The World is a large place, and in it there are many fabulous things. Many a curious path to wander down. Great mountains to bound up. Secluded coves on shipwreck coasts, and cities that bustle by day and glitter by night. In the course of my travels, as you my readers will surely recall, I have journeyed huge distances to discover all these things and more. In fact looking back, it is as if I tried to get as far away from home as I could reach before stopping to look around. And I must confess (not that I think any of you are in any doubt) that I have had rather a good time doing it. However, as I have mentioned in the preambles of some of my previous Amazing Adventures, there can be a high price to pay for the lifestyle of even a shoestring explorer. It is with these things in mind that I set myself the task of exploring those places closer to home that I had been meaning to go to, which had unjustly been forced down my list of ‘must visit’ destinations by the promise of exotic foreign shores. Further to this I wanted to try to stop myself from getting itchy feet to the point that I just quit another job and vanished over the horizon.
Now, as the title rightly suggests, I have been exploring Ireland. This however was not the first attempt at close to home exploration, I went to hunt Nessy in Scotland (no luck there I’m afraid), walked some of the Great Glen Way, day tripped to Skye and sampled rare Whisky liqueurs. Next up was a walking trip in the Lake District. Not the best time of year to be honest and so got drenched and lost in the clouds. I will have to return in the summer, if we are lucky enough to get one this year. I even ventured into London for a weekend, to do the sights and rid myself of a deep rooted dislike of the place that can be traced back to my childhood. You will be glad to know this was a success, due in some part I think to the glorious weather I chanced upon whilst there. And so onto Ireland, a place I had been meaning to visit ever since returning from Oz/Nz on account of having met so many friendly (and often very entertaining) Irish people whilst on my travels. So, now that you are all up to date, I think we can get started.
The day of my departure began unusually in two ways. Firstly, I wasn’t hauling on my trusty (and slightly tatty) old green backpack, as for the purposes of this trip I wasn’t going to require such capacious baggage. And secondly, I wasn’t up bright and early. It almost seemed wrong that I didn’t have to get up very early to wander through the predawn gloom to some deserted transport terminus to sit, chilly and slightly dazed, awaiting the agent of my escape. No, this time I had a fairly lazy day before an early dinner, then flung on my smaller, newer, bluer backpack and set off on the train to Leeds at about the same time that the crowds were coming back from a days shopping. Then a quick dash across town to the bus station to catch the overnight coach to Dublin. The journey was largely uneventful although the Irish Sea isn’t know for its placidity, and upon arriving at the ferry port in Holyhead I noticed that the previous sailing had been cancelled due to high winds. I wondered if I was about to get stranded there at 2am, but fortunately things seemed to have improved. That isn’t to say it went well for all my fellow bus passengers, as having passed effortlessly through the seemingly pointless customs checks we all sat waiting on the bus. We waited and waited and after over half an hour we were finally allowed to make a mad dash for the ferry, but without one of our number, as he had been detained – and to think I thought those customs officials were just stood about doing nothing.
So, some twelve or more hours after setting off I arrive in central Dublin. It was 6am, dark, raining and Sunday. Not a great combination, but as I couldn’t check into my hostel for some hours I set off to orient myself and perhaps find somewhere warm that sold tea. I managed to pass some less than joyous hours before the sun rose behind the clouds, by which time I could check into my hostel, dump my bag and set off camera in hand to do the sights. The first of these sights was visible long before I reached it on account of it being 120m high. It is the Dublin Spire and it is a vertical steel needle (with a light at the top), it looks almost impossible and it is really very impressive. As the tallest thing in central Dublin it can be seen from all over the place and is therefore a useful navigational aid to the many drunk tourists that city seems to attract. Continuing on I happened upon a jaunty bronze statue of James Joyce, one of Irelands most loved writers, which made me wonder if there might be a statue of Robert Burns lurking around. I didn’t see any and an internet search later on (it’s becoming a bit of an obsession) suggested that there aren’t any in Ireland, although Burns is apparently linked to Dublin, but I decided it best not to delve.
So, where was I? Next I crossed the Liffey and wandered about the buildings of Trinity College, which on account of it being a wet Sunday was totally deserted. It’s very nice, but I’ve seen quite a lot of that sort of architecture and I can’t say it is in any way an exceptional specimen – I didn’t get to go inside though. From here I was well positioned to explore the narrow cobbled streets of the Temple Bar area, which is largely made up of pubs, many of which are small, old and have exteriors decorated with murals or Victorian style coloured glazed tile (of the sort found in public lavatories in once popular resort towns that have gone into decline – for instance). It looked like it could be a fun place to go out, but at 9am on a Sunday everything was closed so I just took pictures and wondered why I hadn’t passed the castle that was on my map. Three circuits of the area later I located Dublin Castle, it was also nice to wander around but also closed due to it being a bit early on a Sunday, although the gift shop was open, just in case you wanted to buy a souvenir of a place you hadn’t been in.
So, like many places, Dublin on a Sunday morning is mainly closed. I wasn’t surprised but I’d had no choice but to arrive when I did, and as the next day I was to be leaving I pressed ahead to see what else I could find. And what I found was that for a brief interlude the sun came out and illuminated for me the bronze of Molly Malone and her seafood cart (cockles and muscles alive alive oh …etc). Then, through the wonders of random wandering I discovered St. Stephens Green, a rather pleasant park with pond, bandstand, ornamental fountains and plenty of statues including a further bust of Joyce and a memorial to the victims of the potato famine. I lingered here until the sun disappeared again and then headed out of the town centre along the river to the edges of Phoenix Park, noting the sprawling Guinness brewery on the far shore as I went. Phoenix Park is apparently Europe’s largest urban walled park and was originally a deer park for Charles II (some deer still reside), as such it was rather too large for me to explore on this occasion. All I managed was a brief exploratory wander through some gardens and a photo stop at the Wellington Monument, a 60m high obelisk.
By this time I had been on the go for almost 30 hours and I decided that it was time to call it a day in order to be fresh for the morning, when the ‘bright and early’ starts were to return. Overall I have to say I liked Dublin, and when you consider that I didn’t see it at its best, nor for very long, I think I will have to give it a proper try one day. Not this trip though, time isn’t on my side and I have a lot yet to see and a fair bit of distance to cover. I will be back there at the end of my trip, but only to depart.
The morning came and with it news of trouble. Having had my fill of complimentary toast and jam I sat in the hostel reception-come-lounge watching the news on the telly while I awaited my tour guide. The main headline of the day was that British soldiers in Antrim had been killed by (it later transpired) the ‘Real IRA’. This was obviously terrible for those involved and all who knew them but also sent a jolt through the communities of both sides of the past conflicts that things may escalate again, with tit for tat killings and worse.
Fortunately then my tour guide arrived and so it was time to join the rabble of other tour members before being directed to a very green bus. The bus was painted with the company name and logo which appeared to be a large and very jolly bearded face wearing a green buckled hat and smoking a pipe, it reminded me of a giant cartoon leprechaun. Once on this conspicuous conveyance we set off through Dublin’s busy roads only to stop at the same Phoenix Park I had walked to the day before. This time however we were shown the Papal Cross where in 1979 Pope John Paul II had offered mass to a crowd of more than a million. Considering that Ireland’s population today is only about six million, he certainly pulled quite a crowd. Fortunately no such crowd was in evidence on this occasion as it gave our genuine Irish tour guide (as promised in the tour literature) Yvonne the chance to get us all in one huge circle to recite our names and any other info we thought that a group of strangers might like to know about us. Unfortunately there were 34 of us and I couldn’t hear all the people on the far side of the circle on account of the distance, so I settled for just remembering the tour guides name and my own, I would fill in the gaps later.
Once back on the bus we were informed that we were going to be having a rather early refreshment break at a service station minutes away as our bus had a problem (possibly to do with a tyre, but that is all I overheard). It was a lovely day apart from the biting wind, so we all milled about in the sunshine for an hour until Yvonne returned with a different bus, still green, and even bigger. At last we were on our way, and it was as well that we were as the tour I was on was only six days long and it took us around the whole of Ireland, so it was going to be keeping a fair old pace. Our days destination was Derry (or Londonderry depending on a number of factors I don’t fully understand) but we were to be making a number of stops along the way. The first of these was just a roadside photo stop at Slane Castle where I was informed that festivals and concerts are famously put on. I had never heard of it but I took a picture anyway. Next up was Monasterboice, a place where a monastery had once been but now there are just a few ruined buildings and a graveyard. More interestingly there is a collection of some of the Irelands largest Celtic Crosses and the, largely intact, remains of a Round Tower. These were built as a reaction to the Norse raids on monasteries in the 10th and 11th centuries. It was originally over 100 feet high and served as watch tower, belfry, a repository for valuables and a refuge for the community. The inside had several floors and the door only reachable by retractable ladder.
Our lunch stop was in a bustling little town called Drogheda, but there was more to see than just chip shops. Inside St. Peters Cathedral is a rather macabre religious relic. Encased in an ornate polished brass and jewel encrusted glass display box is the preserved head of St. Oliver Plunkett. He was executed in London in 1681 and his head somehow found its was back to Ireland. Just the sort of thing you want to see before deciding on lunch. In fact it could put you off baked potatoes for life.
From Drogheda it was onto Derry. Here we had barely time to check in and dump our bags before being ushered out into the drizzle and fading light of the evening to go on a guided walking tour. The tour was of the medieval walls of Derry and the Bogside district, our guide had grown up in the Bogside during the ‘Troubles’ and told us all about life back then. He recounted these tales with immense gravity and the picture he painted of the British with whom they were essentially at war was rather different from the picture we got back home. We also passed some of the famous murals but unfortunately it was by then almost dark, and the tour ended at the memorial to those killed on Bloody Sunday. So an educational eye opener of a walking tour, but a bit intense and none too comfortable.
So to finish off the day on a lighter note (I was on holiday after all) I was going to get my first ever visit to an Irish pub. Of course I have been in ‘Irish Pubs’ before, in England and Australia and Canada and even Las Vegas but this was a pub in Ireland, and thus the standard against which all those impersonators might be judged. The pub was called Paeder O’Donnells and it’s interior was decorated in a way that made you wonder if it was in fact mocking the stereotype of the exported Irish pub. It was largely wood panelled and there were all sorts of oddities hung from the ceiling and stuck on the walls. These included everything from old kettles and pans to stuffed animal heads and even fake meat (at least I think it was fake), but it was a friendly place and later on there was the live Irish music that is always assumed to be going on in these places. A good end to a good day but not a late night as, guess what? Next day it was up bright and early.
When morning came I was pleased to discover that the nights rain had given way to a cold but bright day, especially lucky as today was more of an out doorsy day. So after reassembling our group we set off in to the sunshine only to stop 2 minutes later for a ‘coffee stop’ . These morning stops were a daily feature on the trip and I have to say that they confused me a bit, after all we had only just had breakfast, not that this stopped most people from going to buy a second breakfast. Anyway our first stop of the day was at Benone Strand, giving us a chance to have a leg stretch on the gorgeous sandy beach. It was only a short stop, I think just to show us all that Ireland has lovely beaches, but long enough for one of our number (a well fed Australian bloke with a hangover) from running in to the sea for a dip. Now, it was a nice day for early spring, nice for walking on the beach, nice for exploring dunes, nice for wearing a coat to enjoy the sun without suffering the wind, but not nice for swimming, although of course he claimed otherwise.
Then it was off again to head for the main attraction of the day (and in some ways the whole trip). Before we reached it however there was a roadside photo stop at Dunluce Castle. This 16th century castle looks in pretty good nick apart from its absent roof, but it is in ever increasing danger of falling in to the sea as the cliff it stands on is eroded away. Even whilst in use it suffered from this, as the kitchen complete with cooks and dinner were washed in to the sea in a storm. From here we wound our way along the gorgeous coastline to arrive at last at what for me was the highest of the tours highlights, and the clincher when it came to deciding to do this trip. This is a place I had wanted to visit for as long as I can remember, I must have seen it on the telly as a child and found it both fascinating to behold, and its mythology probably hooked my imagination too. I am of course talking about the Giants Causeway. Now, this place is so well known it hardly needs me to try and describe it to you, but describe it I shall, for there was more to it than I had seen on the telly. Setting off from the visitor centre we were faced with a choice. Either getting a little bus straight to the main event, or there was a coastal walk passing some other features and winding around and down to the Causeway proper – so to speak. Well, I am not one to turn down a coastal walk most days, and on a day sporting more blue sky and sunshine than I had seen during the whole of last summer in England, well, they could run their little bus with one more empty seat.
After enjoying the panoramic vistas of cliffs dropping down to glittering seas I descended the narrow stairs to a path taking me first past a feature called the Organ. This is a part of the cliff face that is exposed to reveal some of the polygonal basalt columns the area is famous for, only as they are still connected to the cliff at top and bottom they resemble organ pipes (to those with an imagination). From here the path led on to an area from which to view the Amphitheatre, which I am sure you have guessed is a huge cove of cliff showing more such exposed columns and thus resembling an amphitheatre. It’s really very impressive, and thus a shame that so many of my group couldn’t be bothered to walk the extra 200 meters to see it, perhaps they have less enthusiasm for ‘Rocks with Names’ than I. So with the side-shows well photographed it was time to find the causeway itself. I did wonder if it was going to be a little disappointing, and that there would just be a small patch of polygonal floor tiles large enough to fit on to a postcard. Well, I needn’t have worried. Contrary to my concern, the causeway is far larger than I had expected, and as there are both flat pavement like areas and small hillocks it is almost as if it was designed to showcase itself. So I spent all the remaining time I had there just wandering about marvelling at it, and taking huge numbers of pictures (digital cameras are brilliant). Every time you turned around or walked a few paces there was another view that seemed to be begging to be photographed, and made all the better by it being such a gorgeous day. I have to say that for me it didn’t disappoint at all, and if you have seen it on telly and wanted to go, then do. If however you don’t go in for rocks with names, maybe you should go anyway, it might change your mind.
Back on the bus it was a short ride to the quiet little village of Ballintoy for our lunch stop at the Fullerton Arms. So, my second Irish pub, and this one much more like a country pub, without any old scrap iron and animal parts nailed to the rafters. I had the Irish stew, I don’t think I have had Irish stew before, it was OK, but to be brutally honest I have had better stews. Then back to driving the coast road with a quick stop to view the Carrick-a-rede rope bridge that allows you to cross to Carrick-a-rede (oddly enough), a rock in the sea that is used by fishermen to gather in the salmon that pass by at certain times of year. The bridge is only open seasonally on account of the weather, and as such we weren’t allowed to cross it, although from our viewing point other people seemed to be doing so. Bit of a shame as it looked like a bit of fun. Anyway, the rest of the day was mainly more scenic driving to Belfast, passing the shipyard where the Titanic was built on the way in.
The Belfast hostel was a bit odd. Many of the other hostels we stayed in were quite conspicuous, some even painted bright green (it’s a theme) but this one seemed to be trying to blend in and not be noticed. This made me wonder if there were political issues in Belfast that meant painting it green was a bad idea. Of course it might be just the local residents association don’t want their house prices affected, who knows. Anyhow, once we had all been corralled in the small hallway by a hostel manager with the people skills of a wounded Alsatian, we were arbitrarily portioned out and assigned a dorm. Fortunately after this the manager guy disappeared and the rest of the hostel was actually quite nice (with a big kitchen, which is always a bonus). My dorm buddies for the night were Catherine and Grace (both English) and Jamie (Canadian), and we all went out to explore Belfast with what was left of the evening light. I have to say that Belfast was not what I had expected, it was big and busy and modern and actually very nice, one of many places on this trip that I will have to return to one day with enough time to have a proper look. After darkness fell and sightseeing became a little pointless we headed for a pub we had been recommended called the Crown. This highly decorated place (more Victorian lavvy styling) with its many snugs modestly boasts that it is ‘The most beautiful bar in the world’. It certainly has had a lot of effort made on it but being a tourist attraction as well as a pub it was jam-packed. So we went next door to Robinsons. This pub had a number of different themed rooms, with a modern bar at the front and dark wood traditional styling at the back (with live Irish music of course). We went to the back on account of the spare seats.
The morning came and with it an end to the blue skies. Fortunately today was mostly a travel day so the drizzle didn’t matter too much, although more sun would have been nice. We were heading around the coast to Galway, but before setting off there was a chance to go on a (world famous) Black Cab tour of Belfast. This tour took us to see the political wall murals painted on the sides of buildings largely as territorial markers for the two sides of the conflict. Our drivers told us stories about what went on in Belfast during the Troubles and then took us to see the Peace Lines, these 30 foot high steel and concrete walls separate the Catholic and Protestant neighbourhoods. There are gates in them to allow traffic through during the day but many of these are still shut at night. The wall has many messages scrawled on them, mainly wanting peace and an end to the conflict. Our taxi drivers recounted some truly gruesome tales, but managed to insert some more jocular moments to lighten it a bit, and stop the girls from crying. And so, better educated and with more ‘must have’ tourist snaps taken it was time to bid Belfast farewell and set off on the long drive through the rain.
There were only to be two stops along the way, the first of these was at a place called Bundoran. The main reasons for stopping here were for our lunch stop and so that those that wanted to could go for a Seaweed Bath. A seaweed bath is pretty much what you would imagine it to be. Supposedly a luxurious spa type treatment, you basically get to go and wallow in a bath of hot seawater with seaweed in it – a sort of seaweed tea. Apparently it also has minerals in it (which I assume are added separately as they don’t exist in seawater or seaweed – making me wonder why either of these are used at all) and can leave you with skin ‘like a baby’s bottom’, something I didn’t feel I needed. And why waste money on a hot seawater bath when you could have a cold seawater shower for free outside; the wind had really picked up again. Speaking of wind and sea, and therefore waves, this brings me on to another ‘attraction’ the area has. Apparently it is famous for its surfing, and the waves certainly support the theory, even though there is no beach to speak of and there are warning signs telling you not to swim. That said there were surfers out in the water, and there is a surf shop/school albeit an odd one, as one of our group wanted to go surfing but they wouldn’t rent him a board. Anyway, for those of us not bathing there was really only one place around to escape the weather and that was the pub. So in to the pub it was, and this gives me cause to mention the single down side to my trip around Ireland, and that is the cost of stuff. It is to do with exchange rates and the Euro and so on, and I suppose I shouldn’t complain considering how long the Pound had such a high value, but that doesn’t make it any more fun finding out what it is like for everybody else.
Our second stop of the day was at a church in Sligo to see the memorial to, and grave of, Irelands national poet, Nobel laureate W.B.Yeats. I suppose in some ways, just as some people haven’t much enthusiasm for rocks with names, I haven’t a great deal for dead poets. Add to this that it was raining cats and dogs, and I decided to just take the obligatory pictures and go and hide in the gift shop ‘till it was time to go. Maybe one day I will look in to the works of Yeats, but not today.
All the way from here to Galway Yvonne had been telling us what a fabulous place Galway is and how she thinks it is the best little town in Ireland, it is also supposedly the party capital of Ireland. We arrived in the dark and the rain and then had to try to navigate this unknown place at night to reach the recommended pub for dinner. The pub was very nice, and you got so much food I don’t think anyone cleaned their plate (although I gave it a good try – crumbs, it cost enough). Then there was more live music before we were taken around town for more alternative and up to date live Irish music. All in all a good enough night but perhaps due to our late arrival in town it all felt a bit rushed and I didn’t feel like I was getting to see Galway at all. As we were being allowed a late start the next morning many of the group stayed out drinking all night. I decided instead to get some sleep and use the extra time in the morning to have a look around in the daytime (heavens – haven’t I got boring). So next morning, after the free breakfast, I set off to explore and found a pretty little seaside town with the typical colourfully painted rows of houses facing out to sea, boats and beaches. The sun had returned and it was a pleasant little wander, but I think it revealed that the main attraction of Galway seems to be the nightlife, however it was another place that I would like to go back to with more time.
Once we had managed to get everyone out of bed and back on the bus we set off for another fairly long driving day. This time the sun was out and the roads were very narrow and windy, nothing unusual to someone who spends his weekends in the Yorkshire Dales but I think some of those from further afield (who were rather hung over) found them more challenging. As we drove Yvonne recounted the terrible tales of the potato famine that affected this region of Ireland particularly badly, causing starvation and mass exodus from the land and even the country. By the time she had finished we had arrived at the Burren. The Burren is a vast area of exposed limestone pavement and cliffs. It is often said it resembles a ‘lunar landscape’ which I don’t think it does, the moon always looks dusty to me and this isn’t at all dusty. It is impressive and certainly bigger than the limestone pavements at Malham (in Yorkshire) although the rock is greyer and has a rougher surface. It made me wonder if the smoothness of the Malham limestone was in fact down to the footfalls of a million geography field trips. Hmm...
Our lunch stop was at some remote bistro near to the pretty little village of Doolin. I didn’t fancy eating in on such a lovely day so set off with Jamie to explore the surrounds and found it to be a very nice place full of tiny thatched cottages and gorgeous views. Once back on the bus it was only a short drive to the main attraction of the day, the Cliffs of Moher. These cliffs are famous for simply being stunning to look at, if seen from above the coastline would probably look like a wiggly line, but from the top of the high cliffs each rounded promontory juts out a little further than the one in front of it, creating a line of perfectly framed cliff sections disappearing into the distance. Oh, and you can look down on all the gulls flying about below, and nesting on the sheer cliff edges. The other thing of interest (to me) was that off the coast was the island of Inisheer, which is the island seen in the opening titles of the TV series Father Ted, and thus considered to be Craggy Island (as it is called in the show) not that the TV series was filmed on the island.
After this we were on strict orders to be back on the bus on time (and not a moment later) as we had to make a dash for the ferry over the Shannon, which Yvonne was keen for us not to miss, and thus have to wait an hour for the next one. We made it with 2 minutes to spare, much to the discomfort of the travel sick, on account of the country roads being taken at some speed. It was only a 15 minute crossing on a small roll-on roll-off ferry, and then it was off to the tiny Gaelic speaking village of Annascaul to stay in a hostel called the Randy Leprechaun. Of all the hostels this was by far the greenest, the whole building was painted green, decorated with shamrocks and even included the big laughing leprechaun face that was on our bus, plus another random leprechaun that I have never seen before – he had shades on. Apart from the somewhat idyllic location (which we didn’t really get to enjoy) the other reason this place gets such high billing in the tour literature is that it is attached to a pub, and there is karaoke. So after dinner it was off to the pub where I had my first pint of Guinness in Ireland. I actually only had it because the didn’t sell any ale at all, and when I asked about this I was told that they used to have one on but it kept going off because no one drank it, so now if you want beer it is Guinness or Guinness. I have never been a massive fan of Guinness, although I have been told many times that it is much nicer in Ireland than the stuff we get in pubs back home. Well, somewhat grudgingly, I would have to agree. Then started the nights entertainment, with the karaoke druid (old chap with a large white beard running the karaoke) setting things rolling by singing a few songs while the song lists were doing the rounds. I expect some of you are wondering if I sang anything, well given the friendly crowd I thought it was worth the risk, so I got in early with ‘Wonderful Tonight’ before sitting back to watch the others. I have to say that our group really got into the spirit of the thing and it was good entertainment for a couple of hours, before they’d had a few too many and it turned into raucous drunken yelling, at which point I headed for bed.
Next morning as I attempted to make toast in the tiny hostel kitchen, I peered out of the little window and through the rain at the grey morning. This was the first day when the bad weather was a real problem, up until now we had been lucky in so far as the bad days had been mainly travel days and the good ones we were outside. Today was going to take us to all sorts of sights around the coast as we travelled around part of the Ring of Kerry. Of course we would make the best of it but it really was squally and horrible. So, off we went around the coast stopping at some lovely beaches (in gale force winds) including one that was made famous by the film Ryan’s Daughter (which I haven’t seen), they apparently built a whole fake village on the cliff for the film, but now the only lasting trace is an engraved stone marker. As we continued around the coast road (which was more dramatic than beautiful under the conditions) Yvonne regaled us with folk stories about the time of giants and immortals and magical flying horses. The point of this was that out in the sea was an island known as the Sleeping Giant, on account of it looking like a huge man lying down asleep in the sea. It was difficult to make out in the mist but I think I saw enough to confirm that it does look like this. The story explains how the giant, now turned to stone, ended up lying in the sea, it’s too long to explain here, but it was a good story.
Our next stop was a look out point and the opportunity to wander down the road to look at an ‘upside down bridge’. Now, I don’t know how many of you, my readers, have heard of these before. I got the impression from the others in the group that I was in the minority that hadn’t. So, for those of you like me, an upside down bridge is where a stream crosses the top of a road and then goes down a cliff. The stream would have originally gone down a gully that the road now ‘bridges’ and for some reason they diverted the water over the road instead of leaving a channel for it to go underneath. I was confused by all this, as I thought this was a ford. However others in the group were quite adamant that this was different from a ford, and even quoted mythology that involved upside down bridges. I remain unconvinced – it was definitely just a ford. Anyway, moving on. Our next curiosity was a standing stone that was supposed to improve your fertility if you went and leant against it. This particular stone was in a bog and the rain was horizontal, so I decided I wasn’t in need of its magical gifts and stayed in the bus watching others falling over in the mud – I haven’t heard from anyone who tried it regarding results.
Then came our lunch stop in the pretty touristy little fishing village of Dingle. Again it was a shame about the weather, and that we were rather inexplicably given 2 hours for lunch. This meant almost 2 hours wandering about in the rain and wind. I did get to see the brass model of a dolphin that they have. This is a model of a particular bottle nosed dolphin called Fungie by local fishermen, after it made the harbour its home in 1983. Unusual for fishermen to have a good relationship with a dolphin, and odder still to have a statue of it in town. Fungie is still alive incidentally and despite spending many years alone in the harbour he has more recently been seen with some dolphin friends – so a doubly happy story. When at long last we could get back on the bus it was off to Inch Beach where I was told that the music video for the song ‘Yellow’ was filmed (which I also haven’t seen). It was a good stretch of golden sand and on other occasions the offer of swimming is made, but on a day like it was, not even our craziest Australian fancied a dip. So instead we trundled on towards Killarney where we would be stopping the night.
Killarney is, according to the tour literature, Irelands premiere tourist town. I am not too sure what kind of accolade this really is, what I can say is that Killarney is yet another very nice pretty touristy town with a villagy feel. After a quick wander about the town I went back to the hostel, this one a mustard yellow colour but with a token leprechaun on the sign, holding a pint. I cooked some dinner and had many cups of tea until I felt fully revived from a day being battered by the elements. Then it was off into town to meet the others who were already at the pub. So it was another night of live music (contemporary this time) and sitting about in pubs. Once again when it came time to move from the pub to a late night venue, the usual suspects went on and I joined the (boringly sensible and skint) folk heading back. It had been a good night and for some that stayed out partying, perhaps too good. I got up and joined the queue for toast and then we packed up the bus, but there were 2 people missing. Yvonne tried ringing them, but no replies. Well, we couldn’t wait so the bus set off. Luckily for them though the hostel was situated on a particularly busy and narrow junction, as this made it hard for our large bus to get out into the traffic. As we sat waiting for a gap a frantic and shabby Australian came into view. She had made it in the nick of time, and she was able to delay us long enough for a second out of breath Australian to stagger down the street. It was kind of nice that just for once the people getting embarrassingly drunk while abroad weren’t British.
So, with our full compliment installed back on the bus we set out on the final day of the tour. It was another fairly big driving day as we had to get all the way back to Dublin, but there were things along the way. Not long after leaving Killarney we stopped at Blarney Castle, home of the Blarney Stone. Before going to kiss the stone we had a good explore of the castle and I actually really liked it. I have been around quite a lot of castles in various states of decay or repair and all too often large areas are roped off due to either being dangerous or private. This place wasn’t in perfect condition but it had clearly been made safe and it hadn’t been restored by some hobbyist historian to look like a film set either. This meant you could wander around and poke about to your hearts content. It’s the sort of castle its fun to play in as a kid, with loads of tiny staircases and slitty windows and hardly anything to read. So, anyway, once at the top it was time to join the queue to ‘Kiss the Blarney Stone’. Doing so, according to the rather suspect story behind it, is supposed to give you the gift of the gab, or make you good at public speaking. All manner of well known people have kissed it including Winston Churchill. To kiss it you have to lie on your back over the edge of the castle wall and whilst holding the two railings behind you, lean your head down and kiss it. Kind of like a stone based baptism. Well, I kissed the rock with a name, as for the gift of the gab, I certainly never had it before so if I have it now, the stone works.
From here the only thing of note on the motorway back to Dublin was a field where some of the big battle scenes from the film Braveheart were filmed, (a film I have seen – but didn’t like) it was just a big flat field. Then onto Dublin, but before the tour ended there was one more treat in store, in the form of the Guinness Storehouse. Built in what was once the Guinness fermentation plant, this huge seven storey visitor ‘experience’ is a massive narcissistic self-homage (if there is such a thing) to Guinness. Having said that, they have done it rather well. There is perhaps a little too much space for even 250 years of Guinness history to fill but they have a jolly good go. I think they were running out of ideas when they came up with the ‘choice zone’ a whole floor dedicated to responsible drinking and the effects of alcohol. Still, at least you know where to go if you want some time on your own. The rest was full of displays about brewing, the history of Guinness, the advertising through the ages and at the very top, the best bit. The Gravity Bar, a circular bar in a circular glass sided room offering fantastic 360 degree views over Dublin, and a complimentary pint of Guinness to drink while looking out at it. A pretty good way to end the tour, but still a shame it had to end. All that was left was to be dropped off back in central Dublin and to say our goodbyes. Many of the group were meeting up in Dublin that night for one last night on the town. I however, had a boat to catch.
I had set out to explore those places closer to home that I had always meant to visit. Well I am glad that I finally did. This trip may have only lasted a week, but the hectic itinerary made it feel like I had been away from home for a month. And I may not have needed a plane to get there but it was every bit as excellent as travel in the worlds most distant corners. As well as being just what I needed to help calm those itchy feet, it has also reminded me that it isn’t the exotic that makes travel what it is, it’s the act of travel, the desire to explore the world, to be in motion, to go out of your way to reach places you dreamt of and find a hundred more to dream of going back to.
So, it’s time to draw the adventure to a close, and to thank you, my readers, for joining me on the road. Of course the travel bug may be sated for the time being, but it’ll be back. The feet will start itching, the globe will need trotting, and as to whether the jet will need setting, we will have to wait and see. But wherever I stray to next, be it near or far, by now you should need no reassurance that you will be amongst the first to know.
David.