Part II: Giant's Causeway

please do not be so sweet as to think i took this picture....

Two days after Roger's birthday we made the "long" trek through Northern Ireland up to Portrush and the Giant's Causeway. I jokingly say "long" because when Roger and I made the trip back in the day, the woman who owned our bed and breakfast was almost horrified that we were willing to drive ****3**** hours up and back in one day. Our response was that we live in Texas.... that's called driving to Dallas.

Giant's Causeway is a natural formation of basalt columns, remnants from volcanic activity, and unique to but a handful of spots around the globe. Science buffs would comment on the fracture lines specific to basalt, but I think it's simply amazing.

The trip to Portrush and the Antrim Coast (home to G.C.) was the first full day of our honeymoon. We arrived in Dublin around 10ish, figured out how the heck to drive on the wrong side of the road, and then made our way just south of the metro to a little town called Shankill where we called home for 3 nights. We stumbled bleery-eyed around Dublin, bound and determined to make our first day in Ireland profitable despite the downpour and flipped umbrella.... yes, my umbrella flip inside-out just like in Mary Poppins on day 1 of a 10 day trip. (I was secretly excited to find out umbrellas could really do that. :) :) )


Giant's Causeway was as amazing as I had read and seen on TV. Roger and I took lots of pictures down there. It also happened to be one of 2 days on our trip that didn't rain. The weather was gorgeous, the sky clear, and all was well in the world. Oh, the days that that were true. That was one of our favorite days on our honeymoon as we got to be adventurous and explore a new country in a car all of our own. I also had the best cappuccino of my life in a tiny internet cafe in Portrush, along with learning first hand that whiskey is as disgusting straight from the distillery source as it is in the US.

We got a bit later start on the way to GC this time with the William's clan. We got there just in time to have lunch at a cafe overlooking the north Atlantic. I was shocked by the number of idiots that felt 60 degrees was swimming weather. The beach was covered in.... idiots... wearing swim suits, emerging from the frigid ocean completely wet and dripping with.... idiocracy... Dude! It was cold! I have a picture of me in my long coat, scarf, wishing perhaps even for gloves while .... idiots... are swimming behind me. I actually called my mom from Ireland to tell her about these crazy peeps.

Before getting to the Causeway, we stopped at Dunluce Castle, a castle that has pretty much fallen apart but with enough still standing that the current renovations are giving a really great picture of how majestic this place once was. The kids were disappointed that the tiny plastic skeleton was no longer in the dungeon... as was I.

Finally, we made our way to the reason for this excursion, the spread of ashes at Giant's Causeway. It was as amazing to the clan as we had described, and we took lots of pictures with my tripod for this year's Christmas card. Roger would think that was pretty cool.

Probably 150 people were milling around on the first outcropping of basalt pillars. You can actually follow the coast for about a mile on a road/pathway that takes you past many examples of this wonder, but the majority of worldwide tourists stop at that first grouping. We decided that we should probably go to the other backside of this cropping to perform our ritual so as not to draw attention. Our intent was to spread the ashes in the ocean, but we also weren't sure how legal this might be.

The GC spread was not nearly the profound moment we had at Monasterboice, but still there was a heartfelt purpose that gave it weight and meaning. I didn't cry this time as Dave opened the ashes. We all took an unannounced moment of silence as I reached into the box. While still unnerving, I wasn't moved to break-down, just slow, mechanical breathing. I took a few steps aside, closer to the water, standing on two basalt stones close to the shore. In my heart, I whispered to Roger. I turned my hand to let the ashes fall into the inlet... just as the wind began to blow.

The ashes took flight, soaring quickly and with purpose, directly into Dave's mouth. Our eyes widened in disbelief. Someone gasped in horror. Dave spit.

How could you NOT laugh? I mean, this is exactly the kind of thing that you would never want to happen, especially to yourself, and yet it was so fitting in this comedy of errors in which we found ourselves... The missed flights, the lost luggage, the standard transmission, convincing the tram driver to accept our Euros in Northern Ireland (a good ole British Pound based country) because we were "poor Texans" as Roger's father described us with a thick slathering of Texas accent. Inadvertently eating ashes is just the next in a line of classic conundrums unique to slapstick or at least a mediocre Woody Allen flick.

Roger's parents spread their ashes more carefully into the cracks of the pillars and the patches of grass growing between. Kim, Dave, the midgets, and I decided to hike a bit closer to the water in hopes of the ash actually making it to the sea. Maneuvering up and down the pillars to reach the water took some skill  and with it was born the quote of the trip from none other than my sweetly naive 7 year old niece:

"We need to be really careful as we spread Roger's ashes... And we need to try to keep Roger out of our mouths."

Oh my goodness we laughed again. The seriousness with which she said it was enough to laugh to the point of tears, which suddenly shifted to actual tears in just another example of these uncanny emotional shifts at which I am now a pro. The last time we were there, Roger was standing on a similar pair of stones taking a picture of a crab in a tiny tidal pool. And here I was, allowing the tide to take him away.

There was one stone about  4 or 5 inches in the water, like a stepping stone, that I wanted to stand on to guarantee water contact. Without going through the long story of my begrudging purchase of Reebok shape-up shoes, it is important to know that I was wearing these crazy shoes with weird balled soles. Dave was standing a few pillars higher, holding the ashes. I reached up to take a handful, and I stepped down and out onto the stepping stone. The ball of my foot made contact and, without my consent, rolled forward, catching a chunk of moss I had not noticed. I lost traction and felt myself falling very quickly, face first, toward the water. I was now on survival-mode auto-pilot. My hand with the ashes planted down on the rock by my foot, surprisingly saving myself from a certain icy bath.

I looked back at my companions, shocked that I was still dry! Their eyes were again huge in disbelief, and we for a third time erupted into laughter. If there was any doubt Roger had a hand in our GC excursion, surely any of these episodes proved otherwise. We giggled and looked back to see if his parents had noticed my almost-horrendous accident. All was light hearted until I heard an "ugh". They were looking down at the rock.

As my quick-minded hands caught my fall, they also slammed the ashes onto the wet stone. Next to my left foot was now a pile reminiscent of instant mashed potatoes.

"Are you going to try to get those into the water or just leave them?"

I dipped my hand into the seriously cold water (idiot swimmers) and washed the ash from the stone. The chill brought me back to a melancholy mindset, and I climbed back up the stone to give the others access to the water. I don't know if anyone noticed my silent tears or if everyone chose to let it be a private grief. Either way, it was a sadness different from the cemetery. It was a sadness more that Roger was missing out on another experience I would more than wish to be sharing with him and less a sadness that he is gone. I don't know if those even sound different to the "normal" person.

I walked back up the hilly, mile hike with Kim to the tram and then our car to find my tripod gone and the van keys missing. Griswold's European Vacation Part Deux...