team Thersa in the gloaming (top), and waiting on the 9th tee (bottom).

Our team made two birdies and Theresa's made only one.   The winners made six in nine holes, good shooting regardless of the format. We had good craic (an Irish word meaning fun) over a couple of pints afterwards in the bar, and I had a chance to speak at length with Ollie, our team captain.  He's a Swede who like us has fallen in love with Ballyliffen, and comes here several times a season.  He's a strong player, plays off a 6, and was kind enough to agree to play with me again on Tuesday morning.

I only found out the next day that Ollie is staying with Captain Patrick this trip, and the good Captain will be joining us for our Tuesday game.

Living La Vida Loca in Ballyfornia

There's been some grumbling amongst the expansive readership of this blog that it's perhaps a tad too golf-centric.  Now, at the risk of validating that complaint, I'll endeavor to provide some content unrelated to the great game of golf.  For those of you who come only for the golf, stay truned as regular programming will resume shortly.

First and of greatest importance, we've settling into our cottage nicely and are mostly pleased with our choice.  T is a bit disappointed with the lack of views of Pollan Bay, but the house is clean, mostly comfortable, reasonably well supplied and appropraitely sized for our needs.

Our favorite room is by far the sunroom, where we spend most of our cottage time.  It's where I sit and read with my morning coffee awaiting T's delicate footsteps on the floorboards above, and it's where we sit in the evening discussing the day past and the one ahead.

 

The sunroom and kitchen are where we spend most of our time when "home."

Our second night in the cottage we attempted to use the barbeque, but failed ignominiously when the coals didn't progress beyond grey smoke and the heavens opened up.  We quickly packed it up and went out for dinner and, fortified with some equipment enhancements, succeeded in our second try.

If at first you don't succeed, try a Carlsberg.

Another highlight of the week came Tuesday evening, when it was time to take our garbage to the curb, just like a real Ballyliffener/Ballyliffenite/Ballywhatever.

The lady of the manse takes care of disposal duty.  And we get to do it agin next Tueday with the recycling.

Our cottage is four houses in from the main drag, on a street that is not terrifically well maintained, though we're starting to warm to it.  One afternoon in driving towards the house we noticed a small cat, and backed up the car to peak.  There we saw the most wondrous sight, as a Mama cat picked up her kitty by the scruff of its neck and carried to safety from those invading Americans.

Well, I should have known at that point that the cat was out of the bag.... the next time we drove by that house we saw even more cats.

Finally meeting some of our neighbors.

That afternoon I went to the office (our name for the table in the club's second floor bar where I do my blogging), T walked to the local gas station mini-mart and purchased cat food, both wet and dry.

T laying the bait (top).  The first visit from Declan (bottom).

Declan was followed by Marion (top) and Vivien (bottom), named for waitresses at the clubhouse restaurant.  Watching the cats scale the high wooden fence is really quite amazing.

Theresa moved the bowl to the back yard and Declan paid us a return visit, but this time he angered the usually even tempered Theresa.

Declan helped himself to a bowl of wet food, much to our pleasure.  But then he felt compelled to mark his territory, including said bowl, which angered the bride.

...Bring Out Your Dead...

Forgive the Monty Python reference, but both my body and my mind were dead tired on Thursday, and combined with the difficult Glashedy Links the results were predictably apocalyptic (OK, that's perhaps a wee bit melodramatic).  But the golf was not pretty, the saving grace being that Theresa didn't have to see it.  The reader will by now know that what I really meant to say was more along the lines of, thank my lucky stars it wasn't a match day.

Fortunately, Lowell's strong play continued, as he continued to find the center stripe of fairway after fairway.  My play had many high points, including two near misses at my first avian life form of the trip.  But it also included many swings of the long and wrong variety, and the bag was substantially llighter at the end of play.

Lowell's bunker play was solid on both days (top), and he strikes his second on the Par 5 4th from an unusual position, a couple of feet off the fairway.(bottom).

Carol kept us company on our stroll, though my propensity to hit the crooked ball, had us all looking bedraggled from stomping through the treacherous maram grass all day.

The ball on the left is visual evidence of my best effort of the day, reaching the Par 5 fourth (459 yards) in two.  Well, two if you ignore that the drive was a providional ball and ignore the two slashes at the original drive, the second sending it to meet its maker.  There's little doubt that reaching Par 5's in two is far more satisfying when....you know, the ball is in play.

But despite the dire weather forecast, the day's play was without rain and with mostly diminished winds.  It was Carol's first visit to Ballyliffin (Lowell had played the courses, but not for some time), and they were equally enraptured by the physical beauty and stark isolation one sense while on either course.

Top, just another day at the office in Ballyliffin.  Bottom, when we're at last sure that we won't get wet, gallant lowell helps his bride lose the waterproofs.

Unfortunately the winds picked up late and dead into the worst of it, the Par 5 seventeenth felt like the Bataan Death March to us all.  We regrouped and made two pars at the mercifully downwind home hole, and repaired to the second floor bar for vital bodily fluids (i.e., Carlsberg on tap).

 

The above video gets a little herky-jerky at the end, and at some point I'll have to learn how to edit such things out.  The banter at the end is because Lowell's ball comes to rest on the precipice above the back bunker, and it was not clear whether it would hold.

Friday will be mostly a day of rest for the weary road warriors, with the bride having booked us massages.  We'll go out lat in the day and play in the 9-hole members scramble, which should be a good opportunity to meet new folks.

Golf with the Courtneys

Carol and Lowell arrived midday Wednesday, and by 1:15 we were staring down the first fairway of the Old.  Theresa had initially planned to skip this round, but a bright blustery day coupled with a dire forecast for the morning convinced her to join us and instead forgo the following morn on the Glashedy.

Carol, Lowell and my bride as we prepare to tee off on the Old.  Lowell has requested a copy of this photo for the Lynchpin Tours brochure.  T and I eagerly await the royalty checks.

We had a simply delightful stroll with our friends, whom we've not seen since they came accross the Irish Sea to join us on our Machrihanish excursion in 2009.  

The troops make their way down the third fairway (top).  The ladies keep a keen eye on their men, or more accurately their ammunition (bottom).

The weather was reasonably cooperative on this afternoon, with long periods of bright sunshine and good use of my sunglasses.  We were visited by only two rain squalls, and only the second of these brought out the waterproofs.  But if on prior days we were battling the wind, on this day we fought the WIND, a good three-clubber when directly into the fan and even more vexing on the many crosswind holes.

Carol's use of her rain gear was partially mitigated by the gift from Theresa of a strawberry Tootsie Roll pop (top).  Theresa gives it a lash on the Par 3 eighth in the rainsuit (bottom).  Playing in rain gear is its own skill.

We had a cracker of a match, with both T and I playing the best golf of the trip thus far.  T played especially well on the early stretch of the second nine, and took a two up lead after thirteen holes.

Theresa seeks sheltr from the wind (above).  I have photos of her in similar states of repose from most of the great links of the Old World.  Lowell grips it and rips it (bottom).  His ability to continually split fairways became quite annoying after a bit.

I came storming back and tied the match up with hard-earned pars at Nos. 14 and 15.  We played 14-17 in a hard right-to-left hurting wind that would send anything half-hearted soaring off into the spinach (I need to write a separate post on the futility of playing from the long Maram grass).  

These are the best photos to date of the marvellous contours of the Old's fairways, in this case the 15th.  I'll need to do better, but a two dimensional medium might not be up to the task.

We halved the 16th and Attila won the shortish Par 3 17th when I missed a 6-footer for par, only to find that it was, in fact, a stroke hole.  For the second straight day, my bride would take a 1-up lead to the 18th.

A sweep panorama of the 12th green, nestled cleverly into the base of a sand dune, this time sans camera strap (top).  The golfer as artiste, catching T lashing her drive on the 16th from below (bottom).

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light,
And somewhere men are laughing, and some children shout;
But there is no joy in 'Liffen - mighty Tessie has struck out. made eight.

Not her fault in the slightest, I hasten to add.  She striped her drive off the 18th tee like the gamer she is, it just rolled and trundled and bumped along the firm turf until it rolled into a devilishly positioned fairway pot bunker.  After taking two to get out, she made the best of it, soldiering on as one of what Dan Jenkins called the dogged victims of inexorable fate, a third consecutive halve on the Old Links.

Current Standings:

T. Simpson   1.5

S. Simpson  2.0