Move over Cinderella! There’s a new princess in town and she’s ready to take over this castle. Yeah, I’m  feeling my oats as I drive up the winding, tree-lined driveway to Waterford Castle on Ballinakill Island in Waterford, Ireland.

The luxe lifestyle

After months of planning this adventure, and two days of crazy travels, I’m ready to spend the next 24 hours ensconced in a beautiful castle. The two-hour drive from the picturesque harbor town of Kinsale is harrowing for an American who isn’t versed in driving on the opposite side of the road and the opposite side of the car. By the time I reach Waterford, I can feel the quiet stillness and serenity of the countryside begin to permeate my being.

The island on which the castle is built was given to Maurice Fitzgerald, a cousin of Strongbow, the Earl of Pembroke, in the late 12th Century. The land remained in the possession of the Fitzgerald family for eight centuries, one of the longest records of ownership in Ireland’s long and colorful history.

In the 15th Century, some of the Fitzgerald family erected a tower, which currently exists as the main part of the castle. Various additions and renovations took place over the years and by 1895 the East and West wings were added. Eventually, the narrow window slits, originally intended for shooting arrows at invaders, were reworked and now fills the castle with natural light.

To reach the castle, one must first navigate congested traffic, mind-bending roundabouts and a tidy residential section before reaching the castle’s own ferry that carries visitors not only across the River Suir, but also centuries back in time. As I drive the wee car onto the boat, I know I’m heading toward 24 hours of luxury.

The history of Waterford Castle

I emerge from the shaded, meandering driveway to see the ivy-covered stone castle, with its majestic roofline that evokes memories of medieval battles, with sentries standing guard. The arched, heavy oak wood doors add warmth and are a warm, welcome contrast to the otherwise cold stone structure.

The jaw-dropping elegance doesn’t stop at the door. The Entrance Hall of the castle, where a tiny check-in desk is discreetly nestled in a corner, is pure opulence. In the center of the room, woven into the regal burgundy carpet, is the Fitzgerald coat of arms, with its vivid colors of blue, red, yellow and white. The symbols in the crest represent the family’s hospitality, graciousness in victory, generosity and nobility. There’s even a monkey, which, according to family lore, was a beloved pet who rescued one of the Fitzgerald children during a fire.

The fire blazes on this chilly day, crackling in the massive Portland stone fireplace. On the facade above, the Fitzgerald coat of arms is dramatically replicated in stone. Cozy, overstuffed sofas and chairs are strewn about the large room with dark mahogany antique tables, settees and cabinets, creating quiet nooks for reading, conversation or simply enjoying the roaring fire.

Our porter is an elderly man by the name of Rudy, whom, my traveling companion remarks, looks as if he came with the castle. The spry gent quickly unloads our luggage and shows us to The Browne Room, our quarters for the night. The 310-acre estate has five suites and 14 rooms for guests.

Cheery, English-inspired botanical prints in hues of ivory, red and yellow decorate the bed and windows. The heavy, lined drapes are drawn to show a sight worthy of being captured in a postcard. Beyond the windows there are hundreds of shades of green in the lush landscape, through which the River Suit runs. The staff has thoughtfully provided bottled Irish spring water, both still and sparkling, and a delectable plate of fresh fruit.

But the gem of the suite, to this travel-weary chick, is the cavernous bathroom. There is a brass towel warmer, a six-foot long claw-foot tub, a thick Turkish terry cloth rob and luxurious bath gels and soaps. I know my night would end with a long soak in a hot tub.

Time for afternoon tea

After securing the luggage, I make my way to The Fitzgerald Room for tea time. Once again, I’m greeted by Rudy, who is my butler for the afternoon. Since there is only one other person in the room, I have my choice of any comfy sofa or chair. I settle into a secluded alcove that gives us a wonderful vista of the front lawn. Rudy ambles off to the kitchen to inform the chef of our plans, then returns to dress the coffee table with pristine, crisp linens, featuring a Celtic knot design woven throughout.

Atop the table, Rudy places all the accoutrements for our tea. First, he brings out translucent white Wedgwood bone china cups, saucers and tea plates. In the folded Irish linen napkins, he places highly polished Sheffield silver knives and forks. Then he meticulously and efficiently sets up our accompaniments–cream and sugar cubes, both brown and white, all in silver containers. Three small saucers hold our butter, currant jam and clotted cream-ready to drench and dress our freshly baked scones.

Then Rudy delivers a cloth-covered tray, bearing two squat silver pots, holding the deep amber-colored, smokey flavored tea. As we sit in awe of the cozy atmosphere he has created for us, he deftly strains two cups of tea through the silver strainer into the delicate bone china cups. Ahhhh, sweet nectar of the gods!

Our three-tiered silver tea-tray is laden with marvelous treats. On the topmost tier rests a duo of tall, puffed currant scones. The second tier holds an assortment of finger sandwiches including bacon, lettuce and tomato; ham and cheese; chicken with curried mayonnaise; and smoked salmon on Irish brown bread.

But the bottom tier is the piece de resistance: delectable desserts. There are two small ramekins of creme brûlée, wedges of orange-scented panna cotta and chocolate mousse.

Tourism brochures will tell you that in Ireland, you can experience four seasons in a day. It’s also well-known the at some point in the day, showers are likely to fall. While we sit enjoying our tea, we see both of these occur. We hear the winds whistling through the ancient trees, the skies darken with clouds, and raindrops began to pelt the panes. But within minutes, our parlor room is warm again with sunlight.

Take time to explore the grounds

After the relaxing and plenteous afternoon feast, it’s time to explore the grounds. We are given a map depicting the layout of the estate and the delineations of the golf course from the nature trail. I opt to meander among the ruins of old cottages and buildings scattered throughout the island. I wander along the trail, winding up on the banks of the River Suir and on to the greens of the golf course. The wind off the river is quite frigid, so the warmth of the fire back at the castle is a welcome treat.

We decide to skip dinner at the castle, although the kitchen boasts of having a wonderful chef. Tea had been filling and we face a long drive to Dublin the next day. After the above mentioned long, hot bath, I fall asleep with the fresh, cool Irish breezes wafting through the open window, listening to the rustling of the trees and resting my head atop a down-filled pillow.

Daylight delivers a beautiful spring day. Sunlight streams through the windows of the solarium where breakfast is served. The Irish believe in hearty morning meals. A cold buffet offers seasonal fresh fruits, nuts, fresh muffins, croissants, smoked salmon, cereals, yogurt and farmhouse cheeses. As if that is not enough, the wait staff can fetch anything we need for a hot breakfast from the kitchen. Soft piano music and the chirping of the birds outside the solarium are the perfect soundtrack to start the day.

A walk after breakfast awakens the senses and provides the opportunity for some photos. Too soon has the time come to leave this fairytale lifestyle. As I drive onto the ferry to leave the island, I glance back for one last look, wishing for time to stand still.

 Combining art and religion

One need not be a person of faith to enjoy the miniature folk art buildings at Ave Maria Grotto in Cullman, AL. The stone and marble structures were built by Brother Joseph Zoettl, a Hungarian immigrant who served at St. Bernard Abbey from 1932 until his death in 1961.

How it began

Zoettl came to America as a young teen to study for the priesthood after being recruited in his home country. He spent his days running the power station for the monastery. It was an arduous and solitary chore. He turned to creating miniature grottoes to fill the long hours. Soon he began building replicas of eminent buildings from around the world, focusing mainly on religious structures.

Using others’ castoffs, like shards of broken glass, ceramic bathroom tiles and marbles, Brother Joe constructed a miniature wonderland, where visitors worldwide come to stroll the paths and marvel at his works. The brother rarely left Alabama, but he used photographs and his studies to create the intricate buildings. After completing one, he began working on another, until the craggy hillside in a section of the abbey grounds was filled.

A walk through the world in one afternoon

Take a stroll through the grounds via these photos.

Who doesn’t recall the huge red spots all over Michael Phelps’ lithe torso during the 2016 Summer Olympics?  I certainly do. When the source of those circular hickeys was identified as coming from a procedure called “cupping,”, I Googled the term to learn more. Before long, celebrities were proudly displaying their ring-shaped marks, even on the red carpet.

The Chinese-based medicine has been practiced for centuries. In ancient days, animal horns or sections of bamboo were used to suction out impurities through the skin. Modern practitioners use glass orbs. Enthusiasts say the procedure is excellent for stimulating blood flow, calming the nervous system, loosening the muscles and removing toxins from your system.

Since my case of shingles over the Christmas holidays, I’ve experienced a bit of tightness in my upper back, an area where I tend to hold tension. Instead of a traditional massage, I decide to visit my local day spa to try fire cupping.

What could it hurt?

I’m a healthy senior woman. I eat semi-clean, hike, bike and do yoga. Regular visits to my doctor and chiropractor show no irregularities in my well-being. But even with the best lifestyle, I suffer from recurring bouts of fibromyalgia. I’m pretty confident this brief interlude in alternative medicine will boost my chi and relax the golf ball-sized knot under my left shoulder blade. What could it hurt, indeed?

The good

Allow me to relieve your suspense. The good part is that in spite of the name, it does not hurt. To begin my procedure, I strip to the waist and lay face down on a massage table. A therapeutic oil is lightly massaged into my back. I hear the lighter being struck and rise up to see a small flame inside  one of the glass globes that will be placed on my back, forming a tight suction. I immediately begin to sweat, in anticipation of the hot glass that will soon sear my skin. But the flame burns out so quickly, there’s just enough heat to break the chill of the glass. It is gently placed on my back and I begin to feel a slight pulling of my skin. Quickly, the glass globes line either side of my spine.                                                                                                                                        

My practitioner stays in the room with me, keeping watch over the globes and observes how I tolerate the procedure. After 15 minutes, the orbs easily pop off my back with a quiet “smop” sound. The therapist sweeps her hand lightly up and down my back, stimulating more circulation of blood. When I sit up, I feel a tad light-headed, but not overly dizzy. I notice less tension in my neck and shoulders.

The bad

Children, the elderly, women who are pregnant and hemophiliacs should not consider this course of treatment. Few people experience side effects, but they can occur. Some patients may experience headaches and nausea from the release of toxins. In rare cases, clients experience burns, bruising and blisters. This is usually due to a practitioner’s negligence and in the care of their equipment.

The ugly

The ugly part, for me, was how my back looked afterward (see photo below). Some patients have purplish spots that can last up to a week. Mine, thankfully, disappeared within 24 hours.

The conclusion

I suffer no adverse effects from cupping. I enjoy more fluidity of movement, but it still cannot top a great massage. Here’s a friendly caveat: perform your due diligence before your try this. Make sure the practitioner you choose has received adequate training. And, don’t expect to go swimming afterward, unless you want to scare the small tots at the pool.

DISCLAIMER: I tried this procedure because I am interested in alternative medicine. Should you wish to try this form of therapy, I cannot be held responsible for any results.

The door seems insignificant to passersby, unless your guide points it out. It’s simply a portal from one room to another. But this door is different. A postulant (candidate for a religious order) faces the door and knocks. It opens from the inside, allowing the seeker on the outside to enter. And by doing so, she leaves behind all worldly ties, closing the door to distractions that will divert her attention from God. She renounces her familial ties, her personal belongings and begins her spiritual journey to become a Poor Clare of Perpetual Adoration sister.

Living a cloistered life amidst the opulence of the Shrine

I saw this door while touring Our Lady of Angels Monastery, a beautiful sanctuary in Cullman, AL, adjacent to the Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament. My questions about becoming an enclosed, or cloistered, sister are not easily shed. How strong is the call that rends a woman from everyday life and envelops her in a shroud of serenity and solemnity? The juxtaposition of the simple lifestyle of the sisters and the grandeur of the shrine built to honor their Savior fascinate me.

These women choose a way of life that is foreign to many of us. Their day begins at 5:25 a.m., rising for prayers. At various times during the day, the sisters slip into their Enclosure aside the altar to sing their praises. Hidden from the congregation, their voices lift toward the heavens, crystal clear like one would imagine when the angels sing. The sisters spend the greater part of their day in silence, cultivating a greater consciousness for their prayer times. Silence is golden in the sense that, through it, one can become more attuned to God. To outsiders, their vow of poverty may seem at odds with the opulence of the main church, with the brilliantly polished white marble floors and tall gold monstrance. But the sisters have heeded a different call. The simplicity of their lives enable them to give all honor and glory to the Christ child.

The Shrine was the vision of the late Mother Angelica, a poor Clare nun, who, along with 4 other sisters, moved from Canton, Ohio, to Alabama to found a new monastery. After settling in, Mother Angelica had a vision. She wanted to reach Catholics around the world, opening a small television station in Irondale, AL. Further, she could envision a beautiful shrine built to the glory of God. It would be in a quiet, secluded countryside where all who visited would feel His presence. She stepped out of the Enclosure and into the public eye, broadcasting lessons on EWTN (Eternal Word Television Network.) As she spread the word about her vision for the Blessed Sacrament Shrine, anonymous donors came forward, providing everything needed to make the vision come true.

I spend the afternoon touring public areas of the monastery and the magnificent grounds and sanctuary of The Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament. But I cannot forget the women behind the wall and the unselfish way they have committed their lives to prayer.

In some ways, I envy these women. Their lives are simple: every moment focuses on adoration of God. They are not concerned with what happened on the latest episode of The Real Housewives of New Jersey. There’s no doorbell or phone to answer. They don’t worry about the grocery budget, whether or not the tires on the car need rotating.

My personal private retreat

It was these annoying things that led me on my quest for peace, quiet and introspection. While I do not feel the spiritual pull to convert to this lifestyle for the long haul, a twenty-four hour silent retreat certainly holds its appeal.

I check into Sacred Heart, also in Cullman, AL, where there is a special section of the monastery for those who need a quiet respite. Unlike the sisters at Our Lady of Perpetual Adoration, the Benedictine sisters at Sacred Heart are not cloistered. 

I’m met by one of the sisters, who briefly chats with me about my reasons taking the short retreat. For me, it’s a new year, filled with promise and hope. I’m also reflecting on my 30-plus years of sobriety. I’m  searching my heart and mind for what path I want to blaze in the coming year. And as a caregiver for my elderly parents, an overnight respite is just enough time to recharge my batteries.

I’m energized by the cold air and overcast sky, luring me into a walk around the grounds of the monastery. The silence makes my heart soar. While it may sound strange, I can hear the white silence and feel the peace, as if it permeates my body. I shed tension and anxiety with each exhilarating step I take. The terrain is hilly, giving my heart a good workout. No one engages me in conversation, since I wear a name tag denoting I’m observing a silent retreat.

As the evening approaches, I’m invited to sit in with the sisters during evening prayers. I close my eyes and listen to their psalms of praise. Some of the aging voices crackle, while the younger voices ring out clearly. But they all blend harmoniously, creating a joyful praise to their Savior.

After prayers, I’m led to the dining room where I eat a vegetarian meal. I eat in silence, shrouded  in a separate room. I look at my plate. It’s certainly not fine dining, but I’m reminded how most Americans overeat, and I realize my appetite is sated. Funny how silence and introspection allows one to align body with thought.

For the rest of the night, I’m alone in the retreat center, since I’m the only attendee. I spend my time writing and reflecting, planning and reading. I discover I’m very comfortable in my skin. I’m turning into the woman I’ve wanted to become: a caregiver, a volunteer, an adventurer. I examine the self-destructive and selfish habits I’ve left and look at ways I can become a better person and contribute to a better world.

I awake with sun beams peeking through my blinds, my laptop still resting on my tummy. I have overslept, which thwarts my plans to attend morning prayers. After my breakfast, I enjoy the wonderful morning light streaming into the sunroom. It’s time for some meditation and yoga. As an extra alignment for body and spirit, I scheduled a soothing massage.

As I pack up my overnight bag to head home, I think about the two monasteries and the influence they have over me. I’ve learned quite a bit about how a closed mouth can open my mind to instincts and desires. I will forever have the image of the door to the Enclosure in my brain. And I will always be eager to see what awaits me on the other side of any door.

What’s waiting for you on the other side of your door?

Author’s note: I visited the Shrine of the Most Blessed Sacrament at Our Lady of the Angels Monastery courtesy of Alabama Mountain Lakes Tourist Association. Since visitors are not allowed to take photos inside the Shrine, my hosts generously provided me with pictures.