DAY 4: Ballyferriter

Ah, 'tis a fine evening in Ireland. After a splendid dinner at one of the finest hotels in Waterford, we went for a stroll along the harbor where we admired sailboats and watched a bagpiper a squeezin’ his bag and the drummers a drummin’.

I tell you that at the outset so that you’ll know why this blog posting is once again unencumbered with detailed stories, cleverness, and humor. I joined the walk rather than sit in a warmer-then-need-be third floor hotel room composing a champion blog and adding pictures.
 
Sunday morning on our route from Sneem to Ballyferriter we drove through the incredibly beautiful Killarney National Park. Again our journey was enriched a great deal by guide Batt Burns’ running narrative about the history, culture, economics, etc. of each area we passed through—that information and every 30 miles or so, a story that set us all to laughing. Oh, and now and again he recited a poet’s work that captures the spirit of the locale at some point in history.
 
In Killarney thirty (or as we’ve learned to say, tharty) of us went to Mass at the impressive Francisican church (pronounced charch). They couldn’t go to the even more impressive St. Mary’s Cathedral because this was the Sunday a new bishop was being installed. I say that tharty went to charch. The other three of us had every intention of going, but out of necessity we visited the public loo across the street. Our business took just long enough that when we emerged, the faithful were already focused on their relationship with the Lord, and we dare not risk the displeasure of either by causing a distraction. And anyway two of us aren’t Catholic and the third only casually so, and then there was in the air the smell of a nearby coffee shop and bakery.
 
It was on to Dingle for lunch at John Benny’s where we shared a few orders of Sticky Toffee Pudding at each table—some of us deliberately using a bigger spoon than his neighbor, or at least that was the accusation at my table.
We drove past ancient stone “beehive hutches” on the hillsides above the ocean. Batt said the expansive Inch Beach was busier than he had ever seen it—with the much warmer than usual weather today and the whole previous week. Some scenes of the Robert Mitchum movie “Ryan’s Daughter” were filmed on that beach and in surrounding areas. Indeed, Batt tells us that the filming of that movie transformed the heretofore little-noticed Dingle, what with the economic shot in the arm by the extended filming process and the attention the area enjoyed later as if it were rediscovered as a must-see portion of the Ring of Kerry. 
 
The now uninhabited Blasket Islands have a fascinating history I dare not attempt to summarize here. It suffices to say we enjoyed our stop at the Blasket Interpretative Center, our last stop before Ballyferriter.
 
No question, the highlight of the day was our visit to and stay in the ancestral home of the fifteen Smith cousins on this trip. That was Ballyferriter or as all local signs say in Gaelic, Baile an Fheirearaigh, meaning "Ferriter's townland." The cousins are fairly sure there are Farritor (American spelling) relatives in their past, but they know for a fact that they are all descendents of Patrick O’Sullivan of Ballyferritor, County Kerry, Ireland.
 
Ballyferriter <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ballyferriter> is the first (and probably the only) small village on our tour that isn’t heavily focused on tourism. There isn't a single souvenir shop to be seen.  We never could determine the resident population of the village, but our guesses ran from 100 to 300. There are, however, no fewer than five pubs serving the village and surrounding area.  In the summer the population grows because of people with nearby summer homes, the Irish Language Summer School, and tourism.
 
Gaelic (or simply “Irish” as the locals insist) is the first and primary language of at least 75% of the residents of the village and surround lands. All public signs are in Gaelic, although some have an English translation in smaller letters below. You know how at a local watering hole you will find raffle tickets to raise money for an unfortunate neighbor? There is a book of raffle tickets on the bar at our hotel, and every word is sprinted in Gaelic. The menu board outside the little café was in Gaelic. There was a good deal more Gaelic than English in that town.
 
When we walked the half-block to the village church we heard Traditional Irish Music and the voices of people obviously enjoying themselves. We hailed some young people headed up there and learned that twice every summer students ages 14 to 18 come from all across Ireland to Ballyferriter for a three-week Irish Language Immersion program. Some already speak the Gaelic tongue fluently, others come to become fluent. They study the language, their Gaelic heritage, and customs like the Irish dancing we were privileged to watch them enjoy. This is one among many efforts being made all over Ireland, to resurrect the Irish language the English had for centuries tried to eradicate.
 
Thanks to special efforts by Batt, Bill Brass and I met local character and historian Danny Sheehie. When his efforts failed to locate the parish priest who we thought could guide us to the exact cemetery where we would find ancestral O’Sullivan graves, Danny drove Bill to the closest one. What an experience that was. Graves there went back into the 1300’s. There were lots of O’Sullivans (none spelled this American way, of course) so I was sure we’d found the right one now. Danny assured us that we’d find just as many O’Sullivans in each of the five Ferriter-townland cemeteries, so there was no way of knowing without records from the church.
 
We had a group photo if the cousins taken in front of that church as we left Ballyferriter Monday morning.

I could go on and on about our visit to Ballyferriter, but it is after 1:00 a.m. and we have an early call tomorrow morning.
 
Irish toast; May the ten toes of your feet steer you clear of all misfortune, and may your doctor never earn a dollar out of you.