The Emerald Isle, Here I Come 10/15/04

Day 1

A quarter of a century has passed since I flew over to the European continent. 1979. 2004. How could so much time and life have passed? I wondered what changes aside from the introduction to the Euro would await me.

I am a marathon runner accustomed to traveling in search of the next adventure, the thrill of a new city, a different race course and perhaps a new out-of-state friend or two. Several events inspired me to explore new horizons and indulge my wanderlust in a more expansive way. I turned the other side of 50 and felt the nudge to move out of my comfort zone. I was tired of thinking and dreaming of a trip such as this. It was time to take action. My 24 year old son had ventured overseas on more than one occasion and encouraged me to take the leap.

Now to narrow my choices. I wanted to travel to a land I had never been to. The country would have to have a fairly well established fall marathon. I wanted to thoroughly research this venture with limited professional travel help. Utilizing my own ’travel agent’ savvy has come in handy for many out-of-state trips and I was eager to stretch my abilities further.

I compared notes with runners who had experienced the Dublin City Marathon and concluded that this particular international race would be a wise choice, indeed.

Months of researching websites, reading guidebooks and questioning fellow travelers rendered me more excited each day. My proud-to-be-an-American boyfriend grew increasingly enthusiastic as he anticipated his very first trip “across the pond.”

We diligently trained for the marathon, booked our flights, reserved our car and selected race day accommodations carefully. Thursday October 14 could not get here fast enough for my taste!
Bon Voyage
Ready or Not, World, Here I come!

I arrived at LAX as excited as a college student out for summer break. I wanted to tell everyone within earshot that I’m going to Dublin to run the marathon! Once I checked in and blessed my bags (Please dear God, have them arrive safely, my running shoes are in there!), I wandered to my boarding gate. I got a glimpse through the window of my ‘trusty steed’ a strong, SAFE Lufthansa 7something7, packing up the gear and ready to be boarded.

I looked around and noticed there were several people reading German periodicals and books. That made sense as we were flying through Frankfurt on my way to Dublin. I love this! I started to observe travel clothing and gear, especially the backpacks. Slots for water bottles, and clips to secure jackets and cameras. So clever and practical and hands free.

As we boarded, I was offered my choice of reading materials – USA Today, the Herald Tribune and a German newspaper. Oh yeah, I’m an international traveler now. If I was Ellen Degeneres, I would start to dance down the aisles!

I love hearing all the languages. The flight attendant was at least bilingual and in German asked what I wanted for dinner. My seatmates were French and asked for ”deux poulets”. I asked for the pasta (and blew my cover at that point). So much for my international mystique. I wanted to speak French to my neighbors but my shy personality (ok, my limited recall of my high school French) took over. I’ll brush up for the next trip, I promised myself.

It was an 11 hour flight to Frankfurt so I did a little reading and settled in for the evening. The head rests had little adjustable sides which cradled my head comfortably. The seat next to me was vacant which was a life saver for my 5’10” long legs as my seat back did not recline. I slept a few hours nonetheless and awoke to the fragrance of those heavenly lemony towels distributed to all the passengers. Wake up! Time to rise and shine.

I became so accustomed to hearing German, I really enjoyed this. I wanted to be able to read the signs. Once I arrived in Frankfurt, I made my way over to the next terminal preparing to fly to Dublin. I wanted to buy a German postcard but didn’t have time to exchange my money into Euros yet.

A quick hour and a half flight from the continent to the Emerald Isle. And was it ever green. Depending on whom you ask, rumor has it that there are up to 75 shades of green in Ireland.

The airport shuttle took me to the Dublin Airport Holiday Inn. I settled into my room, had a lovely room service dinner of savory vegetable soup and rolls and called it a night. Or day. Or whatever it was by then. I vowed to become acclimated to the time difference. I was too weary from the preparation and actual traveling to experiment with the trouser press (!) so going to bed sounded like a wise idea. I needed lots of sleep for tomorrow’s big adventure…right hand drive on the left-hand road!!

My Trusty Steed Day 1

Bye Bye USA Day 1

Dublin in sight Day 1

Right Hand Drive ~ Left Hand Road 10/16/04

Day 2

Steve arrived in Dublin mid-morning raring to start our Ireland driving adventure. We picked up our rental car, sat in the front seat trying to wrap our jet-lagged minds around how we would ever get accustomed to right hand drive on the left hand road! Brave Driver Steve took the wheel first as Excellent Navigator Karen reminded him to “stay toward the right”, “drive on the left”, “oh God, here comes a round-a-bout!” Whoever coined the phrase you can’t teach an old dog new tricks hasn’t met these two old dogs! Woof!!

Though Ireland is an English speaking country, we had some road-signage translating to do.
Dual Carriage Way = 2 Lane Highway
Overtake = To pass on a highway
Slow Bends = Curves ahead
Traffic Calming = Traffic slowing down
Getting Clamped = Parking monitors put a clamp on your wheels so you can’t drive away before the tow truck comes to TAKE you car away. Serious business those parking violations…

Our goal the first day could have been from a song I wrote except someone beat me to it. From Sea (Irish) to Shining Sea (Atlantic) was the theme as we made our way across the entire Emerald Isle. We followed the N6 highway from Dublin almost to Galway with a lunch stop in Moate. We ate at a traditional pub named Brownes that had bright red doors and the Guinness (of course) flag beckoning to all the passer-by. On our way back to the car a sign caught my eye proclaiming “Washed Roosters 5kg for 2.49”. So they wash their roosters here in Ireland and then sell them, do they? Steve, too curious to pass this up, snapped a photo of the shopkeeper and inquired about the sign that tickled us so. “Roosters, my lad, are Irish potatoes,” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

All the pre-trip research I did recommended bed and breakfasts as the preferred accommodations. Ireland is famous for their friendly people and gracious hospitality so we were eager to arrive at our first destination. Proud of our navigational skills (OK, we did have to ask for directions a couple of times) we arrived in the town of Oranmore at Birchgrove Bed and Breakfast just in time to witness the loveliest bright yellow sunset. Pat and Mary Curren greeted us warmly, gave us a quick tour of their home and showed us to our room. We settled in for the night and I wondered if we’d have fried roosters for breakfast in the morning….

Rooster Potato Man Day 2

Oranmore Sunset Day 2

Galway, Cong & Clifden Excursion 10/17/04

Day 3

Though the sun peaked out, the air was chilly and I was glad I wore my silk long johns! Mary prepared a scrumptious hot Irish breakfast that we ate in the cheery dining room. Over breakfast Pat updated us on the local economy and gave us some sightseeing tips to boot. An Australian family on a month long holiday was preparing to take their children on an all day sight-seeing excursion. Imagine their jet lag after a 24+ hour flight!

Steve and I packed up and headed to Galway City, our first destination of the day. Our decision to brown bag our lunches was a wise one as it gave us flexibility in our sight-seeing options. Going to an Irish grocery store was an education all its own. We weighed our own vegetables, attached the scanner label and discovered at the checkout that ecologically-inclined Ireland does not provide grocery bags! I thought this was a brilliant (I’m catching onto the lingo) example of conservation. Brings a new meaning to the word BYOB now doesn’t it. Come to think of it, I have seen scant amounts of litter on the country roads or the city streets.

Yesterday was spent just getting acclimated to the left hand drive, reading the road signs and negotiating the roundabouts. We did both come to the conclusion that I’m a much better navigator than driver and Steve doesn’t bump into curbs the way that I do but we might end up in China if we follow his map. So good, with that straight we set out to enjoy the views and make our way toward Clifden with me directing and Steve chauffeuring.

Though we took so many pictures, I’m sure they will never truly capture the beauty of this country. The crisp, clean air never has a moment to be anything but fresh, what with the frequent rain and the breezes blowing. A photo op presented itself at Oughterard, home of babbling brooks and fragrant pine trees. I dare say some of these sights reminded me of the Pacific Northwest with the lush vegetation and water water everywhere. The farther into the country we traveled, the more I experienced serenity and peace that only nature can provide.
Maybe I missed my calling, but those sheep (and there were a lot of them) were so cute! I never grew tired of seeing them grazing and milling about in the many meadows we drove by.

Our next stop was Ashford Castle which was once owned by the Guinness beer family. We strolled down the most pleasant forested lane which led to enormous green grounds of the castle itself. Stopping for a spot of tea, we soaked in the beauty and the history of the site and admired the panoramic view as well.

Ah yes, the pot of gold at the end of those rainbows! We managed to capture the first one on film while on the drive to Cong Abbey. I was certain a leprechaun was just waiting for us to discover him. Steve swore he was probably eating Lucky Charms cereal. Pink hearts, yellow moons….



The town of Cong is famous on two counts. John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara filmed The Quiet Man here 50 years ago. We came to see the Gothic/ Romanesque style ruins of Cong Abbey. Built in the late 1100’s, the high mass commonly had a procession of Augustinian monks. We could sense the history here as we walked through the cemetery and gazed upon the ancient walls and arches.

Moo-ve cows, will you moo-ve!!?? Check out the rush hour traffic! Frankly, I think they were rather perturbed that we would dare try to share their road. What a life eating lush Irish grass and chewing their Irish cud. Cows and sheep, cows and sheep, if they aren’t the national animals, they should be.
Once back in Clifden, we came upon the incredible Abbeyglen Castle, built in 1832 by John d'Arcy. He founded the town of Clifden in 1812, and was considered a leader of the community who was frequently consulted by the local constabulary in time of trouble or unrest. Following d'Arcy's death, his son Mitchen sold the property to the Irish Church Mission Society in 1854. As a result of the Famine the estate hit troubled times and the property fell derelict. In 1969, the Joyce family owners sold the property to the Hughes family, who through the years has improved the castle and gardens to their present state.
The grounds were expansive and La-de-dah - our room was a suite with a fireplace, sitting room and four poster bed. Queen Karen I called myself. Off with their heads! Just give me a little power and look what happens to me! At least Gilbert, the wonder parrot wasn’t afraid of little ole me. Perhaps he looks shy in this picture, but trust me, when I turned to head to the dining room, he’d screech past his lung capacity!

Stream in Oughterard Day 3

Ashford Castle Day 3

Cong Abbey Day 3

Commuters Day 3

Sunshine, Roundabouts & Steep, Stunning Cliffs 10/18/04

Day 4

We awoke to sunshine and blue skies. Who would have thought I would need my California sunglasses in (what we anticipated as) rainy, dreary Ireland? While inhaling the intoxicatingly clean air, I just wanted to sing at the top of my lungs…Yoda–loda-lay-eee–oooo!!

The Connemara area is a “stunning patchwork of rusty bogs, lonely valleys, pale green mountains and small black lakes” (Lonely Planet guidebook) and we drove through it on the way to Kylemore Abbey. The Twelve Bens (or Twelve Pins) are a series of mountains that pierce the sky with their hard majestic quartzite peaks. Looked like some awesome hiking country.

Kylemore Abbey reminded me of some East Coast preparatory school in my very distant past. It had been converted from a Benedictine Convent, in fact, into an exclusive girls’ boarding school and during our visit we saw many of the uniformed girls preparing for their next class. Ah, brings me back to the days of Miss Masters School for Girls….The school sits on a stunning lake and this particular day the sun glimmered and glistened upon it.

Our driving and navigational skills improved in leaps and bounds if I do say so myself – and I do! We loved the round-abouts the best. It reminded me of something Disneyland would conceive of. I pictured Alice in Wonderland and the White Rabbit in one car, Goofy and Pluto in the next waving and honking to each other. The round-abouts seemed to replace the need for street lights and kept the flow of traffic very efficient. The signage at each ‘intersection’ was so clear that even if we missed our exit, we just kept going around and around until we came upon it again. A carousel and the Mad Hatter Teaparty Teacups all in one. Like I said, Disneyland….

We passed through the bleak hilly ground called the Burren in the northwest corner of County Clare. The limestone pavements carry deep cracks that trap water, sun and soil fragments making them ideal hothouses for plants. The variety of the landscape was breathtaking. I could only imagine what this looks like in wildflower season.

As I read the guidebooks and map description of the Cliffs of Moher, I began to conjure up this majestic, massive stone structure towering over a raging sea. The reality far surpassed my anticipation. The view literally took my breath away. After I began to breathe easily again, I just started to cry. Had I been here before? Why was this so familiar to me? All I knew was it was the most spectacular, magnificent sight I had ever seen.

These majestic cliffs rise from the Atlantic Ocean to a height of nearly 200m and extend for a distance from Hag's Head due west to a point beyond O'Brien's Tower. They take their name from a ruined promontory fort, Mothar, which was demolished during the Napoleonic wars to make room for a signal tower. We were so fortunate to arrive on a crystal clear, uncrowded day. Tourists flock here in the summer and wind and fog conditions can literally shut down the natural attraction in the winter. Ah, the luck of the Irish was with us. We huddled up together as we climbed the road to O’Brien’s Tower, drinking in the view of the ocean, the craggy ridges of the cliffs and the occasional bird who would soar over head completing our personal picture- perfect postcard.

Our sojourn to Bunratty castle to eat at Kathleen’s (a suggestion from several friends) to experience a traditional Irish dinner and show was a bust. The show is not performed without a group of 50 or more. Ah, the price we paid for traveling off season. We drove to the town of Adare, had some fish and chips at a local restaurant and settled into our farmhouse B&B for the night.

Abbeyglen Castle Day 4

Kylemore Abbey Day 4

The Burren Day 4

Cliffs of Moher Day 4

Adare, Conair Pass & Dingle Town 10/19/04

Day 5

I have never taken an overseas trip without turning my life and my will over to either a parent, a travel agent or someone’s well-traveled secretary. This trip was a confidence booster in a variety of ways. Both Steve and I read various guidebooks, asked globe-trotting friends and family for their suggestions, sought council from AAA, scoured the internet and then began to trust our experiences and instincts. Our decision to trade warm weather and crowds at the tourist sights for an unpredictable climate, a few closed shops but relatively sparse crowds at all the attractions we visited was a wise one.

Fancying ourselves as quite the seasoned travelers, our stop in Adare was rather spontaneous. Stopping in Adare was on our rather loosey-goosey agenda but we didn’t have reservations ahead of time so that constitutes spontaneous in my book. Thumbing through our Irish Farmhouse book, we came upon Laccabawn B & B, a beef and barley (cereal) farm set on 100 acres of prime Irish land. Our proprietress Hazel Fitzgerald was a gracious if rather serious hostess. Her home was impeccably decorated, and the dining area and salon had a calming ambiance. This was our favorite accommodation so far.

Another crystal clear blue sky greeted us and we couldn’t depart without a photo with the infamous Laccabawn cows and a glimpse of a thatched stone cottage. Adare is the quaintest village and I wondered if Snow White with Sleepy or Sneezy would meander out to sign autographs anytime soon. Guess I had Disneyland on the brain yet again… The world is our oyster and Hazel suggested a drive through the Conair Pass as our pearl. We had not read about this gem of a drive in any of our guidebooks but she insisted it was the grandest way to experience the spectacular views into Dingle Harbor. Tralee Bay at the base of the pass boasted crisp white waves. On up the road we did pass several vehicles sporting surfboards on their roofs.

Burly workers with their bulldozers and dump trucks grinned (or was it smirked) as our little putt putt of a car chugged up the steep and rocky narrow asphalt hill. It appeared that work was being done to widen the road, a wise idea since it was barely passable for one car let alone two.

The higher we climbed the more spectacular the view became. This time we encountered “blue” sheep peacefully gnawing on the fresh mountain grass, oblivious to our photography or my exuberance upon seeing yet another flock of sheep. Oh, I just wanted to squeeze them all. Major squish factor as my kids would say. Steve found a fast moving waterfall for his photo op and I posed for my “top of the world” shot made famous on our trip to Orcas Island last summer. Panoramic views stir something deep within me that make me want to shout from the rooftops.



Conair Pass really was exquisite. It had a Kauai feel to it though on a grander, colder scale. Snowy mountain peaks and ocean views, lakes and meadows, sheep nesting in the boggy marshland and craggy rocks, salty fresh air swirling in the windy chill sums up the sort of terrain we braved, so grateful to have been led to such a place. A German couple shivering a bit in their boots was kind enough to snap one more digital at the peak of the pass minutes before we headed down to Dingle Harbor.

Once in the town we parked and wandered up the main street toward the Tourist Information (TI) building. Many of the cities and towns have TI’s that serve as a way station for out-of-towners providing maps, postcards and souvenirs for sale as well as knowledgeable people to help the tourists get acclimated. We made a quick stop at the grocery store to load up on lunch supplies before heading to the linens store to ooh and ahh at the delicate lacy napkins and hand- sewn table runners. I couldn’t resist and made a few purchases for family members back home.

Another rainbow gently graced the sky as we drove to our next night’s home away from home. Passing a large recycling center in the middle of town, I was once more awed by Ireland’s attention to detail when it comes to ecological concerns. Rows of bins for cans and glass items lined the parking lot beckoning townspeople to recycle those Guinness bottles and cans!

Cill Bbreac B & B set on the beaten track with a lovely waterfront view to the west and the back of Conair Pass to the rear. Our seafood dinner at Fenton’s was expensive though quite tasty. We were eager to experience some traditional Irish dancing and music after our meal but we petered out before the 9:30 show at the local pub. It had been a long day of driving, the temperature dropped considerably so we opted for our cozy, toasty warm bed instead.

Us with the cows Day 5

Tralee Bay Day 5

SHEEP! Day 5

Top of Conair Pass Day 5

Dingle Peninsula, Killarney, Blarney 10/20/04

Day 6

“Is that frost on the backyard grass?” I asked Steve as we prepared for our all day Peninsula drive. Brrrrr. Well, last night the temperature in our car did register 3 degrees Celsius. And this morning a couple of savvy gals from Minnesota were pouring warm water on their windshield to melt the ice crystals??? Nothing new to them, they said this is mild weather compared to the Midwest! Undeterred by the weather, we bundled up and headed out, prepared as two Southern Californians can be!

I had read so much about the Dingle Peninsula Drive. Most of the guide books highly recommended this as a day long excursion with lots of time to explore and absorb the historical and natural value. The remarkable landscape is punctuated by ringforts, beehive stone huts, standing stone and curving bays with long golden beaches.

We followed Rick Steve’s “circular tour by bike or by car” from his guide book. He even told us where to set the odometer and each point of interest was easy to locate.

Steve and I had our favorite stops and took advantage of the wonderful off season non-congested roads. I’m sure August would be another story but we toodled along with nary an impatient driver beckoning us to speed up or pull over.

Dingle feels so traditionally Irish because it’s a “Gael Tacht” (a region when the government subsidizes the survival of the Irish language and culture.) Though English is always spoken there, many of the signs and menus come in Gaelic. The first sign we came upon translated to “Go slowly”.

The pink building was a grammar school teaming with fresh faced youngsters at recess. The stonehouse restaurant was remarkable with each stone carefully detailed and placed. It reminded me of all the stone walls we saw in each of the counties we have traveled through so far. Those walls are free standing and not mortared so they can be quickly disassembled to let the cows and sheep pass through.

Dunbeg Fort was a promontory hill fort used as a refuge of last resort during the celtic invasion. The dates are all in question but the literature guesses it was inhabited in the 10th or 11th centuries. The “clochans” – or igloo shaped buildings – resemble beehives and liberally litter the hillside along the Dingle Peninsula Drive.

We had our photo taken on a cliff with the Great Blasket Islands as the majestic background. They are no longer inhabited due to harsh, remote conditions. Dunmore Head is the westernmost point in Europe and just beyond that, a gorgeous beach that was the central location of the 1970’s movie Ryan’s Daughter.

Dunquin Harbor lays quietly in front of the “Three Sisters” mountain range. If you look closely, you can spot the island that resembles a “Sleeping Giant” to the right. During the great potato famine in Ireland, many of the homes in Dunquin Harbor were abandoned. Up this hillside is the first bit of land Charles Lindberg gazed upon after crossing the Atlantic on his way to Paris in 1927. It is called Mt. Eagle and the story goes that the villagers were as excited as he was since they had never seen anything so big in the air before!

We were intrigued by the playful pastel-colored buildings in the town of Dunquin Harbor. Traditionally the stores and such were drab gray or whitewashed. Apparently 30 years ago a competition prompted everyone to paint their buildings, the merrier the better!

Our peninsula tour came to a close but not before another group of “commuters” greeted us. This time they brought along their “guide” presumably to set the pace?!

Both Steve and I were getting rather edgy having been cooped up in the car for the better part of 2 days so we were eager to head out to Muckross House and walk around this renowned estate on the edge of Killarney National Park. A light rain stayed with us most of the drive there and the temperature felt cool and crisp. Once we arrived, a brisk hike to the Abbey sounded like a fine idea to get the blood pumping and the car legs refreshed. Our California boy refused to succumb to a coat though it did turn a bit nippy!

The grounds were splendid and lush. Queen Victoria had excellent taste as she stayed in the mansion back in 1861 (on the ground floor because it is said that she was afraid of fires!). We didn’t tour the Muckross Traditional Farms or the inside of the House but it was lovely and definitely worth a longer visit. Prepare for the weather and the walking tours would be pleasant as well.

The steady rain and our challenging navigational skills convinced us from attempting to drive to the coastal town of Kinsale this afternoon so instead we headed over to Blarney. Our third rainbow of the trip gallantly appeared overhead and I took it as a clear sign we had made a wise decision.

We must have looked rather hungry and weary upon arrival at the Pineforest Bed and Breakfast because our proprietress immediately directed us to the Blair Inn for a warm dinner meal. Oh Lordy, I had the BEST Irish stew (called Murphy stew) while sitting in the coziest of pubs, warm, homey, reminiscent of a long lost friend’s living room. And get this – one of the locals sidled up to the bar and ordered a BUDWEISER. What, no Guinness? Steve was tickled, it is his favorite beer back home. I wanted to sleep soundly because tomorrow…drum roll please…Steve will receive the gift of gab at the Blarney Stone. It may be a LONG time before I can get a word in edgewise again. :~)

"Go slowly" in Gaelic Day 6

Stone House Day 6

Great Blasket Islands Day 6

Colorful storefronts Day 6

Freezing Boy at Muckross House Day 6

Blarney, Kinsale and onto Duala (near Cashel) 10/21/04

Day 7

One of the many joys of staying at these welcoming bed and breakfast accommodations is the interesting people we meet, usually at our morning meal together. Typically over breakfast, we compare travel notes, recommend or receive an interesting excursion tip or simply share something unique to our upbringing or country. A German family with 2 school age boys was exploring the Irish countryside during the boys’ school holiday. As we chatted one morning I was intrigued with the Dad’s command of both English and German. Though it is common knowledge that Europeans tend to learn English as a second language in primary school, I asked him where he learned English so fluently. He assured me that though he had taken English in school, a 10 year lapse occurred before he began to practice again. Hearing how confident he was as he conversed gave me the hope that my 30 year ‘recess’ from French is stored somewhere in the language-lobe of my brain, ready to burst through at any moment!

The ease with which I can strike up a conversation with a fellow traveler will prove to be an asset as I enter the world of travel writing. I feel so encouraged and alive with each new acquaintance I make. My newest affirmation is I AM a fluent, articulate and observant freelance travel writer, sharing my exuberance and enthusiasm in written and spoken word with all the world! What do you think Oprah, are you ready for me yet?

Our first morning in Blarney was blustery! Thunder and lightening with occasional heavy rain showers greeted us at breakfast. Steve had his heart set on kissing that Blarney Stone so after our morning chit chat with a family from the East Coast, we dressed rain-gear ready and packed up the car yet again. The driveway was lined with fresh sweet flowers and plants that seem to drink in and thrive in such moist surroundings.

Blarney Castle was a short drive away and once inside the grounds, I felt transported to my high school days in residential New York. An abundance of colorful fall leaves, a welcoming meadow rich with dewy green grass and a swift, clear stream surrounded the 15th century castle. We began the long rather arduous ascent up to the actual spot where the infamous stone is positioned. The stairwells were tight and ceilings short and I concluded that the people in the 1600’s were far shorter than we are these days.

Once Steve settled himself next to the stone with the help of the attendant, I snapped his photo while trying to keep the camera (and me) dry! His dream of kissing the Blarney Stone now realized, I waited to see if he would eloquently begin to recite the Declaration of Independence or at least the last 10 Super Bowl winners. So far no change but perhaps the magic takes a day or two to catch on…

Amazingly enough, as we strolled back through the rest of the grounds of the castle and reached our car, the sun poured out and brightened the green countryside even more exquisitely. There is nothing quite as beautiful as Ireland in-between rainstorms! Car-picnic prepared, driving map in hand, sunglasses situated on the nose and we headed south toward the ancient fishing village of Kinsale.

The countryside meandered around the big city of Cork and became a vision of meadows, vast acres of horse property and stunning lush green hillsides. We got a tad lost (we can now admit this happened every day) but recouped our lost time and got back on track without an abundance of frustrated sighing or rolling of the eyes.

As we came into Kinsale it was clear that this would be a pleasure to behold indeed. It is an old quaint seaport with windy narrow roads, an active fishing harbor teaming with sailing vessels, fishing dories and pleasure boats and is a popular summer resort town not unlike my home of Seal Beach with jet skiing, windsurfing and even surfing in some spots. Don’t you find it hard to imagine the water temperature without shivering? We did see a VW van with a surfboard on it as we traveled up the Conair Pass in Dingle so I guess the diehard surfers will go wherever the waves call them.

As we explored the town, a particular street caught our attention. The two lanes were more like one so we actually needed to honk to alert the other drivers coming down this street that we were coming up! Pity the poor neighbors who endure this honking fiesta day after day. Shops painted in those cheerful colors we were becoming accustomed to seeing dotted the village as we meandered into a bookstore and sporting goods store. St. Mary’s church and Desmond Castle were two tourist sites we passed as well as the guidebook-recommended Fishy Fishy Café. This place must swarm with summer loving tourists in July and August.

Motoring up the highway once again, this time going north, it occurred to me that I take the “buffet” approach to tourism. Choose from a large assortment of the offerings and take a bite or two of each without getting that full feeling. Leave the table satisfied yet wanting to come back for more another time. Each historical and cultural point of interest we experienced satisfied us for now with the hopes and dreams of returning for a more in-depth look in the future.

By late afternoon, we glimpsed the magnificent medieval looking Rock of Cashel as our car climbed the hill overlooking a fairly populated town of Cashel itself. Touring this interesting site would have to wait until morning since our day was coming to a close and it was that time again to search for bed and food. This night’s home named Tir Na Nog (Gaelic for Fountain of Youth) nestled in the small superb of Duala, a 10 minute drive from the Rock. Our proprietor Tommy greeted us with one of the thickest Gaelic accents I had heard so far this trip. He looked a bit weary, he did. Imagine having new visitors 7 days a week, with the cooking and cleaning necessary to run this establishment and care for your family as well. I wondered if the innkeepers give themselves a vacation – maybe stay at someone else’s B & B??!

Dinner was at the Kearny Castle Hotel, a rather non-descript place not unlike a Denny’s or Woolworth’s stateside. One unique custom the restaurants practice here is to bring an entire pitcher when you request a glass of water. I loved the endless supply plus it saved the waiter multiple trips to fill our water glasses.

Trips to the food markets reminded us that Ireland has yet another way to preserve their resources and environment. Patrons must pay for bags, plastic or paper! BYOB or you walk home, arms piled high with loaves of bread, blocks of cheese and bottles of milk. Simple perhaps, yet profound effect on their landfills I bet.

Steve set the intention to dream of egg nog (his nickname for our B & B Tir Na Nog) and I drifted off with visions of the fairy tale Robin Hood and Maid Marion. I wonder if I could buy one of those long silky princess head pieces or veil at the Rock of Cashel tomorrow?

Kiss that Blarney Stone Day 7

View of Blarney Castle grounds Day 7

Narrow street in Kinsale Day 7