VIETNAM. The Socialist Republic of Vietnam consists of the former Democratic Republic of Vietnam (North Vietnam) and the former Republic of Vietnam (South Vietnam). The division of the country resulted from the defeat of the French by Communist-inspired nationalists in 1954. A prolonged civil war resulted in a victory for the Communist north, and reunification occurred in mid-1976.
Physical Setting
Vietnam has an area of 127,207 square miles (329,465 square kilometers) and is located in Southeast Asia. The country has a coastline of nearly 1,440 miles (2,317 kilometers), much of which fronts on the South China Sea. Border countries are China, Cambodia, and Laos. The latter two countries, along with Vietnam, constituted the former French Indochina.
Northern Vietnam is quite mountainous, especially the extreme north and northwest. The Red River (Song Hong), which originates in China's Yunnan Province, is the principal river of the north and is about 725 miles (1,167 kilometers) in length. The major lowland area is a delta that has been created by deposits from the Red River as it enters the Gulf of Tonkin. The river passes through the capital city of Hanoi. For more than 2,000 years the Tonkin Lowland, considered the cradle of Vietnamese civilization, has been the scene of considerable water control efforts in the form of canals and dikes.
The southernmost portion of the country is dominated by another lowland that is much more extensive than that in the north. This lowland has essentially been created by the Mekong River (Song Cuu Long) and its various tributaries. Just north of Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon) the landscape becomes more varied and rolling with forested hills.
The central portion of Vietnam varies in width but is only 35 miles (56 kilometers) at its narrowest point. This region has only a narrow coastal strip in contrast to the rest of the coastline, where wider lowlands exist.
The westernmost portion of the area is dominated by the Annamese, or Annamite, Cordillera, a major mountain chain, which forms the spine of the country from north to south. Along with the two major rivers, there are many shorter rivers that drain the highlands and flow eastward to the South China Sea. The country also has six island groups, 14 separate mountain ranges, and three large lakes.
The climate of Vietnam is largely tropical, though the north may be distinguished as subtropical. Differences in humidity, rainfall, and temperature are caused largely by changes in elevation. The north has a hot and humid five-month-long wet season lasting from May through September. The remainder of the year is relatively warm and rainfree, but humid. A prolonged period of fog, cloudiness, and drizzle occurs from December through April in the central zone and coastal lowlands. The south is characterized by a monsoon-type climate dominated by a changing wind pattern that brings rainfall. The rainy period is shorter than in the north.
In the north maximum rainfall occurs in July and August, while in the south these peaks are in June and September. Average rainfall at Hanoi is 72 inches (183 centimeters) per year, at Hue 117 inches (297 centimeters), and at Ho Chi Minh City 81 inches (206 centimeters). In the higher elevations of the Annamese mountain chain, rainfall can exceed 175 inches (445 centimeters). The region is subject to typhoons, which may occur from July through November. Daily temperatures in the south range between 64 and 92 F (18 and 33 C), while in the north the climate is considerably cooler. Average summer temperatures are approximately 82 F (28 C) with the winter average at 63 F (17 C).
People and Culture
The population of Vietnam in the early 1990s was estimated at more than 67 million. Birth- and death rates respectively were 31 and 9 per thousand. The natural rate of increase per year is 2.3 percent. If this rate continued, the population of the country would double within 30 years. Family planning services, including contraception and abortion, are widely available. A major goal is to reduce the rate of population growth to less than 2 percent per year. The infant mortality rate of 69 per 1,000 live births is close to that of the Philippines but higher than that of Malaysia. The average life expectancy is 60 years.
Given the contrasting landforms of the country, the distribution of the population is very uneven. Major concentrations are found in the Red and Mekong river deltas, where densities may exceed 2,000 persons per square mile (772 per square kilometer). The average density, however, is much lower 488 persons per square mile (188 per square kilometer).
A major element of current development planning is the forced relocation of more than 10 million Vietnamese into new economic zones that are scattered throughout the country. Earlier movements of people occurred largely in response to war activity, with refugees migrating from north to south and subsequently into urban areas. In the mid-1970s there also was an evacuation effort carried out by the United States that took more than 135,000 Vietnamese to that country. Movement out of Vietnam in small fishing vessels continues. These migrants seek destinations largely in other Southeast Asian countries.
As a result of a United Nations effort, a coordinated orderly departure program has been in place since 1980. Ethnic Chinese and children of American
and Asian (Amerasian) descent are conspicuous in this program because they are the objects of discrimination if they remain in Vietnam. Illegal emigration continues but at a reduced rate, as the penalty when caught is severe. Property confiscation and hard labor and reeducation camps are common punishments.
The urban population in Vietnam is 19 percent of the total, comparable to that of Thailand and Myanmar. The largest cities are Ho Chi Minh City in southern Vietnam and Hanoi in the north. Other large cities are Haiphong (the major port for Hanoi), Da Nang, Bien Hoa, Can Tho, Nha Trang, Qui Nhon, Hue, and Cam Ranh. The latter was for many years the site of the Soviet naval fleet, which occupied the facility built by the United States during the Vietnam War.
The Vietnamese are descended from both Chinese and Thai peoples. Originating in southern China, the Vietnamese people pushed southward over the course of several hundred years to occupy much of the current area of Vietnam. A strong sense of national identity was produced as a result of the struggle for political independence from China. Vietnamese culture, however, still reflects the strong influence of Chinese civilization. Nearly 100 years of French rule instilled many European cultural traits as well. The Vietnamese, however, continue to maintain their own culture through such customs as attaching great importance to the family and observing rites honoring their ancestors.
Although 90 percent of the population is Vietnamese, there are several significant minorities. The largest of these is the Chinese, who number about 4.1 million and constitute nearly 7 percent of the total population. The Chinese minority is concentrated largely in urban areas, especially the Cholon section of Ho Chi Minh City. The Chinese have long played major roles in the Vietnamese economy, being active in rice trade and milling, real estate, banking, shopkeeping, stevedoring, and mining.
Another minority group, known collectively as Montagnards, is made up of two main ethnic-linquistic groups Malayo-Polynesian and Mon-Khmer. More than 25 tribes of various cultures and dialects are spread throughout the hill areas of the country. Still another minority group is the Khmer, or Cambodians. These people, perhaps numbering 1 million, are concentrated in the southern provinces near the Cambodian border and at the delta of the Mekong River. Most of them are farmers.
Government policy appears to be directed toward the assimilation of minorities into the mainstream culture. There are attempts to place ethnic Vietnamese among minority peoples in order to strengthen control. A further emphasis is the encouragement of minorities to emigrate, as noted above. Ethnic Chinese are often denied official employment and educational opportunities.
The three traditional religions are Buddhism, Taoism, and Confucianism. Buddhism was brought into Vietnam from China in the 2nd century AD and has the largest number of followers. About 32 million Vietnamese follow Buddhism, and most of these followers are Mahayana Buddhists . Both Mahayana and Theravada Buddhism are practiced. Most of Vietnam's Theravada Buddhists are Khmer Krom. They number about 900,000 and live in southern and southwestern Vietnam. It is this group that has supplied the Vietnamese army in Cambodia with interpreters and staff for its government there. Confucianism serves as a means of forming social patterns. Rules for social interaction, the cult of ancestor worship, and the male-dominated family structure are by-products of the religion. Roman Catholicism was introduced into Vietnam in the 16th century and flourished especially under the French. There are about 2 million followers of the religion today.
The government tolerates religion and permits religious services but restricts conversion activities and growth in general. Reports indicate that the Roman Catholic church is a special target for control, and as a result church membership has begun to dwindle. Since 1975 government authorities have attempted to suppress and intimidate the Mahayana Buddhist leaders. Temples have been closed, and monks have been forced into reeducation camps.
The official language of the country is Vietnamese. It is monosyllabic and belongs to the Mon-Khmer family. There is considerable borrowing from Chinese in the vocabulary. Of the numerous other languages spoken, Thai, Sino-Tibetan and Miao-Yao are the most widespread. Once widely spoken, French has fallen from use. Given the American intervention in Vietnamese affairs, English is not encouraged. Russian is of some importance because of the history of support and economic cooperation that Vietnam had with the Soviet Union.
Education in Vietnam is universal and compulsory for children ages 6 to 11. The educational system has been altered somewhat since reunification. This basically involves the use of new texts in the south to conform to those in the north. In addition many teachers in the south have undergone political indoctrination programs. Private schools are now under government control. The school year extends from September to May. Primary and secondary education accounts for more than 12,600 schools, 566,000 teachers, and 15.8 million students. There were more than 80 institutions of higher learning with a total enrollment of 160,000 in the mid-1980s.
Health services and facilities are being refurbished and expanded to make up for wartime destruction. Yet expenditures on health services are grossly inadequate. It is estimated that only 15 percent of the population has access to safe water. The government appears to have eliminated such major diseases as tuberculosis, smallpox, malaria, leprosy, and bubonic plague. In the early 1980s there were approximately 11,000 hospitals and 14,000 physicians in the country.
Vietnamese cooking has been influenced by Chinese, French, and Malay food preparation. The Vietnamese cuisine in upper-class homes has a rich sophistication that rivals Chinese and Thai cooking. A fermented fish sauce called nuoc mam is used in many prepared dishes. Rice, the staple food, is usually eaten with cooked leafy green vegetables or in soup. Rice is grown wherever possible in irrigated rice fields. Rice is supplemented by corn, sweet potatoes, and cassavas. Many people raise fruits and vegetables. Meat is only consumed at festivals or sacrifices. Fresh fish and dried fish, however, are readily available. Red chili is used in most meals in some form, and occasionally boiled maize is eaten as a snack. Agriculture in the south-central coastal plain and on the Cambodian border has been historically dominated by market gardening rather than wet rice agriculture.
Economy
Vietnam is viewed by the World Bank as one of 37 low-income countries. It has a centrally planned economy in which the dominant sector is public. Very few current statistics are available because no financial or production information is reported to outside agencies. Gross national product was estimated for 1982 at 9 billion dollars, with a per capita income of 175 dollars. The economy has evolved in phases that have attempted to eliminate capitalism, elevate state control and planning, and deal with financial indebtedness and weak resources. Efforts to redistribute land in the north were coupled with an attempt to implement a cooperative movement. Cooperative land has been contracted to families or production teams to meet production targets. Excess production above a quota may be sold by peasants on the open market. Individual land ownership is still widespread in the south. Similarly, private enterprise in the south has only gradually changed and continues to play a significant role.
The economy is guided by a five-year development plan that corresponded to the Soviet and Eastern European planning cycle. During the 1970's emphasis moved from heavy industry to agriculture and light industry in order to improve material living standards within Vietnam as well as develop exports to earn foreign exchange. The south was viewed as the main food basket and supplier for the nation as well as a producer of light industrial goods.
The plan was built on the assumption of United States aid after normalization of ties. However, contrary to expectations, little aid from the United States was delivered, and foreign aid in general was reduced in reaction to Vietnam's invasion of Kampuchea (Cambodia). Conflict with China further drained resources. It is estimated that more than 40 percent of the country's budget is being spent on defense.
A new plan not yet implemented emphasizes small practical projects in agriculture, consumer goods, energy, and communications. The new domestic economic policy, which was announced in early 1988, in effect abandoned centralized planning in favor of managerial decision making at the factory level in state enterprises. Worker incentives, quality control, shareholding, an expanded banking industry, and wage scales linked to productivity were part of this sweeping reform.
In 1976 Vietnam joined the International Monetary Fund, World Bank, and Asian Development Bank, but no requests for loans have been honored since 1978. Most aid has come from the United Nations Development Program, France, Japan, and the Scandinavian countries. The Soviet Union assisted with major development projects during the 1970s and 1980s.
Agriculture the mainstay of the economy employs 60 percent of the labor force. It accounts for an estimated 45 percent of the gross domestic product. Only 23 percent of the total land area is cultivated. The deltas of the Red and Mekong rivers, as well as other lowland areas, are the prime rice-growing regions. Multiple cropping is common in the north, accomplished through an extensive system of irrigation. Single cropping is the rule in the south because of dry conditions half of each year and an inadequate water supply. High-yielding varieties of rice are commonly used. Elsewhere such dry crops as corn, sweet potatoes, cassavas, and pulse plants are grown.
Before 1980 chronic food shortages consistently caused widespread malnutrition. Natural disasters as well as collectivist policies were responsible for the food deficits. Food production improved as a result of production contracts and increased prices. Mechanization of agriculture is thwarted by the lack of fuel, so the raising of draft animals is encouraged. In the absence of adequate local fertilizer production, there is increased use of green and natural fertilizers in rice terraces. Commercial forest production was affected by the war, but more than 800 million cubic feet (22.7 million cubic meters) of valuable hardwoods were harvested in 1982.
There is considerable potential for the fishing industry in the rich offshore fishing grounds. A variety of fish species are caught in addition to prawns, lobsters, and crayfish. The collective model has been employed in this industry and has adversely affected the annual catch and fishermen's incomes. Refugee movements have gradually removed vessels from the fishing fleet, and this, too, has hurt the industry.
The heavy industrial base of Vietnam is concentrated in the north. Productive capacity rebounded after the destruction of the war period. Machine tools, iron and steel, and fertilizer operations contribute to the industrial output. Light manufacturing and processed agricultural products are focused in the south. Industrial production is difficult to monitor, but apparently growth rates have been stronger in locally run and handicraft industries and weaker in large-scale industries. Consumer industries too often require imported components or materials that are difficult to obtain because of inadequate foreign exchange. Emigration has seriously affected the industrial sector, as management expertise is conspicuously uneven. Vietnamese industry continues to be troubled by power shortages.
The north is endowed with mineral resources that include coal, tin, chrome, and phosphate. The coal mines of Hong-Quong are quite large and produced more than 800,000 tons of coal in 1982.
The railway system includes more than 1,700 miles (2,700 kilometers) of track. Since 1976 a trans-Vietnam railway links the two largest cities. There are more than 22,500 miles (36,200 kilometers) of roads, of which only 15 percent are paved. Human-powered three-wheel vehicles are more common than motorized vehicles. Major ports are at Haiphong, Ho Chi Minh City, Nha Trang, Da Nang, Qui Nhon, and Hon Gai. Vietnam's national airline, Hang Khong Vietnam, has an old fleet of DC-4 aircraft along with some newer aircraft that operate primarily on domestic routes.
Telephones are a rare luxury in Vietnam. In the late 1980s only 116,000 were in operation.
Trade figures for 1984 show that imports far exceeded exports: 596 million dollars and 254 million dollars, respectively. Manufactured goods, handicrafts, and agricultural products were the major export goods and were sold principally to Japan, Hong Kong, the Soviet Union, and Singapore. Imported goods consisted of fuels, raw materials, machinery, and food products. Some 60 percent of these came from the Soviet Union, Japan, India, Singapore, and Hong Kong.
History
In the 2nd century BC the northern area of Vietnam and part of southern China were conquered by the army representing the Han Dynasty of China. Chinese rule lasted for more than 1,000 years until AD 939, when the Vietnamese managed to throw off their conquerors. A southward expansion continued over the following 800 years, reaching as far as the Gulf of Siam (now the Gulf of Thailand). Internal strife, however, produced a struggle that lasted more than two centuries. Essentially Vietnam was divided near the 17th parallel with two states Tonkin in the north and Cochinchina in the south. Following a civil war the country was reunited briefly in 1802.
Political weakness permitted French intervention and expansion. Cochinchina became a French colony in 1867, and Annam and Tonkin became French protectorates in 1883. Later all three were merged with Laos and Cambodia to form French Indochina. Throughout the period of French rule, strong nationalist and revolutionary movements were present. During World War II the French yielded Indochina to Japan. After the Japanese surrender in 1945, a nationalist coalition known as the Viet Minh, led by Ho Chi Minh, proclaimed the Democratic Republic of Vietnam
. French resistance to the Viet Minh led to a war that lasted eight years. After a crucial battle at Dienbienphu, a cease-fire agreement was signed in 1954. The cease-fire provided for a partitioned Vietnam, the south becoming the Republic of Vietnam under Ngo Dinh Diem. This anti-Communist southern regime was opposed by a growing resistance movement that became known as the Viet Cong.
Just prior to the overthrow of Diem in the south, the United States joined the conflict between north and south. Ground forces were committed, and bombing was carried out against the north from 1965 to 1968. Peace negotiations began between the Hanoi government and the United States in 1969; the Paris accord was signed on Jan. 27, 1973. More than 47,000 American troops were killed before the last forces departed in March 1973. Two years later the National Liberation Front forces of the north pushed southward and captured Saigon. The three-decade war produced an estimated toll of 2 million Vietnamese dead with another 4 million wounded. More than half of the population were left homeless, and large areas of cultivated land and infrastructure were devastated.Vietnam was admitted to the United Nations in 1977. Close cooperation has existed with the Soviet Union, and a quest for authority over Laos and Cambodia has been maintained. Some 50,000 to 70,000 Vietnamese troops are permanently based in Laos. Cambodian resistance to Vietnamese demands led to full-scale warfare and Vietnamese occupation of the country. This conquest has made it necessary for Vietnam to deploy troops on the Chinese and Thai borders in addition to maintaining armies of occupation in both Cambodia and Laos.
Governmental ties and commercial relations have been established with all members of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN). Vietnam also has close ties to India. More significant is the restoration of relations with France. The settlement of many issues, including compensation for the seizure of French property, opened the way for French development aid. Vietnam and the United States have no diplomatic relations, though discussions continue on the subject of American military personnel missing in action. This matter and the occupation of Cambodia hinder the resumption of any official relationship. In 1989 Vietnam announced that it would withdraw its remaining troops from Cambodia by the fall.
By 1992 Vietnam had altered its domestic and foreign policies significantly. In response to the fall of Communism in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, it began to modify its economic policies. No further assistance would be forthcoming from its old ally the Soviet Union, since that nation was in the process of disintegration. The leaders of Vietnam sought foreign investment to help their economy. Vietnamese forces did pull out of Cambodia, and a Cambodian peace agreement was signed on Oct. 23, 1991. Relations were renewed with China in mid-1991 after 13 years of hostility. Relations with the United States also showed signs of improvement in October 1991, when United States Secretary of State James Baker met with the Vietnamese foreign minister in Paris.
Vietnam Fact Summary
Official Name. Socialist Republic of Vietnam.
Capital. Hanoi.
NATURAL FEATURES
Principal Physical Features. Annamese Cordillera, Mekong River delta, Red River delta, Tonkin Lowland.
Mountain Ranges. Annamese Cordillera.
Highest Peak. Fan Si Pan, 10,308 feet (3,142 meters).
Major Rivers. Mekong, Red.
PEOPLE
Population (1991 estimate). 67,589,000; 519.6 persons per square mile (200.6 persons per square kilometer); 20 percent urban, 80 percent rural.
Major Cities (1989 census). Ho Chi Minh City (3,169,135), Hanoi (1,088,862), Haiphong (456,049), Da Nang (370,670), Long Xuyen (217,171).
Major Religions. Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism.
Major Language. Vietnamese (official).
Literacy. 94 percent.
Leading Universities. College of Pharmacy, Hanoi; Hanoi University; Technical University of Hanoi; Technical University of Ho Chi Minh City; University of Ho Chi Minh City.
GOVERNMENT
Form of Government. People's Republic.
Chief of State. President.
Head of Government. Premier.
Legislature. National Assembly; one legislative house of 496 members; four-year terms.
Voting Qualification. Age 18.
Political Divisions. 36 provinces, 3 municipalities, and 1 special zone.
ECONOMY
Chief Agricultural Products. Crops rice, corn, sweet potatoes, cassavas, pulse plants, sugarcane, cotton, tobacco, yams, peanuts. Fish freshwater fish and seafood.
Chief Mined Products. Coal, tin, chrome, phosphate.
Chief Manufactured Products. Machine tools, iron and steel, fertilizers, processed agricultural products, handicrafts.
Chief Exports. Manufactured goods, handicrafts, agricultural products, fish and shellfish.
Chief Imports. Fuels, raw materials, machinery, food products.
Monetary Unit. 1 dong = 10 hao = 100 xu.
BIBLIOGRAPHY FOR VIETNAM
E.B. Fincher The Vietnam War
The World Book Encyclopedia (94 editon)
Stanley Karnow Vietnam: A History
Tim Page Ten Years After: Vietnam Today
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Ural Mountains
David Bennington Bennington 1
Mr. Macintosh
Environmental Science CP9
HR. 5 1/6/96
Ural Mountains
The Ural Mountains are a rugged spine across Russia, running 1,300 miles from the fringe of the Arctic in the North, to the bend of the Ural River in the South. Traditionally they form a boundary between Europe and Asia. The north-south course of the Urals is relatively narrow, varying from about 20 to 90 miles in width, but it cuts across the vast latitude landscape regions of the Eurasian landmass, from Arctic waste to semidesert; the Urals also are part of the Ural economic region, a highly developed industrial complex closely tied to the mineral-rich Siberian region, and are the home of people with roots reaching deep into history.
Physical Features
The Urals divide into five sections. The northernmost Polar Urals extend some 240 miles from Mount Konstantinov Kamen in the north-east to the Khulga River the southeast; most mountains rise to 3300-3600 feet above sea level, although the highest peak, Mount Payer reaches 4829 ft. The next stretch, the Nether-Polar Urals, extends for more than 140 miles south to the Shchugor River. This section contains the highest peaks of the entire range, including Mount Narodnaya which reaches 6217 ft. and Mount Karpinsk Which is 6161 ft.
These first two sections are typically Alpine and are Strewn with Glaciers and are heavily marked with permafrost. Farther south come the Northern Urals, which stretch for more than 340 miles to the Usa River in the south; most mountains top 3300 feet, and the highest peak, Mount Telpos-Iz, rises 5305 ft. Many of the summits are flattened, the remnants of the ancient Peneplains uplifted by geographically tectonic movements. In the north, intensive weathering has resulted in vast "seas of stone" on mountain slopes and summits. The lower Central Urals extend more than 200 miles to the Ufa river, rarely exceeding 1600 ft., althought the highest peak Mount SrednyBascy, rises to 3261 ft. The summits are smooth, with isolated residual outcrops. The last portion, the Southern Urals, extends some 340 miles to the westward bend of the Ural River and consists of several parallel ridges rising to 3900 ft. and culminating in Mount Yamantau, 580 ft.; the section terminates in the wide uplands of the Mugadozer hills.
The People
Human habitation of the Urals dates to the distant past, The Nenetes are Sanoyed people of the Pay-Khoyregion, and their language belongs to the Samoyedic group of languages, which is widespread throughout northern Siberia. The most numerous indigenous groups the Bashkir, long settled in the southern Urals speak a tongue relater to the Turkic group. The Russian population is the largest group of people and is concentrated primarily in the central and southern Urals. Most Russians live in cities notably Yekaterianburg, Chelyabinsk, Perm, Ufa, and work in industries.
Bennington 2
The Economy
The Urals are extremely rich in mineral resources. Ore deposits for example notably Magnetite, predominate the Eastern slope, where contact deposits are found, as at Vysokogorsk and Mount Blagodat. Some ore's contain alloy metals, Vanadium and Titanium are two. The largest Copper ore deposits are at Gay and Sebia and Nickel ore's are found at Ufaley. There are also large deposits of bauxite, gold, platinum, and cromite. There are Petroleum and Natural Gas deposits in the Ishimbay and Karasnokamsk areas.
Because of it's wealth of mineral resources, the leading industries in the Urals are Mining, Metallurgy, machine building, and chemicals. Of National importance are the metallurgical plants at Magmitogorsk, Chelyabinsk, and NizhnyThigl; chemical plants at Perm, Ufa, and Oremburg; and large scale engineering at Yekaterinburg.
Mr. Macintosh
Environmental Science CP9
HR. 5 1/6/96
Ural Mountains
The Ural Mountains are a rugged spine across Russia, running 1,300 miles from the fringe of the Arctic in the North, to the bend of the Ural River in the South. Traditionally they form a boundary between Europe and Asia. The north-south course of the Urals is relatively narrow, varying from about 20 to 90 miles in width, but it cuts across the vast latitude landscape regions of the Eurasian landmass, from Arctic waste to semidesert; the Urals also are part of the Ural economic region, a highly developed industrial complex closely tied to the mineral-rich Siberian region, and are the home of people with roots reaching deep into history.
Physical Features
The Urals divide into five sections. The northernmost Polar Urals extend some 240 miles from Mount Konstantinov Kamen in the north-east to the Khulga River the southeast; most mountains rise to 3300-3600 feet above sea level, although the highest peak, Mount Payer reaches 4829 ft. The next stretch, the Nether-Polar Urals, extends for more than 140 miles south to the Shchugor River. This section contains the highest peaks of the entire range, including Mount Narodnaya which reaches 6217 ft. and Mount Karpinsk Which is 6161 ft.
These first two sections are typically Alpine and are Strewn with Glaciers and are heavily marked with permafrost. Farther south come the Northern Urals, which stretch for more than 340 miles to the Usa River in the south; most mountains top 3300 feet, and the highest peak, Mount Telpos-Iz, rises 5305 ft. Many of the summits are flattened, the remnants of the ancient Peneplains uplifted by geographically tectonic movements. In the north, intensive weathering has resulted in vast "seas of stone" on mountain slopes and summits. The lower Central Urals extend more than 200 miles to the Ufa river, rarely exceeding 1600 ft., althought the highest peak Mount SrednyBascy, rises to 3261 ft. The summits are smooth, with isolated residual outcrops. The last portion, the Southern Urals, extends some 340 miles to the westward bend of the Ural River and consists of several parallel ridges rising to 3900 ft. and culminating in Mount Yamantau, 580 ft.; the section terminates in the wide uplands of the Mugadozer hills.
The People
Human habitation of the Urals dates to the distant past, The Nenetes are Sanoyed people of the Pay-Khoyregion, and their language belongs to the Samoyedic group of languages, which is widespread throughout northern Siberia. The most numerous indigenous groups the Bashkir, long settled in the southern Urals speak a tongue relater to the Turkic group. The Russian population is the largest group of people and is concentrated primarily in the central and southern Urals. Most Russians live in cities notably Yekaterianburg, Chelyabinsk, Perm, Ufa, and work in industries.
Bennington 2
The Economy
The Urals are extremely rich in mineral resources. Ore deposits for example notably Magnetite, predominate the Eastern slope, where contact deposits are found, as at Vysokogorsk and Mount Blagodat. Some ore's contain alloy metals, Vanadium and Titanium are two. The largest Copper ore deposits are at Gay and Sebia and Nickel ore's are found at Ufaley. There are also large deposits of bauxite, gold, platinum, and cromite. There are Petroleum and Natural Gas deposits in the Ishimbay and Karasnokamsk areas.
Because of it's wealth of mineral resources, the leading industries in the Urals are Mining, Metallurgy, machine building, and chemicals. Of National importance are the metallurgical plants at Magmitogorsk, Chelyabinsk, and NizhnyThigl; chemical plants at Perm, Ufa, and Oremburg; and large scale engineering at Yekaterinburg.
Under the files
"The great advantage of having an ancestry like that of a mongrel dog is I
have so many ancestral homes to go home to."
UNDER THE SPELL
A travel tale by Danny O'brien
We caught the ferry from Le Havre, France to Ireland, land of my ancestors. Every since I was
a wee lad, my mind has been used as a canvas by every Irishman who has been displaced
from the Emerald Isle. A picture of quaintness bordering upon myth. Cute I thought it would
be, but never as much as the tourist hype I had read. I donned my suit of armor constructed of
cynicism, forged by age. Protected thus from the hype, I the ancestral child would see Ireland
as it really is. Mind you, no tourist hype for me.
The ship pulled in to Rosslare Harbor near Wexford and lowered its gangplank. I made it most
of the way down before I was sucked clean out of my armor into, head over heels, and under
the spell of the Emerald Isle.
We had arranged for a rental car, to be picked upon arrival at the harbor. I thought perhaps we
would be shown how to operate it. Instead the attendant said in his sweet Irish brogue, "It's
the wee red one over there," and handed me the keys.
Still dazed by the sudden entrance in to "The Spell" we sped off in our wee red Ford Fiesta.
Every so many hundred yards along the road signs reminded us to "Drive to the left." On the
open road it was no problem, however moments later in the congestion of Wexford I was near
panic, yelling at Travis to help remind me what side of the street I was on. It didn't help that
he often mixes left and right up in his mind, some sort of hereditary functional disorder. I
almost broke out in sweat when I had to make my first right turn feeling as though I was going
head on into the oncoming traffic.
By the time we got through Wexford I was in desperate need to stop for a wee pee. I saw a
small side road and took that hoping to find a secluded spot to relieve myself.
I discovered that when you leave the main roads in Ireland you are almost immediately
secluded. We stopped in front of an old abandoned barn made of stone with an unusual door
shaped like a horseshoe. The earth smelled wet and fresh and was a bit boggy, more
so when I departed. It was only a few hundred yards before we learned our first rule of driving
in Ireland. One must share the road with all other life forms. In this case a herd of very big fat
black and white milk cows. First in front of us and soon all about us. The rear end of the heard
lead cow was in front of the car, walking down the center of the road in a very leisurely
manner, lots of large bovine eyes were peering through the side windows. Patience is
definitely a virtue when driving in Ireland. Never, never be in a hurry to get anywhere. The
roads are almost all narrow and two lanes but the surfaces are quite good and it is
a pleasure to drive without feeling separated from your surroundings. Any less separation at
this moment and we would have been up to our noses in cowtits.
Page 2 of 9
One of the mysteries of Ireland is how such a small country can be so big. We arrived at
Rosslare Harbor at two thirty in the afternoon and managed to drive the total distance of thirty
five long miles before seeking shelter for the night in Slieveroe near Waterford. The whole of
Ireland is ninety miles across by one hundred miles long, yet the thought of driving across
Ireland in one day would be unthinkable. We would contemplate driving on to another location
only to decide that it would be too long a journey for one day, then check the map to discover
that our destination was the huge distance of fifty four miles.
A great part of the mystery was solved when we realized that the purchase of the wonderful
Michelin No.405 map of Ireland contributed to this illusion. The map scale is 1 inch equals
6.30 miles. A map of California at this scale would be over eleven feet long.
Our wee map of Ireland was only four and a half by three feet, perfect to unfold in our wee red
Ford Fiesta. There was barely a cow path in the whole of Ireland that did not exist on this map.
Fortunately neither one of us are one of those people who can't fold up a map. Neither could
we unfold it the car. The map became part of the adventure.
Suddenly there seemed to be an infinite number of roads to take. Some roads we soon dis-
covered would slowly diminish in size and driving surface until we would find ourselves
wedged between two stone walls on little more than a dirt path wondering how and if we could
ever turn around. Eventually and miraculously, we came to a break in the walls just large
enough to get the car turned around, with me inside the car screeching out for directions like
a trapped wild bird, and Travis outside the car frantically waving directions, none of which I
could decipher or see. We had no choice but to go back the way we came. Travis' propensity,
i.e. natural inclination, for always taking a different return route was unsatisfied. He was not
amused. Nor is he presently amused by my description of his abilities at hand signaling.
I am compelled as a seeker of truth, mind you, certainly not for our mutual amusement, to
describe another Irish road story, much to the dismay of the Irish Tourist Board and Ministry
of Roads.
It was another typical Irish day, soft rain falling. While driving on a rather nice road I saw what
appeared to be nothing more than a large shallow puddle on the road, the kind that are great
fun to run through to hear the sound of the water hitting the underside of the car. Naturally
seeking amusement, I made no attempt to avoid it. The front end of the car dropped suddenly
and for the longest moment I had the feeling we would not come out the other side of this
newly discovered monster pothole. The sound of the tire rim striking the other shore of the
pothole quickly dispelled this feeling. We stopped and checked for damage, only to find
indications that the tire rim had previously experienced such transgressions to its integrity.
Later over a cup of tea in a local pub we told our "monster pothole" story to one of the locals,
expecting a reply of sympathy about local road conditions.
Without the least hesitation he replied "Now, I hope you didn't go and disturb the wildlife in it
did you?" Our first, but not last lesson in the sharp wit and tongue of the Irish.
After spending the night in a charming B&B in Slieveroe, we headed off in a generally west-
ward fashion on N24 to Carrick-on-Suir where with luck we would find and take N25 or R676,
Page 3 of 9
same road, south almost to Dungraven where we would go west again on N72 to Cappoquin
where, exhausted from the long drive of thirty four and a half miles we stopped for a reward of
the best tea and scones we had ever had.
Now for some inexplicable reason N72 became R666 for all the twenty miles to Fermoy where
we once again needed to find and take N8 south to outside Cork where N8 ended and became
N25 for the last two and a half miles into Cork City.
We reached Cork about mid afternoon proud that we have covered almost ninety, as the crow
flies sixty five, miles without getting completely lost more than once. One of life's less
forgettable experiences is an Irish road signpost. It is usually a post near an intersection
which usually has three or more roads intersecting at the same point. On this post are a
multitude of narrow long boards pointed at one end and pointing in every conceivable
direction. In whatever language the local population accept as politically correct in that region
is the name of another town or village that is in the general direction from that intersection. I
say general direction, it may or may not be on the road that the sign points toward.
Theoretically there will be a sign further down that road that points in the new general
direction where that village may exist. Sometimes, but most times not. Sometimes there are
miles indicated, sometimes not. It is a foregone conclusion that if you drive in Ireland you will
experience adventure. It is a foregone conclusion you will get lost. You will almost love every
minute of it.
LOST IN CORK
Once in the city center we found a large open parking lot, which one is supposed to somehow
pay to park in. We did not know how to pay or where to pay, only that we saw some kind of
parking tags with holes punched out for the hours you were allowed to park. These were
placed on the dash boards of the parked cars. After much debate and finally asking a
stranger he informed us we needed to purchase a parking tag at a local tobacco stand, and
after finding one we did. Now very legal and proper for the next two hours of our existence we
set off to explore Cork. For Travis exploring Cork meant the shortest distance to the closest
book store or music store.
There were no particular sights we had planned to see in Cork so together we set off for the
book stores. Before we knew it our legal existence was coming to an end. The City of Cork
wanted its ransom. Travis had not covered every book and music store in Cork yet so I
volunteered to go back and take care of the parking ransom and meet him at the car.
As much as you love and care for someone there are times after traveling closely for
extended periods that it is great to be off alone to explore on one's own. With a sense of
freedom I headed back toward the parking lot, having some parking time left, I browsed here
and there along the street until the time was almost up. I turned to head back to the parking
lot, nothing looked familiar. I realized a horrible truth, I was completely lost. Lost in Cork, lost
from Travis, lost from the car, lost thousands of miles from home, completely lost. Alone!
I spun around in panic, nothing looked familiar anymore, I spun around again, nothing
looked familiar again. I wanted my Mama. Suddenly I heard laughing behind me. It was Travis,
he was headed back to the car and saw me there rushing down the street in the wrong.........
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.......direction, eyes open wide, panic stricken, looking like a lost dog searching for his master.
I was so relieved at being found that his amusement at my expense was quickly forgiven . My
desire for freedom greatly diminished also. Now and then for the rest of the trip I would hear
him chuckling to himself as we drove along, and when probed as to about what. After an
interminable pause he would admit that he was remembering the look on my face, lost and
frightened in Cork. Right then I could have used a cork..from a wine bottle!
Ireland does villages and small towns well, however cities are not its forte. We were relieved
to get out of the congestion of Cork and back on the road to Clonakilty.
We had passed through Inishannon traveling on N71 when beside the road ahead stood a
young local lad with his arm outstretched, hitching for a ride. We being from the land of
violence and crime and wary of all strangers particularity hitchhiking strangers hesitated, then
realizing we were in Ireland, stopped just in time to give him a lift. Suddenly relieved to be
temporarily free from the paranoia and constant vigil for one's safety. Here to give a stranger
a ride seemed quite the normal thing to do. No one is a stranger for long in the Irish country-
side. He looked to be in his mid teens, a handsome reddish blond boy, bright and fair with
just enough of his childhood freckles left to add boyish charm. The harsh Irish weather and
life appeared not to have taken its toll yet....So we thought.
He was in good spirits and quickly we struck up a conversation. At first the polite formalities
of name and where we all came from. That out of the way, he excitedly informed us that
he had just got the results of his national school tests. These tests are given to all school
children in Ireland to determine if they qualify for advanced education, if not its back to the
farm or factory. Proudly he told us he had just learned that he had passed his exam. We
congratulated him and wished him well for his future. The word future fell heavy upon the
exhilarated mood swiftly killing it. There was silence and his face suddenly took on a look of
age well beyond his sixteen years. To break the awkward silence I asked him what occupation
he planned to pursue.
With sadness in his voice he spoke, "I would like to go to the university, but you see, if I want
to stay in Ireland it would have little meaning." "Why?" I inquired.
"There are few jobs in Ireland now that I could apply an advanced education to, there are
simply no jobs. You must leave for England or the States for employment. I want to stay in
Ireland."
I had read about large electronic firms that had located in Ireland. I asked if they had brought
employment. "Yes at first, but as soon as we want decent wages they leave."
I understood, and became very sad, very angry. It is the way now all over the world. Large
multinationals move into countries to take advantage of cheap labor. As soon as the
standard of living rises and the local population asks for fair wages they pack up and leave for
other third world country. The potato famine is not over yet. Then, Irish food was shipped to
England while millions of Irish starved or had to leave their homes and country. The same
wolf now lives in different sheep's clothing. The mood lightened, too soon his destination
arrived. We said our farewells feeling as if we were comrades in arms.
Page 5 of 9
One of our "places to stay" books listed a Georgian farmhouse outside of Clonakilty and that
seemed appropriately romantic for Ireland. We located it where it was said to be in spite of the
Irish road signs. It was set imposingly on a knoll above the town. Georgian farmhouses
appear large however it is partially an illusion. Downstairs there are basically two large areas.
One for the living room and another for the kitchen and dining. At each end of the building
was a large chimney for the upper and lower floor fireplaces. One fire place for each room in
the house. The upstairs had been further divided into four small bedrooms, unfortunately
leaving two bedrooms without a fireplace. Each room had a large window which even when
closed let in as much cold wind as it kept out.
The owners were past their romantic infatuation with the building. They now lived nearby in a
modern ranch style house with double glazed windows and central heating.
It was for us travelers to endure the cold charm of the older house. In fairness, the living room
was kept reasonably heated for the early evening and definitely had all the charm one would
expect. It was full of the family heirlooms. We could not help but wonder how they trusted so
many with their unguarded family heirlooms. It was a bit removed from contemporary Ireland
yet not enough to be a glaring for-tourist-only trap. After one night in the upstairs bedroom
with its quintessential Georgian farmhouse charm and wonderful view of the valley and town
we understood why the owners lived in their warm, insulated, and centrally heated house.
That evening, as soon as the last warmth from the fireplace died, the dampness of the Irish
mist permeated the house. We retreated under the down comforters seeking refuge from
the cold for the night.
The next morning the fires were burning again and a large breakfast of eggs, ham and toast
was waiting downstairs. The inconvenience of a bit of Irish dampness was quickly forgiven.
Particularly since it was a rare sunny day out.
This "farm" was also a rest stop for horse drawn caravans. Outside the window we could hear
the caravan for hire crowd getting ready to head out on their journeys. We got into our wee for
hire red Ford Fiesta and headed off for Killarney.
A rare sunny day in Ireland is a day when the sun is out over a few hours and it doesn't rain
too much. By the time we reached Ballydehob on the Mizen peninsula our thoughts were back
to finding the appropriate weather gear for Ireland. The prevailing direction of Ireland's rain is
horizontal, our umbrellas were useless.
On the main street of the village of Ballydehob we spotted a very small bright red store with
rainwear, boots, and about everything else hanging outside the door. Across the front large
letters proclaimed that "J. O'Farrell" was the proprietor of this establishment . Once inside the
store there was little clothing in sight. On shelves going up the walls to well beyond reach
were stacked bundles all carefully wrapped in plain brown paper and meticulously tied with
cord. Behind the small worn counter were Mr. and Mrs. J. O'Farrell, a cheerful elderly couple.
Mr. O'Farrell was thin and weathered and spoke with a heavy County Cork dialect which was
rather unintelligible to our ears.
Page 6 of 9
We inquired about rain gear. He looked me over, thought for a moment and then purposefully
retrieved a bundle from among the hundreds stored on the tall shelves. Mr. O'Farrell carefully
untied and unwrapped it. There was the perfect rain jacket and pants I had been looking for in
the proper size. I chose a blue pair. He slowly re-wrapped the bundle, put it back, then looked
at Travis for a moment. Another bundle was pulled from the hundreds and carefully opened.
Travis' choice was green as there was no other color in his size. He wrapped our purchases
in plain brown paper, the same brown paper every bundle in the store was wrapped in. The
sum was quite reasonable. We paid, bid a fond farewell to the O'Farrells, then drove out to
Mizen head to test our new rainwear and a good test it was.
At the end of the peninsula on a rough promontory on which stands the Mizen Head light-
house we stood facing the wild Atlantic Ocean in our dashing blue and green rainwear waiting
for the next gale to blow in, little realizing greater tests were yet to come.
THE PILGRIMAGE
Travis is into Irish music. Mind you, I love Irish music but Travis is into Irish music. A minor
obsession you might say.
In County Clare, on the rugged western shore of Ireland lies a small village called Doolin.
Doolin is to Irish musicphiles as Nashville is to country and western lovers, a Mecca. Doolin is
so small it is not on our monster map. This much we do know. It is near and just north of the
Cliffs of Moher. Offshore are the Aran Islands. We would have to rely on the Irish road sign-
posts and the kindness of strangers to find Doolin. It seemed a good idea to begin our
search from the Cliffs of Moher which, being well known, we could easily find.
We caught the ferry near Tarbert to cross the Shannon River which at that point was more like
a wide bay. Once on the small open car ferry we donned our "J O'Farrell" weather wear. With
the wind bellowing up our blue and green rain jackets we looked like balloons with legs as we
stood on the ferry deck, faces pelted by the wind and rain enjoying the beauty of the Shannon
River.
Upon disembarking the ferry we took N67 to Kitrush (Cill Rois in Irish) then R483 through
Creegh to Quilty on the Mal Bay, there intersecting N67 again which took us north to Lahinch
(An Leacht) and finally R478 to the Cliffs of Moher. Four road changes in thirty miles, not too
bad for Ireland.
The rain had increased and could no longer be called soft rain. However the wind had picked
up off the Atlantic and the rain in, spite of it size, was still traveling horizontal along the wet
and slippery Irish sod. This time rather than looking like balloons the wind caught our
amply large jackets and created blue and green sails. Our arms flapping in the wind we slowly
worked our way up the incline towards the Cliffs of Moher. Once at the top we came across
other brave fools who had come to see the natural wonders of the cliffs. There we all were
sliding about on the slippery, muddy paths laughing at each other's attempts at remaining
vertical in a decidedly horizontal prone environment.
Page 7 of 9
The edge of the cliffs were fenced with nothing more than large flat slabs of stone hopefully to
keep us from going over the edge and provide some wind break. The wind striking the face
of the cliffs would be forced upward capturing the water runoff, propelling it straight up and
back over the cliffs at us.
There were causalities strewn about everywhere slipping and sliding about and down into the
well trampled mud. Are we having fun yet? It was so insanely ridiculous that no one could
help but laugh at the madness of it all.
There was a sudden break in the weather and we all got to see what we had braved the
elements and insanity for. Spectacular cliffs rising hundreds of feet straight up out of the
ocean mist extending down the coast as far as the eye could see, bathed in an eerie glow of
light illuminating the green moss growing on their surfaces. The land above the cliffs green
and soft as velvet. I had the sudden desire to have the hands of a giant so I could stroke the
land and feel the softness of the Irish earth beneath my fingertips. A sensuous orgy of sight
and texture.
Still dazed by the beauty of it all we descended back down the slope and attempted to clean
he Irish mud from our shoes.
Nine miles up the road we came to an intersection, there was one of those notorious Irish
signposts, its flat pointed boards pointing in all directions. Definitely too many to read on the
fly. We stopped and desperately searched the post for that special one that would point
toward Doolin. Much to our surprise it was there, pointing toward R479.
A mile or so later we came upon another intersection, turned left, and appearing before us
along a lovely stream was Doolin.
We drove over a small bridge crossing the stream and onto the main street of the village
which ran parallel to the stream. There was O'Connor's Pub. Travis had arrived at his Mecca.
There was not a single person or car in sight. Our anxiety rising, had we come six thousand
miles for nothing? We parked the car across the road from the pub and walked over to the pub
door.
Closed. Mecca was Closed. Just as panic began to set in a man appeared on the street, we
rushed over to ask him what was up.
"Oh its Sunday," he replied. Seeing the look of dismay on our faces he added "Holy Hours,
closed till noon."
Greatly relieved, we used the "Holy Hours" to find a B&B. A block up the road from the pub
was a sign that proclaimed Sancta Maria Bed and Breakfast. A bit odd of a name for a Bed
and Breakfast, we thought, even in Catholic Ireland.
We walked up and rang the bell. The door slowly opened and staring at us was the propri-
etress. She looked near middle age, bright blue eyes, straight pitch black hair combed
straight down the sides of her face of pale white skin which was carefully embellished.....
Page 8 of 9
......with bright ruby red lipstick and a slight touch of rouge. Her eyes, her hair color, her skin
and her accent, everything about her appearance seemed to be a contra-diction. She
appeared about as strange as the name outside.
"Would you have a room for two for one night?" we asked. After an uncomfortably long
pause she finally spoke. "Yes," she said in a pleasant but acquired sounding Irish accent.
She stood there staring at us unblinking just as a child would. We didn't quite know how to
respond. Fortunately, eventually, she did.
She turned and led us down a narrow hallway which had evenly spaced doors along each
side, each had a clear glass transom above it. There was certainly nothing we could see to
indicate it was another kind of establishment. She opened one of the doors but said nothing.
The room was small and very clean. Inside was a small single bed, a small night stand and a
simple wooden chair. The walls of natural finished wood were bare of adornment except for a
small nondescript print. The room gave one the impression of a small monk's cell. I had dis-
covered a new style of architecure, "Pseudo Monastery."
She stood there with that stare, saying nothing until we broke the silence by asking, "Do you
have a double room?" Without replying she closed the door and led us to another room
which was identical to the previous room but had two very small beds
Still dazed by the bizarreness of it all we brought in our bags and freshened up. Looking at
our watches we realized it was noon. "Holy Hours" were over. We quickly left the B&B. Much
to our surprise there was a traffic jam on the one narrow street of Doolin. A stream of local
humanity was entering the door of O'Conners Pub.
Old weathered men, women, children, babies, teenagers, fishermen, the young and the old
arriving by every form of transportation, horse and wagon, tractors and cars. If the small
stream had been big enough we would not have been surprised to see boats docking. We
rushed down the road hoping there would be room for a few Yanks too. A matter of minutes
after Holy Hours ended the Pub was full and the music was a-going. Travis was in hog
heaven. I was having one great time too.
There were several rooms inside O'Connors's. The regular clientele appeared to each have a
preference for a particular room or area of that room. One large room struck me as the family
room. It had a long bar along one wall lined with the older men in their Sunday best jackets
and caps. Along the opposite wall sat as if holding court, older women, some holding
children, I assumed to be either their grandchildren or simply those of the young ones who
wished to go listen to the music or have an ale without their children in tow. Something told
me I was not In England.
Once, while on an outing in England with friends who had a eighteen month old child we were
forced to sit outside on a cold windy patio for a pub lunch because "children were not allowed
inside pubs." This room was the largest and had plenty of room for the kids to play and when
the mood stuck anyone to dance though most seemed content at this point in the..................
Page 9 of 9
......afternoon to just have a drink and chat. A lone fiddler played in one corner, basking in the
attention he received.
There were no paid musicians, anyone who had the calling brought their instruments and
played when they felt like playing either with a group or alone. There seemed to be no system
or pattern. Some groups obviously had played often together and were very good. Age did not
matter. A weathered old fisherman could be seen playing a one row accordion along with a
twelve year old lad on his penny flute. Ability, while appreciated, didn't seem to matter. There
was a marvelous tolerance for even the worst musicians. Anyone who played was treated with
respect for trying. The old fiddler in the corner of the family room, though sometimes off a
note and a bit slow in his playing, was obviously appreciated. Especially by those, I imagined,
who remembered his playing when he was younger and quicker to the beat. You could tell he
had entertained them for many a year and no one would cast him out over something so small
as a sour note. The Grim Reaper would say when this man played his last sour note and spare
we mortals the task. Though, when he played a few particularly sour notes, I did see a few
looks that lead me to suspect that he had a few friends who marveled at the patience of the
Grim Reaper.
To be continued..
have so many ancestral homes to go home to."
UNDER THE SPELL
A travel tale by Danny O'brien
We caught the ferry from Le Havre, France to Ireland, land of my ancestors. Every since I was
a wee lad, my mind has been used as a canvas by every Irishman who has been displaced
from the Emerald Isle. A picture of quaintness bordering upon myth. Cute I thought it would
be, but never as much as the tourist hype I had read. I donned my suit of armor constructed of
cynicism, forged by age. Protected thus from the hype, I the ancestral child would see Ireland
as it really is. Mind you, no tourist hype for me.
The ship pulled in to Rosslare Harbor near Wexford and lowered its gangplank. I made it most
of the way down before I was sucked clean out of my armor into, head over heels, and under
the spell of the Emerald Isle.
We had arranged for a rental car, to be picked upon arrival at the harbor. I thought perhaps we
would be shown how to operate it. Instead the attendant said in his sweet Irish brogue, "It's
the wee red one over there," and handed me the keys.
Still dazed by the sudden entrance in to "The Spell" we sped off in our wee red Ford Fiesta.
Every so many hundred yards along the road signs reminded us to "Drive to the left." On the
open road it was no problem, however moments later in the congestion of Wexford I was near
panic, yelling at Travis to help remind me what side of the street I was on. It didn't help that
he often mixes left and right up in his mind, some sort of hereditary functional disorder. I
almost broke out in sweat when I had to make my first right turn feeling as though I was going
head on into the oncoming traffic.
By the time we got through Wexford I was in desperate need to stop for a wee pee. I saw a
small side road and took that hoping to find a secluded spot to relieve myself.
I discovered that when you leave the main roads in Ireland you are almost immediately
secluded. We stopped in front of an old abandoned barn made of stone with an unusual door
shaped like a horseshoe. The earth smelled wet and fresh and was a bit boggy, more
so when I departed. It was only a few hundred yards before we learned our first rule of driving
in Ireland. One must share the road with all other life forms. In this case a herd of very big fat
black and white milk cows. First in front of us and soon all about us. The rear end of the heard
lead cow was in front of the car, walking down the center of the road in a very leisurely
manner, lots of large bovine eyes were peering through the side windows. Patience is
definitely a virtue when driving in Ireland. Never, never be in a hurry to get anywhere. The
roads are almost all narrow and two lanes but the surfaces are quite good and it is
a pleasure to drive without feeling separated from your surroundings. Any less separation at
this moment and we would have been up to our noses in cowtits.
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One of the mysteries of Ireland is how such a small country can be so big. We arrived at
Rosslare Harbor at two thirty in the afternoon and managed to drive the total distance of thirty
five long miles before seeking shelter for the night in Slieveroe near Waterford. The whole of
Ireland is ninety miles across by one hundred miles long, yet the thought of driving across
Ireland in one day would be unthinkable. We would contemplate driving on to another location
only to decide that it would be too long a journey for one day, then check the map to discover
that our destination was the huge distance of fifty four miles.
A great part of the mystery was solved when we realized that the purchase of the wonderful
Michelin No.405 map of Ireland contributed to this illusion. The map scale is 1 inch equals
6.30 miles. A map of California at this scale would be over eleven feet long.
Our wee map of Ireland was only four and a half by three feet, perfect to unfold in our wee red
Ford Fiesta. There was barely a cow path in the whole of Ireland that did not exist on this map.
Fortunately neither one of us are one of those people who can't fold up a map. Neither could
we unfold it the car. The map became part of the adventure.
Suddenly there seemed to be an infinite number of roads to take. Some roads we soon dis-
covered would slowly diminish in size and driving surface until we would find ourselves
wedged between two stone walls on little more than a dirt path wondering how and if we could
ever turn around. Eventually and miraculously, we came to a break in the walls just large
enough to get the car turned around, with me inside the car screeching out for directions like
a trapped wild bird, and Travis outside the car frantically waving directions, none of which I
could decipher or see. We had no choice but to go back the way we came. Travis' propensity,
i.e. natural inclination, for always taking a different return route was unsatisfied. He was not
amused. Nor is he presently amused by my description of his abilities at hand signaling.
I am compelled as a seeker of truth, mind you, certainly not for our mutual amusement, to
describe another Irish road story, much to the dismay of the Irish Tourist Board and Ministry
of Roads.
It was another typical Irish day, soft rain falling. While driving on a rather nice road I saw what
appeared to be nothing more than a large shallow puddle on the road, the kind that are great
fun to run through to hear the sound of the water hitting the underside of the car. Naturally
seeking amusement, I made no attempt to avoid it. The front end of the car dropped suddenly
and for the longest moment I had the feeling we would not come out the other side of this
newly discovered monster pothole. The sound of the tire rim striking the other shore of the
pothole quickly dispelled this feeling. We stopped and checked for damage, only to find
indications that the tire rim had previously experienced such transgressions to its integrity.
Later over a cup of tea in a local pub we told our "monster pothole" story to one of the locals,
expecting a reply of sympathy about local road conditions.
Without the least hesitation he replied "Now, I hope you didn't go and disturb the wildlife in it
did you?" Our first, but not last lesson in the sharp wit and tongue of the Irish.
After spending the night in a charming B&B in Slieveroe, we headed off in a generally west-
ward fashion on N24 to Carrick-on-Suir where with luck we would find and take N25 or R676,
Page 3 of 9
same road, south almost to Dungraven where we would go west again on N72 to Cappoquin
where, exhausted from the long drive of thirty four and a half miles we stopped for a reward of
the best tea and scones we had ever had.
Now for some inexplicable reason N72 became R666 for all the twenty miles to Fermoy where
we once again needed to find and take N8 south to outside Cork where N8 ended and became
N25 for the last two and a half miles into Cork City.
We reached Cork about mid afternoon proud that we have covered almost ninety, as the crow
flies sixty five, miles without getting completely lost more than once. One of life's less
forgettable experiences is an Irish road signpost. It is usually a post near an intersection
which usually has three or more roads intersecting at the same point. On this post are a
multitude of narrow long boards pointed at one end and pointing in every conceivable
direction. In whatever language the local population accept as politically correct in that region
is the name of another town or village that is in the general direction from that intersection. I
say general direction, it may or may not be on the road that the sign points toward.
Theoretically there will be a sign further down that road that points in the new general
direction where that village may exist. Sometimes, but most times not. Sometimes there are
miles indicated, sometimes not. It is a foregone conclusion that if you drive in Ireland you will
experience adventure. It is a foregone conclusion you will get lost. You will almost love every
minute of it.
LOST IN CORK
Once in the city center we found a large open parking lot, which one is supposed to somehow
pay to park in. We did not know how to pay or where to pay, only that we saw some kind of
parking tags with holes punched out for the hours you were allowed to park. These were
placed on the dash boards of the parked cars. After much debate and finally asking a
stranger he informed us we needed to purchase a parking tag at a local tobacco stand, and
after finding one we did. Now very legal and proper for the next two hours of our existence we
set off to explore Cork. For Travis exploring Cork meant the shortest distance to the closest
book store or music store.
There were no particular sights we had planned to see in Cork so together we set off for the
book stores. Before we knew it our legal existence was coming to an end. The City of Cork
wanted its ransom. Travis had not covered every book and music store in Cork yet so I
volunteered to go back and take care of the parking ransom and meet him at the car.
As much as you love and care for someone there are times after traveling closely for
extended periods that it is great to be off alone to explore on one's own. With a sense of
freedom I headed back toward the parking lot, having some parking time left, I browsed here
and there along the street until the time was almost up. I turned to head back to the parking
lot, nothing looked familiar. I realized a horrible truth, I was completely lost. Lost in Cork, lost
from Travis, lost from the car, lost thousands of miles from home, completely lost. Alone!
I spun around in panic, nothing looked familiar anymore, I spun around again, nothing
looked familiar again. I wanted my Mama. Suddenly I heard laughing behind me. It was Travis,
he was headed back to the car and saw me there rushing down the street in the wrong.........
Page 4 of 9
.......direction, eyes open wide, panic stricken, looking like a lost dog searching for his master.
I was so relieved at being found that his amusement at my expense was quickly forgiven . My
desire for freedom greatly diminished also. Now and then for the rest of the trip I would hear
him chuckling to himself as we drove along, and when probed as to about what. After an
interminable pause he would admit that he was remembering the look on my face, lost and
frightened in Cork. Right then I could have used a cork..from a wine bottle!
Ireland does villages and small towns well, however cities are not its forte. We were relieved
to get out of the congestion of Cork and back on the road to Clonakilty.
We had passed through Inishannon traveling on N71 when beside the road ahead stood a
young local lad with his arm outstretched, hitching for a ride. We being from the land of
violence and crime and wary of all strangers particularity hitchhiking strangers hesitated, then
realizing we were in Ireland, stopped just in time to give him a lift. Suddenly relieved to be
temporarily free from the paranoia and constant vigil for one's safety. Here to give a stranger
a ride seemed quite the normal thing to do. No one is a stranger for long in the Irish country-
side. He looked to be in his mid teens, a handsome reddish blond boy, bright and fair with
just enough of his childhood freckles left to add boyish charm. The harsh Irish weather and
life appeared not to have taken its toll yet....So we thought.
He was in good spirits and quickly we struck up a conversation. At first the polite formalities
of name and where we all came from. That out of the way, he excitedly informed us that
he had just got the results of his national school tests. These tests are given to all school
children in Ireland to determine if they qualify for advanced education, if not its back to the
farm or factory. Proudly he told us he had just learned that he had passed his exam. We
congratulated him and wished him well for his future. The word future fell heavy upon the
exhilarated mood swiftly killing it. There was silence and his face suddenly took on a look of
age well beyond his sixteen years. To break the awkward silence I asked him what occupation
he planned to pursue.
With sadness in his voice he spoke, "I would like to go to the university, but you see, if I want
to stay in Ireland it would have little meaning." "Why?" I inquired.
"There are few jobs in Ireland now that I could apply an advanced education to, there are
simply no jobs. You must leave for England or the States for employment. I want to stay in
Ireland."
I had read about large electronic firms that had located in Ireland. I asked if they had brought
employment. "Yes at first, but as soon as we want decent wages they leave."
I understood, and became very sad, very angry. It is the way now all over the world. Large
multinationals move into countries to take advantage of cheap labor. As soon as the
standard of living rises and the local population asks for fair wages they pack up and leave for
other third world country. The potato famine is not over yet. Then, Irish food was shipped to
England while millions of Irish starved or had to leave their homes and country. The same
wolf now lives in different sheep's clothing. The mood lightened, too soon his destination
arrived. We said our farewells feeling as if we were comrades in arms.
Page 5 of 9
One of our "places to stay" books listed a Georgian farmhouse outside of Clonakilty and that
seemed appropriately romantic for Ireland. We located it where it was said to be in spite of the
Irish road signs. It was set imposingly on a knoll above the town. Georgian farmhouses
appear large however it is partially an illusion. Downstairs there are basically two large areas.
One for the living room and another for the kitchen and dining. At each end of the building
was a large chimney for the upper and lower floor fireplaces. One fire place for each room in
the house. The upstairs had been further divided into four small bedrooms, unfortunately
leaving two bedrooms without a fireplace. Each room had a large window which even when
closed let in as much cold wind as it kept out.
The owners were past their romantic infatuation with the building. They now lived nearby in a
modern ranch style house with double glazed windows and central heating.
It was for us travelers to endure the cold charm of the older house. In fairness, the living room
was kept reasonably heated for the early evening and definitely had all the charm one would
expect. It was full of the family heirlooms. We could not help but wonder how they trusted so
many with their unguarded family heirlooms. It was a bit removed from contemporary Ireland
yet not enough to be a glaring for-tourist-only trap. After one night in the upstairs bedroom
with its quintessential Georgian farmhouse charm and wonderful view of the valley and town
we understood why the owners lived in their warm, insulated, and centrally heated house.
That evening, as soon as the last warmth from the fireplace died, the dampness of the Irish
mist permeated the house. We retreated under the down comforters seeking refuge from
the cold for the night.
The next morning the fires were burning again and a large breakfast of eggs, ham and toast
was waiting downstairs. The inconvenience of a bit of Irish dampness was quickly forgiven.
Particularly since it was a rare sunny day out.
This "farm" was also a rest stop for horse drawn caravans. Outside the window we could hear
the caravan for hire crowd getting ready to head out on their journeys. We got into our wee for
hire red Ford Fiesta and headed off for Killarney.
A rare sunny day in Ireland is a day when the sun is out over a few hours and it doesn't rain
too much. By the time we reached Ballydehob on the Mizen peninsula our thoughts were back
to finding the appropriate weather gear for Ireland. The prevailing direction of Ireland's rain is
horizontal, our umbrellas were useless.
On the main street of the village of Ballydehob we spotted a very small bright red store with
rainwear, boots, and about everything else hanging outside the door. Across the front large
letters proclaimed that "J. O'Farrell" was the proprietor of this establishment . Once inside the
store there was little clothing in sight. On shelves going up the walls to well beyond reach
were stacked bundles all carefully wrapped in plain brown paper and meticulously tied with
cord. Behind the small worn counter were Mr. and Mrs. J. O'Farrell, a cheerful elderly couple.
Mr. O'Farrell was thin and weathered and spoke with a heavy County Cork dialect which was
rather unintelligible to our ears.
Page 6 of 9
We inquired about rain gear. He looked me over, thought for a moment and then purposefully
retrieved a bundle from among the hundreds stored on the tall shelves. Mr. O'Farrell carefully
untied and unwrapped it. There was the perfect rain jacket and pants I had been looking for in
the proper size. I chose a blue pair. He slowly re-wrapped the bundle, put it back, then looked
at Travis for a moment. Another bundle was pulled from the hundreds and carefully opened.
Travis' choice was green as there was no other color in his size. He wrapped our purchases
in plain brown paper, the same brown paper every bundle in the store was wrapped in. The
sum was quite reasonable. We paid, bid a fond farewell to the O'Farrells, then drove out to
Mizen head to test our new rainwear and a good test it was.
At the end of the peninsula on a rough promontory on which stands the Mizen Head light-
house we stood facing the wild Atlantic Ocean in our dashing blue and green rainwear waiting
for the next gale to blow in, little realizing greater tests were yet to come.
THE PILGRIMAGE
Travis is into Irish music. Mind you, I love Irish music but Travis is into Irish music. A minor
obsession you might say.
In County Clare, on the rugged western shore of Ireland lies a small village called Doolin.
Doolin is to Irish musicphiles as Nashville is to country and western lovers, a Mecca. Doolin is
so small it is not on our monster map. This much we do know. It is near and just north of the
Cliffs of Moher. Offshore are the Aran Islands. We would have to rely on the Irish road sign-
posts and the kindness of strangers to find Doolin. It seemed a good idea to begin our
search from the Cliffs of Moher which, being well known, we could easily find.
We caught the ferry near Tarbert to cross the Shannon River which at that point was more like
a wide bay. Once on the small open car ferry we donned our "J O'Farrell" weather wear. With
the wind bellowing up our blue and green rain jackets we looked like balloons with legs as we
stood on the ferry deck, faces pelted by the wind and rain enjoying the beauty of the Shannon
River.
Upon disembarking the ferry we took N67 to Kitrush (Cill Rois in Irish) then R483 through
Creegh to Quilty on the Mal Bay, there intersecting N67 again which took us north to Lahinch
(An Leacht) and finally R478 to the Cliffs of Moher. Four road changes in thirty miles, not too
bad for Ireland.
The rain had increased and could no longer be called soft rain. However the wind had picked
up off the Atlantic and the rain in, spite of it size, was still traveling horizontal along the wet
and slippery Irish sod. This time rather than looking like balloons the wind caught our
amply large jackets and created blue and green sails. Our arms flapping in the wind we slowly
worked our way up the incline towards the Cliffs of Moher. Once at the top we came across
other brave fools who had come to see the natural wonders of the cliffs. There we all were
sliding about on the slippery, muddy paths laughing at each other's attempts at remaining
vertical in a decidedly horizontal prone environment.
Page 7 of 9
The edge of the cliffs were fenced with nothing more than large flat slabs of stone hopefully to
keep us from going over the edge and provide some wind break. The wind striking the face
of the cliffs would be forced upward capturing the water runoff, propelling it straight up and
back over the cliffs at us.
There were causalities strewn about everywhere slipping and sliding about and down into the
well trampled mud. Are we having fun yet? It was so insanely ridiculous that no one could
help but laugh at the madness of it all.
There was a sudden break in the weather and we all got to see what we had braved the
elements and insanity for. Spectacular cliffs rising hundreds of feet straight up out of the
ocean mist extending down the coast as far as the eye could see, bathed in an eerie glow of
light illuminating the green moss growing on their surfaces. The land above the cliffs green
and soft as velvet. I had the sudden desire to have the hands of a giant so I could stroke the
land and feel the softness of the Irish earth beneath my fingertips. A sensuous orgy of sight
and texture.
Still dazed by the beauty of it all we descended back down the slope and attempted to clean
he Irish mud from our shoes.
Nine miles up the road we came to an intersection, there was one of those notorious Irish
signposts, its flat pointed boards pointing in all directions. Definitely too many to read on the
fly. We stopped and desperately searched the post for that special one that would point
toward Doolin. Much to our surprise it was there, pointing toward R479.
A mile or so later we came upon another intersection, turned left, and appearing before us
along a lovely stream was Doolin.
We drove over a small bridge crossing the stream and onto the main street of the village
which ran parallel to the stream. There was O'Connor's Pub. Travis had arrived at his Mecca.
There was not a single person or car in sight. Our anxiety rising, had we come six thousand
miles for nothing? We parked the car across the road from the pub and walked over to the pub
door.
Closed. Mecca was Closed. Just as panic began to set in a man appeared on the street, we
rushed over to ask him what was up.
"Oh its Sunday," he replied. Seeing the look of dismay on our faces he added "Holy Hours,
closed till noon."
Greatly relieved, we used the "Holy Hours" to find a B&B. A block up the road from the pub
was a sign that proclaimed Sancta Maria Bed and Breakfast. A bit odd of a name for a Bed
and Breakfast, we thought, even in Catholic Ireland.
We walked up and rang the bell. The door slowly opened and staring at us was the propri-
etress. She looked near middle age, bright blue eyes, straight pitch black hair combed
straight down the sides of her face of pale white skin which was carefully embellished.....
Page 8 of 9
......with bright ruby red lipstick and a slight touch of rouge. Her eyes, her hair color, her skin
and her accent, everything about her appearance seemed to be a contra-diction. She
appeared about as strange as the name outside.
"Would you have a room for two for one night?" we asked. After an uncomfortably long
pause she finally spoke. "Yes," she said in a pleasant but acquired sounding Irish accent.
She stood there staring at us unblinking just as a child would. We didn't quite know how to
respond. Fortunately, eventually, she did.
She turned and led us down a narrow hallway which had evenly spaced doors along each
side, each had a clear glass transom above it. There was certainly nothing we could see to
indicate it was another kind of establishment. She opened one of the doors but said nothing.
The room was small and very clean. Inside was a small single bed, a small night stand and a
simple wooden chair. The walls of natural finished wood were bare of adornment except for a
small nondescript print. The room gave one the impression of a small monk's cell. I had dis-
covered a new style of architecure, "Pseudo Monastery."
She stood there with that stare, saying nothing until we broke the silence by asking, "Do you
have a double room?" Without replying she closed the door and led us to another room
which was identical to the previous room but had two very small beds
Still dazed by the bizarreness of it all we brought in our bags and freshened up. Looking at
our watches we realized it was noon. "Holy Hours" were over. We quickly left the B&B. Much
to our surprise there was a traffic jam on the one narrow street of Doolin. A stream of local
humanity was entering the door of O'Conners Pub.
Old weathered men, women, children, babies, teenagers, fishermen, the young and the old
arriving by every form of transportation, horse and wagon, tractors and cars. If the small
stream had been big enough we would not have been surprised to see boats docking. We
rushed down the road hoping there would be room for a few Yanks too. A matter of minutes
after Holy Hours ended the Pub was full and the music was a-going. Travis was in hog
heaven. I was having one great time too.
There were several rooms inside O'Connors's. The regular clientele appeared to each have a
preference for a particular room or area of that room. One large room struck me as the family
room. It had a long bar along one wall lined with the older men in their Sunday best jackets
and caps. Along the opposite wall sat as if holding court, older women, some holding
children, I assumed to be either their grandchildren or simply those of the young ones who
wished to go listen to the music or have an ale without their children in tow. Something told
me I was not In England.
Once, while on an outing in England with friends who had a eighteen month old child we were
forced to sit outside on a cold windy patio for a pub lunch because "children were not allowed
inside pubs." This room was the largest and had plenty of room for the kids to play and when
the mood stuck anyone to dance though most seemed content at this point in the..................
Page 9 of 9
......afternoon to just have a drink and chat. A lone fiddler played in one corner, basking in the
attention he received.
There were no paid musicians, anyone who had the calling brought their instruments and
played when they felt like playing either with a group or alone. There seemed to be no system
or pattern. Some groups obviously had played often together and were very good. Age did not
matter. A weathered old fisherman could be seen playing a one row accordion along with a
twelve year old lad on his penny flute. Ability, while appreciated, didn't seem to matter. There
was a marvelous tolerance for even the worst musicians. Anyone who played was treated with
respect for trying. The old fiddler in the corner of the family room, though sometimes off a
note and a bit slow in his playing, was obviously appreciated. Especially by those, I imagined,
who remembered his playing when he was younger and quicker to the beat. You could tell he
had entertained them for many a year and no one would cast him out over something so small
as a sour note. The Grim Reaper would say when this man played his last sour note and spare
we mortals the task. Though, when he played a few particularly sour notes, I did see a few
looks that lead me to suspect that he had a few friends who marveled at the patience of the
Grim Reaper.
To be continued..
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