Chionn tSaile

Yesterday Katherine and I made our way to Kinsale, an ancient Atlantic port that had its heyday a few centuries ago, before Cork took over as the dominant city in the County. Now, kind of like our college town of Chestertown, Maryland, Kinsale relies not on ships and commerce but tourists. We were happy to oblige.

We have a busy couple of days until the departure for Paris––Katherine is working nine-hour days at the golf shop as the acting manager. I am doing full shifts as well, the stores are swelled with Christmas shoppers. Wednesday afternoon we leave for France: the apartment we're renting has a computer, so there's a chance I will update Éire Apparent from the Continent!


Katherine taking a photo of a disused portion of St. Multose Church in Kinsale. The church was built by Normans in the twelfth century, and most of it is still used to this day (but as an Anglican house of worship). This incarnation of St. Multose is actually the "new" building, as it replaced a previous church built in the sixth century.


Me beside the old French Prison. This miniscule window was too good to pass up.


James Fort, about two kilometers outside of Kinsale. This fortification was one of two that guarded the harbor. At the bottom right of the picture you can see the gate I had to jump to get inside.


The port of Kinsale (Chionn tSaile in Irish) from the James Fort peninsula.

Charles Fort, the other (much larger) fortification near Kinsale. This one was in use until 1921 when the British finally evacuated. They burnt and destroyed most of it in the process.

Ah, even the Irish are capable of hideous condominiums. This row of waterfront flats (seen through a gap in the James Fort wall) appear as a montrous scar on the landscape, a scar that someone unsuccessfully tried to stitch up. You can't escape mass-produced housing!

***

The jury is definitely still out on living in an apartment complex. Out flat is the first time I have lived in a proper city, and my first tenancy in a building devoted to apartments. My one firm conclusion is that I miss the quiet of the country. Call me a bumpkin, but I grew quite used to not hearing anything, and, in turn, being able to hear myself think. The bustle of a downtown area in addition to the racket tenants above, below, and beside you can make adds up to, at times, an unbearable din. If we're lucky enough to have quiet neighbors, there's a good chance there will be jackhammering outside (at night). If there's no road work, the folks below us play loud music (at night). And if that's not happening, there's a good chance our upstairs neighbors will be doing laundry (at 2 a.m.––I'm not kidding).

Of course you get what you pay for, and we're not paying much. If we were shelling out €1200 a month for a luxury apartment, things would be different. At the very least there wouldn't be leaky windows.