Last year we took a two week jaunt that started in Scotland, spent the majority of the time in England, and then finished in Paris. During that trip we spent one night, my 50th birthday, in Dublin. When contemplating what to do for her 50th birthday, Rhonda decided to return to Dublin. It would provide nice symmetry and afford us the opportunity to spend some time in Ireland to see the country outside of Dublin.
Plans were made, bed and breakfasts booked, and the trip came together. Much to our delight, our old friends Todd Arp and Brian Donlan said they would join us in Dublin for the weekend of Rhonda’s birthday. To add to the party Kim and Paul (Wilf) Williams also decided to join us in Dublin for Rhonda’s birthday weekend. Kim is Rhonda’s pen pal from 3rd grade who lives in Sale, England. We met the Williams a couple of times last year when touring England and this will be a wonderful opportunity to see them again.
Day 1 – April 8th to 9th (Dublin)
Our flight today is not until early evening. We have the whole morning to get our wardrobe sorted out and packed. Our town car arrives early and we have an easy drive into O’Hare. We are booked on a British Airways flight that is being operated by American Airlines. This means we are leaving out of terminal 3. We get our bags checked and through security in decent time. There is about forty-five minutes before our flight starts boarding so we sit at the wine bar and enjoy a glass of wine to toast the beginning of our journey.
The flight is full. Rhonda and I are sitting in a window and aisle to the right-hand side of the plane. As we take our seats and get settled in we notice our immediate neighbors. There is an infant in front of us, a small child behind us, and a couple of families with small children to our left in the middle seats. As it will turn out, the British children are quiet and unobtrusive. The infant in front of us will fuss and cry when it gets overtired while everyone is trying to get to sleep, but will finally give up itself. The worst of the bunch is the Hispanic kids to the left and up a row or two. They turn out to be loud and annoying.
We notice lots of families with Disney paraphernalia that are probably on their way home after a trip to Orlando or Anaheim. When the drink cart comes around Rhonda and I both get some wine. Dinner is tortellini and is passable. After dinner we want a couple of drinks to help us get to sleep. Surprisingly the drink cart has a couple of cute little bottles of Woodford Reserve. We happily sip these as we wind down. Sleep is fitful and not very restful. Overnight flights never provide good sleep. I know I must have gotten some sleep because I recognize the movie that is playing and it seems to skip forward each time I open my eyes and look at it. We awake to the cabin stirring and morning coffee and tea coming around. There is a little yoghurt and muffin being served as a small breakfast. We watch a partly cloudy Ireland pass underneath the wing out our window as we make our way to Heathrow in London.
England is clouded over. We make our approach and landing without incident. We have a couple of hours to make our connection. Oddly, there is no jet bridge and we have to walk down steps in the rain and board a bus to the terminal. We have a long journey through subways and hallways to get from the terminal in which we arrived over to the terminal our Aer Lingus flight to Dublin is departing from. There are no lines in immigration and practically no one in security. When we get to the terminal we find a shop to buy some beverages. We get bottles of tea and water but have to charge the drinks because euro are not taken in the airport. The gate for our flight is not posted until forty-five minutes before the flight. As it turns out the seats we choose are close to the gate when it is announced. We rehydrate and wait. As boarding approaches we cannot understand the overhead announcements because of the poor audio quality. At one point everyone in the area just stands up and gets in line to board. We figure it is time and join the crowd. As the airline staff checks our passports and boarding passes they also compare us to a picture taken of us as we passed through immigration.
The flight to Dublin is only an hour long. Quite short, especially when compared to the flight we were just on. We cross back over the Irish Sea and are soon on descent into Dublin. We get passed through immigration and gather our checked baggage. We will be driving the Irish countryside this week, so we have a car reserved. We are renting with Hertz because I can get a discount through work. The desk in the terminal tells us to proceed to the lot. We catch a bus to the offsite facility to find a long line in the building. There are a lot of agents though and we progress quickly through the queue. The car we receive is a Renault Fluence. It handles our two large bags nicely and we are soon driving on the left-hand side of the road again. The adjustment is actually quite easy to make having gone through the major learning curve last summer.
The airport in Dublin is north of the city proper. We are staying a couple of blocks south of Trinity College, which is on the other side of the River Liffey, close to the center of town. There is a car park a block away from our hotel that they have discounted rates with. That is where we are headed. Rhonda gets her phone going and soon has it directing us through the Dublin traffic. It takes us about half an hour to make the journey. The car park is the hardest part of the trip. It is and indoor parking ramp and we have to go up to the fourth level to find a space. It is cramped and there is not a lot of extra room to maneuver. We do get into a space without incident and walk the block to the hotel with our bags.
We are staying at Buswells. It is located on the corner of Molesworth and Kildare. We are taken aback when we enter the lobby. The place is beautifully decorated in a very old style, which suits us perfectly. There is a fireplace and lovely sitting area in the lobby. Adjoining that is a lounge and dining area. Next to that is a pub that sits on the actual corner of the block. It seems the old hotel has expanded over the years and has taken over adjoining buildings as not all of the transitions are level. Our room is not yet ready and the bellman, who is named Paddy, takes our bags and stores them. We adjourn to the pub. It looks like an early 1900s gentlemen’s club with dark wood and some comfy seating.
I decide to have tea and Rhonda a Guinness. There is no better place to drink Guinness than here in Dublin. It is fresh, light and very smooth. While we drink Rhonda sends a text to Todd and Brian letting them know we have arrived. They are staying a couple of blocks away at the bed and breakfast we had originally booked located on St. Stephen’s Green. The establishment goofed up our reservation and we wound up here at Buswells. It is a switch we are happy with. Rhonda and I enjoy a small lunch of open faced sandwiches. While we are eating Todd and Brian arrive and join us in the pub. We spend some time catching up on events and how their first night in Dublin was. When we are done with our drinks and sandwiches we decide to take a walk. There is a large pedestrian area along Grafton Street, a couple of blocks to the west.
The day is cool, but dry. We reach the Grafton area where the streets are the property of people, not cars. There is a collection of pubs and restaurants to the east of the street and a more sprinkled to the west. Grafton itself is dominated by shopping. Brian is curious to find a Carroll’s shop, which he remembers visiting on a previous trip years and years ago. We walk and talk keeping an eye out for his shop. After quite a while we ask a fellow on the street and he says they are everywhere. When we do find the shop it is right next to where we first turned right on Grafton. Had we turned left we would have found it. Carroll’s is a chain is typical souvenir shops we will see all over the downtown area now that we have found out first. Nothing in the shop captures our interest.
Walking on the boys select a random pub called J. Sheenan’s and we duck in. It is Guinness all around as we sit at a table. The pub is relatively full, it is a Saturday after all. At one point Todd has to find his way to the men’s room. Upon returning he states, “I don’t know if I did that right.” This evokes guffaws from the rest of us and we ask for an explanation through our laughter. The men’s room is not equipped with urinals, but rather a sloped stone that feeds into a trough in the floor. Not unusual for a pub. The confusing part to Todd was that he wasn’t sure about the step. I am in need of the facilities and tell him I will investigate. Sure enough, there is a step that should be stood upon when filling the trough. Upon returning to the table I tell Todd, “It is not a long distance event. Use the step.” This story will be repeated a few times over the weekend and Todd takes the good natured ribbing in stride and with a smile.
We receive a message from Kim that they have arrived. We walk several blocks back to Buswells to see if our room is ready. Todd and Brian return to their B&B. We have a few minutes to wait while they finish the room. Paddy takes our bags up to the room and we meet him there. After a quick unpacking of a few items we return to the lobby to meet Kim and Wilf. Todd and Brian return and we decide to dine at a Moroccan restaurant we saw earlier on our walk. The restaurant is on the far side of Grafton and we have a pleasant walk there. The restaurant is called El Bahia. It is up a flight of stairs and we are the first patrons of the night. Nobody is drinking yet and we all enjoy teas. Rhonda has a chicken bastilla which is good, but not quite the equal of the one she had last year in Liverpool. I enjoy a nice lamb tanjine. Conversation during dinner is lively and very enjoyable.
After dinner we decide to give Kehoe’s pub a try. It is a Saturday night and Kehoe’s is packed. We check upstairs, but to no avail. Todd and Brian then suggest The Dawson Lounge, a place they found last night. It is closer to our hotels and we stroll over. The sign above the door states that The Dawson Lounge is “Probably the smallest pub in the world.” The door leads down a flight of stairs to a very small space indeed. The whole place is probably the size of our living room and entryway at home. We are lucky to find a small table free to one side. There are six of us and we work our way around sitting and standing. Before too long the other small table next to ours is abandon and we have the alcove to ourselves. Three rounds are consumed over the course of a couple of hours or more. The men’s room again provides entertainment. It is a small affair with the door under the stairs. While standing at the urinal I look up to see a section of the ceiling is glass blocks. They are small and cloudy, but I think I see a shoe. Sure enough I hear voices and realize I am looking up at the sidewalk in front of the pub. This will cause us to wonder about other glass block sections of the sidewalks in this neighborhood as we walk the street. Kim shares her story about the lady who told her she “Genetically engineers mice”, which is quite amusing. During the tale we all learn the quintessential English gesture of polite surprise and shock. A hand fluttering on the upper breast while exclaiming a silent “Oh!” with the face. This will become another of our group’s repeated sources of laughter during the weekend.
We are having a wonderful time, but Rhonda and I are flagging due to our long day of travel and the time change. We decide to retire for the night. Kim and Wilf join us for the walk back to Buswells. Todd and Brian will stay out late this evening at the pub across the river. We will learn this tomorrow morning. We and the Williams arrange a time to meet for breakfast and we all go to our respective rooms. Rhonda and I will both wake up around four in the morning, but manage to get back to sleep despite the cries of the seagulls.
Day 2 – April 10th – Rhonda’s Birthday (Dublin)
The day dawns overcast and a little chill. We dress and head down to the lobby to meet Kim and Wilf for breakfast. Kim presents Rhonda with a card and gift. The gift is a patterned silk scarf that is primarily red. Unfortunately it does not go with Rhonda’s outfit today. We are shown to table in the dining area for breakfast. Kim and I are having tea and Wilf coffee. When the pots arrive they seem mixed up as the tea is in the small one. Wilf and I opt for the full Irish and it is quite tasty. The full complement is on the plate; white and black pudding, sausages, fried egg, mushrooms, tomato and beans. The meal is good and passes with pleasant conversation. Eventually we decide to make the walk to Trinity College and depart.
The walk to Trinity is not too far. Along the way as we chat my eye is caught by odd carvings at the base of a pillar on the building we are passing. We all inspect the stone work and discover it is monkeys playing pool. The next pillar has dogs giving a rabbit chase. The building strikes me as an old gentlemen’s club, although it is not that these days. It is odd details like these that make old cities charming. We find our way on campus only to discover the Old Library doesn’t open until noon. It is just before eleven so we have some time to kill. We take a walk around campus and notice the random modern buildings sitting amidst the much older, grander structures. I suppose it is much that way on a lot of campuses.
We pass out of the walls of the college and onto the street. Across the way is the Whisky museum. We wander through the gift shop but are not interested in a tour. We walk towards the Grafton district and St. Stephen’s Green. Just across from the green is a large indoor mall. It is three levels tall and evokes the look of an old train station on the inside. The center court open to the glass roof which is supported by lots of iron work which is painted white. We walk up to the third floor to take in the scene. We notice that the odd and offbeat shops all seem to be on the top level. We walk the circuit browsing inside shops from time to time. In one shop selling lots of unusual items, much like Kadywampus on Mackinac Island, Rhonda spots a dancing Pope. It is one of those solar powered dancing figures. This one is Pope Francis. Last year she bought her friend Janel a dancing Queen Elizabeth so she can’t pass up the opportunity to add Pope Francis to Janel’s collection. With the purchase made we notice it is about noon now.
The wind has picked up and the skies are clearing somewhat. We get back to Trinity College to find a queue to get into the library. The line is fairly long, but the weather is more pleasant and we get in line. Though long, the line moves quickly and we are soon inside and purchasing our entrance tickets. The college has quite the collection here. The first item to be viewed is the Book of Kells. The book is an illuminated manuscript containing four gospels of the New Testament. It was written and illuminated about the year 800 AD. There are several rooms prior to viewing the actual book that contain other artifacts from approximately the same time as the book. There are also lots of panels and displays explaining the origins, purpose and construction methods of the book. The viewing of the actual book is a little disappointing. I was hoping to see one of the elaborate illuminated pages, but one volume is open to just Latin text and the other is open to mostly text with an illuminated capital letter to start the verse. I am still humbled by the opportunity to view a book that is over 1200 years old and still intact.
From the Book of Kells viewing room we ascend some step to enter the Long Room. This room is quite amazing. The age of the building and the collection it houses both come to rest upon you in this room. The first thing you notice is the size. The room is two stories tall with a barrel ceiling. It is also very long, probably a couple of hundred feet. The room is constructed of dark wood and has tall windows to give the space light. The shades are drawn and the filtered light slants in between the stacks. Each window is flanked by shelves that shrink in height as they climb so the larger books are on the bottom shelves and the smaller on the top. Each of these alcoves has a ladder so you can reach the top shelves. At the end of each set of shelves is a bust of a famous writer or philosopher. The second level mimics the first in construction. Thus when standing at one end you seem to be looking down a tunnel of repeating images shrinking into the distance like mirrors reflected in one another. The air is thick with age and the books are inviting. I want to peruse their number and see what I can stumble across. Unfortunately most of the texts are probably in Latin or Gaelic.
Standing in a case by itself halfway down the left is the Brian Boru Harp. It is one of the three oldest harps in Ireland and is the model for harp you see in the Irish coat of arms, on their coins and in the Guinness logo. The harp is roughly six hundred years old. It is very well worn and all of the brass strings are present. The wood is intricately carved, which is something you don’t normally see in the small renderings of the harp as a logo. I notice a gem mounted at the head of the harp. Just below the gem is the brass mount for another gem. I wonder what became of what was once mounted there. My mind runs on and I look about myself. There are books dating all the way back to medieval times here. Who wrote these various books? Whose hands have they passed through? What about all the people that have played this harp? What were their favorite tunes to play? Places like the Long Room here in the Old Library in Trinity College spark my imagination. I like to think about all of those that have gone before and what their day to day life was like. I guess that is why I like history, especially the history of the more ordinary person, like a scribe or musician.
We finish with the library and meet Kim and Wilf outside in the courtyard. We decide to continue with the old things and walk to the Brazen Head pub. It is reputed to be the oldest pub in Ireland, starting business as a coach house back in 1198. The walk is just about a mile. We cut through the Temple Bar district down to the Liffey River and walk along the river to the pub. Rhonda texts Todd and Brian and let them know where we are going in case they want to join us. The walk is pleasant and we arrive at the pub thirsty. The front rooms are somewhat full and we find a table in the back room we can all sit at. I step up to the bar and order up three pints and a half of Guinness. As I try to pick up the four glasses at once the bartender ask, “Where are you sitting.” He comes out from behind the bar and takes two glasses and follows me to the back room.
After we are settled with our pints a fellow comes by to see if we want something to eat. Very unusual, but I guess they cater to the tourists here. Kim and Wilf order a little something to share as do Rhonda as I. While we wait Todd and Brian show up and join us. When our nibbles arrive there are chips on Kim and Wilf’s plate. This starts a conversation revolving around sauces, HP and barbeque in particular. Todd is very interested because Heinz and Kraft have merged and the sauce packets on the table are produced by Heinz. As we sit and chat the back room begins to fill up. There are large groups and things are getting too noisy to talk comfortably, so we decide to take our leave. We all walk together back to Temple Bar and then to our respective hotels discussing what to do for dinner. Rhonda feels like a steak and we seem to recall seeing a place close to the hotels.
While freshening up in our room Brian sends a text stating they walked by where we thought the restaurant was and didn’t find it. Knowing there was another we did pass that we didn’t like the menu for we have to punt. I browse the information in the room and we settle on a place called The Farm, which is not too far away. The new plan is relayed to everyone. We meet Kim and Wilf downstairs after a while and walk over to The Farm. Todd and Brian are already there and waiting for us at a table.
The restaurant has an unusual feature. They leave a device like a garage door opener at the table. If we require the wait staff we are to push the button, which will summon someone. We are early for dinner and there are early bird specials available. The one we all take advantage of is a starter and entrée for twenty-two euro. A couple of folks in our party decide to have a “fish out” dinner. That is the crab cake starter and fish pie. Fish pie is similar to a shepherd’s or cottage pie except that fish is used as the meat and the vegetables are in a white sauce. I opt for the lamb as my main course. The restaurant prides itself in sourcing its ingredients locally and organically. The food is delectable and the whole meal a delight. Rhonda and I decide to pick up the tab as a thank you to our friends who have traveled to be with us on her birthday.
The feature event of the evening will be a musical pub crawl. We start at the Oliver Saint John Gogarty Pub in Temple Bar a little after seven. We have plenty of time and take the stroll to the pub. When we arrive we see there are not a lot of patrons gathering yet. The crowd for the pub crawl will be smaller than when Rhonda and I took it last year. It is a Sunday instead of a Saturday, which I am sure has some effect. We get checked in and take a seat. There is a fellow here who is by himself and on the pub crawl. He is of Asian descent, but hails from Auckland, New Zealand. He obviously wants someone to talk to and latches on to Todd, who is too nice and always seems to be in conversation with strangers. After about fifteen minutes or more the two musicians who will be leading the crawl arrive. They are Mark, who has long dreadlocks and plays guitar and bodhran, and Bernadette, who plays fiddle.
Mark is the talker and leader of the pair. They play a couple of songs as a warm-up and get everyone singing the chorus on the second song. Afterwards they lead the two dozen or so of us the short distance to the Ha’penny Bridge Pub and upstairs to the private room. Mark does more talking than the group did last year, but we do learn some new things. For instance, before he sings one song he explains a few of the lyrics. In the explanation he says the word “wing” is an old Gaelic term for a penny. Thus the phrase “wing and a prayer” originally meant “penny and a prayer.” Mark also shares a lot of history behind the songs. After an hour in the Ha’Penny Bridge Pub the group walks over the river and to Brannigan’s. Here in Brannigan’s Mark talks about the “noble call” where guests would be called upon to share a song from their home. He states in a smaller group he may not have any takers. Rhonda volunteers me and I sing The Glendy Burk, an old Mississippi riverboat song from the 1850s. At the end of the hour in Brannigan’s Mark tells us all the names of a couple of pubs where we could experience a true “seisiun”. A session, to use the English word, is a gathering of musicians in a pub or home. They play and share music for each other, and it is not a concert or performance for the other patrons of the pub. Mark says that, “If there is a microphone, then it is not a true session.”
We decide to go to Bowe’s and see if there is a session in progress. It is raining now. A mist was in the air as we walked over the river an hour ago, but now at 10pm it is a light rain. We walk south and get back across the River Liffey. As we walk a homeless man, or just a beggar, approaches me and begins to speak. His accent is so thick I can’t understand much on anything he says. We press on. We were told Bowe’s is on Fleet Street. When we reach Fleet we turn towards the heart of Temple Bar. The farther we walk the more we think we turned the wrong way. We ask a bouncer in front of a random pub if he know Bowe’s and he does indeed direct us back the other way. As it turns out the pub is only a block and a half or so from our wrong turn.
We find a couple of small tables and claim them for our group. There is a pretty good crowd in the pub, but most everyone is watching The Masters golf tournament on TV. A Brit is leading the event and the patrons are very engaged in the golf match, cheering from time to time. There is a group of three musicians in the back corner by themselves. There is a banjo, guitar and fiddle. They play a song every so often, but everything is instrumental. The only sung tune will be done close to closing time. Wilf and I approach the bar to get the group its drinks. Kim has reached her limit and wants tea. I shouldn’t be surprised, but am anyway when the bartender doesn’t bat an eye and quickly produces everything for a proper hot tea from under the bar when we ask for it. At about eleven o’clock the pub is closing. We decide to call it a night. The rain has picked up and the streets are fairly empty as we walk back to Buswells. We see other pubs shutting their doors and wrapping things up for the night. Even though it is a Sunday night, it does seem odd that things close down so early. We are a little sodden when we get back to our room and curl up in bed.
Day 3 – April 11th (Kinsale)
Our friends are all flying home today. We will be hitting the road. Todd and Brian forego breakfast at their B&B to join us in the Buswells dining room at 9:30. Todd, ever the foil, has a challenging time ordering an omelet from our waitress who seems to have a heavy eastern European accent. The food arrives and everyone enjoys breakfast as the conversation spends a lot of time focusing on camping. The group’s preferences regarding camping run the gamut at the table. Many stories are shared and another enjoyable meal full of good food and good conversation is had by all. The time eventually comes when we must part ways. Hugs and smiles are passed around as we all take our leave of one another. It has been wonderful having our friends with us the last couple of days.
Rhonda and I return to our room to pack everything up. We have to drive south to Kinsale today. Kinsale is a fishing village on the southern coast, below Cork. It is late morning by the time we are in the car, so we don’t have to worry about rush hour on this Monday morning. We get out of the city without incident and on the motorway towards Cork. The morning is rainy and overcast. As we get farther south the sky begins to break a little. We pull off on a random exit that has services to get something to drink. After going through three roundabouts we get to a Topaz gas station. The gas pumps look normal enough, but there is a large stone building next to them that houses the convenience store and restaurant. The sign on the building says it is, or was, the Gandon Inn. Maybe there are still rooms there. We enjoy our stroll around the store looking at the different brands and get some sodas and digestives. Digestives are a cracker or cookie that is thin and not really sweet at all. They are usually eaten with tea. The ones we get are similar to a thinner, less sweet Nilla Wafer.
We continue on the carriageway south towards Cork. Mountains begin to rise the farther south we get. I am surprised by the size of them. I expected Ireland to be mostly rolling hills. These mountains are quite tall. We see gorse bushes in full bloom all along the road. Their deep yellow compliments the lighter yellow of the numerous daffodils also in bloom along the highway. The grass in the fields is a vibrant green along with most of the trees and hedges. There are certain plants that are still mostly brown, but it is early spring and I am happy with the amount of green we are seeing. The pastures are mostly filled with sheep which are accompanied by their new lambs. Occasionally we see cattle and horses. But sheep dominate the grazing land.
The sky is pretty much clear by the time we reach Cork. We skirt the city to the east and pickup a smaller road on the southern edge of Cork, near the airport. The airport is a small affair, probably the size of the one in the Quad Cities. As the road turns south away from Cork it reduces to two lanes and winds along the hillsides and in the valleys. We pass through a small town or two which show evidences of flooding. They were hit with three inches of rain the previous day. As we get close to Kinsale a bridges takes us over a rather wide riverbed. The flowing water is maybe fifteen feet wide while there are the muddy areas that are flanking the water that are twenty-five to thirty feet each. After we cross over this waterway again it dawns on me what I am looking at. The river that runs into the ocean is at low tide.
As we circle around a shoulder of land we arrive in Kinsales proper. The road narrows as we come into town. The harbor is at low tide and the few boats moored this far up are sitting at a tilt on the mud. The town is in the shape of a horseshoe, surrounding the harbor and filling the valley here. We know the bed and breakfast where we are staying is down here in the heart of the town. There seems to be a bit of a traffic jam. The main road takes a couple of left turns as it runs around the harbor. We want to go straight ahead and have a little difficulty getting through a couple of busy intersections. It is only 3:30 in the afternoon and we will see later this is an anomaly. When we are walking around town later the streets will be mostly empty. We get through the jam and tentatively pass through some narrows lanes that will only allow one car to pass at a time. Fortunately we find the B&B without issue. They have their own parking inside an interior court. We have to pass through a narrow arch that connects different parts of the building to get to the lot.
We are staying at The Old Presbytery tonight. It is an odd collection of small conjoined buildings. The parking lot we are standing in probably used to be a backyard, and still has some garden and green areas. It is in the back of the building and faces the harbor and downtown Kinsale. We enter through a door under the arch we drove through. Misty gets us checked in and gives us a small map of the downtown area. She highlights a few places for dinner but says that if we like seafood that Fishy Fishy has the best. Misty makes a call to place a reservation for us. An older gentleman arrives at the desk and takes up Rhonda’s bag. He leads us to our room, which is across the arch and up a couple of floors. The room has an old style key and is very charming. An old brass bed sits in one area that is separated from a small area by a wall and door made up of stained glass. The smaller area has a desk, armoire and claw footed tub. The bathroom is off of that area. The room has a lovely view of the harbor from this height. We get our clothes for the next day unpacked and I check my e-mail for messages from John Herlihy, who works for McKesson here in Ireland. We are trying to arrange dinner tonight, but given last minute changes in his schedule we decide to just visit the office in Cork tomorrow.
Rhonda and I walk down a floor and back to the dining area. There is a tea served at four thirty, but we opt for some wine and cheese instead. We have a nice white and some excellent cheeses. There are a couple of wonderful blues, including a Stilton that is in a pot and has to be scooped out. After our brief respite and unwind from the drive we decide to go walking. The sky is clear with a breeze blowing. The sun is warm, but the shade cool, so we wear our coats. We walk the small lanes toward Fishy Fishy so we know where we are going later. The buildings along the roads are all painted in bright colors. The buildings themselves are shops and residences and are smooth faced stucco, plaster or cement. The buildings are vivid and span all the colors of the rainbow. It makes what could be a very dreary scene vibrant and appealing. We find the restaurant which sits next to a park that fronts on the water. We see that the tide is coming back in and the boats are now afloat. We proceed down to the low wall that separates the road from the harbor. We see the high tide line and notice how dramatic the difference is between that and what we witnessed when we came into town. The total fluctuation is probably in the neighborhood of six to seven feet.
We walk around the harbor and find a small grocery store. We decide to have a look around. It is always amusing to see what people are eating on a daily basis in other countries. Some of the most fun items are those that are familiar to us, but have different names or logos. One example is Frosted Flakes. In Mexico the cereal is called Zucaritas. Here in Ireland it is simply called Frosties. Tony the Tiger graces the boxes in all places. We see that the Corn Flakes on the shelf are still sporting a Santa Claus and wonder if they have been here since Christmas. Obviously Corn Flakes are not a quick mover here in Kinsale. Outside of the market and across the street we see a small caravan, or mobile home. There is a large sign in front of the vehicle touting the services of Gypsy Kathleen. Here is the modern version of the traveling gypsy telling fortunes around the countryside. The door is open and the sign invites people to “step inside” to have their fortune told. I had no idea such things still existing in traveling form. The mobile home looks fairly new, so the business must be thriving.
Up the block is a pub called The White House. I want to try Murphy’s, which is supposed to be the preferred stout in Cork, so we decide to go in for a pint. Behind the bar is a woman named Aggie. She is definitely of Polish decent, but says she has been here in Ireland for sixteen years. She now has a distinct Irish accent. She is talkative and helpful. She gives Rhonda a taste of both Murphy’s and Beamish, which is another local stout. Rhonda decide to have a half of Guinness and I have a full of Murphy’s. Murphy’s is good, but in the end I think I prefer Guinness. While we are talking with Aggie a fellow named Steve, who is also up at the bar engages us in conversation. He asks if I know anything about “these new phones”. He is having trouble texting because the auto-correct keeps replacing words that it doesn’t understand. Given his manner of speech and the possible Irish that creeps into his language, it is no surprise. I take the phone in hand and manage to get the auto-correct turned off. He praises my efforts and says three other people tried and failed. Now he won’t stop talking. He has obviously had a few drinks already and continues on about a particular TV show that he insists we watch. Returning to Aggie she pours Rhonda another half of Guinness with cassis added. She says that is the way she likes her stout and Rhonda enjoys it quite a bit. Aggie asks our plans for tomorrow and we say we just have to get to Killarney by evening. We ask for her recommendations of things to see. She then proceeds to educate us on the Wild Atlantic Way. She produces a map to give to us and highlights a good route to take that includes a lot of this road. The Wild Atlantic Way is road that follows the southern and western shoreline of Ireland. We are at the start of it here in Kinsale. The route follows the rugged coastline and is very scenic. We thank her for the information and now have a plan for tomorrow. Talking to the locals always yields the best information. It is near time for our reservations so we pay our tab, which is under ten euro, gather our map and take our leave of Aggie and Steve.
We get to Fishy Fishy right at seven for our reservations. I select a bottle of Pinot Grigio for us to drink. We both start with a soup on this chilly evening. Rhonda has a seafood chowder and I a lobster and crab bisque. Both are very tasty. For our main course Rhonda has the locally caught mussel and I a local hake. Once again both dishes are good, but the mussels are particularly delicious. They are especially sweet and tender. The mussels are served with a scattering of small white flowers. We know they are edible if they are on the plate. When bit each gives a small burst of garlic flavor. We ask about them and are told they are wild garlic blossoms. The meal has been wonderful and we decide to return to the Presbytery and catch up on journal notes. On the walk back we stop in at a small liquor store near The White House that we browsed earlier. We purchase a bottle of Yellow Spot, which is a very fine, single pot still Irish whiskey. We get back to our room and pour a couple of drams of the whiskey and set to work on this journal. The Yellow Spot makes a perfect nightcap for a lovely day.
Day 4 – April 12th (Killarney)
We both woke up at about 4:30 in the morning for reasons unknown. Fortunately we were able to get back to sleep. When morning does come we are up and get ourselves together and walk down to the dining area. There are a variety of baked goods and other items on that have been set out for everyone. We also can order hot items from the kitchen. Rhonda orders the morning’s special omelet and I the porridge. I enjoy a scone while we wait that is very good. Tea is available, which we partake of, and also a fancy coffee machine. The machine is quite noisy when compared to the quiet calm of the room. The hot plates arrive. Rhonda’s omelet contains bacon, blue cheese, apples and walnuts. It is delicious. My porridge is served with honey, cream and fresh berries. It is quite nice too. On the plate with the omelet are more wild garlic blossoms. When the hostess comes around to chat we ask about the wild garlic. She says that a lot of wild garlic grows around the area and it is all in bloom right now. Thus the garnish is only available for about a week every year. We feel ourselves very lucky to have experienced this treat. Breakfast has been wonderful, but it is time to go.
We are back tracking a little this morning. The plan is to drive back to the Cork to meet the McKesson team. They are located in an office complex next to the airport, so we don’t have to venture into the city. In fact we passed by the complex on the way down to Kinsale yesterday. I notice the tide is in as we pass back over the river we crossed this the day before. The scene is very different. We find the office without problem. We spend a couple of hours at the office. We spend most of our time talking in the break room with John Herlihy, Brendan O’Dwyer, Liam Fraher and Margaret Smith. I also have the opportunity to meet many others that I converse with via e-mail including Marta, Moira, Sharon and Colm. During conversation John uses the phrase “monkey change” to refer to a seemingly insignificant amount of money. The turn of phrase strikes Rhonda’s funny bone and will become a part of her speech this week. About 12:30 we decide it is time to go. We say our goodbyes and take to the road.
We travel back down the highway between Cork and Kinsale a third time. In Kinsale we pick-up the Wild Atlantic Way. The route is marked with small blue signs that have what looks like a white wave on them. The wave is simply the stylized acronym WAW. The roads along the Wild Atlantic Way are often one lane two way roads. These roads are frequently flanked by stone walls upon which hedges are growing. This makes many of the bends blind corners. The road is windy, following the contours of the rugged land. The pastures here along the coast tend to be dominated by cows instead of sheep. We will later learn from a rancher we meet at the Cliffs of Kerry that this is because the cows need better grass, and that is found nearer the coast. We also notice that the sheep we do see have long hair instead of curly. We also wonder about the colored spots painted onto the sheep. The same rancher will tell us that it is their way of marking their flocks, like brands on cattle. Some animals will bear a single spot, while others will sport two or three colors at the same time.
Early in our drive we see some wild swans. This is near Timoleague where we are viewing the wide expanse of a tidal flat. The first larger town we come to is Clonakilty. We stop there to use the restroom and pick up some drinks at a gas station. Rhonda finds a Pepsi, which is a rare thing here in Ireland. I get a Tipperary Water which is pear flavored. The next stop we have planned is the Galley Head light house. As we drive out to the end of the peninsula the road gets smaller and rougher. We can see the light house poking up above the land but can’t get there. The road for the last quarter mile is private. We park at the end of the public road and get out. The view is magnificent. The land drops jaggedly into the water. All of the rock tapers into the water in slanted spines. You can see the angle of the plate of the Earth. The uneven spines break the bright blue waves that are rolling in. The vivid green grasses running into black rock and then into blue water create a beautiful vista. We stay and admire the scene from several vantage points. I walk up the sloop, across the turf. The new, green grass is emerging through last year’s now brown grass. The grass is so thick it is like walking on a pile of hay. The turf is spongy and yielding to my steps. We eventually tear ourselves away to return to the Wild Atlantic Way. Back up the road a stone’s throw from our stop there is a farmer turning his field. The field is between the road and the other side of the peninsula. The view is almost as stunning as the one we just came from. There are seagulls lined along the edge of the grass, picking their meal out of the newly turned soil. I marvel at what it must be like to have a farm in a remote, beautiful place like this.
The next stop we want to make is the Drombeg stone circle. This is also a little off of the Wild Atlantic Way and the roads are somewhat harrowing. We find a small lot with a sign pointing the way. As we exit the car I notice a pheasant strolling the field next to the car park. We pass through a turnstile at the head of the path that I am sure is there to keep livestock out. A short walk away and over the rise of the hill we find the stone ring. The Drombeg circle dates back to between 1100 and 800 BC. It is nothing on the scale Stonehenge, but impressive none the less. There are seventeen free standing stones here in a small hollow on the side of the hill. The largest is about my height. The land slopes away to ocean a mile or two away. The view is broad and the land filled with green pastures, white buildings and grey stone walls. Nearby in the same hollow are the foundations of some huts and a cooking structure. These are contemporaries of the stone circle. I can easily imagine Bronze Age people gathering here, cooking their meals and waiting for whatever ceremony was to take place in the ring. The different people who have trod over this ground through the millennia boggles the mind. The fact that the ring survives is even more amazing.
Our journey continues through the scenic land that the Wild Atlantic Way winds through. When we reach the sizable town of Kenmare we leave the Way and turn north toward Killarney. The road continues to wind as it ascends the mountains that separate County Cork from County Kerry. We pass through a tunnel near the top and the road begins to winds its way back down. The weather has been mostly sunny throughout the day and the large patches of blue sky and sun follow us as we continue away from the coast, north through the mountains. The mountains are tall and the landscape windswept. There is not much in the way of forests and most of the land is covered in grass and shrub. We see more sheep and one in particular makes us laugh. He has been shorn, but a ridge of his coat has been left along his back, where the color “brands” are. It makes the fellow look like he has a multi-colored Mohawk, like some punk rocker sheep here in the mountains of Kerry.
Killarney is the hub city in County Kerry. We get into town about six o’clock. We are a little weary from being on edge watching for oncoming traffic along the coast. We are staying at the Ashville House near downtown Killarney. We get checked in and talk with the innkeeper, Declan, about the dinner options nearby. He gives us a map of the downtown area and recommends three different places. He also highlights a couple of pubs where music might be heard. We are staying here two nights so we get our next couple of outfits hung up. We then make the walk to the old downtown business district. The walk is only a few blocks and it is good to stretch the legs.
We check the menus of a couple of places and decide on Bricin, one of the recommended establishments. It is a good choice. The restaurant is pretty full, which is a good sign. We get a bottle of Gigondas to drink and order up dinner. We share a starter which is a lightly battered and deep fried camembert that is served with red currants. It goes perfectly with the wine and is a wonderful start. I have a lamb boxty as the main course. A boxty is a traditional Irish potato pancake and a specialty of Bricin. Rhonda has a nut roast which she raves about. The nut roast is a collection of different nut meats and vegetables chopped, formed into a small round and baked. We finish the meal with an apple and pear crumble, which is probably too much. We were very hungry from skipping lunch, but now we are very full. Rhonda asks for the recipe for the nut roast. She is given a card and asked to e-mail the restaurant when we get home. She will and the chef at Bricin will reply with the recipe, as promised.
We walk the downtown area and watch the sunset behind the mountains. Most of the shops closed at nine, but we enjoy the stroll. We finally return to the Ashville House. We take a couple of drams of our Yellow Spot whisky and the computer to the common room. We sit in a couple of comfy chairs facing the fireplace and catch up the journal. The fireplace is gas, but instead of fake wood it has fake coal. We noticed the same thing about the gas fireplace in the lobby of Buswells in Dublin. It is just a curious difference that you don’t think about until you are confronted with it. Declan comes in after a bit and we have a short talk. He finishes by apologizing about having to turn off the fireplace. We agree to turn out all the lights in the room after we are done. He takes his leave and we sit and reflect as we sip the delicious whisky.
Day 5 – April 13th (Killarney)
The morning breaks overcast and rainy. The breakfast room has several small tables and only one other is occupied when we come in. It is a pair of older French ladies, so we won’t get much conversation there. We take a table by the window and order some tea and our hot plates. Rhonda has scrambled eggs and toast and I some pancakes with banana. The pancakes are more like thick crepes and thinned honey is used as syrup. The pepper Rhonda uses on her eggs is very finely ground, which we see all over. She also has some Nutella on her toast, which is also found at every breakfast. As the meal proceeds we notice the music in the background. It is a collection of pop songs being played on a pan flute with a backing orchestra. It is quite amusing. Declan stops by to check on us and ask what our plans for the day are. We let him know we had hoped to drive the Ring of Kerry, but the weather this morning has us reconsidering things. He tells us to do what we want despite the rainy morning. He goes on to say that the weather is variable because of the mountains and we could drive down the road fifteen minutes and be in sun. With his encouragement we decide to stick to our plans.
We have no particular route or stops planned for the day. I do know that I want to drive through the Gap of Dunloe, which is not on the Ring. The Ring of Kerry is probably the most popular and most scenic drive in Ireland. It is a route that circles the perimeter of the Iveraugh Peninsula. Killarney sits at the top and serves as the hub for all of the tour buses that ply the route. We expect to see buses on the road, but this is not high season so we hope they are not too frequent. We decide to start with the Gap of Dunloe so we can avoid the main route to start. We head a little west along the Ring and then turn south. There are stormy looking clouds overhead and off and on rain. We proceed along a small road south, straight into the Gap. The Gap of Dunloe is a saddle in the mountains. We can see the sky in the far distance through the Gap is lighter. It creates a nice effect where the space of the Gap is lighter than the darker, heavy clouds sitting on the dark mountains. It is as if the Gap is inviting us to journey forward if we dare, with the promise of light if we should make it through.
The road narrows to a single lane and begins to climb as we reach the foot of the mountains. We pass a stable where there are a collection of horses, carts and drivers. I recall that many people hire a horse cart to drive them through the gap. One of the drivers gives us an odd look as we creep by. At a bend in the road by a house we see a car coming down. I stop and pull as far to the side as I can manage and hit the button to turn my side view mirrors in. The car coming down contains two girls. They stop alongside of us and we exchange pleasantries through open windows in the rain. They speak with what sounds like a German accent. We are concerned the traffic is one way and we are going the wrong way. They say that traffic moves both ways and we are fine to drive through. We wish them good morning and we both go on our way. We will see that while the road is a single lane, or less, at intervals there is a small space where one car can pull to the side so two may pass. I imagine you have to keep an eye ahead, and someone may have to backup depending on the situation. We will see other cars, but being off season and rainy, things are not bad. I can’t imagine what this drive would be like on a nice day in the height of summer. You would do better to walk, which we do see several people doing, even in the rain.
The road winds up and then through the Gap, which is quite long. The range of mountains it cuts through is wide and the Gap itself is a little under seven miles long. There are five different lakes scattered through the Gap that are connected by the River Loe. The road crosses over the river at points. The bridges are low stone arches and are very picturesque. The Gap is also home to grazing sheep and their owners. I am hard pressed to imagine living here and having to travel this road for supplies. Most of the rock that makes up the mountains is dark and looks black when it is wet. Lichen abounds on the rocks and provides some yellow to the landscape. The gorse is blooming and also provides yellow. The foliage and pastures are a mix of brown and green at this height, where spring is a little later coming. The land is rugged and the sharp contrast of the various colors paints a remarkable picture, even in the rain. The mountains climb to heights on either side of us and sometimes close the Gap to a very narrow passage where the River Loe cascades in a waterfall from under a stone bridge. I am glad we came, even if it is rainy. As we proceed southward the skies do lighten and the rain lifts, as promised by our first view of the Gap of Dunloe.
The road tops a last ridge and then begins to descend into the far valley. There is a small stone sign by the road stating we are entering the Black Valley. Probably named so because of the color of the stone when wet. We pass a barn where we see horses and carts probably stationed here for the return trip. We are not quite sure where we are or where to go. There is a junction on the valley floor and a sign pointing towards Kenmare. We recognize the name and turn that way. From this point we will only see one other car until we get back onto the main road, some time from now. The road is still a single lane, but mostly runs through flatter land here on the valley floor. We encounter sheep on the road in a couple of spots. At one point I notice a waterfall off to the left and pull over. We get out of the car and walk a short distance to a lovely cascade. There is what looks like a path and we can easily imagine this is someone’s fishing spot. The scene is lovely and we would have never seen it if we had stayed on the main roads. Farther up the valley we come to another junction and there is a sign pointing the way to Sneem. This is a town on our map of the Ring and we decide to follow the road. We climb our way back out of the Black Valley and arrive at a regular two lane road that will take us to Sneem. We have passed through the heart of the Iveraugh Peninsula on a wonderful, unplanned journey. As we frequently state, “You cannot get lost on vacation. It is just another adventure.”
We find the center of Sneem and park by the town square. The buildings that surround the square and follow the road are all painting in the bright, colorful manner we first witnessed in Kinsale. We walk across the way to Kelly’s Bakery. We are thinking that some hot tea and baked goods would do us very well. Upon entering the shop we see a cheese case and change our mind. There are several regional Irish cheeses on display and we order a cheese plate and a light white wine to have with it. We take a seat at a table, open the wine and toast our adventure. Shortly the cheese plate is brought to us along with a small basket of crackers. The cheeses are a blue, cheddar, sheep, wine and another I don’t remember with herbs in it. Five cheeses served in portions for two people for only thirteen euro. America still needs to learn how to do cheese plates properly. The rain comes down really hard for a bit while we relax. It relents as we finish our wine. We notice a cat sleeping on a chair by the door. It seems unfazed by the goings on in the shop.
Our small meal finished we walk back to the car. The rain has abated and the clouds overhead seems to be trying to break up. As we get to our car we see a tour bus heading north. We know the tour buses all tend to go counter clockwise around the ring, so we are headed clockwise. At least we won’t get stuck behind one. We start driving south and west. The road is somewhat bouncy, but at least there are two marked lanes. The driving is easier, which is nice since the scenery demands some of your attention. The ocean is on our left and the mountains our right. Some of the views are quite remarkable and we pull off on a turnout a couple of times just to take it in. We plan on driving the Skellig Ring, which is a smaller road circling the southwestern most part of the peninsula that the buses do not take. We miss the first entrance to the Skellig Ring which would bring us around it from the east and south. Instead we notice a sign on the north edge and approach down the western side. Valentia Island lies off to our right now, separated by a narrowing waterway. In the town of Portmagee there is a bridge over the water to the island. Just beyond Portmagee the road turns south. It is here our missing the other entrance pays off.
We notice a sign talking about the Cliffs of Kerry. We quickly decide to give them a look. The drive leads up a slope of land to a small collection of buildings with a parking area. It looks like someone’s ranch where they added some public toilets and a ticket booth. We pay our four euros each and proceed to walk up the path. The clouds have mostly retreated to the horizon and the sun is warming the land. There is still a cool wind from the ocean, but the afternoon is very pleasant. The path is well maintained and comprised of packed pebbles of various colors, but predominately grey and green. The land continues to slope up at a gradually increasing angle. After about 400 yards we arrive at the edge of a cliff. Thankfully there is a fence. The view is breathtaking.
The Cliffs of Kerry rise to a thousand feet above the Atlantic. We are not at the highest point, but that doesn’t diminish the spectacle. We are standing at the low spot between two spines of rock that jut out into the Atlantic. The shockingly blue water is crashing in white foam against the stones far below. I didn’t know the Atlantic was so blue here. The cliffs are striated greys, blacks and greens that allow you to see the passage of eons of history. The stone falls almost straight down from where we stand. The path divides at this point and follows the cliff edge in both directions. A sign recommends going right first, towards the lower of the two rocky heights. I guess they want to save the best for last. We proceed right and the path climbs very sharply. After a couple of hundred yards we arrive at the top. I turn around and look to the north. The land falls away before returning to mountains in the distance. Valentia Island sits off to my left and beyond that on the horizon I see the Dingle Peninsula. Looking to the right I see the road as a small ribbon climb up and over a ridge of mountains probably three times the height we stand on now. Despite all of that, the more beautiful view is over the cliffs to the ocean. Facing south to the Atlantic I see Puffin Island in the near distance to the left. In the farther distance straight in front of me are the two Skellig (Islands) from which this drive gets its name. They jut up out of the ocean like lost pyramids of stone.
We carefully back track down the slope and then follow the path up the other arm of the trail. This promontory is taller and wider than the last and we can walk out onto it some distance. This affords us a look back along the cliffs as if being out over the water. The scene is magnificent. Words begin to fail and all you can do it stand in awe of nature and the pictures she can paint. The colors of the water, the land and the sky. The movements of the waves and the wind. The scent of the ocean. It all combines into a memory that will make me smile every time I conjure it up in my mind’s eye. Memories make us rich and this one is added to my already healthy store. We meet a couple from California and we take turns capturing photos of each other here at the top. We all agree that this is the best four euro we have spent. Finally we take the walk back down and towards the car. It is here in the parking lot that we meet Mr. O’Donoghue, whose family runs this site. He is the fellow who imparts to us information about the sheep, some of which I have already shared.
Visiting to town of Dingle was recommended to us by a few people, including the couple we just met. Unfortunately we don’t think we have the time. It is on the next peninsula to the northwest. We can see the Dingle Peninsula on the horizon and while it would not be far as the crow flies, we would have to drive north and then south again. Instead we decide to drive the Ring back to Killarney. The road follows the coast to the north and is a regular two lane affair with striping. We chat and enjoy the scenery as we drive. We mention that we have seen most of the iconic Irish items except a rainbow and a leprechaun. Rain clouds start to show up as we head north, but they are scattered. Then, as we top a rise south of Killgorin we see what we were talking about, a rainbow. As we drive the rainbow becomes complete and the colors brighten remarkably. I find a side road next to a pasture and pull over. As we watch a second rainbow begins to form over the first. It never quite completes itself though. One thing that we both comment on is how you can see blue sky behind part of the rainbow, which is unusual. The brightness and intensity of the colors are also unusually high. Our sightline allows us to see the rainbow all the way to the ground. It is quite a lovely vision, but eventually we continue on our way.
Arriving back in Killarney we leave the car at the Ashville House we walk downtown. We spend a little time shopping for souvenirs for our boys and Janel. When we notice our hunger we stroll about and decide on Mac’s of Main Street. It is an unassuming looking place. The meal starts with a shared appetizer of fried brie. The appetizer comes with a small salad, as did the appetizer the previous evening. For the main course I am having Guinness stew, which is a hearty beef stew with stout added. Rhonda is having cottage pie. When the entrees are served we see there is way too much food. My stew is served in a large, wide bowl. It appears as if the beef and vegetables were cooked together, then ladled over four boiled potatoes. Rhonda’s cottage pie, which is topped with mashed potatoes, is served with a plate of chips (fries) and another salad. The scene on the table is a culinary ode to the potato. The food is delicious, but we are unable to finish anything. The salad goes untouched and we each try a chip to see if they are as good as we have found on the rest of the island. They are. The chips in Ireland are like mashed potatoes with a crispy outer coating. They do something different here and it is very good. While the chips are crispy on the outside, they are still relatively light in color. None that we have tried have been greasy. All in all they really do make a good chip here in Ireland.
After dinner we need to walk. We choose a direction and begin to stroll. We stop every so often and peruse a shop, but most are closing by now. After walking several blocks we see a pub named The Shire. We saw it advertised on a billboard on our way into town yesterday. The façade is made to look like the entrance to a hobbit hole. We decide to go in for a drink. The inside is a feeble attempt at doing a Lord of the Rings themed pub. We appreciate the effort and take our cider and whisky to a corner. We watch the last part of the Atletico Madrid and Barcelona football match. After the match ends and we are getting to the bottom of our drinks a group comes in and sits not too far away. They are loud and obviously American. We are embarrassed on their behalf. As we exit Rhonda earns a chuckle from the locals. As she puts our mostly empty glasses on the bar she comments, “Those Americans are too loud for these Americans.” We decide to try and catch some music. We walk to the Danny Mann Pub, which is close to Bricin. Upon entering we realize we are not staying. The place is full of what looks like a senior bus tour. The music is a fellow with an electric keyboard that sounds like a karoke singer. We quickly make our exit.
We walk back to O’Connors. We had heard some music hear earlier when we walked past, but wasn’t sure if it was live. We peek in and find it is. The place looks to be mostly full of locals. There are an accordion and fiddle player in the front playing some traditional Irish music. We walk towards the back, but can’t find a seat anywhere. All the way in the rear we find a small table with four chairs. It is next to a fake pot belly stove that is heating the space. We decide the table will serve us well. As we sit and enjoy our first drink and listen to the music people continue to come in. I notice a couple standing not far away. When Rhonda returns to the bar to refill our drinks I invite the couple so share our table and make use of the two empty seats. At first they are reluctant, but they finally agree. They are Aleen, not Aileen, and Donald. She comes from Slingo, but is working in Dublin as a nurse. He is a plumber and pipe fitter who just took a job in Killarney at the Cadbury waste water plant. They are looking to setup house here in Killarney as soon as she can find a job locally. Aleen introduces Rhonda to hot whisky. It is Jamesons, hot water with sugar, and a lemon wedge with cloves stuck in it. Rhonda tells our group about an old drunk at the bar that tried to buy her drinks for her until he found out what they were and then proclaimed they were too expensive. Donald reveals that he is indeed the town drunk, but is a very rich and had one of the larger ranching operations in the area. He is retired now and spends a lot of time in pubs. Rhonda is playing waitress and later returns to the bar to fetch a round of drinks for all. The girls are having hot whisky, Donald a stout, and I a sipping whisky. While at the bar the old men hit on her again. One tells her she is beautiful in Gaelic. She asks what a proper response would be and is given something to say. When the old fellows smile and chuckle when she repeats the phrase she wonders what she really said. Last call comes as 11:30 when they turn the lights over the bar out. We leave about fifteen minutes later after making our farewells and best wishes to Aleen and Donald. The streets are empty as we make our way back to the Ashville House.
Day 6 – April 14th (Doolin)
Breakfast is at 9:30 this morning. Rhonda has porridge with Irish Cream liquor, sort of a “hair of the dog” type thing that she really doesn’t need for that purpose. I have the full Irish, which is very nice here. The pop song pan flute is playing again and gets stuck on the song Feelings. We alert Declan. Soon the music moves on and before long the pan flutist is playing the song Hey, Baby. This is very amusing as the ensemble built for mellow music tries to pull off the upbeat rock tune. We thank Declan for his advice and let him know we had a wonderful day yesterday. After checking out we take a short walk downtown to see if we can find a small market open. While walking we see a mother holding an infant outside of a bakery chatting with another woman. She is also holding a bag with a loaf of bread sticking out of it. The child is trying its best to reach the bread and take a bite by leaning over as far as it can. It is a very funny tableau. We abandon the attempt and just decide to buy some water and sodas at a petrol station on our way out of town.
We are headed to the town Tarbert where we will catch a ferry to cross the Shannon Estuary into County Clare. While driving north we pass through the town of Tralee. In town there is a large grocery store named Lidl. We decide to stop and have a look around. Before getting into the store we notice a difference. There are parking spaces marked with a parent, kids and a stroller, obviously reserved for families. The store is similar to an American Aldi in layout. There is a bakery from which some heavenly scents are coming. We walk that way to investigate. There is fresh stuff coming out and we pick out a couple tiny apple tarts and a berry lattice to enjoy later. We notice that the bread is all sold whole, but there is a bread slicer that you can use if you wish. We buy the boys some Jaffa Cakes. We have a fun time exploring the products like we did in Kinsale. We come across several we photograph because they are funny and we want to share them. Eventually we get back in the car and continue north.
We get to the town of Tarbert and find the ferry dock. The ferry is leaving for Killimer as we pull up. I notice I have stopped in an area that has been painted with large white stripes. I figure this is not a good place to park and then see the sign designating the start of the line. I figure the area is meant to be kept clear so that large lorries coming off of the ferry can negotiate the turn and proceed down the road. I back up and take the first place in queue. The road runs along the water and the dock is at right angles to it. There is a small rise next to the road with a bench at the top, next to some gorse bushes. We walk up to the bench and take a seat to wait. The bench has a fine view of the estuary and County Clare across the water. The day is mostly cloudy, but the sun is out at the moment and hot upon us. The land across the water is sun dappled green pastures and stone walls and is very picturesque. We enjoy our pastries as we take in the scene and watch the queue get longer and longer in front of us. At one point a vehicle with a dog inside uses the time to let the dog exercise. The medium sized dog finds a branch along the water that is twice as long as he is and begins trotting around happily with it. When the ferry comes back towards the dock everyone begins finding their way into their cars and getting ready to go. Sure enough, there are some large trucks that need all of the turning space they have available to get off of the ferry. The exchange happens quickly and we depart on time, at 13:20. The eighteen euro fee is collected as we cross. It takes about twenty minutes for us to arrive in Killimer, County Clare.
The drive north is easy and we arrive in Doolin about 15:30. Doolin is not much of a town, just a collection of houses, shops and pubs huddled along the road. There is a golf course, a ferry to the Aran Islands and the Cliffs of Moher all nearby, so it is not unusual to see tour groups passing through. We are here because the town is supposed to be a good place to hear traditional Irish music. We follow the road to where it crosses the Aille River which empties into the Atlantic within sight. The old stone bridge crosses over the stream and the road runs along a row of brightly painted shops and over the sloping hill to the ocean. We turn left and onto the small lane that leads up a more dramatic incline towards the Cliffs of Moher. There is an even steeper driveway off of this road that leads up to the Sea View Bed and Breakfast where we are staying tonight. We find a small parking area with a sleeping dog next to it. The view is lovely from the side of the hill the house is on. Below us the River Aille is flowing from right to left into the ocean. The small collection of bright buildings that make up part of the town of Doolin are huddled along the far side of the road that runs along this part of the river. The rolling hills beyond the town and inland to the right are populated with farms and pastures. The cloud cover is light and the sun is able to warm the landscape while a wind off of the ocean cools the air. It is a wonderful scene.
We get our bags out of the car and ascend the steps to the front door. There is a note addressed to us waiting there. It is from Niall, one of the innkeepers. He says he is tending things at the farm and has left a number for us to call. We try the number but get no response. In a couple of moments Niall shows up and greets us. It seems the farm is at the bottom of the hill, across the road we drove in on. The farm has chickens, a horse named Misty and some cattle that his brother keeps on the land. Niall is very pleasant and we have a nice chat as he shows us around. The house is lovely and the view enticing. The Sea View keeps some wines on hand that they sell on consignment for a local shop. We choose a French white and take our cribbage board out to the deck that looks out to the ocean and over the town of Doolin. The wind is picking up and makes playing cards a little difficult, but we persevere. After one game we decide to just sit, sip our wine and enjoy the afternoon and the view. Once the wine is gone we decide to take the short drive to the Cliffs of Moher. It is about five miles away over the hill behind us and down the coast. The sky is mostly cloudy now, but the sun hasn’t been totally beaten and peeks out now and again.
Niall told us the back roads to take to get to the Cliffs. Before long we are at the parking lot which on the far side of the road from the Cliffs. There is a visitor center that is buried into the hillside so as to be as unobtrusive as possible. Only some windows and doorways are seen in the turf. The wind is fairly high here and cold. We walk out to the edge of the Cliffs of Moher to see what we can see. The Cliffs are quite famous, and rightly so. To the right sits O’Brien’s Tower near the highest point of the Cliffs. The Cliffs are about eight kilometers long, most of which lies to our left. Where the Cliffs of Kerry were rugged and seemed to give and take with the Atlantic, here the Cliffs of Moher are a bulwark against the ocean. They are vertical. There are no slopes or undercuts, just a wall standing in the face of the wild Atlantic. The line of the wall undulates and creates, from this perspective, what looks like a flight of step on their side fading into the distance. The vertical aspect is always sheer, though. We walk along the Cliffs both up by O’Brien’s Towers and along the top to the left some distance. We hear the calls of the various birds that nest in the cliffs below us as we walk. The views are captivating, but as the sun sinks to the west it falls behind a thick bank of clouds. The wind is now downright cold and we are getting chilled. Once the sun has taken his leave we decide to as well.
Niall had told us that the only music tonight would be at McGann’s pub on the north side of town. We backtrack to Doolin and find the pub. We have a little trouble finding a place to park, but make a space and get inside. At first we take a table towards the back, as most are full already. Then we see that an obnoxiously loud American family is here. We had already run into this bunch at the Cliffs and decide to get far away. When I had gone to the bar to order our food and get our pints I spotted a small ledge with two tall stools close by. We decide it is large enough for us and we move to the front of the pub, nearer the bar, where the musicians will be, and away from the loud family. We were warned by the bartender that a bus would be coming in later, shortly after nine. We know we won’t be giving up our seats. The food comes and is hot and filling, just what you want on a cold evening. I am having an Irish stew. It is served with two scoops of mashed potatoes in the bowl instead of boiled potatoes. Rhonda is having fish and chips. The chips look very much like overly thick American potato chips in shape, not the long rectangles French fries usually are. These are probably done in the original fashion and we can see where chips got their name.
We enjoy our meal as we watch the crowd swell. From our higher chairs we can see over the tables between us and the corner where the musicians will be. At one point a foursome that looks like parents, and adult daughter and her boyfriend sit in the booth our perch overlooks. They have menus, but seem perplexed when no one comes by to wait on them. We interrupt and explain that all food needs to be ordered at the bar and then will be brought out to you. I imagine a lot of tourists don’t understand that things aren’t always the same as home. The musicians arrive about nine o’clock. There are microphones so we know this is a concert, not a true session. This does not bother us. There is a female harpist, a female bodhran player and vocalist, a male banjo player and a male guitarist. The music is fine, but every tune the banjo player is involved in seems to be dominated by him as if someone needs to turn his mic down. About twenty after nine the bus shows up. The pub gets very crowded at this point and we can no longer see the musicians as the standing people are filling the space. About ten o’clock we decide to take our leave. We have finished our current pints and have heard everything we think the musicians have to offer. We return to the Sea View and take the last of our Yellow Spot whisky down to the common room. We enter some notes in the computer for this journal. Niall comes in and we chat for a bit about the day that has passed and whisky. A while after he turns in we do as well.
Day 7 – April 15th (Adare)
At breakfast we meet Niall’s wife, Darra. We made our breakfast selections the night before on a notepad in the entryway so they could be prepared for this morning. Darra asks if I would like an egg from the “girls”, or a duck egg this morning. The “girls” are their hens at the bottom of the hill. She recommends the duck egg if I have never had one, to which I agree. The dining room looks out over the landscape. The morning is mostly clear and the sunny view is a nice backdrop to breakfast. At table already are a couple of older ladies who are traveling together. One is German and one American, but both reside in Florida now and are traveling companions. They provide lively conversation that we have missed many mornings on our trip so far. Rhonda’s frittata arrives and is wonderful. It is made with local cheeses and the farm fresh eggs from down the hill. My meal is delicious as well and the duck egg an interesting discovery. The taste is similar to chicken’s egg, but the flavor more intense, much like the flesh of a duck has a gamier and deeper flavor than that from a chicken. When everyone has completed their meals Darra comes in and asks what everyone’s plans are. We state we have nothing more planned than to be in Adare for dinner. She gets a gleam in her eye and runs to grab a map of County Clare. She sits with us and highlights a few sites we should visit. She asks if we have a GPS, then tells us to turn it off. She says she always tells her guests to “get lost”. We agree with her sentiments and tell her “You can never get lost on vacation. Everything is just an adventure.” It is nice to find a kindred spirit here in the remote reaches of Ireland.
Armed with Darra’s map we begin the day’s journey. The first leg is rather short. Just up the road a piece is a small shop with craft goods from County Clare. We stop in and browse. In addition to some bottled water and drinks, Rhonda purchases a hat that goes with her coat, and I a CD with music following the theme of the Wild Atlantic Way. Back in the car we pop in the CD, open the waters and proceed on our adventure. The first stop is Doolin Cave, which is fifteen minutes up the road, north of town. When we arrive we find a small, turf covered visitor’s center and a small gravel lot. These two features sit near the rise of a hill, and across the valley from an old ruined castle. Inside the visitors center we purchase a couple of tickets to tour the cave and stroll around waiting for the tour to start. There is a nature walk on the surrounding hill, but we defer until after the tour. The morning is bright and sunny and we enjoy being outside. Before too long Jim announces himself as the guide and gathers the group of the dozen or so of us that will follow him underground. Jim is animated and enthusiastic, everything you want in a tour guide. He makes our visit very enjoyable. After introductions and some background he leads us from the back steps of the visitor’s center to the locked door of the cave. The door leads into a space at the top of a shaft that was sunk very carefully a couple of decades ago to improve access. The shaft contains a hundred and twenty-five stairs and the group proceeds down. We find a small space at the bottom that houses shelves with hard hats. Every one dons the safety gear before Jim leads us on.
Our way follows a small, swift flowing stream that the original two men who discovered the cave back in the fifties followed. The way has been widen a little since those days so you can walk along hunched over instead of crawling. I knock my head on the low ceiling a few times and thank the fact I have a hard hat on. Eventually we emerge into a large space where there are some rails. Jim has kept his light facing downward to illuminate our walkway. He now turns it out and asks everyone else who has a light on to do so as well. He gives a little talk and sets the stage for what it must have been like for the two original explorers. The pitch black is suddenly broken by the spotlight Jim shines on the Great Stalactite. The drama is justified. The space we are in is a very large cavern that drops away before us. Dominating the space is a twenty-four foot stalactite. Its ivory color bounces the light around the chamber, but that reflected light is dim and muddy by comparison. The Great Stalactite demands your attention, and deserves it. The formation looks like a chandelier and is tens of thousands of years old. The fact that it has survived and continues to grow is a marvel. No stalagmite has grown up to turn the formation into a column because the muddy floor will not support the weight. Thus you can see a previous stalagmite that has slid off of its muddy perch lying to the side, below the Great Stalactite. Jim walks us down to the bottom of the chamber so we can see the stalactite from underneath, and view it in a reflecting pool. We are now about 230 feet below the surface. Jim also explains that tour groups are limited each day and will only contain a maximum of twenty people so as to restrict the carbon dioxide levels introduced into the cave.
The group continues on to another, deeper chamber where the stream flows out of reckoning. They do know it empties into the Atlantic off shore a ways as they once put some dye in the water. On the return to the surface we notice little factoids on signs in the stairwell. They are situated on the landings along with stools for those folks that need to rest their legs on the lengthy climb. Once back above ground we all thank Jim and the group breaks up. We decide to walk the nature trail and find the spot where the stream disappears into the ground. There are some goats and sheep grazing the land here and on top of the visitor’s center. One has unusual, at least for us, horns that are bifurcated, giving the creature four horns. There are lots of wildflowers blooming in the area which are mostly yellow. The people who run the site have created a ring of small stones filled with flowers on the top of the hill, directly above the Great Stalactite. We find the stream at the end of the trail. A group of local school children used the mud from the area to craft a ceramic fairy village. The village is brightly colored and spread out on the steep bank near the stream. Rhonda and I have fun spotting the different creatures and dwellings the children thought appropriate to the site.
By now the sun is beginning to hide behind the thickening clouds. For our next stop we are heading to The Burren Perfumery. It is in the heart of the Burren, near the town of Carran. The Burren is a large area in County Clare where a layer of limestone takes over the ground in large swaths. There is little to no topsoil in these areas and what there is rests in the cracks and gullies that have been carved in the stone by time and weather. When you drive by these large, flat grey areas the scene is quite surreal. In the midst of one of these regions is an oasis of green and trees with a collection of small buildings that is The Burren Perfumery. In addition to the perfumery and tea making operations, there is a small tea shop. We decide to have a spot of tea. There are several patrons in the shop already. We order a pot of Burren tea which is made with the flowers and plants that grow in this area. We have a scone and a bowl of wonderful soup along with the tea. After tea we take a walk in the gardens and have to duck into a potting shed when rain begins to fall. The rain is light and soon abates. We visit the perfumery and indulge in the various scents available. As I said, they also make several teas here using the plants that grow in the Burren. We buy a woman’s tea and a men’s tea. Both are supposed to provide health benefits for the namesake sexes. As we wrap up our business we see that the rain has started in earnest. We make a dash for the car and get back on the road.
We backtrack a little way and then head north. Now we are looking for the Portal Tomb. As we travel we get the opportunity to explore a little more of the countryside. Remember, you can’t get lost on vacation. During our side trip we see a farmer leading a group of cattle down the middle of the road. They definitely get the right of way. The rain passes on as we find the parking area next to the Portal Tomb. The portal is located in a very large stretch of the Burren. There are small primroses and dandelions poking up through the cracks in the limestone providing splashes of green and yellow. The tomb itself is a collection of large, flat stones that make up a small structure. The portal has two sides and a large cap stone that makes it look like an odd archway. The Portal Tomb was built about 6,000 years ago and covers the graves of several people. The portal was probably the center for rituals well into the Bronze Age and beyond. It is a very odd looking structure here in the flat, rocky stretches on the Burren. We walk about the area and I see a lot of creative erosion in the limestone. Another fellow is here taking photos as well. I chat with him a bit as Rhonda begins to walk back towards the car. He and I look up at the sky as the breeze picks up and we can clearly see rain approaching from the north. We walk quickly and catch up with Rhonda and all make it to our cars as the rain hits quite hard. Lucky timing again. It seems that the rain stayed away just long enough for us to visit the Portal Tomb.
At this point we have visited the three main sites we wanted to see today in this area. We decide to make our way down to the town of Adare, where we are staying tonight. Adare is a little south of Limerick. It only takes about ninety minutes to get to Adare, even with some thick traffic close to town. Adare is a small town along the River Maigue and is billed as one of the prettiest little villages in Ireland. The center of town is quite lovely with the brightly painted buildings and old cottages. We are staying at the Adare Country House. They have a lot out front and we get parked. Trevor greets us, though he is not the regular innkeeper. The owners are away today and he is filling in. We get our things put away and take up our umbrella to go for a walk. It is not raining now and as it will turn out we will not need it. We look over the menus for a couple of pubs we walk by and put decide to continue on to the fancier restaurants Trevor told us about. Given that this is our last night, we feel we can splurge a bit. The upscale restaurants are located in the row of thatch roofed cottages built back in the 1820s. We reach the row and view a couple of menus and continue our stroll to check the others out. Then we get a restaurant named The Wild Geese. While we are looking at the menu posted out front another lady comes to the door and rings the bell. Apparently you have to be let in. She chats with the hostess and then goes her way. The hostess looks at us and asks if we are coming in. We glance at each other, make a snap decision and say, “Yes!”
The hostess shows us to the front sitting room. There is cushy red leather furniture and a fire burning in the fire place. She takes our coats and umbrella and asks if we want a drink. We both decide on a Tanqueray and tonic which she mixes up at the overloaded antique bar there in the sitting room. After we have our drinks she presents us with the menus as we sit on the love seat. She says we can have a look and she will be back to take our orders. We peruse the menus and enjoy the atmosphere in the sitting room. After a while she comes back and takes our orders. We discuss wines with her and settle on a bottle of Bordeaux. She then leaves us to enjoy our drinks. About five minutes or more later she comes back and escorts us to our table. The restaurant is definitely an old house. There are just three tables in the room we are sitting and four more in the adjoining front room. We find out there are a few more tables upstairs.
The wine is brought out to our table and opened. It is very good and should complement the meal famously. The waitress brings by an amuse-bouche, which is a single bite hors d’oeuvre that is used to showcase the cook’s skill and wake up the pallet. We are presented a pate which is quite nice. Shortly after the amuse-bouche our appetizer arrives at the table. We are sharing a goat cheese that has been lightly breaded with some Indian spices and fried. It is served with a concoction of beats and oranges and is very tasty. Our main courses are sirloin with potatoes au gratin and a mushroom tart for Rhonda and a duck trio of a breast, three croquettes and a spring roll for me. With each there is a small plate of veggies. The veggies are a broccoli floret dipped in cheese, light breaded and fried, a carrot puree, and a ball of mashed potatoes that has been breaded and fried. This is all way too much food. We do our best and find everything to be delicious. After we capitulate and can take in no more food comfortably, we ask if we can take our wine back to the sitting room to finish. This is not a problem. We meet a local couple who are just arriving for dinner. We talk and keep them from order for a while. Eventually we let them get their meal ordered and after they depart we sit and relax and enjoy wine. The check is finally paid in the sitting room when we are nearly done with the wine. It has been a scrumptious meal served as if you are visiting someone’s home. This has been a wonderful experience.
The sun is getting low, but we decide to walk off some of the meal. Following the main road we are on we arrive at the River Maigue after a half mile or so. There is the ruin of a Norman era castle here. It is Desmond Castle and dates from the 13th century. Crossing the river at this point is a low stone bridge that dates back to the same era. The bridge was widened at some point, maintaining the same stone working style. Amazingly the bridge is still that main way into town and cars and trucks of all types use it constantly. The setting sun makes for a nice scene as it casts its hued light on the river and the old stones. We walk along the river for a bit before turning back to the road. Next to where we are walking near the river is an odd mix of eras. There is an ancient friary that is still in use to which a modern school or daycare is attached. Next to that is a field with a small herd of cows. Beyond the field is the edge of Adare and the residential housing. Two young bulls are playing at locking horns and sparring as we walk by the field. Everything coexists in an eclectic, yet harmonious way. The sun is below the horizon when we get back to the center of town. A pub named Aunty Lena’s is advertising traditional music on a placard out front so we decide to go in. The music doesn’t start for a while, but we see a table near the fireplace that has a reserved sign on it and we figure that is the spot. We get some sipping whisky and settle in on a couple of stools nearby where we can listen and watch.
The musicians begin to arrive about 9:30 and quickly get setup. There are four of them initially. One fellow has a mandolin, fiddle and guitar. Another has a twelve string guitar and a box he uses as a drum. The third has a guitar and metal and wooden flutes. The forth has just a guitar. A fifth guitarist will join them in about an hour. There is a single microphone, but it is left turned off most of the time. They will use it if someone is singing during a song, but that is it. The music they play is well balanced and very good, much better than the previous evening in Doolin. Most of the songs are instrumental, but a few are sung too. There are healthy pauses between the songs as they chat amongst themselves. After a couple of hours we decide it is time to go. Rhonda approaches the group and thanks them for the music. They ask her to join in for a song. She defers and says that I would be happy to join them. I am reluctant, as nothing immediately comes to mind to do. After a moment I say I can sing Farewell to Tarwathie, but that I only know the first two verses well. The flute and guitar player who looks like the actor James Cromwell says he know the tune and will help me with the other verses. I have a seat and proceed to have a grand time singing this old Scottish tune. I have to watch “James” for help in the middle, but after a mandolin solo he has me take the repeated first verse alone to end the song. It sounds very good. They convince me to sing something else, but all I can come up with is Shenandoah, which I know fairly well. I get along pretty well and the gents improvise a nice accompaniment. Rhonda is beaming by this time. This has been a wonderful end to a wonderful day.
Day 8 – April 16th (Home)
Breakfast is early this morning since we have to catch a flight in Dublin today. The regular innkeepers are back and accommodate our 7:30am breakfast request. We are the only ones eating this early and the husband is chatty. The breakfast is adequate, but not memorable, salmon and eggs for Rhonda and porridge for me. We are on the road to Dublin by eight in the morning. It is a two and a half hour drive to Dublin, most of it via dual carriageway, which is like our interstate highways. The weather is pleasant and the drive easy. As we are cruising along we decide we will take the next exit for a bathroom break and some water or tea. Our random exit turns out to be the home of the Barack Obama Plaza. Apparently when President Obama visited Ireland he came through here because he has some ancestors that lived nearby in Moneygall, which is accessed from this exit on the carriageway. It is an odd, random event on our last day. The plaza doesn’t just bear President Obama’s name. There are picture of his visit, signage explaining his connection to Ireland and even souvenirs. The rest of the drive to the Dublin airport is uneventful and easy.
We arrive early enough to get our car turned in and ourselves over to the terminal for check in well before the flight. We have enough time once through security to enjoy one more Guinness on Irish soil. The flight to London is quick and we don’t have much trouble switching terminals and getting through immigration at Heathrow. Unfortunately the flight from London to Chicago is full and we are not sitting together. We are each seated in the middle of three on opposite sides of row 26. This row is an emergency exit row with bulkhead in front of you. That means no one will recline into your lap, but it also means you have no seat pocket in front of you to put books or tablets. The flight is long and there is no real sleep to be had. The immigration line in O’Hare is incredibly long and we are weary by this point. Fortunately the drive home is quick and easy.
It has been a wonderful week. We started with friends in Dublin celebrating a birthday and finished singing songs in an Irish pub in Adare. The scenery was beautiful and the coastline more rugged than I had imagined. The people were friendly and open. The food was delicious and it was rare when we could finish a meal. The good weather mostly followed us around the island and our good traveling luck held up. This will be a fondly remembered journey for years to come.
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