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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:

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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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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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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May 3, 2026 – It won’t be long now. (After this last weekend before flying over to Ireland for two weeks). Which means trying to get a handle on packing while realizing there’s a lot of stuff you can’t pack because you’ll be using it – mostly clothes – in the remaining few days at home.

And as always, a bit of angst about leaving the comforts of home for a strange new country. (Not to mention the challenge of having to drive on the far-left side of the road, with steering wheel and such on the far right of the rental car.) Which brings up the Fifth Rule of Power. “Don’t make waves, blend in, glide through the forest of life, leaving the ‘forest’ as you found it.”

That’s just what I’ll try to do once we get over there – my travel partner and I – as we make a great circle trip around the perimeter of the Emerald Isle. (A term “synonymous with Ireland and its rolling hills and vales of green.”) And speaking of that, the last post got us out of our first three days – in Dublin – and on to Kilkenny, and from there to Cork, home of Murphy’s Irish Stout. “Brewed to be less heavy and less bitter than its chief competitor Guinness.”

(And it’s described as “a distant relative of chocolate milk,” so certainly worth a sampling.)

On the drive from Killkenny to Cork we’ll stop and see the Rock of Cashel, “a historical site located dramatically above a plain at Cashel, County Tipperary.” (Shown in the image at the top of the page.) According to legend, the Rock got there from the Devil’s Bit, a mountain 20 miles to the north, where “St. Patrick banished Satan from a cave.” (“Devil’s Bit” is a large hill, also in County Tipperary, which got its name “because the devil took a bite out of it,” according to legend.) After that excitement we’ll meet friends for dinner in Cork itself.

Next morning we’ll drive to Haven Suites on O’Flaherty Road in Killarney, there to check the weather report – to see if I can catch the boat from Portmagee to Skellig Michael. (And do that clambering; i.e., “climb (something) with some difficulty, or in a haphazard fashion.”)

“Weather permitting” I’ll get do that while my partner visits the Cahergal Stone Fort on the Ring of Kerry and The Kenmare Lace Experience (Museum) 52 miles from Portmagee. (“Weather not permitting” I’ll join the visit to the stone fort and lace museum.) And by the way, it’s a 48-mile, hour-and-a-quarter drive from Killarney to Portmagee, and the boat leaves early, so we’ll have to get up at the crack o’ dawn that morning. That evening we’ll return to Killarney

Next day we’ll drive to Galway. (In 2018, “named the European Region of Gastronomy [and] the European Capital of Culture for 2020, alongside Rijeka, Croatia.”) On the way we’ll stop at the Gallarus Oratory, the Bunratty Castle, and also visit Gus O’Connor’s Pub in Doolin. And that’s not to mention the Cliffs of Moher, four miles south of Doolin and on the way there.

Some highlights? The Oratory has been described as: 1) by Charles Smith in 1756, an early-Christian stone church (or more like a big hut to me), or 2) “a 12th-century Romanesque church by archaeologist Peter Harbison in 1970,” and 3) a shelter for pilgrims (said the same Harbison in 1994). It’s built of large cut stones “brought from the cliffs of the sea shore, which cuts readily and is very durable…. The stones are cut on every side and end so as to fit perfectly together and slope slightly down to help rain run off the structure.”

Bunratty Castle is a large 15th-century tower house in County Clare, named from the Irish for “mouth of the Ratty River.” It dates from Viking times; “The first recorded settlement at the site may have been a Norse trading camp reported in the Annals of the Four Masters to have been destroyed by Brian Boru in 977.” Gus O’Connor’s Pub is known “throughout the world as the home of Irish Traditional Music.” It is said to offer a “warm and cozy atmosphere in a traditional setting… The perfect spot to grab a hot meal after a walk along the Cliffs or cold pint in front of a roaring open fire!” I don’t know about the roaring open fire in mid-May, but I’m sure that cold pint will be refreshing after visiting the Cliffs of Moher. (Shown below.)

The Cliffs are one of the most popular Irish tourist destinations. They run about nine miles and at the southern end rise 390 feet above the Atlantic at Hag’s Head. They reach their maximum height of 702 feet “just north of O’Brien’s Tower, a round stone tower near the midpoint of the cliffs.” You can see the Aran Islands in Galway Bay and the Maumturks and Twelve Pins to the north. And a final note: “While the cliffs can be accessed at multiple points, and there is an 18 kilometres (11 miles) Cliff Walk, the majority of visitors come to the official visitor centre.”

I don’t if I’ll cover that 11 miles, but I do know I’ll enjoy that cold pint at Gus O’Connor’s…

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The upper image is courtesy of the Rock of Cashel Wikipedia article, with the 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.”

Re: Fifth Rule of Power. From the book, “Power! How to get it, how to use it,” Korda, M. Ballantine Books, New York, 1976, at page 304.

Re: Emerald Isle. See Why is Ireland Called the Emerald Isle? – IrelandExplore, and How did Ireland come to be called the Emerald Isle?

Re: Ring fort. See also Visiting Cahergal Fort: Ancient Ringfort on the Ring of Kerry.

The lower image is courtesy of Cliffs of Moher – Wikipedia. With the caption: “Looking north along the cliffs towards O’Brien’s Tower.”

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From Guinness, in Dublin, “one of the most unique collections of advertising in the world…”

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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:

April 30, 2026 – My last post talked about an upcoming adventure-trip to Ireland in May. (The future of which seemed in doubt because of a last-Thursday visit to the emergency room, caused by a meniscus tear that turned out to be not as serious as we first thought. And a side note: My meniscus – plural, “menisci?” – is fine.) So, back to that Preview of Ireland – 2026:

My travel partner and I will fly into Dublin, then travel by car in a great circle route that will head over to the west coast, then up and over to Belfast and back down to Dublin. This post will cover what figures to be a highlight, weather permitting and the creek don’t rise: My clambering 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.”

But even before that ER visit there was a last-minute change. The night before I clamber atop Skellig Michael – weather permitting – we will now be staying at Haven Suites, on Monsignor O’Flaherty Road in Killarney. We originally planned to stay in Dingle, but that would mean a lot of excessive driving. (Mass transit away from Dublin – out in the Irish boonies – is not as good as in England last year, so we rented a car. That in turn will require getting used to driving on the “wrong side of the road.”) So anyway, the point being: That change will reduce driving time from Cork to Killarney from 5.5 to 4.5 hours, and – after we leave Killarney – reduce the driving time from Cork to Galway from an estimated six hours to four hours and 15 minutes.

But before all that, three days in Dublin. We’ll visit places like the Jameson Distillery, Trinity College (with its Book of Kells), and the Guinness Storehouse Tour. That Guinness tour will include a floor featuring 80 years of ground-breaking marketing campaigns, with “one of the most unique collections of advertising in the world from tiny Guinness buttons to giant Guinness posters and statues.” (As shown in the top image.) Then end at “the real best floor of the tour because it’s where you get your free pint of Guinness … at the Gravity Bar,” one of the highest points in the city with “360° panoramic views across all of Dublin.” (And a note: We won’t be driving that rental car until the day we leave town; in town we’ll rely on Dublin mass transit.)

Leaving Dublin we’ll rent a car and drive to Kilkenny, built on both banks of the River Nore, with a population of 27,184. (According to the 2022 census.) There we’ll visit Kilkenny Castle, built in 1260 to control a fording-point of the River Nore and as “a symbol of Norman occupation.” After that we’ll visit the Smithwick’s Experience: “In Dublin, it’s all about Guinness. In Cork, make it a Murphy’s. And Kilkenny? Well, Smithwick’s is the way to go:”

Brewed in the medieval city since the 18th century, this ale has a rich ruby colour with a pale creamy head, and is served in pubs all over the island of Ireland. But tasting it is one thing, experiencing it is another, and the best way to uncover the history, personalities and place behind the beer is with a visit to Smithwick’s Experience Kilkenny.

And after driving that first 80 miles out of Dublin – “on the wrong side of the ^%$# road!” – I’ll be ready for a tall cool glass of Smithwick’s best. And after that, ready for the next day’s drive to Cork. (And once we’re in Cork I’ll be sure to try a Murphy’s Irish Stout, “brewed to be less heavy and less bitter than its chief competitor Guinness.”) Stay tuned for reviews!

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The upper image is courtesy of “guinness ads through the years” Images.

Re “Boonies.” See Why Do We Call the Country “the Boonies”? – Mental Floss. Unbeknownst to me, the term has a history going back to the American occupation of the Philippines in the early 20th century. It was “adopted into English shortly after the turn of the last century from Tagalog, one of the languages of the Philippines. In Tagalog, bundok means “mountain,” and it seems that word also came to be used more loosely in English in reference to any remote place… The use of boondocks among the U.S. military ultimately endured, and led to the word being taken across to Vietnam, where it was first clipped to boonies in the 1950s.” (And that’s why I love blogging; you learn stuff.)

Also about Murphy’s Irish Stout, from Wikipedia:

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.

Which sounds interesting. (I wonder if it will give me my preferred “two-beer buzz?”)

The lower image is courtesy of Smithwick’s – Wikipedia.

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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:

April 26, 2026 – The last post mentioned “a new adventure coming up in May, 2026. A two-week trip to Ireland that will lead to another series of posts.” A highlight of that trip? My clambering 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.” But now that new adventure is in doubt.

My travel partner and I spent last Thursday night in the ER, for what turned out to be a likely Meniscus Tear. And for future reference, I note what one site said What to Do and Not to Do:

Regardless of how your meniscus injury started, you need to go easy on your knee to let it heal. Once it’s injured, you may feel pain during everyday activities that never bothered your knee before… If you feel pain during an activity, that means your actions are likely tearing the meniscus further, and you should stop right away. Never drive through the pain of a meniscus injury.

Which means no more comments like, “walk it off, Nancy,” or “just rub some dirt on it.” Like we Boomers used to hear when we were kids? (Or at least what we like to tell young folk that’s what we heard when we were kids.) And it’s certainly good advice now, advice that “we” intend to follow in the next couple weeks. In the meantime, since last Thursday we’ve been waffling back on forth on whether to cancel the trip. Things looked bleak Thursday night, April 23, but after the follow-up work on Friday came the thought: “Maybe we can still make a go of it?”

Thus the “bit of drama” in the title of this post. So in the meantime, until things get sorted out – and to fill in the blank space in the interim – I offer this short review of a past travel adventure: My brother and I canoeing 12 miles off the coast of Mississippi back in 2014. Which brings up the question: “Why in the hell would anyone in his right mind want to do that?”

Why would two old geezers – in 2014, 63 and 69 respectively – paddle far out into the realm of sharks and drownings? For one answer see John Steinbeck. He began Part Two of Travels with Charley by noting most men his age were told, “slow down.” (He was 60 at the time. “Oh, to see 60 again!”) And so, back then doctors advised men that age to “pack their lives in cotton wool, smother their impulses, hood their passions, and gradually retire from their manhood.” (To “trade their violence for a small increase in life span.”) But that wasn’t Steinbeck’s way:

I did not want to surrender fierceness for a small gain in yardage…  If this projected journey should prove too much then it was time to go anyway. I see too many men delay their exits with a sickly, slow reluctance to leave the stage. It’s bad theater as well as bad living.

And I certainly don’t want to be accused of Bad Theater. Which brings up what Robert Louis Stevenson said in a similar vein in his 1879 book, Travels with a Donkey in the Cévennes.

Early on in his Travels, he found himself groping in the dark for a campsite. (A site “black as a pit.”) He settled in for the night, then ate a crude dinner; a tin of bologna and some cake, washed down with brandy. “The wind among the trees was my lullaby.” Then woke in the morning “surprised to find how easy and pleasant it had been,” out in the open, “even in this tempestuous weather.” He then waxed poetic: “I had been after an adventure all my life, a pure dispassionate adventure, such as befell early and heroic voyagers; and thus to be found by morning in a random nook in Gevaudan – not knowing north from south, as strange to my surroundings as the first man upon the earth.” In other words, he experienced what the less adventurous have no idea they’re missing. Something of the feelings that “the explorers back in the olden days had.” (Those “early and heroic voyagers…”) On page 64 of my copy he expanded that thought:

Alas, as we get up in life, and are more preoccupied with our affairs, even a holiday is a thing that must be worked for. To hold a pack upon a pack-saddle against a gale out of the freezing north is no high industry, but it is one that serves to occupy and compose the mind.  And when the present is so exacting, who can annoy himself about the future?

And by the way, I myself have hiked the Robert Louis Stevenson Trail in France, back in 2023. (To see multiple posts on the hike type “Cevennes” in the search engine above right.)

In the same way – as I also experienced on that November 2014 primitive-camp canoe trip – “who can annoy himself about the future” when he’s immersed in the exacting task of paddling for hours on end. When he’s 12 miles offshore, at the mercy of the elements. When day’s end promises naught but a lukewarm meal on a soggy beach, or salt marsh. (Which actually turned out to be quite rewarding. The wealth of bull rushes growing out of the sloshing water on that salt marsh gave the softest bed of the journey.) Plus, as Tom prepared our dinner – likely hot dogs and baked beans – some playful dolphins frolicked not ten yards away in the Gulf.

All that and a few swallows of “O-be-joyful” made a very pleasant evening, 12 miles off the coast of Mississippi. But as it turns out, that’s the nature of pilgrimage: “A person who makes such a journey is called a pilgrim. As a common human experience, pilgrimage has been proposed as a Jungian archetype. . . Some research has shown that people who engage in pilgrimage walks enjoy biological, psychological, social, and spiritual therapeutic benefits.”

Which brings up the image at the top of the page. It had to do with the nagging feeling I got in the back of my mind early on during that 2014 canoe trip. We had determined to break camp in the dark and get most of our paddling done before the afternoon sun started roiling the waters. (Which can be unsettling in a canoe out in the Gulf of Mexico.) The first few days we paddled along the coast, but then came the early morning we had to leave the coast and set off due south to Half Moon Island, three miles out into the Gulf of Mexico. We were leaving the civilized world and heading out in the pitch-black darkness, away from all those helpful navigation lights. “What ‘nagged me’ was the feeling, as we set off into the utter darkness on the morning of November 8, that we would either fall off the edge of the earth, or ‘there be dragons.'”

But we encountered no dragons and didn’t fall off the edge of the world. In other words, I paddled through the fear, or and Nelson Mandela said, “The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.” And that’s why I enjoy my pilgrim adventures:

My brother and I did eight days and 80 miles worth of canoe-paddling on our own. We’d also camped in and on a salt marsh, and seen nature at her majestic best (and worst). We’d seen dolphins capering, once just off our salt-marsh camp, and other times just off our bows. I learned to live on a breakfast ration of one and a half granola bars and tepid instant coffee. I learned to pitch a tent on a salt marsh, with water sloshing around my feet, only to find that the abundant bullrushes provided a most comfortable bed. 

Does that make me a Jungian archetype, like Rick Blaine in the film Casablanca? I’d like to think so, but for now I’d just be happy getting on that Delta flight to Dublin in a week or two, then enjoy climbing to the top of Skellig Michael and visiting the Guiness and Jameson breweries.

Stay tuned for updates!

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The upper image is courtesy of “leviathan in the bible” images. See also Here be dragons – Wikipedia.

Re: “Walk it off, Nancy.” The AI Summary indicates that the idiom “suggests dealing with minor injuries or discomfort by continuing to move,” and is often used to encourage resilience and toughness, or can be “seen as dismissive of someone’s pain or discomfort,” but mostly originates “from a culture that values stoicism and endurance.” And to clarify, my meniscus is fine…

For this post I reviewed On canoeing 12 miles offshore, from May 2015, and Canoeing 12 miles off the coast of Mississippi, from July 2017.

Re: “O-be-joyful.” That’s a code-word for ardent spirits. We brothers – originally four – started packing samples in past canoe trips, like down the Missouri River from Fort Benton, MT. That was a way of following in the footsteps of Lewis and Clark, and other American pioneers. You see, back in the old days of our country, whiskey – for example – was used instead of hard currency:

One of the first media of exchange in the United States was classic whiskey.  For men and women of the day, the alcohol did more than put “song in their hearts and laughter on their lips.”  Whiskey was currency.  Most forms of money were extremely scarce in our country after the Revolutionary War, making monetary innovation the key to success.

In other words, we were following in the footsteps of Lewis, Clark and other pioneers. See also Why Whiskey Was Money, and Bitcoins Might Be. Another note: I wrote about this subject in the March 2023 post, The Okefenokee – “Haven of Serenity” or Deadly Swamp? (About canoeing into – bisecting – the Deadly Swamp from east to west.)

A Jungian archetype “refers to a universal, inherited idea, pattern of thought, or image that is present in the collective unconscious of all human beings,” and also “thought to be the basis of many of the common themes and symbols that appear in stories, myths, and dreams across different cultures and societies.” The Wikipedia article – quite detailed – included the lower image, with the caption: “Casablanca co-protagonist Rick Blaine has been seen through Jungian analysis as a classic hero, the character being in one of the most memorable love triangles in film.” (Who knew? But that’s why I love blogging. You learn about stuff like “Jungian archetypes.”)

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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:

April 14, 2026 – My last post – Canterbury – At last! – finished a series that started back in July 2025. A Canterbury hike preview – and some posts that followed – talked about a two-week visit to England last May. I did that Mid-May “Recon” to prepare for another visit to England, to hike the Pilgrims’ Way in August 2025. (It’s also known as the Canterbury Trail.)

That led to another series of posts about the actual hike, starting chronologically with On to Winchester – August 11 (2025), from last October. But I actually started that series at the end, with my September 9 (’25) post, On my last day in London – 2025. Which is actually a great story-telling technique. See What is the literary term for a book that begins at the end?

The literary term for a book that begins at the end is often referred to as a “frame story.” This narrative technique starts at the ending and then flashes back to explain how the story reached that point… This means that the story is beginning with a prolepsis, or a “flash-forward” in time. This kind of style operates as a postmodern narrative device and has come to be fairly popular in contemporary literature. 

But now it’s time to talk about a new adventure coming up in May, 2026. A two-week trip to Ireland, which will lead to another series of posts. (Though I’ll follow that up with a separate – a hiking – adventure in August, 150 miles or so on the GR 5, short for the Grand Randonnée Five. It starts at the Hook of Holland and we’ll end up in Maastricht, a story for a later time.)

But back to that trip in May to Ireland. My travel partner and I will fly into Dublin. then travel by car in a great circle route that will head over to the west coast, then up and over to Belfast and back down to Dublin. This post will cover what figures to be a highlight, weather permitting and the creek don’t rise: My clambering 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.”

The island is named after the archangel Michael, and “Skellig” is derived from the Irish language word sceilig, meaning a splinter of stone. The island consists of 54 acres of rock. Its highest point, 714 ft above sea level, is defined “by twin peaks and a central valley called Christ’s Saddle.” All told, “a steep and inhospitable landscape.” (Emphasizing “inhospitable.”)

Which brings up the 1969 BBC documentary Civilisation: A Personal View by Kenneth Clark. In the first episode Clark described the island’s buildings and pathways as “an extraordinary achievement of courage and tenacity”. He observed that “looking back from the great civilizations of twelfth-century France or seventeenth-century Rome, it is hard to believe, that for quite a long time – almost a hundred years – western Christianity survived by clinging to places like Skellig Michael, a pinnacle of rock eighteen miles from the Irish coast.” And not surprisingly, by the 16th century Skellig Michael had become a place of religious pilgrimage.

And so it may be for me on what may be a cold, wet and windy day in May.

I’ll describe what I actually experience in a later post – weather permitting – but for now, here are some nuggets from a guy who’s already done it. 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?

Skellig Michael was not only remote and inhospitable, but it was “the end of the world” as far as the Irish knew. The monks may have chosen that destination to be closer to God, or closer to Satan, so they could defend the rest of the world.

As for the weather, getting off the island seemed to be harder than getting on. “I saw first-hand how this had almost been a no-go day. The boat rose and fell next to the steps and even though it seemed safe every 10 seconds or so, Eoin wouldn’t let me step on for a full minute, until a particularly boisterous wave gave him the signal to pull me on board.” Which led him to wonder: “How on Earth did the monks land here?” And not something I look forward to, getting off or back on to a heaving, pitching boat. Which is something I’ll contemplate on our first day in Dublin. We’re scheduled to arrive at 8:45 a.m. After settling in and resting up a bit, we’ll do the Jameson Dublin – The World’s Leading Distillery Tour at 4:30 that afternoon.

There, and in the days that follow I’ll contemplate climbing up those “jagged slabs of rock.”

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

See also What Is Prolepsis? Rhetoric, Grammar & Literature: “Prolepsis is a technique of treating something future as if it has already happened or is already true. The word comes from the Greek prolēpsis, derived from prolambanein, meaning “to take beforehand.” First recorded in English in 1578, it appears in three distinct fields: rhetoric, literature, and philosophy. In each case, the core idea is the same: pulling the future into the present.

Also, from What is the literary term for a book that begins at the end: “There are many novelists which apply the technique of beginning the text at the end of the story. Mary Shelley uses it in ‘Frankenstein;’ Daphne du Maurier uses it in ‘Rebecca;’ Edith Wharton uses it in ‘Ethan Frome.'”

See also Skellig Michael | History, Description, & Facts | Britannica.

The lower image is courtesy of Skellig Michael – Image Results. It came with a page, Skellig Michael: Ireland’s Most Striking Destination. I‘ve included my full notes from the page below.

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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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The full notes from Skellig Michael: Ireland’s Most Striking Destination:

I started slowly and continued at a snail’s pace, keeping my eye on every step. Speed doesn’t help you here. When I needed a break, I simply stopped — at times there was literally nowhere to stop but the steps themselves, as you’d pitch over the side of a cliff.

As you can tell by the photos, Skellig Michael is an exceptionally difficult place for people with mobility difficulties.

I also don’t think it’s a place for kids. It’s just too easy to fall off the path. I personally wouldn’t bring kids under the age of 12 — and even then, only well-behaved 12-year-olds who will understand the dangers and listen to you, do exactly as you say, and not go off on their own.

It’s good to know that there’s a helicopter pad on the island, just in case.

Soon I had reached a big grassy clearing with plenty of space to sit down and enjoy the sandwich that I had purchased on the mainland. There is nowhere to buy food on Skellig Michael — nor are there even toilets on the island!

At the time, Skellig Michael was not only remote and inhospitable, but it was “the end of the world” as far as the Irish knew. The monks may have chosen that destination to be closer to God, or closer to Satan, so they could defend the rest of the world.

After descending from the monastery to the big grassy area, I had my sandwich and wished I could get a particular photo I had seen — a photo of the staircase leading to the monastery with Small Skellig in the background.

By this point, very few people were left on this part of the island, making it an ideal time to take the picture. I scrambled up the path on the other peak and edged out to the side until Small Skellig appeared perfectly in the background:

Was it worth it?

Yes. It was SO worth it.

(Though please don’t do this unless you’re comfortable climbing! This part of the island is just a rough path, rather than a staircase, and climbing down is much more difficult than climbing up!)

And soon enough, it was almost time to meet Eoin at the boat. I climbed down the 600 steps as carefully as I climbed up them.

I saw first-hand how this had almost been a no-go day. The boat rose and fell next to the steps and even though it seemed safe every 10 seconds or so, Eoin wouldn’t let me step on for a full minute, until a particularly boisterous wave gave him the signal to pull me on board.

How on Earth did the monks land here?! I thought, a sentiment shared by my three companions from County Cork. It was so difficult to land in modern times — how did they land on the rock in the middle of the stormy Atlantic with only ancient technology!

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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:

March 28, 2026 – The last post talked about my hiking companions and I getting to Chilham, a quaint English town only seven miles from our final destination, Canterbury.

Canterbury sits on the River Stour and is home to Canterbury Cathedral. It’s the end of the Pilgrims’ Way mostly because the Cathedral includes a shrine of Thomas Becket, the archbishop murdered “on the king’s orders” in the cathedral in 1170. (A story told in the 1964 movie Becket, starring Richard Burton as Becket and Peter O’Toole as King Henry II.)

I started Wednesday morning the 27th with a hearty breakfast at Woolpack Inn; berry pancakes with a yogurt topping. Heading out we stopped at St Mary’s Church, where I got a Pilgrim stamp. Later we stopped and had a box lunch at a bench across the lane from the Chartham Hatch Village Hall. (And the ladies inside doing needlework were nice enough to let us use their restrooms.) But here’s what I wrote on August 28, our day off before heading up to London:

Somewhere over the last two days “the trip left me.” Like Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley ended for him at Abingdon, “in the dog-leg of Virginia.” In other words, those last two days hiking I started thinking a lot about home, of getting a flavor-to-taste iced coffee each morning at the south Fayetteville RaceTrac. Or sleeping in my own bed. Or what kind of exercise I’d be doing first thing next Monday when I got home. And on the way home – do I go to the gym first or do a non-backpack hike at the Ridge Nature Center?

I wrote that bit at our digs at the City Centre Riverside Retreat, after touring the Cathedral and before heading up to London – and home. But back to that last day’s hike.

I wrote a note in my Pilgrims’ Way Guidebook that at 9:45 a.m. we passed through the village of Old Wives Lees, “renowned for its tranquility and rural charm.” And got to Chartham Hatch at 11:35 a.m. (The guidebook explained the word “hatch” as meaning a gap in a forest, and that this particular Hatch was a mere scattering of cottages until the 20th century.) I noted that we reached Harbledown – “immediately west of Canterbury and contiguous with the city” – at 1:10 p.m. We reached the outskirts at 1:23 p.m., and passing through them Tom stopped to help a local make sense of a confusing bus-stop schedule. (Maybe as an “angel unawares?” Hebrews 13:2.) Finally, we arrived at the City Centre Riverside Retreat, said to be “a short walk from Canterbury West Train Station and less than 0.6 [of a mile] from Canterbury Cathedral.”

At long last, we made it to Canterbury. We’ll go to the Cathedral tomorrow, to make it official – get all stamped and credentialed – but for all practical purposes this year’s pilgrimage is history. (Except for hoisting a celebratory pint or two at some nearby pub later today.) We started 15 days ago in Winchester, and it’s been interesting to say the least.

The next day, Thursday, August 28, we slept late and first thing did several days’ worth of laundry. On the way there, as we were about to pass through the famous Canterbury Westgate, we saw some workers getting ready to rent out punts. (Poled boats, as in to “go punting on the River Stour?”) I thought maybe I might do that later that afternoon, but first we had to go to the Cathedral to get stamped and credentialed. And before that, do laundry

The nearest laundromat was in the east end of town – the part I didn’t see back in May – near St. Mary Bredin Church, 59 Nunnery Road, where I tried to get another stamp. They didn’t have one, but they were having some kind of outreach event, and one of the nice ladies hand-drew a personalized and hand-written alternate stamp. After that, as the laundering clothes continued doing their thing, I visited Ark Music, Coffee and Bites, catty-corner from St. Mary Bredan. “A delightfully retro place, with real vinyl records for sale. (And good coffee.)”

After dropping off the laundry we lunched at Bill’s Restaurant & Bar, “a charming, modern eatery” at 5 Rose Lane. I had a house salad and Peroni Nastro Azzurro. (Easing back to my Spartan Kosher diet at home.) Then toured the Cathedral – free – and got a final stamp.

In my case, Canterbury was the last of 18 stamps in my book, starting with Winchester Cathedral on August 11. We got to enjoy the city for a day, without lugging heavy packs. Friday we’ll take the train to London. “I’ll see a thing or two there on Saturday, and fly home Sunday. (No doubt with visions of sugar plums and English pubs dancing in my head.)”

A note: We got to tour the Cathedral free because we were bona fide Canterbury Pilgrims. We showed our book of stamps from various churches along the Trail. Back in May “we” had to pay good money for the tour. But the place was still immense and overwhelming, and I saw some new things I didn’t get to see in my Mid-May “Recon.” By the time we were done it was too late to go punting on the Stour, so we settled in for a home-cooked spaghetti dinner, with salad.

The next morning, before getting the train to London, we stopped at The Goods Shed, a “Farmers market, food Hall and restaurant” next to the Canterbury West train station. I got a cappuccino and “some kind of sweet apple-cherry pound-cake kind of thing,” while noting that when I get back home on Monday it would be “back to my regular Spartan Kosher diet.” And that after a show that night, “tomorrow my hiking partners will take the train to Spain” – for another Camino hike there – while I would fly back to the ATL.

After taking the train up from Canterbury we had to negotiate London’s packed and massive combination Tube, train and bus station at King’s Cross St Pancras tube station. And there came another adventure, of sorts. Among all the crowds of people getting on and taking off, we saw a guy “dead to the world, but not dead.” Passed out on a hard bench and attracting a large crowd, and eventually three or four security guys. (One a blonde lady.) It took at least 15 minutes to get him to respond. Which they did, in the fullness of time. Meanwhile we were checking our bearings, figuring where to have dinner after checking into The California, a hotel “made of London townhouses stitched together, and decorated with a patchwork of eclectic styles.”

We ended up dining at an Indian place, Masala Zone Covent Garden, “before ‘the THEE-ah-tuh,” mostly since it was right there in London’s theater district. In more easing back into my at-home Spartan Kosher diet, I had some kind of vegetarian sliders. “And those little green things were REALLY spicy.” (Plus, a “King of Indian beers.”) Which brings us full circle back to the post from September 29, 2025: My last day in London. And that Friday night in London when “Tom, Carol and I saw the Tina Turner Musical at Aldwych.” (Where a good show was enjoyed by all.)

Next morning Tom and Carol got up early to get that train down to Spain, via The Channel Tunnel, or “Chunnel” for short. Which I’m sure was quite an adventure as well, but I wanted to get back home. So, a bit later I got up, put on my pack and started hiking down Euston Road, past all the homeless tents. Near where Marylebone becomes Old Marylebone, I came across a statue of Sherlock Holmes near Baker Street. Then headed up Baker Street to 221B, across from a very touristy Sherlock museum. Very crowded, and it cost 20 GBP for what reviews said could be covered in 20 minutes? My response? “Nah!” I kept on hiking.

I’d booked a room at the Day’s Inn Hyde Park, Sussex Gardens, but check-in wasn’t until 2:00 and I got there at noon. So, I wandered over to Paddington Station., just to make sure it was where it was supposed to be. It was, but on the way, I passed the Dickens Tavern. And had two pints and the cheapest sandwich on the menu. I enjoyed the Dickens so much that I went back for an encore at 4:00, after checking in and taking a nap. Next morning I took the fast train to Heathrow, and in the fullness of time was able to board the flight.

“And that’s how the wanderer found his way home.”

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The upper image is courtesy of… Myself. I took the picture the morning after we trudged into Canterbury from Chilham. (See Towns & Villages in Canterbury – Visit South East England, on the town where we spent out last night on the Trail: “Renowned for its beauty and charm, the Kentish village of Chilham lies high above the valley of the River Stour in the picturesque Kent Downs.”

On Becket murdered “on the king’s orders,” see Becket controversy – Wikipedia, and a link therein, “Will no one rid me of this turbulent priest?” (Alternately, “Will no one rid me of this meddlesome priest?”) Henry made this outburst on Christmas 1170 at his castle at Bures, Normandy,

While the quote was not expressed as an order, it prompted four knights to travel from Normandy to Canterbury, where they killed Becket due to an ongoing dispute between crown and church. The phrase is commonly used in modern-day contexts to express that a ruler’s wish may be interpreted as a command by their subordinates. It is also commonly understood as shorthand for any rhetorical device allowing leaders to covertly order or exhort violence among their followers, while still being able to claim plausible deniability for political, legal, or other reasons. [Not that there’s any connection to current events or anything.]

Re: Monday when I got home. I got back home late Sunday, and my “partner” – lady friend, whatever – picked me up at the Atlanta airport. I drove home Monday morning from her place in Decatur.

Re: “The part I didn’t see back in May.” See the March 31, 2025, post, A mid-May “Recon,” then on to Canterbury! A preview that ended with A third preview post on the hike to Canterbury.

The lower image is courtesy of Dickens Tavern Paddington – Image Results. For more see Dickens Tavern Pub Restaurant in Paddington – Greene King, and Great pub in paddington, near the station.

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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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March 14, 2026 – The last post noted that on our next-to-last day of hiking the Pilgrims’ Way – Tuesday, August 26, 2025 – we visited All Saints’ Church, Boughton Aluph. (We Americans refer to “the PW” as England’s Canterbury Trail.) Later that day we passed Chilham Castle, on the way into Chilham itself. And I ended that last post by saying, “I enjoyed the town of Chilham so much that I figure it’s worth a lot more detail in the next post.” So here goes.

The highlight? We had dinner at The White Horse pub in Chilham, a three-minute walk down “The Street” from Woolpack Inn, where we spent our last night. More on the Woolpack later, but first more about the White Horse. It’s a 14th Century Inn in the heart of the “historical and picturesque village of Chilham.” It sits in the village square opposite Chilham castle, and has been featured in several film productions and television programs. For my last dinner on the Trail?

“I had a vegan pot pie, along with a salad and fries, as penance for last night’s Bangers and Mash.” Which brings up one of the best benefits of long-distance hiking adventures:

Each day is an ordeal and triumph. The sore-foot, mile after mile hiking is the Ordeal; the end o’ day pint, dinner and maybe a dessert is the Triumph. (Along with interacting with the locals.) One benefit of those long miles, the extra calories burned mean you can eat like you never could at home.

Another big point: If you’re ever in Chilham, The White Horse is the place to go. Then after the fine meal there I had a last pint and a slice of cheesecake at a place down The Street. (Unfortunately, I didn’t note the name.) But then I had to note as well, “I never eat like this at home!” But also that after tomorrow, “No more hiking ten miles a day with a heavy pack.” After two days off in Canterbury and then another two in London, I’d be back home and “back to my Spartan Kosher diet.” Meaning no more cheesecake at 7:30 p.m.

Meanwhile, back to the Woolpack Inn, offering rural chic in a traditional country pub:

This traditional country pub sits amongst the lush green fields of Kent and is surrounded by the well-known Kent Oast houses. Ideally located for exploring the historic city of Canterbury and picturesque Rye, this is a great spot to discover and explore this fascinating and beautiful area.

More important, from the Woolpack Inn we were only seven miles from Canterbury and the end of this year’s pilgrim hike. And as I wrote after the pint and cheesecake, “So ends our last night on this year’s pilgrimage. Tomorrow, we end up in Canterbury, Friday in London, and Sunday I fly back home. ‘Sheesh, where did the time go?’”

So much for the fun part of Tuesday, August 26, 2025. What about the hard part, getting to the Woolpack Inn and its charms from our start at the Conningbrook Hotel, Ashford? For starters, it wasn’t that hard. In the days leading up to it we had hiked 10.5, 11.3, 11 and then 12 miles, but on the 26th it was mere 8.5 miles. And there were a lot of interesting things to see. For example, after visiting All Saints’ Church, Boughton Aluph we hiked on, and then – two miles short of Chilham – we came on the weird-looking wooden-poled Coppice Oratory:

This four-metre-high wooden sculpture is a key lookout point on the North Downs Way, a space for reflection for modern-day pilgrims travelling along the route through King’s Wood, near Canterbury and Ashford. Positioned in the 1,450-acre King’s Wood above Godmersham at the point where Canterbury Cathedral becomes visible to walkers.

You can more pictures at Image Results, but about that “point where Canterbury Cathedral becomes visible.” My Pilgrims’ Way Guidebook has a note saying at 1:23 p.m. we got to a board – a trailside sign – “indicating a view of Canterbury Cathedral.” Or so they say. I took a picture of “that tiny thing seeming just above Carol’s head but really off in the distance.”

So much for our next-to-last day hiking, on Tuesday, August 26, 2025. In the morning I would have a hearty breakfast at the Woolpack Inn, berry pancakes with a yogurt topping. Then we would hike the last seven miles to the end of our 2025 hiking adventure, of which more on the next post. (Along with enjoying the sights of Canterbury and recuperating from our ordeal.)

And by the way, I recently had to remind myself that I’ve already done a post on My last day in London – 2025. That means that after this post all I have to do is fill in the blanks between August 27th and the 31st, when I flew home. And then I can write up a preview post on my next overseas adventure: Two weeks in May, in Ireland with lots of pubs to visit, along with a trek up to the top of Skellig Michael. (That’s assuming the Good Lord’s willing, the creek don’t rise, the weather cooperates and we can keep the end of world at bay for a while longer…)

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The upper image is courtesy of Woolpack Inn Canterbury England – Image Results. The page that came with it supplied some of the commentary.

Re: Good Lord’s willing, etc. I first heard that from Tennessee Ernie Ford, but there’s more. See, “If the Good Lord’s Willing and the Creek Don’t Rise” | USC Digital Folklore Archives, noting “this Southern phrase when making a promise or commitment. It served as a way to qualify their pledge, acknowledging that unforeseen circumstances could prevent them from following through.”

This Southern saying blends faith and realism, reflecting the values of the region. “The good Lord’s willing” conveys deep religious faith and trust in divine providence, while “if the creek don’t rise” acknowledges the potential for unexpected natural disruptions. Together, the phrase expresses both humility and an awareness of life’s uncertainties – recognizing that even with the best intentions to uphold a promise, external forces may intervene. By using this expression, the informant’s parents could make a commitment while also leaving room for circumstances beyond their control.

There was also the Jerry Reed song covered by Johnny Cash, see If the Good Lord’s Willing and the Creek Don’t Rise – Wikipedia. Who knew there was so much background on that simple saying? (That’s another reason I love blogging.)

Re: End of the world. See Stephen Hawking’s end of world prediction is coming sooner than we think. “By the year 2600, the world’s population would be standing shoulder to shoulder, and the electricity consumption would make the Earth glow red-hot. This is untenable.” BTW: It would be 649 years from 1951 – when I was born – to the year 2600.

The lower image is courtesy of Skellig Michael – Wikipedia.

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February 28, 2026 – In the last post we three hikers left Campbells Crib, Maidstone, last August of 2025. Our next stop – after hiking 12 miles on Sunday, August 24 – would be The Dog & Bear, Lenham. (Built in 1602, The D&B – visited by Queen Anne in 1704 – is a popular pub: “With exposed beams and open fires, the historic bar offers a selection of beverages and real ales.” Also, “cozy log fires, a courtyard terrace and cooked breakfasts.”) That would leave only three more days and 26.5 miles to Canterbury Cathedral and the end of our pilgrimage.

After hiking just over four miles that Sunday morning we stopped for a stamp at St Mary the Virgin Church, Thurnham. Then came a lunchtime disappointment: The Dirty Habit, a famous 11th-century pub in Hollingbourne, was closed that day for restoration. (Actually it was destroyed by fire in 2022 and won’t reopen until 2026, which I didn’t know that at the time.)

But as I wrote later, “On a pilgrimage you persevere. And eventually find redemption. (In the form of the Dog and Bear. ‘Thank you, Jesus!’)” Which is being interpreted: That evening I had a pint (or maybe two) at the D&B, to celebrate finishing that day’s 12-mile hike to Lenham. “Three more days to Canterbury, and a week from today I fly back home. Hard to believe.”

And while we figured after Sunday we’d have 26.5 miles left to Canterbury, Google Maps said it was only 18 miles. But I learned earlier on the hike – like on the one from Clackett Lane – that sometimes Google Map’s walking-ways can lead to a “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 that the people who made the Pilgrims’ Way – from Winchester to Canterbury – had no idea that someday there would be a Google Maps to help them get lost. (Or put them in harm’s way.)

We did manage to stop for coffee and a light snack at The Black Horse Inn, near St Mary the Virgin’s church in Thurnham. But we didn’t get anything heavy because we anticipated that nice lunch at the Dirty Habit. (Which alas, was not to be.) From there we had another four-plus miles of hiking to the Dog and Bear, mostly through mile after mile of fields of close-cropped, wheat-stubble grass. (And once again, to remind the reader: I was carrying a 20-pound backpack. Thus the “Thank you Jesus” for the refreshing pint (or two) at day’s end.)

On Monday, August 25, we hiked 11 miles to the Conningbrook Hotel, Ashford. Which meant hiking more mile after mile of fields of close-cropped, wheat-stubble grass. And somewhere heading close to Charing we got a bit lost, on a trail but not sure it was the Trail. Then a balding guy in khaki shorts and dark green t-shirt came by and ended up helping us find our way to St Peter & St Paul’s Church, Charing. It turned out he was a Canon at Canterbury Cathedral, right where we were headed. (A Canon is “responsible for administering a cathedral or certain other churches that are styled collegiate churches.”) But he had some alarming news. (To me anyway.)

According to him, five pubs were closing each week in the UK. Which led to me swearing to do my best to try and “hold back the tide,” like King Canute. (Hopefully with better results.)

On Tuesday, August 26, we hiked 8.5 miles to The Woolpack Inn, Chilham. (Though Google Maps has it as a 7.7-mile hike.) In the morning, we hiked up Canterbury Road, a busy highway with not much room on the shoulder for pedestrians. Heavy and high hedges kept us hemmed in. “Busy road, slow progress – and a lot of prayer. We had to get up to Boughton Lees to get back on the Trail.” That’s what I wrote, but we actually got back on the Trail at Kemp’s Corner, a mile east.

From there we hiked another mile to visit All Saints’ Church, Boughton Aluph. (I have a note in my Pilgrim’s Guide saying we got there at 10:39 a.m. on Tuesday.) Later we passed Chilham Castle, on the way into Chilham. (And our next-to-last day on the Trail.) But I enjoyed the town of Chilham so much I figure it’s worth a lot more detail in the next post. In the meantime, if you visit England this year or next join me and King Canute in “holding back the tide.”

The tide of pub closings that is, and maybe even bring The Dirty Habit back to life.

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The upper image is courtesy of Pubs Uk Closing Five Per Week Image – Image Results. As noted below, the range varies.

Re: Dirty Habit. See Dirty Habit reopening next year | Walking The Pilgrims’ Way, and Plans to reopen The Dirty Habit pub in Hollingbourne.

The link in harm’s way – Idioms by The Free Dictionary refers to a dangerous place or situation. A Google search will also lead you to In Harm’s Way – Wikipedia, on the “1965 American epic historical romantic war film produced and directed by Otto Preminger and starring John Wayne, Kirk Douglas, and Patricia Neal, with a supporting cast featuring Henry Fonda in a lengthy cameo, Tom Tryon, Paula Prentiss, Stanley Holloway, Burgess Meredith, Brandon deWilde, Jill Haworth, Dana Andrews, and Franchot Tone.”

On pub closings see UK Pubs Face Crisis: 8 Close Weekly Amid Rising Costs, The ‘heartbreaking’ number of UK pubs closing every week, and more recently, Every pub closed so far in 2026, with the headline, “Four pubs a day closing under high-tax Labour.”

From the King Canute link: “His achievements all but forgotten, Canute is now mainly known for a single misinterpreted story.” That is, while the tale is often used as an example of an arrogant king, it “actually celebrates Canute’s good sense and Christian piety.” He was trying to show his pandering minions that he was just a man with limited power. “The story is intended to illustrate his piety… He knows his power is nothing besides that of God.” Or see King Cnut and the tide – Wikipedia:

In the story, Cnut demonstrates to his flattering courtiers that he has no control over the elements (the incoming tide), explaining that secular power is vain compared to the supreme power of God. The episode is frequently alluded to in contexts where the futility of “trying to stop the tide” of an inexorable event is pointed out, but usually misrepresenting Cnut as believing he had supernatural powers, when [in fact it] relates the opposite.

The lower image is courtesy of The Dirty Habit Hollingbourne Kent Restoration – Image Results

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