5 days on "The Emerald Isle"... I drove and live to tell the tale! This is a photo of my favorite door from someone's home they had dubbed The Mermaid House, in Kinsale, south of Cork...
Following my oh-so-specific directions, I headed out. Surviving the dreaded roundabouts, I made it to the motor ways where it was pretty much smooth sailing.
I discovered radio! Lots of pop music intermingled with talk shows - some serious discussing political issues, many silly with lots of quizzes about music, a comedy show (made me think of old-time radio; an older woman and man, couple, doing a whole "let's put the fun back into our marriage/you don't understand me" shtick), some poetry. Some shows reminded me of page 6 of The Post - Mom would have loved it! Wales, too, is very green and very beautiful, just not as dramatic, as I was about to discover. Rolling hills, cows, sheep, lakes, streams, villages that the road ran through. Started to feel more comfortable with the driving, but went through a Twilight Zone moment when I actually thought about what I was doing and it really messed me up - had to put it aside and go into left-side-of-the-road autopilot. Decided that it would be okay if I just did it...
The port with the fer
ry was massive, and rainy. Queueing up in a long line of cars to wait to enter. Once parked, I went upstairs to the passenger areas. Forget the Staten Island Ferry - this was definitely not roughing it. Inside it was like a Vegas hotel - slot machines and all. Settled in to my comfy chair upstairs, purchased a cup of tea at the little cafe (heaven...) and read for the next almost 4 hours. Some rough seas, but not bad, all in all. The next lap of the night was a bit of a mess - raining, getting dark, got lost a few times, and could not for the life of me figure out how to use Gil's mobile phone to call the hostel I'd booked south of Waterford - yes, like the crystal. But you know how they say the Irish are so friendly? Well, it's not just a rumor. A lovely man working in the market I pathetically entered asking for help not only called the hostel for me, but led me there. Ah, what a welcome...
Upon entering the Beach Haven Hostel, wet, hungry - no dinner - and disoriented from driving over 4 hours with tight shoulders chanting "stay left", plus ferry time, I found myself in anything but a haven, but, oh well, I was out of the car and safe. I put my things in my room, shared with 6 other girls/women and headed downstairs to check things out. What to do? Pouring outside, I made up my mind to c
heck out the traditional music in the local pub anyway. I was given directions, told that I could walk (I was not getting back in the car), put up my umbrella and trudged into the night. It was wonderful! I spotted a group that I'd briefly spied at the hostel, bought an ale and asked if I could join them, a motley crew, to be sure. A young German guy, a mother with her 13-year-old son from Barcelona, another group of 4 from Valencia, and 2 young couples from Italy - perfect. As you can see, it was warm, cozy, and there were about 12 people playing everything from banjos to mandolins, accordions to guitars to fiddles to Irish hand-held drums (I don't know what they're called) - great music played by this local group of townspeople, including a few kids. MUCH ale consumed by the group! It was pretty funny when they tried playing a Frank Sinatra song, but fortunately they went back to the good stuff! I got a ride back to the hostel and fell into my little bunk bed, determined to leave bright and early, bringing along the German guy, Dominik, who was "tramping" as he called it - hitchhiking - since we were both heading to Cork.
Neither of us had an agenda,
or a reservation anywhere, so we meandered. The countryside was lovely, green, green, green, and the rain tapered out, so we were happy. He practised his English, I drove. We decided to go to Kinsale, a pretty beach town south of Cork - we agreed that we were in no hurry to go to a large city yet. After getting lost and circling back several times, (the roundabouts in Ireland are just as confusing) we arrived. Beautiful and full of tourists, we found the side streets and happily found a quiet, quaint town, overlooking a harbor, minus the tourists. Yes, I know, I am one, too. BUT, I'm trying not to travel too much like one...
Cork was actually a nice city and the hostel we both booked into was much nicer than the night before, run by an American with a bit of a snotty attitude, but manageable. As you may have noticed, I stayed in hostels - I am a convert. Ireland is very expensive, even the locals complain bitterly about it and try to go to Northern Ireland to food shop, if they can. They say that if they get to go to the US, they bring 2 empty suitcases and the clothes on their backs. Hence, hostels. They ran from 16 to 21 euros a night for a dorm bed, which was about $25 to $35. One night I actually got a private room in a hostel, a whopping 25 euros. The prices vary, depending on where you are. There are all kinds, independent, Irish Hostels, and Hostels International, of which I am a proud member, as of my night at one in Washington, DC. Also mostly "cooked" (pasta, bread, cheese, and fruit) at the hostel. Anyway, they stuck Dominik and I in the same dorm (no hanky-panky, he was 21 - but very cute and fun to look at!) and we went out to a pub where we ran into the group from Valencia! It really is a small world... More music, not nearly as good, but great sitting and talking to everyone. Lovely people...
Returning to our dorm, we were accosted (no other way to put it) by a woman who I believe was certifiably nuts and a bit scary. I had images of knives in the night, so was careful to smile, listen, and not engage too much as she proceeded to tell us more than we needed or wanted to know about herself and her life. Poor Dominik would have to deal with her for 2 nights - I escaped unscathed the next morning.
Drove the famous Ring of Kerry on the west coast and it was truly beautiful. Cliffs, ocean, green everyw
here. Spent the night at a wonderful place, Peacock Farm Hostel, up in the mountains outside of Killarney, isolated and lovely, just what I wanted. It is run by a very dapper elderly man, assisted by his daughter and her family, 3 boys and a delicious pup named Odie. Look at that view! It took me 10 minutes up a single-lane, winding, rough road to reach it - I thought of Trisha often while driving, remembering her warnings about the narrow roads. Thought I was lost again, but then the farm emerged. Spent the night with 6 Germans, who fortunately for me, spoke English. I've thought quite a lot about Americans and their lack, for the most part, of bilingualism. I think that our states are like Europe's countries and because every one of them uses English as its primary language, most people don't find it necessary or feel compelled to learn another language. Too bad... of course, maybe it's a bit of chauvinism, as well?
Lots of discussions over dinner and during the evening together. Two of them were planning to start a walk the next day from Killarney to Dublin, no small feat. They were fully equipped with all of the latest backpacking gear, very organized - sorry, but very stereotypically German! I even teased them about this and they were good-natured about it.
The following morning I left for what turned out to be my favorite location - Dingle Peninsula - I wished that my sister, Susan, could have been there because I know that she would have loved it. I passed through major traffic in Killarney, learning that the Tour of Ireland was passing through, along with Lance Armstrong, but decided to avoid the crowds and headed for the coast again. I am not exaggerating when I say that it was magnificent. My photos do not do it justice. After stopping in the town of Dingle, wandering the streets and stopping for my splurge of a bowl of soup, brown bread, and tea in a little cafe, I left the once again overcrowded-by-tourists town and started out on an extremely na
rrow and winding road. I went along the coastline, clockwise, and each spot I passed was more beautiful than the last. This is one shot of Slea Head, at the tip, absolutely breathtaking. It was incredibly windy, cows in the fields, waves crashing. There was a sign about Ryan's Daughter - remember that? It was filmed somewhere out here. Okay, I'm going to stop for now. Stay tuned for part 2. This could be a crazy thing - I decided not to include too many details and look at this! I miss you all, already...
The port with the fer
ry was massive, and rainy. Queueing up in a long line of cars to wait to enter. Once parked, I went upstairs to the passenger areas. Forget the Staten Island Ferry - this was definitely not roughing it. Inside it was like a Vegas hotel - slot machines and all. Settled in to my comfy chair upstairs, purchased a cup of tea at the little cafe (heaven...) and read for the next almost 4 hours. Some rough seas, but not bad, all in all. The next lap of the night was a bit of a mess - raining, getting dark, got lost a few times, and could not for the life of me figure out how to use Gil's mobile phone to call the hostel I'd booked south of Waterford - yes, like the crystal. But you know how they say the Irish are so friendly? Well, it's not just a rumor. A lovely man working in the market I pathetically entered asking for help not only called the hostel for me, but led me there. Ah, what a welcome...Upon entering the Beach Haven Hostel, wet, hungry - no dinner - and disoriented from driving over 4 hours with tight shoulders chanting "stay left", plus ferry time, I found myself in anything but a haven, but, oh well, I was out of the car and safe. I put my things in my room, shared with 6 other girls/women and headed downstairs to check things out. What to do? Pouring outside, I made up my mind to c
heck out the traditional music in the local pub anyway. I was given directions, told that I could walk (I was not getting back in the car), put up my umbrella and trudged into the night. It was wonderful! I spotted a group that I'd briefly spied at the hostel, bought an ale and asked if I could join them, a motley crew, to be sure. A young German guy, a mother with her 13-year-old son from Barcelona, another group of 4 from Valencia, and 2 young couples from Italy - perfect. As you can see, it was warm, cozy, and there were about 12 people playing everything from banjos to mandolins, accordions to guitars to fiddles to Irish hand-held drums (I don't know what they're called) - great music played by this local group of townspeople, including a few kids. MUCH ale consumed by the group! It was pretty funny when they tried playing a Frank Sinatra song, but fortunately they went back to the good stuff! I got a ride back to the hostel and fell into my little bunk bed, determined to leave bright and early, bringing along the German guy, Dominik, who was "tramping" as he called it - hitchhiking - since we were both heading to Cork.Neither of us had an agenda,
or a reservation anywhere, so we meandered. The countryside was lovely, green, green, green, and the rain tapered out, so we were happy. He practised his English, I drove. We decided to go to Kinsale, a pretty beach town south of Cork - we agreed that we were in no hurry to go to a large city yet. After getting lost and circling back several times, (the roundabouts in Ireland are just as confusing) we arrived. Beautiful and full of tourists, we found the side streets and happily found a quiet, quaint town, overlooking a harbor, minus the tourists. Yes, I know, I am one, too. BUT, I'm trying not to travel too much like one...Cork was actually a nice city and the hostel we both booked into was much nicer than the night before, run by an American with a bit of a snotty attitude, but manageable. As you may have noticed, I stayed in hostels - I am a convert. Ireland is very expensive, even the locals complain bitterly about it and try to go to Northern Ireland to food shop, if they can. They say that if they get to go to the US, they bring 2 empty suitcases and the clothes on their backs. Hence, hostels. They ran from 16 to 21 euros a night for a dorm bed, which was about $25 to $35. One night I actually got a private room in a hostel, a whopping 25 euros. The prices vary, depending on where you are. There are all kinds, independent, Irish Hostels, and Hostels International, of which I am a proud member, as of my night at one in Washington, DC. Also mostly "cooked" (pasta, bread, cheese, and fruit) at the hostel. Anyway, they stuck Dominik and I in the same dorm (no hanky-panky, he was 21 - but very cute and fun to look at!) and we went out to a pub where we ran into the group from Valencia! It really is a small world... More music, not nearly as good, but great sitting and talking to everyone. Lovely people...
Returning to our dorm, we were accosted (no other way to put it) by a woman who I believe was certifiably nuts and a bit scary. I had images of knives in the night, so was careful to smile, listen, and not engage too much as she proceeded to tell us more than we needed or wanted to know about herself and her life. Poor Dominik would have to deal with her for 2 nights - I escaped unscathed the next morning.
Drove the famous Ring of Kerry on the west coast and it was truly beautiful. Cliffs, ocean, green everyw
here. Spent the night at a wonderful place, Peacock Farm Hostel, up in the mountains outside of Killarney, isolated and lovely, just what I wanted. It is run by a very dapper elderly man, assisted by his daughter and her family, 3 boys and a delicious pup named Odie. Look at that view! It took me 10 minutes up a single-lane, winding, rough road to reach it - I thought of Trisha often while driving, remembering her warnings about the narrow roads. Thought I was lost again, but then the farm emerged. Spent the night with 6 Germans, who fortunately for me, spoke English. I've thought quite a lot about Americans and their lack, for the most part, of bilingualism. I think that our states are like Europe's countries and because every one of them uses English as its primary language, most people don't find it necessary or feel compelled to learn another language. Too bad... of course, maybe it's a bit of chauvinism, as well?Lots of discussions over dinner and during the evening together. Two of them were planning to start a walk the next day from Killarney to Dublin, no small feat. They were fully equipped with all of the latest backpacking gear, very organized - sorry, but very stereotypically German! I even teased them about this and they were good-natured about it.
The following morning I left for what turned out to be my favorite location - Dingle Peninsula - I wished that my sister, Susan, could have been there because I know that she would have loved it. I passed through major traffic in Killarney, learning that the Tour of Ireland was passing through, along with Lance Armstrong, but decided to avoid the crowds and headed for the coast again. I am not exaggerating when I say that it was magnificent. My photos do not do it justice. After stopping in the town of Dingle, wandering the streets and stopping for my splurge of a bowl of soup, brown bread, and tea in a little cafe, I left the once again overcrowded-by-tourists town and started out on an extremely na
rrow and winding road. I went along the coastline, clockwise, and each spot I passed was more beautiful than the last. This is one shot of Slea Head, at the tip, absolutely breathtaking. It was incredibly windy, cows in the fields, waves crashing. There was a sign about Ryan's Daughter - remember that? It was filmed somewhere out here. Okay, I'm going to stop for now. Stay tuned for part 2. This could be a crazy thing - I decided not to include too many details and look at this! I miss you all, already...
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