Day 4: Walking Saint Patrick's Way

June 4

Elliot and I (on the right) walking on Saint Patrick's Way (photo credit to Nora)

Around 405 years after the life of Jesus, a sixteen year old was kidnapped from his home in Roman Britain and brought as a captive across the Northern Channel to what is now known as Ireland. Back then the Romans called it Hibernia, or the land of eternal winter, because of its perpetual gray and stormy weather. After toiling as a slave there for six years, Patricius escaped his captors and returned to the place of his birth, where he experienced a vision calling him to return to Ireland and bring Christianity to its Pagan inhabitants. He spent the rest of his life traveling around the island and establishing Christian churches, and was canonized as Saint Patrick when he died.

Today there is an 82-mile pilgrimage known as the Saint Patrick's Way stretching from the Saint Patrick Centre in Downpatrick all the way west to Armagh. We embarked on a segment of that hike today, starting in Tollymore Forest Park in Newcastle, partly up Slieve Donard, across the beach and ending in Dundrum.

Screenshot taken from the Saint Patrick's Way Walk Pilgrim Guide showing the entire route

Elaine Kelly, certified Saint Patrick's Way Guide, led us on the hike. She bounded onto the bus with a zippy exuberance but also a kind of quiet lilting voice, like a hermit who moonlights as a Girl Scout leader. To give you sense of her: she led us in rounds of cheers to get us pumped up, but you also couldn't fully hear her from the back of the bus.

Elaine Kelly (at left) led us on the hike

Tim told us that she was a successful barrister (that's a lawyer for all you Americans reading) for over ten years before she left to join the Sisters of Adoration Convent in west Belfast. Her friend Martina Purdy, a former Northern Ireland correspondent for the BBC, had joined the convent at the same time, but sadly neither of the two of them were able to take their vows to become fully professed nuns due to the smallness of the congregation. Elaine still wears her dark hair cropped close to her head, as nuns do.

In the car on the way to the trail, I sat up front between Elaine and Tim, and chatted amiably. Elaine told me about her love for this land, how grateful she is for the beauty of the nature of Saint Patrick's way. As she spoke I noticed she referred to this land as "the North of Ireland" rather than "Northern Ireland," and crossed herself for good measure. The reunification of Ireland seemed to her something sacred rather than just a political or economic matter. I glanced at Tim to see what he thought, but his face betrayed very little. He only commented that since Brexit passed (which Northern Irish voters opposed), reunification seems more possible than ever before.

When we arrived at Tollymore Forest Park, we loaded up on chocolate and water bottles and headed up the forested path. Ireland is called the Emerald Isle for good reason, and this was very apparent on our walk. Most of the path was surrounded by tall trees and green as far as the eye could see. At certain points we stopped to take pictures, but we hardly ever paused for the entire rest of the hike, which turned out to be over four hours. We passed a Game of Thrones tour group posing at the film location where they Starks found their dire-wolves, which was exciting.

An unfriendly cow

I walked with Connor for a bit and heard about his upcoming degree at Notre Dame, I chatted with Christian and Maddie, two of my housemates, and Olivia, Mckenzie and Teaghan, the three blondies of House Brigid. I walked just behind Elaine for a portion of the hike, as well, who kept exclaiming, "Can you believe how beautiful this is! Have you ever seen a more beautiful place?" We also stopped to say hi to a large brown cow who mooed threateningly at me when I got too close to its fence.

It began to rain off and on, and though I wore waterproof pants, I wound up walking with Elliott for a while in order to take advantage of his umbrella. He works in finance and he did his best to explain his stock managing responsibilities to me as we walked over bridges, He had a very pleasant and easygoing energy, and the morning passed pretty quickly.

We walked passed the "Big Wheel" (Ferris Wheel) in Newcastle and continued on down the beach for some time before finally coming up through the sand dunes on a thin boardwalk. It was at this point that the sky totally opened up, but we were all so exhausted by then that we were almost giddy at being drenched. I remember giggling and speedwalking with Nora and Michael. Finally we rounded the bend into Dundrum, down a concrete path, past a bridge overlooking some muddy swans, and into the city center, where Tim picked us up.

He let us have a little rest back at the villa, I ate some mince meat pie and changed into sweatpants and then we got right back on the bus. We made it to the Russell Gaelic Union GAA club for some tea, a little talk and then played handball with some local kids. I learned that sports are very much divided along the same lines as politics and everything else in Northern Ireland, that is: religion. Gaelic football, hurling, and handball tend to be the sport of Catholics, whereas rugby, with its English ties, is the realm of Protestants. Collie, the GAA man who gave us a tour, told us that the clubs are sacred to these communities. Even in towns with high crime rates, no one would ever think to rob or even graffiti on a GAA club.

I noticed he was wearing a small pin in the shape of the entire island of Ireland, without a split demarcating the North. Within the pin, a tiny red triangle, black, white and green lines evoked the Palestinian flag. I had never noticed how similar the colors of the two flags were before.

Handball court at the Russell Union GAA