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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 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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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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