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Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”

This blog is modeled on the Carolina Israelite. That was an old-time newspaper – more like a personal newsletter – written and published by Harry Golden. Back in the 1950s, people called Harry a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.” (For his work on the Israelite.)

That’s now my goal as well. To be a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.”

For more on the blog-name connection, see the notes below.

In the meantime:

August 14, 2026 – This is the last of three preview posts on my upcoming 140-mile hike on the GR-5 in Holland. As noted before, we’ll start at the Hook of Holland and end up in Maastricht, also in Holland. But in between we’ll spend 14 of the 23-day total going through Belgium. (With three days off to rest our feet, two of them in Belgium.) Or as my draft notes said:

Left off at Herselt, from there to Testelt and Diest, still in Belgium, where we’ll have our third day off. (Hey, I’m 75 and my brother is 81.) From there we hike to Huesden Zolder, Stokrooie, Vlaandern, Zutendaal, and finally Lanaken, our last day in Belgium.

To continue the narrative: From Herselt we hike 9.4 miles to Testelt. It’s in a rural area of Flanders, an area that many people know Flanders from the World War One poem by Canadian physicain Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae: “In Flanders Fields, the poppies blow between the crosses, row on row, that mark our place; and in the sky the larks, still bravely singing, fly scarce heard amid the guns below.” We may get a chance to pay our respects to the honored dead from that particular deady conflict in history – and if so I’ll report on that back home.

But back to Testelt. It’s known mainly for agricultural activities, including crop farming and livestock. It’s near the Albert Canal, “a significant waterway for industrial transport,” but the “quiet, pastoral setting contrasts with its proximity to larger urban centers like Antwerp.” The Demer river flows through town, “creating a scenic valley that has shaped the village’s agricultural landscape for centuries.” And there’s a Bierkroeg Den Hulst, a “cosy Belgian pub” that we may want to visit. (Bierkroeg translates to stein, beer mug or tankard.)

Next day we hike 9.2 miles to Diest, still in Belgium, where we’ll have our third day off.

The site Diest – Discovering Belgium has some suggestions, like Stuckens in Zoutstraat 5, famous for it’s pastries and sweets. (Not to worry; we’ll be burning calories.) See also Diest – Wikipedia, which notes the Grote Markt (Grand Square), to wit: A central square “surrounded by picturesque houses from the 16th to 18th Century.” From there we hike 12 miles to Heusden-Zolder, “nestled in the picturesque province of Limburg… Steeped in history and surrounded by beautiful natural landscapes, this hidden gem offers a delightful mix of cultural attractions and outdoor adventures.” (Those attractions include the iconic Circuit Zolder, a world-renowned racetrack, the site of numerous international events including Formula One races.)

Next day we hike eight miles to Stokrooie, also situated along the Albert Canal, “which bisects the village and significantly altered its landscape.” The sub-municipality “maintains a rural character while benefiting from its integration into the larger urban area of Hasselt.”

Then comes a 9.9 mile hike to Vlaandern, but when I Googled “Vlaandern belgium,” I got led to various sites including Flanders – Wikipedia, but no more information than that. I’ll have to report on that town, city or whatever it is, based on personal observation. (“Something to look forward to.”) Next we head 10.3 miles to Zutendaal, and we may hike through Zutendaal Forest, said to be a sprawling woodland area offering numerous walking paths, “making it an excellent place to unwind, stretch your legs, and enjoy the tranquility of the Flemish landscape.”

It’s also a perfect setting for a morning jog or perhaps some meditation amidst the sounds of nature. Visiting the forest provides an excellent opportunity for quiet reflection after a busy day of meetings, all while enjoying the fresh air and scenic views.

Next we hike 10.5 miles to Lanaken, our last day in Belgium. Located on the Belgian–Dutch border, it’s said to border Maastricht “directly” – note the quotes – and in the 2006 census, some 20 percent of the inhabitants turned out to be Dutch. Thus a number of neighborhoods in Lanaken are “characterized by these immigrants’ numerous villas and exclusive landhouses.” (So we may learn some valuable lessons on how Belgians treat such an influx of immigrants.)

Which brings up our last day hiking. Google says it’s a mere 3.5 miles from Lanaken to the town center of Maastricht, back in Holland, but our spreadsheet says our hike that day will be 8.1 miles. (From our lodging in Lanaken to the one in Maastricht.) Either way, that city – our final hiking destination – is known “for its lively squares, narrow streets, and historic buildings.” It features “1,677 national heritage buildings (rijksmonumenten), more than any Dutch city outside Amsterdam.” (The site 15 Best Things to Do in Maastricht offers some good suggestions.)

Also, while most of Maastricht’s city limits border Belgium’s Flemish region, “a small part to the south also has a border with Wallonia.” (The “Walloon” region that accounts for 55% of Belgium’s territory but only 31% of its population.) And both countries are part of “Europe’s Schengen Area and, thus, are open without border controls.” Definitely good to know.

And speaking of pubs, there’s one that offers “amazing views of Maastricht,” the Bold Rooftopbar, “on top of Sphinxcour.” (Apparently a covered tile passage showing the history of Maastricht.) “Whether you go during the day or at sunset, the view is stunning.” Or the site 09 Best Bars In Maastricht offers some other pub-hopping options – to celebrate the end of a successful hike – which brings us back to my first two days in Amsterdam.

Aside from the Heineken Experience – noted in the first of these three preview posts – there’s also the Café Karpershoek. This place is Amsterdam’s oldest formally recognized pub, dating back to 1606 as shown “through licensing records.” Here the “sand-covered floor follows a centuries-old method used to absorb spills.” And it’s a traditional Brown Café, so called because of the dark wood wall paneling, along with warm lighting and a relaxed atmosphere. “Many developed their appearance over many generations, which is why they feel aged and familiar.”

The thing is, the Café Karpershoek is an eight-minute walk from the Amsterdam Centraal station, which is where I’ll meet up with my hiking partners three days before we start the hike. And that “Centraal” station is where I’ll end up after we part ways in Maastricht. (I’ll head back to Amsterdam; they’ll take a train to Paris and fly home from there.)

So, once I get back to Amsterdam’s central station from Maastricht, I’ll probably stop at the Cafe before heading over to my last two nights lodging by Schiphol airport. (Kind of an Alpha and Omega thing.) And hopefully meditate on the end of memorable 140-mile hike through Holland and Belgium; a hike that ended in “Beautiful Downtown Maastricht, “with its lively squares, historic buildings – and at least one very beautiful bridge. “Looking forward to it!”

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The upper image is courtesy of In Flanders Fields – Wikipedia. Caption: “Illustrated page by Ernest Clegg. Note that the first line ends with ‘grow.'”

Re: Deadly wars. See Why wars are easy to start and hard to end.

Re: Sphinxcour. See Sphinxpassage | Maastricht: “The Sphinxpassage is a 120-metre-long covered tile passage between the Eiffel Building and Pathé. Almost 30,000 tiles bring Maastricht’s Sphinx past to life in words, images and objects.”

Re: The Cafe Karpershoek. See Amsterdam’s Oldest Pubs: Guide to Classic Brown Cafés.

The link “Beautiful Downtown” refers to the phrase “Beautiful Downtown Burbank” first used on the TV show, “Rowan and Martin’s Laugh-In,” which premiered in 1968. The full link name is “Beautiful Downtown Burbank” – wesclark.com. Gary Owens played the announcer who coined the phrase, which “soon caught on and put Burbank on the map with television viewers all across the country.” (What can I say. I’m 75 years old and still remember such things from literally a century ago. Things like “it’s not fried, it’s Shake ‘n’ Bake, and Ah hay-uped.” Two syllables.)

The lower image is courtesy of “Maastricht Images.” With a page, “Welcome to the Netherlands A small country that’s big on culture and nature.”

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Re:  The Israelite.  Harry Golden grew up in the Jewish ghetto of New York City, but eventually moved to Charlotte, North Carolina.  Thus the “Carolina Israelite.”  I on the other hand am a “classic 74-year-old “WASP” – White Anglo-Saxon Protestant – and live in north Georgia.  Thus the “Georgia Wasp.”    

Anyway, in North Carolina Harry wrote and published the “israelite” from the 1940s through the 1960s.  He was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.”  (He told good stories.) That also means if he was around today, the “Israelite would be done as a blog.”  But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life.  As he got older but didn’t turn sour, like many do today.  He still got a kick out of life.  For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.

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Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”

This blog is modeled on the Carolina Israelite. That was an old-time newspaper – more like a personal newsletter – written and published by Harry Golden. Back in the 1950s, people called Harry a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.” (For his work on the Israelite.)

That’s now my goal as well. To be a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.”

For more on the blog-name connection, see the notes below.

In the meantime:

August 8, 2026 – The last post previewed my upcoming hike on the GR-5 in Holland. It started at Hook of Holland, and that post ended with our first day off in Herkingen. If things go like we’ve planned, we’ll have hiked some 51 miles in five days. (From “Hook” south and west to Herkingen.) After that first day off – sleeping two nights in the same bed – we’ll head the 13.3 miles south and east to Tholen. That is, it’s 13.3 miles according to our spreadsheet calculation, but Google Maps says its over 18 miles. (My brother just informed me that “the GR-5 wanders all over the place, rarely along Google’s shortest route.” Which I figured, writing this post, but I’m hoping for this hike down to Tholen the Google estimate is definitely the longer route.)

Either way, this day’s hike could present some challenges:

The municipality [ – of Tholen which takes its name from the town with the same name – ] consists of two peninsulas, formerly islands, the larger one on the south also called Tholen, the smaller one on the north called Sint Philipsland. The two are separated by the former strait, now bay, of Krabbenkreek. The municipality is bordered on the east by the Eendracht, once a Scheldt branch but now part of the Scheldt-Rhine Canal, crossed by three road bridges, by the Oosterschelde estuary to the south, the straits of Keeten–Mastgat to the west and the Krammer strait to the north.

In other words the place is surrounded by water, but a look at the Google Map route from Herkingen to Tholen shows some of the challenges a lot better. From Herkingen we may hike along the coast of South Holland Island with a wide body of water on our right. Then we may cross that wide body of water, via the N59 bridge until we reach the N257 and turn south(ish) and do a bunch of what looks like island-hopping.

Back on relative solid ground (according to Google) you reach Slikken van De Heen, “a beautiful nature reserve where land and sea meet. At low tide, mudflats and sandbanks emerge … a mosaic of creeks, grasslands and rugged nature.” And we may get to hear geese and ducks, plus “sometimes feel the salty wind blowing across the area from the Oosterschelde.”

But then there’s the site, GR®5 Segment 1.5: Herkingen – Nieuw Vossemeer, about that route from Herkingen to Tholen. It says the distance from Herkingen to Tholen is 15.3 miles, but shows Nieuw-Vossemeer as 6.3 miles short of Thoren. In other words, it’s in between the two ends of that one day’s hike. On the other hand, Google shows the walking distance from Herkingen to Nieuw-Vossemeer as 13.3 miles, so “something definitely doesn’t add up!”

The route leads hikers from Herkingen across the Grevelingendam onto the island of Tholen… Along the way, the path passes the Philips Dam and offers expansive views over the Krammer and Volkerak waters… In both Herkingen and Nieuw-Vossemeer, small-scale supermarkets and restaurants are available for necessary supplies.

That last is something to keep in mind, but assuming we do end up in Tholen – after however many miles – the next day we hike on to Bergen op Zoom. And by the way, for purposes of simplicity from here on I’ll refer to the Google Maps route. When I get home I’ll report back on the way we actually hiked. (Which is why I call these preview posts my pre-hike “recon.”)

Anyway, leaving town we’ll cross the Tholen bridge that connects North Holland and Zeeland. “This white arch bridge, which is part of the N286, crosses the Scheldt–Rhine Canal. South of the bridge you can find Tholen’s harbor. A marina with a historic shipyard sits near the old town center.” Bergen – our day’s destination – is in the province of North Brabant, with lots of hills formed by sandy soil pushing up against the marine clay, and locals “called those hills the Brabantse Wal, literally meaning ‘ramparts of Brabant.'” As for the town name, “Zoom refers to the border of these ramparts and bergen in Dutch means mountains or hills.”

That last is not something I’d look forward to, hiking over more mountains or hills. (After earlier hikes on the Chilkoot Trail, Pyrenees Mountains, the Way of St. Francis, and the Robert Louis Stevenson Trail over and through the rugged Cévennes Mountains in France?)

Google Maps says it’s 5.3 miles from Thoren to Bergen op Zoom, while our spreadsheet says it’s 9.1 miles. Which brings up one thing to note: In many if not most earlier Camino hikes – where, “at the end of each day you look forward to a warm bed, hot shower and cold beer” – we’ve had a guidebook available. But not so much, apparently, for just this first part of the GR-5. There are some guidebooks but they focus more on the more picturesque and challenging parts; the GR-5 going through France and especially over the Alps. (“Not this year!”)

And one more thing: Writing up this post I discovered two links – included in the Notes – that give a better idea of how the GR-5 in Holland and Belgium “wanders all over the place.”

Back to the hike. From Bergen op Zoom we hike 12.7 miles to Kalmthout, just inside Belgium. And for once the Google Map estimate isn’t that far off: The shortest estimate is 13.2 compared to our 12.7 miles. And Google seems to show that we’ll pass through the Kalmthoutse Heide, as in: “Discover the almost sacred silence of Grenspark Kalmthoutse Heide. This hike takes you past sand dunes, fens, grazing sheep and stunning panoramic views.”

Moving on through Belgium, we’ll hike 10.6 miles from Kalmthout to Brecht, a “charming town” in the Flanders region. Famous for picturesque streets, historic buildings and “cozy cafes serving delicious Belgian waffles.” For nature lovers, “lush forests and scenic countryside, making it an ideal destination for hiking, cycling, and exploring the great outdoors.” To get there we’ll head east to Wuustwezel, then southeast. (Per Google Maps, which says it’s 9.3 miles.)

From Brecht we hike the 8.6 miles to Zoersel, and our second day off. (Google Maps says it’s about seven miles, but our spreadsheet says it’s more like 8.6 miles.) Highlights include the Zoersel Town Hall, Saint Martin’s Church and the Park of Zoersel:

…nestled in the picturesque region of Flanders, Belgium, [the Park] is a tranquil oasis that offers visitors a serene environment to unwind and connect with nature. Located in the charming municipality of Zoersel, this park is renowned for its lush greenery, meandering pathways, and diverse wildlife. It serves as a perfect spot for both locals and tourists seeking respite from the hustle and bustle of everyday life.

Which sounds perfect for that second day off from hiking. But see also Surcele Oaked Pub – the name refers to the oldest name of Zoersel and literally means acidic (sur) soils (cele) – and also De Sjoks, Zoersel, known for it “great beer selection.” I may have to visit both places on the two-night-one-full-day, to compare and contrast.

From there we hike to Herentals and Herselt, where this post ends, with one preview post left to get to Maastricht. Google Maps says it’s 10.7 miles to Herentals from Zoersel, while our spreadsheet says it’s another 13.3 mile hike. Interestingly, the 10.7-mile Google route passes through a small village spelled “Einhoven,” remarkably similar to Eindhoven, Netherlands, of the Second World War’s Operation Market Garden fame. The Eindhoven in Netherlands is 37 miles east of Zoersel, but that’s the city I got when I tried to Google the “Einhoven” in Belgium. Which is something else I’ll have to report back on when I get home. along with the discrepancies between our spreadsheet and the Google Maps estimate of miles hiked in a day.

And Herselt offerss “expansive forests and rolling hills … a picturesque rural landscape:”

Herselt is situated in the Campine (Kempen) region of northeastern Belgium, characterized by predominantly flat terrain typical of this sandy plateau. The landscape features gentle slopes and low elevations, averaging around 16 meters above sea level, with local variations that facilitate surface runoff during heavy rainfall. This flat Campine topography, formed by sandy deposits from glacial and fluvial processes, influences local drainage patterns and limits relief to subtle undulations

Not to mention the statue below, “Wandeling dorpskern Herselt,” which may illustrate just how we three travelers will feeling limping into town after another 13.3 mile hike.

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The upper image is courtesy of “Herkingen,” Images. It came with a page “Herkingen, eine Ortschaft am Grevelingenmeer,” which can be translated into English. (And incidentally, in Dutch the “Hoek” in Hoek of Holland can mean either “corner” or “cape.”) As for Herkingen itself:

Thanks to its beautiful location on the Grevelingenmeer, Herkingen is a popular holiday destination for water sports enthusiasts on Goeree-Overflakkee. Here you will find water, beach and the vast Dutch landscape that will make you forget the hustle and bustle of everyday life. The modern marina and good restaurants are other reasons for a relaxing holiday in Herkingen. Herkingen offers pure pleasure.

And about those earlier Camino hikes – and the Chilkoot Trail, where at the end of each day we definitely did not have a warm bed, hot shower and a cold beer: Use the search engine above right for links to past posts.

The site GR®5 the Netherlands, South Holland, Netherlands – Map, Guide shows the actual route, with different lodging sites different from ours. The site GR 5 Belgium: North Sea to Alps Hiking Guide gives some good information on this part of the hike.

Actually there is a GR5 walking guidebook – trek from Hoek van Holland, or “The GR5 Trail – Benelux and Lorraine,” but it’s 19 Euros and covers more than double what we need. (327 miles to our 140.) See also The GR5 in the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, Lorraine, etc.

A note. After our second day off in Zorsel, we hike on to Herentals, Herselt, Testelt and Diest, still in Belgium, where we’ll have our third day off. (Hey, I’m 75 and my brother is 81.) From there we hike to Huesden Zolder, Stokrooie, Vlaandern, Zutendaal, and finally Lanaken, our last day in Belgium. And since this post ends with Herselt, the next post will begin with the hike from there to Testelt. (And yes, lots of funny names.)

The full link: Zoersel Travel Guide: Top 10 Must-Visit Tourist Places.

The lower image is courtesy of “Herselt belgium Images.” See also “Wandeling dorpskern Herselt | Wandelroute | WandelWeb, which seems to show a hill 40 meters high at the start of that day’s hike?

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Re:  The Israelite.  Harry Golden grew up in the Jewish ghetto of New York City, but eventually moved to Charlotte, North Carolina.  Thus the “Carolina Israelite.”  I on the other hand am a “classic 74-year-old “WASP” – White Anglo-Saxon Protestant – and live in north Georgia.  Thus the “Georgia Wasp.”    

Anyway, in North Carolina Harry wrote and published the “israelite” from the 1940s through the 1960s.  He was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.”  (He told good stories.) That also means if he was around today, the “Israelite would be done as a blog.”  But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life.  As he got older but didn’t turn sour, like many do today.  He still got a kick out of life.  For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.

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August 1, 2026 – I’m taking a break from doing posts about my two-week driving trip last May in Ireland. This post will preview an adventure that’s coming up later this month.

My brother, his wife and I will be hiking 140 miles on the GR-5. It starts at the Hook of Holland in the Netherlands and crosses Belgium and Luxembourg before moving into France. (The “GR” stands for a series of long-distance walking trails throughout Europe; the translations in various languages generally mean “‘long trail’ or more literally ‘great route.'”) The whole GR-5 runs over 700 miles and ends up in Nice, France, on the Mediterranean coast, but we’re only going as far as Maastricht. (And to get there we’ll hike through Belgium for not quite two weeks.)

For starters: I’ll fly over and spend four days in Amsterdam. Two of those days I’ll be on my own, then I’ll meet up with my brother and his wife. (Flying into Paris and taking the train over from there.) After those two family days we’ll take the train to “Hoek van Holland,” spend the night there and start the hike the next day. (BTW: For what to do those four days see The Ultimate 3-Day Amsterdam Itinerary (By A Local). One idea? Beers & Barrels on Rembrandtplein.)

Another idea? The Heineken Experience, close to the Albert Cuypmarket:

This tour gives you access to the old brewery and the first brew room, where the beer was produced before the company grew too big and moved elsewhere. You’ll learn everything about Heineken and end up on the roof terrace where you can enjoy two beers, included in the tour. With your I Amsterdam City Card you get a 25% discount, but tours must be booked with your card in advance.

By the way, according to the 3-Day itinerary site, a “72-hour I Amsterdam City Card costs €100 ($110) and fits perfectly with this three-day itinerary. It saves you money in the end. It includes public transport within the city, free entry to a lot of museums, a free canal cruise and a free one-day bicycle rental.” Plus you get a 25% discount to the Heineken Experience. (The City Card site says you can get a three day card for much less, though without the discounts?)

But enough about that; on to the hike itself. From Hook of Holland we’ll pass through Rozenburg, Brielle, Hellevoetsluis, Goedereed and Herkingen. There we’ll stay two nights – and enjoy a day off. After that first day off, we pass through Tholen, Bergen op Zoom, then on to Kalmthout in Belgium. Passing through Belgium, we’ll go through Brecht and Zorsel; there for two nights and a second day off. From there we hike to Herentals, Herselt, Testelt and Diest, still in Belgium, where we’ll have our third day off. (Hey, I’m 75 and my brother is 81.) From there we hike to Huesden Zolder, Stokrooie, Vlaandern, Zutendaal, and finally Lanaken, our last day in Belgium.

On our last day hiking we’ll get back into Holland and end up at Maastricht. After two days there – recuperating – we’ll part ways. My hiking partners will take the train to Paris and then fly home. I’ll take the train up to Arnhem and stay for one night, then head back to Amsterdam. I’ll spend one night there, then fly home to Atlanta. And now for some specifics.

The first 93 miles in Holland – down to the Belgian border near Bergen op Zoom – start off with a diverse landscape of expansive dunes and maritime forests along the Zeeland islands.

The first day’s hike ends in Rozenburg, after 13 miles. (One of our longest days?) It’s on Rozenburg Island, “formed centuries ago from several sand bars in the mouth of the river Maas.” (Aka the Meuse.) Our spreadsheet says it’s 13 miles, but Google Maps says it 13 kilometers or 8.3 miles. Either way it’s mostly flat along the river, plus there’s a ferry. (Says Google.)

I’ll report back on that when I get home, but here’s a note from experience. The Google-Map way usually follows highways, as I found out hiking the Canterbury Trail last year. (See Clackett Lane to Dunton Green: “That Google Map way led to series of near-death experiences, in the form of cars zipping by at high speeds with little or no room on the side of the road.”)

And all this for a total of 23 days on the trail; 20 hiking and three days off in between.

Now back to the specifics. After Rozenburg we’ll hike 6.5 miles to Brielle, a historic seaport “on the north side of the island of Voorne-Putten, at the mouth of the New Maas.” And again, our spreadsheet differs from the Google Maps, which says 4.8 miles. (One possible reason: Google tracks its maps from one center of a town to the center of another, while our spreadsheet is based on “lodging to lodging.”) Also, Brielle is on the far outskirts of Rotterdam.

From Brielle we hike to Hellevoetsluis, “with the sea, beach and dunes close by.” It features “2,000 mooring places, spread over five harbours. With such a broad expanse of water as the Haringvliet and the North Sea close by, it is popular with water sports lovers.” And yet again there’s a discrepancy in mileage, but we’ll end up north of town, close to where the N57 bridge crosses the Haringvliet. That’s a large inlet of the North Sea and “an important estuary of the Rhine-Meuse delta.” (Our spreadsheet says that day’s hike is 13.6 miles.)

From Hellevoetsluis it’s 6.2 miles to Goedereede. In the Middle Ages it was an important trading town with ramparts, and the name means “safe harbor” or safe anchorage. And to get there we’re apparently going to have to walk across that N57 bridge? (For quite a ways it looks like.) And for once Google Maps is close to our estimate.

That’s also true of the next day’s hike, to Herkingen, where for the first time we head south, instead of north or west. (Actually south-southeast.) Herkingen itself is a village in the Dutch province of South Holland, “on the south coast of the island Goeree-Overflakkee, in the municipality of Goeree-Overflakkee.” (And Goeree-Overflakkee is a delta island, the largest island by land area in the Netherlands after the man-made Flevopolder.”)

In Herkingen we stay two nights – and enjoy our first day off from hiking. One note: The town “currently hosts several of the largest modern windmills in the country.” Something to look forward to, exploring, along with “several pubs and cafés that provide a cozy atmosphere and local cuisine.” Next up, on to Tholen, Bergen op Zoom, and then Kalmthout in Belgium.

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The upper image is courtesy of the Ultimate 3-Day Amsterdam Itinerary.

The link GR®5 the Netherlands notes: “The GR®5 in the Netherlands covers approximately 93 miles (155km) from Hook of Holland to the Belgian border near Bergen op Zoom. This route traverses a diverse landscape of expansive dunes, maritime forests, and the impressive Delta Works along the Zeeland islands.” The link GR5: NL section – Into the hike adds:

This is the first section of GR5, beginning in Hoek van Holland, a town next to the North sea, and ending in Bergen op Zoom. As Caroll Dorgan describes in his guidebook, the altitude change is negligible, but if you think it’s a boring hike, well, think again. I was amazed by the beauty of the coastal Netherlands, the friendliness of people I’ve met and the variety of fauna on the trail. This was also my first multi-day hike alone, earning a special place in my heart. 

The lower image is courtesy of Herkingen – Wikipedia. Another note: The place “offers several pubs and cafés that provide a cozy atmosphere and local cuisine.”

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July 28, 2026 – The last post explored our May ’26 driving trip in Ireland from Dunboy Castle – on May 12, “much of it along Bantry Bay” – over to Killarney. (In County Kerry, southwest Ireland.) On that long day, and the days before that, we kept checking the weather forecast for Portmagee on May 13. There in Killarney, late on May 12, we finally got the bad news: The winds next day would be way too choppy. (“Sustained winds over 28 mph, gusts above 41 mph.”)

That is, way too choppy for me to take the tiny-boat-ride I’d reserved, seven miles out from Portmagee into the stormy Atlantic. There – if the winds had been under 20 miles per hour – I could have climbed gingerly down from the boat onto the tiny dock at Skellig Michael. Once ashore I would then have tried to climb the rugged path up to the top; “not a place for people with mobility difficulties, or kids; ‘It’s just too easy to fall off the path.’” That was the bad news.

The good news? We didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn to make the 10:00 a.m. boat. (Though actually I had to be at the dock at something like 9:30.) But we did go down to Portmagee, later in the day, and there we visited The Skellig Experience Visitor Centre. (Where we learned that the rugged island is where they filmed some scenes in Star Wars VII. As Wikipedia noted: “On July 28, 2014, filming took place over three days at Skellig Michael.”)

Because we didn’t have to make the 10:00 a.m. boat we took our time heading down. On the way we stopped at the Cahergall stone ring fort (“cashel” in Irish), 40 miles west-southwest of Killarney and 11 miles shy of Portmagee. The ring fort was built around 600 AD and is said to be one of the best examples of an early medieval stone fort on the Ring of Kerry. You can see lots of good picture at Visiting Cahergall and Leacanabuaile- Irish Stone Ringforts, but here’s one man’s take: “The fort was so much bigger than I anticipated, its dry stone wall approximately 6 metres high and 3 metres thick. I felt so tiny when I stood beside it!” Other thoughts:

Another interesting feature of the fort was the flights of steps and terraces all around the inner face of the wall. I wasn’t expecting to be able to climb up and walk the circumference of the fort… The 360-degree view from the top of Cahergall stone fort was wonderful! I could see Ballycarbery Castle and the harbor off in the distance, farmhouses with sheep roaming the fields, and the surrounding green and brown hills.

In plain words, exploring the fort was not for the faint of heart, nor those with bum knees, so I explored the place – wearing 10 pounds of ankle weights to bun off some beer calories – while my partner waited back near the gate. (It was a very steep and rocky climb up to the fort.)

I took my time coming back down, after getting a good workout clambering about those walls; the path itself was made of jagged more-or-less flat-but-slippery rocks. Once back down, “at the gate to the stone fort, a local guy approached us and made conversation, then asked if we wanted to hold the lamb. Of course we did!” That’s what my partner wrote, about how we got the memory of a cute photo of her holding the fuzzy, well-behaved and adorable lamb as I stand to the left, leaning in. And in that photo I’m wearing multiple layers, much of what I’d packed.

Leaving the stone fort we took the Castlequin road to a body of water west of where the River Ferta widens (considerably), then crossed the bridge to Cahersiveen, still nine miles short of Portmagee. There we stopped for brunch at Bari Café Kerry. We split a quiche, very substantial actually, that included some kind of rhubarb compote; very tasty.

And I had a large steaming-hot cup of coffee.

Then came The Skellig Experience, in Portmagee. It featured “the magic and mystery of these famous rocks to you through graphics, film presentation, models, exhibition items, reconstruction and the sound of sea birds and lighthouse keeper ship to shore communication.” Over 1400 years ago – on this End of the World – “Skellig Michael became home to a small group of men seeking religious solitude and isolation on one of the most extraordinary locations on earth.”

It was a great place, fascinating exhibits, but not the real thing. (Thus the “wait’ll next year!”)

After the Skelling Experience we drove to the Cliffs of Kerry, or the Kerry Cliffs, which “stand over 1000 ft above the wild Atlantic and were formed in a desert environment 400 million years ago. Out to the west stand the amazing Skellig Rocks,” including Skellig Michael.

The Kerry Cliffs link included lots of dramatic pictures, then added this observation:

Allow a minimum of 1 hour for a visit to the Kerry Cliffs; many visitors spend a few hours relaxing and bird watching for many hours and even return the next day or another day during their vacation. It is recommended to stay overnight in the local village of Portmagee (Ireland’s top tourist town 2012) to make the most of your visit; to enjoy the local culture and traditional Irish music.

Which is another good reason for that “wait’ll next year,” or some time after that. In other words, we now have two good reasons to go back to Ireland at least one more time. For me to take the boat out to Skelling Michael (and climb to the top), and also to spend a night in Portmagee. There – among other things – we could spend a good hour or more enjoying the Cliffs of Kerry. But on that gusty May 13, 2026, the place was cold.

I walked out to the sheer cliffs that plummet a thousand feet down to the rocky shore below, where wind-tossed Atlantic waves crash and tumble. Out near the edge of one cliff I took a video-selfie. It showed the gusting wind whipping the hood of my rain jacket all about my face and neck; the rain jacket I wore for extra warmth, topped by a doo-rag to cover my ears and keep the wind from howling down my collar. (Did I mention that it was cold, mostly because of the wind?) It felt invigorating, for a time anyway, but it was also cold – and gusty.

On the way back to Killarney we stopped again in Caherciveen (different spelling) at Craineens Bar, “5:00 Ireland time, on the way back from the VERY windy Cliffs of Kerry the other side of Portmagee. Tonight, a pub dinner with traditional Irish music?” And so it happened.

Or as my partner wrote, “To top off the day, traditional Irish music at this place” – O’Connor’s Traditional Irish Pub – “on High Street in Killarney. Introduced ourselves as from Georgia, they played ‘The Devil went down to Georgia.'” Which is being interpreted: When we got there the place was packed, and the only seats were right up front, where the two troubadours shown below sat, their backs to the window out onto High Street. The fiddle player, not two feet away, saw my “LA” hat and asked if I was from California. I said “No, I’m from Georgia.”

From there we played a guessing game; I guessed that the one song they knew about Georgia was “Georgia on my mind,” by Ray Charles. “Wrong!” They knew The Devil went down to Georgia, and proceeded to play that. But I had a bit better luck later, when the duo knew and played The Mountains of Mourne, “a whimsical look at the styles, attitudes and fashions of late nineteenth-century London as seen from the point of view of an emigrant laborer from a village near the Mourne Mountains.” And that’s one of the two main reasons I wanted to come to Ireland: To climb Skellig Michael and also to see “where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea.” (From the Don McLean version that always gets me right there at the end.)

The thing is, I remembered the Strand from Don’s version because I was there last year:

You remember young Denny McClaren, of course
But he’s over here working with the rest of the force
I saw him one day as he stood on The Strand
And he stopped all the traffic with a wave of his hand…

Last year I was in London, on August 7, waiting for my brother to fly over and from there we’d start hiking the Canterbury Trail. I wrote of that day that – on my own – and after “hiking down The Strand I headed over to the Thames Path, then west to Waterloo Bridge. Once across the river I took the 77 bus from Waterloo Station down to Nine Elms. Heading home I stopped at The Nott for a pint and nodded to a now-familiar local or two.”

Again, that was last year, but while I stood on The Strand I didn’t stop any traffic, with or without a wave of my hand. (It was more like I was trying to remember that when crossing a street in London, you have to remember that the car or bus that may run your ass over won’t be coming from the left, it’ll be coming from the right.) But back to the Mountains of Mourne, and listening to the two troubadours below singing it, and remembering that it’s such a haunting song that seeing “where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea” has been on my Bucket List a long, long time. The last two lines tell of the narrator, standing on the Strand with Denny McLaren (as I remember it), and both longing for home: “But for all his great powers, he’s wishful like me, to be back where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea.”

Like I said, those last two lines always get me right there at the end, as they speak of a longing for a time that wasn’t so hectic and troubling, a simpler time when life seemed so much better. And that’s why seeing the Mountains of Mourne was one of the two things I wanted to experience on this trip to Ireland. That “hiking to the top of Skellig Michael” turned out be a bust, but seeing where the dark Mourne sweeps down to the sea is a story for a later post.

In the meantime we enjoyed the authentic Irish music, in a traditional Irish pub, with a pint of authentic Guinness to go with it, all of which made for a cherished-memory Irish evening.

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The upper image is courtesy of Visiting Cahergall and Leacanabuaile- Irish Stone Ringforts.

Re: “Wait’ll next year!” As always, that depends on circumstances, many beyond one’s control. But “we” would definitely like to go back to Ireland at least one more time. But one caveat: To try harder to get that compact car we originally wanted, not the large SUV that kept scraping the many stone walls that lined the narrow roads.

About that stop at Craineens Bar, in Caherciveen, at “5:00 Ireland time.” As I recall I had a celebratory pint there, cold weather be darned. I figured I’d earned it. “It’s Five O’Clock Somewhere…”

See Mountains of Mourne, and also My Mourne Mountains Guide: Walks, History + More.

Re: Me on the Strand in London. See In London – August 7 and 8, 2025.

My partner informs me that she took the lower photo.

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Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”

This blog is modeled on the Carolina Israelite. That was an old-time newspaper – more like a personal newsletter – written and published by Harry Golden. Back in the 1950s, people called Harry a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.” (For his work on the Israelite.)

That’s now my goal as well. To be a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.”

For more on the blog-name connection, see the notes below.

In the meantime:

July 20, 2026 – The last post got our May ’26 driving trip in Ireland from Cork to the Drombeg stone circle, 41 miles south and hard by the coast. From there it was a bit over two miles to Glandore Inn for lunch, a place that Brian (from Cork) suggested. And about learning how to “adapt, improvise and overcome” is essential to a successful travel-trip, especially renting a car in Ireland. (With it’s “drive on the left side, not the right” and those narrow, twisting roads too often lined by thick stone walls six inches from the side of your rental car.)

Glandore is said to be “one of the most beautiful and most scenic villages in West Cork, positioned on rising ground overlooking Glandore Bay.” And the Glandore Inn provides “commanding views across the bay and the islands of Adam and Eve guarding the entrance to Glandore Bay and the harbour.” (As for those Adam and Eve rocks in the bay, the sailing directions are “to avoid Adam and hug Eve.”) For lunch we shared a “great veggie soup of the day with dark bread while sitting outside viewing the bay.” And as we were to learn, sunny days were rare that May.

From there – on Tuesday, May 12 – we drove 60 miles to Dunboy Castle, much of it along Bantry Bay in southwest Ireland. Built in the 16th century, it’s opposite Bere Island to the east. (Also called Bear Island, though officially it’s An tOileán Mór, or “the big island.”) The castle served as stronghold of the O’Sullivan family, “a prominent Gaelic clan.” (And my partner’s paternal grandmother was a direct descendant.) Strategically located on a rocky outcrop on Beara Peninsula overlooking the sea, it was destroyed in 1652 “during the Cromwellian conquest of Ireland.” (Memorialized by the plaque at left.)

That is, in the summer of 1602 it was the scene of the noted Siege of Dunboy: 

Elizabeth I had sent a 5000-strong army under the command of Sir George Carew to suppress the insurgents. Even with its small garrison of 143 men, Dunboy Castle was thought to be impregnable but following a fierce artillery bombardment the walls were smashed and after some desperate hand-to-hand fighting amid the rubble the defenders were finally overcome. The 58 survivors of the two-week siege were executed in the nearby market square.

Today it’s in ruins – “reflecting the turbulent past of Ireland” – but still a popular tourist attraction offering scenic views. I don’t remember seeing any other tourists that day, possibly because the footing was shaky, especially for my partner, still nursing a tender knee. Still, the sunny afternoon was perfect, delightfully cool but not cold, and we got lots of good pictures.

In the meantime, we kept watching the weather forecasts. The next morning, May 13, I was scheduled to catch the early boat in Portmagee, and from there I’d ride the choppy waters in a small boat, seven miles out into the Atlantic, to Skellig Michael, “a rocky island off the coast of County Kerry, Ireland, with a Gaelic monastery and a World Heritage Site.” Once there, I could climb to the top of the peak in a hike that can only be described as “arduous:”

First off, “600 steps to climb, most of them jagged slabs of rock.” This guy proceeded “at a snail’s pace, keeping my eye on every step.” And places to stop and rest were few and far between: “At times there was literally nowhere to stop but the steps themselves, as you’d pitch over the side of a cliff.” It’s not a place for people with mobility difficulties, or kids; “It’s just too easy to fall off the path.” (There is a helicopter pad on the island, “just in case.”) You bring your own food and plenty of water. And there are no toilets on the island, so take care of that on the boat ride out?

(That’s from last April 14’s A preview of Ireland – 2026.) The big problem? Getting there.

The dock on the island is very small, as is the boat taking you out there. And being seven miles out, the swells of the Atlantic can toss such a small boat like a cork, so the general rule is “no go if the wind goes above 20 miles an hour.” The forecast that next day? Winds averaging 28 miles an hour, and gusting even higher. But we had to wait for the official word from the tour company to find out for sure. (And get the 100-plus-dollars-or-pounds refund.)

The other problem? If the trip was on we’d have to leave our lodging at 8:00 in the morning, meaning we’d have to get up way earlier than that. (And hope for no bad traffic.) And speaking of lodging, it was 60 miles from Dunboy Castle to “Haven Suites Killarney Self Catering.”

In Killarney’s center, these self-catering apartments feature a welcome pack on arrival and scenic mountain and cathedral views. With free private parking and free WiFi, they are just 1.2 mi from the Lakes of Killarney. Each lounge area in Haven Suites – Killarney Self Catering apartments features a balcony and a TV/DVD player. A fully equipped kitchen is offered in every apartment, including an oven and microwave, a fridge, toaster and kitchen utensils.

So we kept checking the forecast, and meanwhile, driving toward Killarney “there was a minor incident.” I was driving, on the left side of the road. The landscape was sunny but sere, as in dried up or withered, with small rolling hills the color of wheat grass. It was all very enchanting, in a haunting Irish way, then came the incident. The road to the left was lined with a shallow gulley, and in my reverie my mind wandered just a bit. The wheels went off the road, just a bit, but enough to rattle me considerably, trying to get the car back under control.

(“A lesson for all you young kids out there!”)

From there my partner graciously took over the driving duties and we got to Killarney without further ado. We stopped briefly at Tesco in town, then found the apartment “great.” But we were tired from the day’s exertions, so I went out, walking, to a nearby pub for takeout fish & chip. (With a pint while waiting to settle my nerves.) And when I got back to the apartment and checked my email, there it was. The cruise out to Skellig Michael was officially cancelled. That meant we could sleep in a bit and wake up refreshed, ready for further adventures.

In the meantime, and about that trip out to Skellig Michael – “Wait till next year!”

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The upper image is courtesy of Dunboy Castle – Wikipedia, along with the plaque photo below it. Caption: “Plaque on castle wall. Translation from Irish: ‘In memory of the heroes who fell in Dunboy on behalf of country and faith in June 1602. May their souls rest in peace.'”

See wait till next year — Baseball Dictionary – Baseball Almanac: “The plaintive mantra of fans whose team has once again fallen short of expectations; a baseball euphemism for a season gone awry.” Also Wait Till Next Year by Doris Kearns Goodwin | Goodreads, and Wait ‘Til Next Year: The Fan Bases That Never Catch a Break: “For fans of certain MLB teams … tested through generations of near-misses, epic collapses, and perpetual rebuilding. Here are the 13 MLB fan bases that have endured the most emotional roller-coasters, empty Octobers, and ‘wait till next year’ mantras.”

The lower image is courtesy of Skellig Michael – Wikipedia. Caption: “Path to Christ’s Saddle.”

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Re:  The Israelite.  Harry Golden grew up in the Jewish ghetto of New York City, but eventually moved to Charlotte, North Carolina.  Thus the “Carolina Israelite.”  I on the other hand am a “classic 74-year-old “WASP” – White Anglo-Saxon Protestant – and live in north Georgia.  Thus the “Georgia Wasp.”    

Anyway, in North Carolina Harry wrote and published the “israelite” from the 1940s through the 1960s.  He was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.”  (He told good stories.) That also means if he was around today, the “Israelite would be done as a blog.”  But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life.  As he got older but didn’t turn sour, like many do today.  He still got a kick out of life.  For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.

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Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”

This blog is modeled on the Carolina Israelite. That was an old-time newspaper – more like a personal newsletter – written and published by Harry Golden. Back in the 1950s, people called Harry a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.” (For his work on the Israelite.)

That’s now my goal as well. To be a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.”

For more on the blog-name connection, see the notes below.

In the meantime:

July 16, 2026 – The last post ended by describing our 60-mile drive from the Rock of Cashel – in County Tipperary – down to Cork. (“In good time and a lot less stress,” thanks to the wide four-lane M8 highway.) Only to arrive at what turned out to be a “very crappy hotel in Cork.”

Let’s just say it was on Leitrim Street, north of the River Lee, and leave it at that. The townhouse with rooms upstairs had a new and strange way to put the entry code in the box by the door, and only after a friendly passerby helped out could we figure how to get in. (No instructions from the landlord and the method was definitely “new under the sun, Qoheleth.”)

Once inside we had to climb steep and narrow stairs up to the “first floor” – really the second floor as they call it in Europe – and those stairs were covered with two thick layers of carpet. That made the footing even trickier for my partner with the bum knee. The room itself was nothing to write home about, as the saying goes, so to escape that and also burn off some beer calories I put on leg weights and hiked around town a bit. Up to Hardwick Street then down St. Patrick’s Hill to the river, then via Camden Place to where it turns into Pope Quay and back.

Then came the metaphoric triumph after the crappy-place ordeal.

My partner had not long ago retired from a high-tech job that had offices and people spread all over the world, and she managed to keep in touch with many of them overseas, especially London and Ireland. Two of them lived near Cork, and one of them, Brian, picked us up at 6:45 and drove us the three minutes across the river to Luigi Malone’s, where we met up with Ash. The verdict? “Great meal, terrific company.” But we were just getting started.

From Luigi’s we walked the two minutes to Jim Cashmans, the pub shown at the top of the page. (Offering “a delightful blend of traditional Irish charm and vibrant nightlife energy. This pub is known for its cozy yet fashionable ambiance, making it a perfect spot to catch up with friends.”) Also, “Jim Cashmans promises an affordable and memorable night out.” And Jim delivered.

But first, a note about my name-confusion. In writing up this post I kept looking for the “Murphy’s Pub” in Cork, based on the big “Murphy’s” sign outside. I found out there’s a Murphy’s Rock Bar, Ballincollie Rd, but that’s over two miles north of Luigi Malone’s. Then a Murphy’s Chip Bar, 76 Gerald Griffin St, but that was a 13-minute walk northwest, not the two minutes we actually walked from Luigi’s. Finally a Noel Murphy’s Pub, 1 Pearse Square, Ballyphehane, but that was a 34-minute walk south of Luigi’s. All very confusing and very frustrating.

But then my partner took a closer look at the picture I took, and saw down below the name “Cashmans” in smaller reddish print that blended into the brickwork, and also the street sign “Academy” which made things easier. (A lesson for all you young kids out there: “Read the fine print.”) The big name “Murphy’s” actually referred to the Irish stout brewed at Murphy’s Brewery in Cork. (Now “owned and distributed by the Dutch brewer Heineken N.V.”)

And for the benefit of beer connoisseurs – and also stout and Irish ale aficionados:

It is brewed to be less heavy and less bitter than its chief competitor Guinness. Its flavour is evocative of caramel and malt, and is described as “a distant relative of chocolate milk.” The resemblance to milk extends beyond flavour to texture: Murphy’s is free from any hint of carbonation, and is delivered “black as strong cappuccino” with an inch of foam – the head – on top. The water of the River Lee in Cork allegedly gave Murphy’s its quality.

If I recall correctly I may have had a second Murphy’s Irish stout at Cashmans – and my verdict was “not bad, actually.” But that memory was overshadowed by another one that made this a most memorable night on the town. And led to the note that came later: “Pub had very enthusiastic soccer fans screaming for their team.” Very enthusiastic. Here’s what happened.

It didn’t take long to figure out the local-fave was the Tottenham Hotspurs. They led 1-0 with a mere minute left to go. But then – at the last minute – the enemy team scored and tied the game. That led to a loud and reverberating “F’ing bollocks” from an intense local fan sitting two tables closer to the TV. (Though without the single quotation mark indicating three letters left out.) And that was the first time I’d ever heard such a loud and creative “expression of disapprobation.” Which leads to why I travel. To enjoy the local color, away from all those bland, boring touristy types – and sometimes learn a new expression that shows just how creative the English language can be. (And led me to some etymology research; see the Notes.)

After that highlight of the night – and much chuckling into a Murphy’s Irish Stout – Brian drove us back to our place-for-the-night on Leitrim. Ash got out and walked us to the door; by coincidence she both lived nearby and was familiar with the townhouse apartments. “Does it still have those steep narrow stairs covered with two layers of thick carpet?” (Yes, it did.)

Tuesday morning, May 12, we tried to wash some clothes on the first floor combination laundry and kitchen, but darned if we could get the washer to work. (Again, no guidance from the management.) I drove out of Cork and we ended up stopping for breakfast at the Amberley Store and Bakery, Glen Road, ten minutes south of downtown Cork, near the airport, via the N27. (Thankfully, one of the rare wide-enough roads in Ireland.) From there we drove southwest the 41 miles to see the Drombeg stone circle, right by the coast. From there it was a bit over two miles to Glandore Inn for lunch, a place Brian suggested. All of which is a story for next time – except the not-able-to-do-laundry part. But that’s travel: “Adapt, Improvise, Overcome.”

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The upper image is courtesy of “jim cashmans pub cork ireland” Images.

Bollocks – Wikipedia says the word of Middle English origin meaning testicles “is often used in British English and Irish English in a multitude of negative ways.” It’s often used as an expletive indicating “contempt for a certain subject or opinion. Conversely, the word also appears in positive phrases such as ‘the dog’s bollocks’ or more simply ‘the bollocks,’ which will refer to something which is admired or well-respected.” (I didn’t know about that last “respected” part.)

The link  “Adapt, Improvise, Overcome” indicates that the phrase was born out of necessity during World War II, “when traditional military tactics often failed against unpredictable enemies.” It later became a “cultural mantra” for resilience, problem-solving, and adaptability; a “timeless framework for overcoming adversity,”

The lower image is courtesy of Drombeg stone circle – Wikipedia. Also, at Glandore “We got cream of veg soup and good brown bread,” again, a story for next time.

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Re:  The Israelite.  Harry Golden grew up in the Jewish ghetto of New York City, but eventually moved to Charlotte, North Carolina.  Thus the “Carolina Israelite.”  I on the other hand am a “classic 74-year-old “WASP” – White Anglo-Saxon Protestant – and live in north Georgia.  Thus the “Georgia Wasp.”    

Anyway, in North Carolina Harry wrote and published the “israelite” from the 1940s through the 1960s.  He was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.”  (He told good stories.) That also means if he was around today, the “Israelite would be done as a blog.”  But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life.  As he got older but didn’t turn sour, like many do today.  He still got a kick out of life.  For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.

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July 11, 2026 – The last post – after the fill-in Finding closure – ended with our last of three nights in Dublin. My partner and I shared a Saturday night dinner at TP Smith’s Bar And Restaurant, “a two-minute walk down Abbey Street Upper from ‘the Clink.'” (The Clink i Lár where we stayed those three days.) Smith’s offered European and Irish cuisine, blending “seamlessly with a cozy atmosphere and excellent service.” We had authentic Irish Beef Stew, “steeped in Guinness. Very tasty.” Thus ended our last night in Dublin, “before heading south to the REAL Ireland.”

Sunday morning, May 10, we had an adventure getting our taxi.

We got a taxi ride back to near the airport with all the car-rental places. Enterprise didn’t have the requested small Ford compact. (Which would have been a whole lot better on the narrow Irish roads we were to find; a bit of foreshadowing.) Instead at first they offered a swanky bright red Peugeot, but it had no GPS, as requested and what turned out to be a big necessity in our Irish travels. Plus the dashboard information center was all in French…

My partner wrote that in her notes. (I scooted over her disparaging comment about the driver’s “abilities,” or lack thereof.) I myself fell in love with the swanky red Peugeot, but that “no GPS” part was a deal-breaker. (As was the “all in French.”) It ended up taking an hour of waiting, “shucking and jiving,” but we finally ended up with a big black Hyundai Kona with GPS.

Then the fun part started.

We were about to find out about those unexpectedly narrow Irish back roads.

We left Dublin heading the 46 miles or so to Glendalough, “a glacial valley in County Wicklow, Ireland, renowned for an Early Medieval monastic settlement founded in the 6th century by St. Kevin.” But first we had to negotiate those narrow Irish roads while learning to drive on the left side of the road. As my partner wrote later: “This was our first taste of driving in Ireland, and some of the roads were godawful narrow twisty and scary.” Which pretty much sums up those roads, which were but a foretaste of the driving challenges ahead.

After splitting a burger-and-fries lunch we went to the monastery’s visitor center, “and liked it,” but then realized we had to “leave quick to make it to the Smithwicks experience by 5 pm.” (I.e., the Kilkenny Brewing Tour & Beer Tasting | Smithwick’s Experience.) Google Maps says it’s 65 miles from Glendalough to Kilkenny, but thanks to those “tiny tiny twisty roads” we got there late. (We got a break when we hit the M9 highway at 4:15 p.m., “a broad four laned super-highway” for a change. The M and N roads in Ireland were a welcome change from the narrow roads too often lined with plant-covered stone walls six inches or less from the side of the road.)

So anyway, when we finally got to Smithwicks (pronounced “Smith-icks”), they honored our tickets and let us join the small group late, and the tour ended with each of us getting a sample pint. I got the regular draft ale and my partner got the lager. However, since she only drank a third of her pint, I had to finish it off. For one thing I didn’t want to hurt their feelings, and that “one and two-thirds” combo helped calm my nerves after those tiny twisty roads.

Which explains my partner driving the short way to Orchard House Bar & Restaurant, our lodging for the night. There we enjoyed a great downstairs dining area for dinner that night and breakfast the next morning. For dinner, the Sunday roast beef special, with parsnips, carrots, mash potatoes and gravy and roasted potatoes. (We rarely went hungry, which explains why I gained five pounds in those two weeks.) Our upstairs room was nice, but we couldn’t get the TV to work. But by this time, we were worn out from our first day driving those “tiny” roads.

Monday, May 11, presented a different challenge. My partner had reinjured the knee that almost forced us to call off the whole trip earlier in April, and so didn’t sleep well; “my knee really hurt.” Which brings up the problem of floor-counting. Because of her bum knee my partner tried to get rooms on the “first floor,” but in most European countries the first floor is actually the second floor. (What we call the first floor they call the ground floor. “A word to the wise” for future reference.) So, after packing up and gingerly going downstairs to the ground floor, we shared half a full Irish breakfast. (I.e., without the baked beans on toast and blood pudding.) Our verdict: “The sausage and ham were especially yummy.” (It was listed as coming with bacon, but what they call bacon is more like our Canadian ham.)

After that we drove on and found a walk-in clinic in Kilkenny. Got a quick prescription for 90 Solpadol (Tylenol 3), then got it filled at a local pharmacy. The whole process was remarkably smooth. Then drove by Kilkenny castle on the way to the Rock of Cashel, the “historical site located dramatically above a plain at Cashel, County Tipperary.” And it was dramatic:

The entire plateau on which the buildings and graveyard lie is walled. In the grounds around the buildings an extensive graveyard includes a number of high crosses. Scully’s Cross, one of the largest and most famous high crosses here, originally constructed in 1860 to commemorate the Scully family, was destroyed in 1976 when lightning struck… The remains of the top of the cross now lie at the base of the cross adjacent to the rock wall.

I drove that morning, with a bit of trepidation, but soon enough got used to driving on the left side of those tiny roads. (Being sure to move towards the center when possible, to avoid those jagged stone walls lining the road, inches from the car’s side.) At one welcome no-other-car stretch I noted, “What a nice one lane road.” (Being sarcastic. It was two lanes, barely.) 

But we made the 39 miles to Cashel in good time. I got delegated to climb Rock Lane, clamber through the ruins and take pictures to share, but first we did touristy stuff. My partner visited a wool store near the parking lot, bought a scarf and took pictures of the local sheep. (We saw plenty on our days of driving, some ambling quietly on the road itself.) Meanwhile I walked the eight minutes into beautiful downtown Cashel and found Feehans Bar, “steeped in history. Through generations of family we have a vision to provide locals and tourists with an experience each time they step through our doors.” Then shared a note to the folks back home:

Had some warming-up “soup of the day” (mushroom) before climbing the Rock of Cashel. And after taking over the driving duties from Kilkenny. No accidents, just got cussed out once at a roundabout getting out of Kilkenny. “Drive on the left, dumbass!” (Or however they say it in Irish.)

That soup came in a full steaming bowl, and with two thick slices of hearty brown bread and real Irish butter; not refrigerated ice-cold like at home, and so very smooth spreading. And by the way, I had a pint to go with the soup at Feehan’s – and later retired to the far-left passenger side for the afternoon drive. That became our routine. I’d drive in the morning, then have a pint to go with lunch, then ride in the passenger seat for the afternoon drive. Also by the way, I found driving less stressful than being a passenger. The left side-view mirror gave the driver a better feel for the distance separating those stone walls from the Kona’s left side.

Anyway, fortified with that hearty hot-soup-and-pint lunch I proceeded up through town, up the steep Rock Lane, then up, through and around the grave-marker-and-high-cross-strewn monastery grounds. I took lots of pictures and videos, while also getting in some good hiking and clambering to work off some of those beer calories. The day was cold, windy and overcast – as it was most days during our visit – but not much rain, thankfully. (Though often I wore my SJK Hydrotek Rain Jacket, both “just in case” and for the extra layer of warmth it provided.)

After that we made the 60 miles to Cork in good time and a lot less stress, mostly because much of the drive was on the nice and wide four-lane M8. Only to arrive at what turned out to be a “very crappy hotel in Cork,” but that was followed by a metaphoric story of ordeal and triumph, through a pub visit featuring the English language at its creative best. (Courtesy of an avid but disappointed-at-the-last-minute Hotspur soccer fan.) And that’s a story for next time.

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The upper image is courtesy of Glendalough – Wikipedia. And about that post-title. I wanted one with the rhythm of “Lions and Tigers and Bears,” used most famously in the classic 1939 film “The Wizard of Oz.” The phrase first became an idiomatic expression symbolizing a confrontation with fears or the unknown but has transcended its original context and become a phrase capturing “a sense of adventure, fear, and excitement all at once, making it a versatile expression in popular culture.“ And that’s not to mention the same rhythm of “Tinker to Evers to Chance,” referring to the 1910 poem about the Chicago Cub infielders “Joe Tinker, Johnny Evers, and Frank Chance … known for their exceptional defensive skills and ability to turn double plays with remarkable speed and efficiency.”

The lower image is courtesy of Wikipedia. Full caption: “The Rock of Cashel in County Tipperary, Ireland, features the ruins of a Gothic cathedral and a 12th century round tower. King Cormac’s Chapel (1127) on the Rock was the first Romanesque church in Ireland.”

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June 14, 2026 – The last post talked about my recent two-weeks-in-May visit to Ireland, and how it “kind of worked out as planned.” That included not being able – because of high winds – to clamber to the top of Skellig Michael, “a rocky island off the coast of County Kerry, Ireland, with a Gaelic monastery and a World Heritage Site.” On the plus side, we were able to end the trip with the planned visit to “the Guinness Storehouse in Dublin on our last night.”

So much for the summary. Now for some nuts-and-bolts, day by day details on how the trip really turned out. For starters, the planned 7:50 p.m. flight from Atlanta got delayed a good 45 minutes. And as usual on such a red-eye I got little or no sleep. Leading to my partner’s note:

On that day of arrival, May 7, after finally getting in touch with our taxi driver – a bit of a mix-up at the airport – we made it to Clink i Lár and relaxed with tea and a scone as we waited for check-in time. After a bit of jet-lag recovery we took mass transit to the Jameson Brewery.

Which is being interpreted: For the three nights in Dublin we stayed at Clink i Lár, “35 Abbey Street Upper.” One site added, “True to its name – which means ‘in the middle’ in Irish – Clink i Lár puts you exactly where you want to be. Located on historic Abbey Street, our brand-new hostel is the ultimate base for exploring Dublin.” And an aside: Waiting to check in, my partner took a picture of me, standing, bent over, elbows on the horizontal bars in the picture above, chin cradled in hands, looking for all the world like the tired, jet-lagged traveler I was.

Meaning that despite the aggravating taxi mix-up at the Dublin airport we still got to the hotel an hour before check-in. But the lounge chairs at the back of the top picture were very comfortable, as we sat and enjoyed our tea and shared a scone. Later that afternoon I took a walk the three minutes or so over to the Ha’penny Bridge and across the River Liffy, then left along the river past the O’Connell Bridge, where D’Olier Street magically becomes Westmoreland Street. (Like back home in Georgia, where they routinely changed street names at every intersection, mostly to “fool the Yankees during the late War of Northern Aggression.”)

But seriously, late that afternoon – after “jet-lag recovery” – we used our TFI Leap Card for the seven-minute ride over to the Old Jameson Distillery Tour on Bow Street. The tour “takes you through a re-created distillery which is visited by over 350,000 people a year.” One site noted that on the tour you learn “about the ‘Grain to Glass’ process on a fully guided 45-min English or French tour. Discover the story gallery and soak up the atmosphere in the heart of Smithfield.”

Rick Steves said the tour “feels corporate, overpriced, and put together for tourists.” But the 2026 DK Ireland book said the first-rate tours of the beautifully restored building offer “a worthy monument to the world’s leading producer of Irish whiskey.” Me? I liked it, but that may have be because at the Grog Bar you each get a sample glass. I got the Jameson with ice, while my partner got Jameson Lemonade, and they both tasted pretty good after a red-eye flight followed by long day getting adjusted. (My partner rarely drinks so I had to finish off the Lemonade.)

For some reason I didn’t write a lot about what we did next day, May 8. My partner noted that for breakfast we walked a couple of streets over and had breakfast at the Lemon Jelly Café, “a fresh, young café located on Millennium Walkway in Dublin City centre.” And that we walked and took a bus to Trinity College, then did the same getting to the National Museum of Ireland.

For myself, I noted that we had lunch at KC Peaches – 37 St Stephen’s Green. (Offering a “wide range of hot foods, healthy salads and tasty treats,” free of “all the additives, preservatives and chemicals you find in so much of the food produced today.” And that we shared a Peaches (Chicken) Caesar Salad, more than enough for two.) And that the service was fast. As I posted on Facebook, “You can measure the fastness of the service by the high level left in the pint o’ Peroni.” (A beer I acquired a taste for when hiking Italy’s Way of St. Francis in 2022.) The point being, I could only take a couple of swallows before the healthy salad arrived.

And noted that the great lunch came after we visited the National Museum of Ireland – the Archaeology one on Kildare Street – by way of Trinity College. (Their Book of Kells exhibit was booked up, meaning “maybe tomorrow?”) And before visiting the Chester Beatty library and museum, on the grounds of Dublin Castle. Established in 1953, it houses the collections of mining magnate Sir Alfred Chester Beatty. (It opened in February 2000 and was named European Museum of the Year in 2002.) Another place well worth a visit. Topping off the day we dined at the Gin Palace Dublin, Dublin, said to be a minute’s walk from Clink i Lár. They advertise, “After a long walk around Ha’penny Bridge, come to this bar and have a rest here.” And we did.

Next morning, May 9, started with an Eggs Benedict breakfast at Jay Kay’s cafe, across the alley from Lemon Jelly. The meal featured lots of crispy bacon and Irish butter for the toast. (Not ice cold and brick hard like at home. Smooth spreading.) “I never eat like this at home!” We again walked and bus-rode to get to the Book of Kells exhibit. My partner went in while I hiked over to Merrion Square “to see the world-famous statue of Oscar Wilde, lolling contentedly on a high granite rock.” (I wrote, “They celebrate him now, after he got convicted and sentenced to three years hard labor,” after which he wrote things like “De Profundus,” based on Psalm 130.)

After that I hiked across the Sean O’Casey bridge to past the Irish Emigration Museum, to the cafe where I had a real Irish Coffee, with Jameson’s. (It was a windy, blustery day.) Then hiked back to Trinity College, met up with my partner and went over to St Patrick’s Cathedral, Dublin. I noted a couple of things, first that they’re part of the Anglican Communion, and second that some guy named Guinness funded a massive renovation of place when it was falling-apart:

Throughout the centuries episodes of flooding, bad weather and political unrest have taken their toll on St. Patrick’s Cathedral. Much of today’s Cathedral is the result of a major restoration between 1860-65. This was funded by the Guinness family, best known for their famous Irish stout.

(More especially, funded by Benjamin Guinness at a cost of $150,000 from 1860 to 1865.) Which to me provided an excellent extra reason for that projected visit to the Guinness Storehouse at the end of our time in Ireland. (And maybe even – between now and then- order a pint or two on my own?)

Anyway, to top the day off (after doing three days worth of laundry), we went to dinner at TP Smith’s Bar And Restaurant, a two-minute walk down Abbey Street Upper from “the Clink.” (Where “European and Irish cuisine blend seamlessly with a cozy atmosphere and excellent service.”) We shared an order of “authentic Irish Beef Stew, steeped in Guinness. Very tasty.”

Thus ended our last night in Dublin, “before heading south to the REAL Ireland.”

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The upper image is courtesy of the Clink i Lár website.

Rick Steves on Jameson. Page 108 in his 2024 Edition guide to Ireland. The DK quote is at page 100.

The lower image is courtesy of The Oscar Wilde Monument: Celebrating Ireland’s Literary Genius.

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Other notes provided by my partner included that she “put on a brace at Book of Kells experience … bad handicapped access.” And that after the Cathedral visit she put her feet up while I got a beer in hotel bar, while attending to the laundry.

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Welcome to the “Georgia Wasp…”

This blog is modeled on the Carolina Israelite. That was an old-time newspaper – more like a personal newsletter – written and published by Harry Golden. Back in the 1950s, people called Harry a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.” (For his work on the Israelite.)

That’s now my goal as well. To be a “voice of sanity amid the braying of jackals.”

For more on the blog-name connection, see the notes below.

In the meantime:

May 30, 2026 – I got back from that trip to Ireland last Thursday, May 21. (The one I’ve been previewing in the last four posts.) The trip kind of worked out as planned, but of course there were glitches, mostly having to do with how narrow the roads are in most of the country.

For another thing I didn’t get to do that boat trip out to Skellig Michael, with a chance to climb up to the top as planned. (On those tricky, slick hewn-out-of rock stairs.) The island’s pier is very small and at seven miles out in the Atlantic the little 12-passenger boat is prone to pitching up and down once it gets to the dock. Meaning the ride gets canceled if the winds go above 20 mph. Wednesday, May 13, featured sustained winds of 28 mph, with gusts above 40 mph.

So, here’s a brief summary of what did happen. We picked up a rental car after three days in Dublin, then drove 1,300 miles in 11 days, with only three mishaps. I smashed one side-view mirror and drove off the road once – into a mini-ditch – when I my attention wandered a split-second. (My travel partner side-swiped a car in a crowded, congested city with especially narrow streets, and is working “even as we speak” on the extra-added travel insurance claim.)

Other than that, the trip was fun. I especially enjoyed the pubs, including the seventh floor of the Guinness Storehouse in Dublin on our last night in Ireland. We had just driven in from Belfast after seeing the Mountains of Mourne (kind of) and trekking the Giant’s Causeway, of which lots more later. We got to the outskirts of Dublin around 4:00, but the in-city traffic was atrocious. We’d booked a 4:45 tour of the Storehouse but got there ten minutes late. They let us in but we quick-headed straight for the seventh floor. There, with your tickets, you each get one free pint of Guiness. I ended up with the better part of three pints, two of which were the Hop House 13 version I especially liked. (My “travel bud” didn’t drink much of her pint, and a fellow visitor dropped off his unused ticket, bless his heart!) But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

Let’s turn back to those two nights in Belfast, on May 18 and 19, just before that last night in Dublin on the 20th. In Belfast we stayed at Edenderry Town House, 171 Tennent Street. (A working-class neighborhood with a nice Stadium Bar within walking distance, unless it was raining.) Which leads to another note. I had packed my laptop and hauled it all over Ireland, but the only time I got to use it was on May 19. Here are some notes on what I wrote that evening:

I’m writing this on Tuesday, May 19, 2026, in the downstairs kitchen at 171 Tennent Road in Belfast… We wanted ground-floor rooms for the trip but kept getting 1st floor, which means second floor back home, and so there were lots of stairs to climb. Tomorrow, we head down to Dublin, by way of some church mound and the Mountains of Mourne. (And once we get there a tour of the Guiness facility.) From there an early night, then getting up no later than 7:00, returning the car, and heading to the airport – and home. So, impressions? Lots of narrow, really narrow roads. The traffic lights are strange too. Often in sets of three, one left, one maybe straight and one red, but to us foreign Yankees it takes time to decipher.

As for driving the unexpectedly narrow roads, before getting to Ireland I figured I’d mostly be a passenger, but I eventually did get the hang of driving in the left lane myself. (With some help from the rental Hyundai Kona‘s GPS, Google Maps on a phone and sometimes on-site, spur-of-the-moment passenger-navigator corrections or overrides.) That made for some interesting experiences in crowded cities with really narrow streets and cars going every which way.

(As for that Skellig Michael adventure, for days we kept checking the forecast, up to and including the afternoon of May 12, and it kept coming back with 27 and 28 mph winds. Finally, on the late afternoon of the 12th, at our place in Killarney, I got the official notice. Trip cancelled, full refund but it may take up to 10 days to register on the credit card site.)

Meanwhile, back to the downstairs kitchen at 171 Tennent Road in Belfast. I wrote on the laptop that I’d just checked the dryer for our last load of laundry before getting back home. “The clothes are still really wet. And some gruffy-looking young lodger is banging around the kitchen making what looks like a hamburger? But then he left. Hope he didn’t see my ‘gruffy’ comment I’d just typed out. ‘Nary a word was spoken.'” Meaning it was an awkward moment or two.

Which is also being interpreted: During our stay in Belfast, we saw only three other guests in the townhouse. Two looked like traveling electrical workers and the one other was the subdued, skinny bearded student who pretty much kept his own counsel. Then I added:

So anyway, other impressions. We’ve been going hard. This is the first time I’ve been able to use this unexpectedly heavy laptop, and I haven’t been able to get anywhere near my usual exercise quotas. And by the way, not only is the dryer exceedingly slow, but the door handle is in pieces making it hard to open the aforesaid door. I’m hoping we don’t get stuck with a big wad of damp clothes, locked in the dryer, after not being able to open the door.

After noting that I’d been eating way too much, and drinking too much beer – “Guinness, whatever” – I wrote that at 6:02 p.m. I checked the dryer. again. “Most of the quick-dry stuff is fairly dry, but things including my jeans and the fluffy warm, sheepskin-lined shirt that has been such a blessing are still damp; one might even say wet.” (The weather hovered in the mid-50s, and the sun rarely shone, but it didn’t feel really cold unless that wind was blowing hard, which happened often at the various cliffs we visited.) Then I wrote that I planned to do some yoga before dinner, “and maybe some ab crunches,” but that the upstairs Room 2 was “really tiny. Still, it was nice to be in one place two straight nights.” (And it was.) Then I noted the day’s highlight:

Today we booked an hour-long Black Taxi Belfast Tour at noon, but there was a mix-up in where to meet. We finally ended up at a Leonardo hotel – not the one in Jerusalem – but ten minutes late and the guy had a 1:00 o’clock booking. Meaning we got a 50-minute tour. Interesting but depressing, much in-depth stuff on The Troubles starting in 1969 and continuing with flare-ups even to this day. They have a wall separating the Catholic from the Protestant sides. The British built it and called it The Peace Wall, not unlike the Wall of Separation we saw in Bethlehem. (Of all places.)

See the Notes for more on the Leonardo Hotel in Jerusalem and “the Wall” in Bethlehem, but there was a big positive in staying in one place for two straight nights. I got to visit The Stadium Bar in Belfast a couple times, enough to be welcomed as an almost-local. (In that “a vibrant spot perfect for catching up with friends over a game. Known for its casual atmosphere, it’s a popular choice among locals for its friendly vibe and top-notch music.”) And it was.

One final note. We actually did get to see the Rock of Cashel [and] O’Connor’s Pub in Doolin, in County Clare, but that’s a story for a later time. (As to what actually happened.) Meanwhile, here’s to remembering that “vibrant spot perfect for catching up with friends.”

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The upper photo is courtesy of Images, “seventh floor guinness distillery dublin ireland.” With a page that included “Guinness Storehouse Gravity Bar: A Stunning Panoramic View – Dublin, the vibrant capital city of Ireland, is known for its rich history, friendly locals and of course, Guinness. Nestled in the heart of Dublin is the Guinness Storehouse, a must-visit destination for beer enthusiasts and travelers alike. While the entire Guinness Storehouse tour is an immersive experience, there is one spot that stands above the rest – the Gravity Bar.“

For more on the Leonardo in Jerusalem, see 2020’s This time last year – in Jerusalem! (On the Leonardo Hotel, Saint George Street 9, “catty-corner from St. George’s College.”) As for Bethlehem‘s Wall of Separation, also known as the “Israeli West Bank barrier,” see “Walls of Separation” in my companion blog. (“And in a bit of sarcasm – or irony – we stopped at the ‘Walled Off Hotel.’”

I took some photos of both the “Walled Off” and the Wall of Separation that runs right by it, and right through the City of Jesus’ birth. Doing that I caught the expression of the Palestinian in the foreground of the photo above left, and later commented, “That look about says it all.”

(To see a larger image of “that look about says it all,” click on the post link above.)

The lower photo is courtesy of “stadium bar belfast Images.”

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Re:  The Israelite.  Harry Golden grew up in the Jewish ghetto of New York City, but eventually moved to Charlotte, North Carolina.  Thus the “Carolina Israelite.”  I on the other hand am a “classic 74-year-old “WASP” – White Anglo-Saxon Protestant – and live in north Georgia.  Thus the “Georgia Wasp.”    

Anyway, in North Carolina Harry wrote and published the “israelite” from the 1940s through the 1960s.  He was a “cigar-smoking, bourbon-loving raconteur.”  (He told good stories.) That also means if he was around today, the “Israelite would be done as a blog.”  But what made Harry special was his positive outlook on life.  As he got older but didn’t turn sour, like many do today.  He still got a kick out of life.  For more on the blog-name connection, see “Wasp” and/or The blog.

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