Thursday 1 August 2013. Day 80.
I wake in the night and down a glass of blackcurrant cordial and tonic water. Niki says she is also thirsty and that cause is the delicious Chinese food that we had eaten a few hours ago.
We’re slow getting away from The Mill. The brewery drey that arrived at nine o’clock made enough noise to wake the dead of several centuries. The metal kegs were bounced off of the lorry and onto the floor with the sort of care that one should properly reserve for destruction testing. Then once the job was done, the vehicle driver drove off with such gusto one would think that he was practising for the start of a Formula One Grand Prix!
We breakfast on the fore court at the Mill. Yet another drey arrives to deliver stock in readiness for the music event that will happen here tonight. Fortunately for the people hereabouts the driver of this vehicle is much more sedate about the place than the earlier fella.
Our first destination is Clonmacnoise, a national monument, the site at which St Ciaran started his first church, located on an important crossroads across the Shannon and across the bog lands. The significance of geologic features known as eskers also play their part. With high crosses, incorporating Celtic designs, ruined churches and a glass enclosure that a former Pope used whilst preaching here in the mid nineteen nineties the site has a lot for visitors and is a must see for Niki. It was funny to be reminded by Niki that this is a place she suggested we visit and which I poo pooed because I did not want to visit buildings without roofs! Well, the rain was bad when I made that statement.
We beat a path back to the motorway and then onwards to Kinnegad before turning off and on to the R161. At Hill of Down was passed over the Royal Canal, one of only two canals in Ireland. The other canal is named the Grand Canal. The road wove its way onward to our destination , Trim. We plan to visit Trim Castle, the largest Norman? castle in Ireland. However on arrival in Trim we became aware of the challenges to parking that exist here. The parking by the castle is not under the control of the OPW and so was full. Had it not been full, the lack of any parking for camper-vans would also have made it hard to use. We drove around a few streets, learned of the trafiic warden’s “crankiness”. Met him and learned that his brother lives in Devon and that he knows Cornwall. We pay to park on the street and squeeze Brigitte into a parking bay.
At the Castle we are told that all tours for the day are full and that we can walk around the castle grounds and may wish to return at ten in the morning. My protestations aboout how far we have driven, the story about parking issues all carry no weight – we simply have to wait, until tomorrow?
At the tourist office we learn where we might park the camper for the night, the options are few. I ask whether any local pub’s have music tonight and learn that James Griffin aka Lenighan’s will have music tonight. Armed with a map of the town we stroll off to find the pub. On enquiring whether they have a car park we learn that they have a huge car park that we are welcome to stay on this evening! We have a beer and join a couple of fellas who are watching the end of the big ticket race for today, it is the Guinness ***** on Lady’s Day. The winner is ridden by Robbie Powers who one of our new friends describes as a journeyman rider. Robbie picked up the ride a few days ago and the night prior to the race had been drinking with one of the guys now standing beside Niki. Our man says that Robbie advised him not to back the horse! Is this a good tale or the truth? Those who know are surely not going to tell.
To my left, “Spud”, whose family used to have the blacksmiths in Trim, is busy telling me about his travels especially to Cuba. He like a number of others I have met, has been involved in PanCeltic events, in France. He was surprised that at the time he was there, that Scotland was not represented.
The Guinness was slipping down and I checked my watch. Fearing that we had left the van to run over time on the parking meter we left. My beer part drunk stood on the counter together with my note for that which we have had. The van when we get there is ok, there is no penalty notice affixed to the windscreen, I had misread the time and we have more than ten minutes in hand. We move the van off the street and through the one way system around Trim and onto the car park at the pub. Then we return to the bar. There the character who told the Robbie Powers story starts up with a few jokes, one about Green Adair, one about a brothel and a circus and one about the Lemon Order.
Niki bows out to go off and heat through supper. I’m told to be back at the van in twenty minutes. As I was about to leave, Spud insisted on buying me a pint. It was not until Niki arrived back at the bar and told me in no uncertain terms that I was now thirty minutes over due, that I realised my error. Supper was delicious and we returned to the pub at around nine thirty for a third session. I determined that I would take things easy and so nursed a pint for the whole of the live music session. The snug, where the four performers drew themselves up in a comfy corner was packed as were the other areas that interlinked with the snug. We were fortunate in getting a ringside seat. Whilst I’m sure the music was great, it lacked the spark that had characterised the Spiddal pub session. The only voice was that of the guitarist and whilst he held his tune his voice was not of the same mettle as the Spiddal fellas. We stayed for a good part of the session but decided to head back to the van and to bed.
I go off to sleep thinking, “shall we revisit Trim Castle in the morning?”.
Friday 2 August 2013. Day 81.
We’re up and about around nine thirty and by just after ten we are at the entrance kiosk at Trim Castle. The guy behind the desk remarks that our Heritage Cards are not valid on a Friday and I almost take the bait! We gain our cherished “carte d’access” for the ten thrity tour and nip off to use the on-site loos. The camping car has a chemical toilet tank with a “cassette” that must be removed and taken to an appropriate emptying point. Pub car parks don’t have an appropriate emptying point and so when the little red lamp comes on beside the loo we know that we need to take the van to a site which has a chemical disposal point. Overnight the red lamp flickered and by this morning it has come on, hence our need to use the facilities at Trim Castle.
Fortunately we do not have to use a garderobe! The garderobe is the name given to the toilets in castles of the 12 – 15?? century period. At their most basic there is a hole let into stonework which forms a bay out over the side wall of the tower. That which falls from above drops down into a pit or a pile. This area is “maintained” by a gong-farmer. Typically he would have been a left-handed person. Anyone left-handed in this era was considered to be sinister from the French “sinestre” and so was lucky to get such a job! The reason for stirring was to aid the release of ammonia as this would waft upwards and would disinfect the clothing that would be hug overninght in the garderobe. The ammonia had the effect of killing off the fleas, lice and other unwanted travellers that had entered the less than hygenic clothing. To end this tale it is worth noting that in one of the castles we have visited, there is a garderobe with a wooden seat with two holes side by side. The implication is that people sat side by side whilst performing!
Our guide, Pat, joined us. A young fellow with an impeccable beard he launched into his presentation by explaining who built the castle – , when it was built and how the North tower of the castle had been torn down and the stone burned in lime pits to create lime.
Upon entering the castle we were informed of various aspects of life there and how for every defender an attacker would need to bring ten men if he were to stand any chance of success in gaining forced entry. Although built of oak, the doors of a castle were considered their weakest point. A team with a battering ram could force a door in about three minutes. Fire might take longer but a door could be burned in. The defensive aspects of the castle were designed with the aim of raining down on an intruder, either musket ball, fire, boiling fluids or arrows.
Built and then extended on at least two occasions the castle was besieged twice – once by its owner, who whilst he had been away had suffered the ignominy of having his own son take over his castle. The significance of the castle can be seen from the upper walls. The town wall extended out and around the town of the day providing a safer enclosure for people and livestock.
It was Cromwell that finally did for the castle? It was his stock in trade to remove the battlements of a castle once it had been defeated. By this means he ensured that a castle could not, in the future, be used against him and his army.
A forty five minute tour, ours lasted close to an hour. I came away from Trim Castle feeling a sense of delight that we had managed to get parked, get to a pub with live music and, next day get onto the first tour at the Castle.
In Trim we managed a bit of needed shopping, buying a cord for Niki’s glasses, toothpaste and zit cream at the chemist. I of course got a trim in Trim at a barber’s shop. A Yorkshireman who marries an Irish girl can probably expect to spend time in her home country. This is the case of our man, twenty years he has been here now and his accent still retains the Yorkshire twang.
I also managed to replace the locker key to Brigitte that had broken some weeks ago. We shopped for consumables at SuperValu a supermarket chain that can be found almost everywhere it seems. Back at the van we had lunch in the pub car park before setting of for the “Hill of Tara”. As we arrived on the hill, the weather took a turn for the worse. All of those people who had ventured out onto the hill in shorts and summer shirts came running off of the hill as the wind whipped around and the rain started to lash down.
At the deconsecrated Church of Ireland church that now serves as the visitor centre we enlisted for a guided tour and also to see the next showing of the AV show. Sitting on pews in a former church is odd. It gets even stranger as the lights dim and electric motors whir as blackout blinds descend over the side windows and a white screen drops in front of the altar and stained glass main window.
The presentation sets the hill into context. Highlighting its significance as an ancient royal inauguration site of the High Kings of Ireland. It is somewhere that in pre-christian and christian times has been celebrated in both myth and legend. In 1843, Daniel O’Connell used the allure of the site to rally one of his monster meetings during his campaign to repeal the Act of Union.
Sarah, our guide for our tour, explained so much of the place with an enthusiasm and sense of humour that makes the tour an essential. Two months into a temporary job before heading to Galway to study heritage studies, it would be good to think that a bright future beckons.
We finish up in the two hundred metre long feature known as the “Banqueting Hall”, I’m with those who sense that this is more properly a creation designed to make the approach to the main sites so much more impressive. As Niki remarked, the idea of anyone holding a banquet in mid to late November atop a hill is frankly a bit batty.
I’m writing this note in the middle of a field which bears the sign “Caution – Bull”. I’m writing this note in the middle of a thunderstorm. The rain is hammering down and the wind is trying to drive the rain into our tightly battened roof hatches. Such has been the weather today, from glorious sunshine to grey leaden skies and heavy rain.
We have travelled from Tara to Slane. We are here in anticipation of getting an early start tomorrow when we will, if we make it, be seeing New Grange and Knowth. Fellow campers, here from North of the border say that it is truly impressive. For now we are luxuriating. We have emptied our cassette loo, we have hot water that has allowed us to shower in the comfort of our van and we have electricity which will allow us to watch a DVD should we decide.
After eighty one days of living in and with Brigitte I feel we can say that we both feel very much at home and happy with our decadent lifestyle.
Saturday 3 August 2013. Day 82.
Our time in Ireland is getting short. Today after our visit to New Grange and Knowth we will journey to the outskirts of Dublin where we shall stay at Camac Valley Caravan and Camping Park. With a bus ride that can be boarded from just outside the gate taking one into the city we are now positioned to investigate the national capital. There is just a chance that we may find our way to Croke Park tonight for the final of the football. Now wouldn’t that be something? As I drove into Dublin we were following a minibus filled with Cork supporters clad in blue and white shirts. Sadly they turned off left well before our junction and so I guessed that Croke Park is not near Camac. Indeed so big is the road network and so large the housing estates that we passed that I have the feeling that we are still some way from the beating heart of the city.
The morning cup of tea has the tang of chlorinated water that we have found in some of the places in which we have chosen to stay. Sadly the SNI guide has no comment to offer on such things, perhaps it should. If it did, I can see an upsurge of tourists heading for those places where we have found really sweet, good drinking water.
Another drip that is worth a mention is the variablity of telephone / kindle wifi coverage. As is the way in all of the countries of Europe that we have so far visited, mobile telephone coverage is variable here in Ireland. However by choosing to position ourselves on a camp site close to Slane Castle, which next weekend will be descended upon by hordes of people who have bought tickets to see Eminem perform, we seem to have ended up in the epicentre of Irish telephone coverage, we have 3G at full strength. Those who are even more pragmatic (cynical) than I could say that this has to do with the vast sums of money to be earned as those here call up those who are not here and blather about the performance that they would otherwise be witnessing, if they were not themselves on the phone. Cha-ching.
Niki is munching her way through a bowl of porridge which has added to it banana, prunes and blueberries. Topped off with lavender honey and powdered cinammon. Whilst eating, she is intently reading “The Quiet Man and Other Stories”. It must be time for me to stop typing and eat my porridge. A less lavish affair with only banana and honey added to the staple. Time is pressing us to be quickly away. So we stow our electricty cable, the aquaroller and its umbilical cord.
I determine that to safely escape the sodden grass upon which we have parked I will drive off of the parking wedges and then turn up the hill on the hard standing. All is going well until I notice some wheel spin. Then the tyres bite again and I’m off the grass breathing a sigh of relief. Niki comes rushing up clutching the remains of one of the wedges. This one had been under the off-side front wheel and had been caught by the off-side rear wheel as I attempted the exit manouvre. This had caused a large chunk of the plastic material to be torn off and apart. Silly me. Fortunately the tyres appear undamaged and as there was no loud bang I am happy to assume that the wedge did not fly up and strike some important kit beneath the van.
We drive away trailing water from our grey water tank drain pipe. The pipe near the valve had torn when I previously tried opening or closing the thing and I cut it off leaving an open end held up by a spring clip. As water slops about in the grey water tank some finds its way down the pipe and out onto the road. It is a reminder of day’s gone by when, if a fire engine water tank had been filled and the tank valve had been left open a similar thing would happen. In the case of a fire engine this would be a serious matter for it involved the loss of quite a quantity of water, this could have critical implications. Similarly if this happened in winter and the spilled water froze and gave rise to an accident there would be reports to be written and a possibility of disciplinary action. Our loss of water only caused me to have a little chuckle.
We arrive after a few miles driving up narrow roads, at the visitor centre that provides all access to the neolithic sites at New Grange and Knowth. We will visit archaeological sites that have been dated to an age of 5,000 years. Five hundred years older than the pyramid of Gisa and one thousand years older than Stonehenge. To say that the guides were proud of their sites would be an understatement – they are cock a hoop with what they have to show.
Our guide at Knowth, Mark, said that we had only to remember two things – the site is very old and it is very big. He was not exaggerating these points. Both Knowth and New Grange are passage tombs. They both have significance in that they have entrances that align precisely with the equinoxes of the sun. At Knowth there are two passages, the East passage and the West passage. These passages do not connect. Most of the huge stones around the base of the mound have intricate carving. The significance of the carvings, although guessed at by many, has been lost.
Knowth has four clear periods of history, this was revealed by an archaeological dig that has spanned forty years and started in the 1960’s. Knowth has the distinction of being the largest passage grave in Ireland. Read more about Knowth here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Knowth
New Grange and Knowth are part of a huge area much of which has been cultivated and built over in the last five thousand or so years. However the huge size and the folklore that has surrounded these specific sites may well have served to protect them from significant modification or harm.
New Grange is considered to have been built by Neolithic farming communities about 5000 years ago. The size and scale of the project point to a collective effort over many years. The objective? The passage tomb has a clear astronomical alignment with the Winter Solstice Sunrise but only if you recognise the significance of the roof box. This provides access to sunlight at the winter solstice which at exactly seventeen minutes past nine, illuminates the passage and fills the end chamber with light. Turning darkness into light for a few minutes, once a year provided the sun shines and there are no clouds to obscure the sun rise.
We left the visitor centre on something of a high. Of all of the visits we have made this must be one of the most jaw dropping. Neolithic man, often painted as less intelligent, less able has, in my view, shown just what he and his contemporaries were capable of achieving.
We were so fortunate to visit these sites in great weather, between the showers. With as many as two thousand visitors every day in the summer season these sites are a magnet to people from around the world. Many nationalities were represented in our group of twenty four.
It is time to head to the capital as the weather turns again. The drive to Dublin becomes the cue for yet another heavy shower of rain. Then as we approach the city the clouds are lightening in colour. The rain stops and the roads are dry. We motor across the city switching between motorways until just before we turn off for our campsite.
On the radio Dublin are playing Cork in the second quarter final of the All Ireland Football. The irritation of having a radio that switches itself off every fifteen minutes is outweighed by being able to at least listen to the game. Dublin scored a crucial goal after thirty five minutes and it seems that although Cork are known as the Come Back Kings, the Dubs will win. The final result Dublin 1-16 Cork 0-14.
Sunday 4 August 2013. Day 83.
The noise of the traffic here is as incessant as ever it was at Horseshoe Drive in Bristol There the noise came from the A4 dual carriageway. Here the noise arises from the N7 the road that leads on to Naas then splits to take traffic South and East.
Today Dublin is dealing with a strike by drivers from the bus company. Later as we complete a circuit of the city on a City Bus Tour we see them standing outside their garage holding placards and chatting amongst themselves. For now we have the challenge of getting into the city. The scooter comes out of the garage and to our rescue. It is a sixteen kilometer drive into the city and taxi drivers will be working overtime today to make the best of the windfall that will come their way given that there are huge numbers of tourists in town. There are lots of supporters here as there are two GAA quarter final games at Croke Park today.
We join the traffic and stick to the inside lane and occasionally the bus lane with the aim of keeping out of the way of the vehicles speeding in to the city. Once the dual carriageway gives way to single carriageway road the traffic speed falls. There are sets of traffic lights on the junctions that we cross and the stop start that the lights create sends waves along each of the arteries into and out of the centre.
Before long we are driving along the bank of the Liffey with the distinctive outline of the Guinness brewery off to our right. We use Siobhan, our SatNav, to navigate to the Collins Barracks, now home of the National Museum of Ireland Decorative Arts and History collection. I had anticipated that there would be staff parking which on a Sunday would be empty. A very helpful member of staff who was taking his turn on the reception office desk agreed to our parking and even gave us a telephone number to ring should we return after six and find ourselves locked out!
We set off on foot and soon found the nearby red painted stop for the citybustour company. As I was across the other side of the multi lane road taking photographs a bus hove into view and stopped. Dancing between traffic which was stopping for the traffic lights I managed to cross and get onboard. Then we were off looping around main and side streets of the city of Dublin. I saw the Clarence Hotel in which Bono and The Edge have or had a share. I saw the Guinness brewery including the much trumpeted bar which is set atop a seven storey building. Bram Stoker featured as did Jonathon Swift and many other luminaries. It was wonderful to see Daniel O’Connell on a huge pedestal on O’Connell street. What made that even more of a sight was the bullet holes, presumably from the events of 1916, these can clearly be seen in the bronze work.
Oscar Wilde is commemorated on another statue as is the Duke of Wellington. Arthur Guinness is more prosaically remembered. Two point seven million pints of his creation are brewed daily. He and his wife were also very productive bringing twenty one children into the world. Today the Guinness family have a small interest in the company which is controlled by brewing giants Diageo.
We hop off of the tour bus having lapped the city. We walk across Connell Bridge and up past Trinity College turning left in to Leinster Street and then right into Kildare Street. We enter the National Museum of Ireland and make straight for the loos. Having been on an open topped bus for close to two hours we were both glad to find and use “the facilities”. Next we head to their cafe. Niki had a bowl of mushroom soup and a gluten free toasted bread roll. I opted for a vegetable salad plate which came with a couple of slices of a delicious brown bread. This set us up for a tour around the museum. With time running short we gave ourselves an hour to see what each of us wanted to see and meet back in the foyer.
There is so much to see. The gold is amazing. We know that gold has been treasured by mankind down the ages. Every time I visit a museum and see the magnificent pieces that have been fashioned in gold, down the ages, I take pause. These people with their primitive ways of living had mastered producing great works.
Then there were the bog men, the preserved remains of men who died long ago and had been interred into the bog. These men were probably clan chiefs or people of significance. They had remained in the bog until modern machinery used to rip out the peat had revealed them (usually by jamming the machine, resulting in the loss of about fifty percent of the lower body judging by the exhibits).
There is a wooden canoe of more than fifteen metres length that again came out of a bog. Made from a single oak tree, much of the canoe has been very well preserved. Then there are the weapons and tools, stone and wood at first, then iron and bronze. An hour is simply not long enough and we vowed that we should come back again and start our next tour in Dublin!
Bringing together the land bound archaeology and the artefacts, art and manuscripts helps to build the picture of our ancestors. Intriguingly the Dublin Town Council granted itself permission to build a new City Hall in ****. The site chosen is known as wood quay and when excavated revealled a Viking settlement. This is now covered by a concrete, glass, steel and granite building. Words fail.
With the clock ticking down we set off back towards Collins Barracks, and the National Museum of Ireland Decorative Arts and History collection. We come to the wrought iron bridge and there is music issuing from the Market House? Diving in we find a live two piece band with a group of what I presume to be Americans dancing to the music. As they have the Mayo v *** match on the TV we grab a Guinness each and settle in to listen and watch. The beer has travelled less than one hundred metres from the brewery but this is the most expensive Guinness we have bought thus far! Not to worry, it tastes great and the musicians are worth the extra charge – A Band of Cats?
We leave and the walk back seems to grow longer especially as all the signs point to a further shower of rain. We arrive back at the scooter at five fifteen and so we will not get to visit this museum today. We do though manage to leave without having to have recourse to the security staff!
The drive back is marked by our being behind a huge white painted coach. The coach shields us from the rain that is starting to fall but after each enforced stop at traffic lights the coach then belches clouds of black smoke. We lack the power to overtake the coach and so I have to fall back from the coach when we have been through traffic lights. This and holding my breath will I hope have kept my lungs relatively pollution free.
Back at the van it is time to re-stow the scooter, have a cup of tea, listen to the radio commentary on the GAA and type up these notes. Niki has prepared supper – there is bacon, onion, potato and lentils. The whole is covered with cheese and is baking under the grill. It smells divine. Tomorrow we leave Dublin heading for Rosslare and an overnight stop before our nine am departure for Fishguard.
Looking back it is hard to recall much of what we have done and seen. As I hope these notes will serve to illustrate, we have covered plenty of ground and seen and experienced much of Ireland. As an introduction, I have really enjoyed the experience. Do I want to come back? For sure I do. Do I mind the rain? No, I don’t mind the rain, it is one of the keys to the place. The weather, the geology, the history and the people.
Monday 5 August 2013. Day 84.
There is a simple brilliance to a road traffic sign placed on the road leading off of a dual carriageway that signifies to an errant driver that he or she may be going the “Wrong Way”. Another favourite is that painted on the road, the first says “Slow” the next says “Even Slower”. They have them here in Ireland and they probably save lives.
We are on our way heading back to Rosslare bucking and tossing along the road that takes us over the Wicklow Mountains. We have stopped to admire a huge glaciated bowl which is now covered in heather, grasses and bog plants. Makes mental note to learn more about bog plants when we next have an internet connection and a few idle moments. The wind is fairly whipping along outside and this is high summer. Off in the distance there are lumps of granite shining whitish. There may be sheep among the granite but at this distance it is hard to tell. Closer I can see sheep as I can make out black faces and whitish bodies. Where we are parked we get passes every minute or two by cars, vans, cyclists a motorcycle and we’ve also seen one Garda Traffic Corps car. It is surprisingly busy up here until you look around and then it is not a surprise at all.
We start a descent that takes in an impressive waterfall over a cliff of white granite, the tumbling water is a deep brown from the peat moors that it has washed through to arrive here. The land is well fenced in and has signs prohibiting access to people and dogs. It is perhaps a sign of the litigious times in which we live? Or perhaps a sign of a farmer’s patience worn thin through lambs having been lost by the foolish behaviour of unknowing and or uncaring “visitors”.
The gaggle of three cyclists that we have been passing and repassing are ahead of us now. I follow them at a steady pace until we arrive at Laragh where we turn right to head for Glendalough the site of St Kevin’s kitchen and the Glendalough Monastic settlement. There are an almost overwhelming number of visitors here today. Unsurprisingly, finding space to park the camper van is a challenge. We manage after a few helpful words with a coach driver and also with the IPW visitor centre staff.
We tour the site and omit the visitor centre. The weather is sunny and warm. The visitors come in huge waves. Clearly this is part of coach tour operators itineraries though I am unsure quite why that is the case. Just before we leave we encounter the charming singing voice and Irish pipes of Pat Connery. Taking an almost lucky dip we select one of her CD’s in which she duets with Liz O Riordan. Driving away from Glendalough with Irish music and singing going on feels very uplifting. €10 well invested!
As we pass through the town of Rathdrum we spot a supermarket open even though today here is a public holiday. Niki hops out to buy milk and some salad. Across from where I am parked a small sign on the wall informs people that in this spot IRA commander Seamus Brien??? was shot dead by the British in 1926? (This may be a story worth looking up one day soon) We stop in the park named for Charles Parnell, the uncrowned King of Ireland. With a sandwich inside of us we are away again this time making for the M11.
We pick up the so called motorway after a short drive through Arklow. Once on the highway we make good progress towards our ultimate destination. Around Camolin the motorway runs out and we are back on a single carriageway road with people in all sorts of a hurry to get somewhere on this holiday day. By the time we get to Enniscorthy neither of us are minded to visit the 1798 battle site at Vinegar Hill (google). Neither will we visit the Irish Heritage Centre which Lonely Planet say is attractive to people roughly in inverse proportion to your age.
Close to Wexford we spot a finger post sign to the Wexford Wildfowl Reserve. Fancying a spot of bird watching we turn off. Fortunately Niki checks the map and we learn that the birds are two grid squares away across the map. No wonder they didn’t indicate the distance to the reserve! We turn back onto the road somewhat disappointed.
We skirt around Wexford town and are soon at Tagoat roundabout where our looping journey in this land commenced.
Not that I’m seeking to make or break any records but having noted down our mileages at places along the way, I know that our meanderings in Ireland have covered 1262 miles thus far. There may be a few miles to add to get us to the port. I have been surprised by the size of the Country as I may have remarked once or twice before in these jottings. On the map it looks as though we have “covered” half of the country. There is therefore a clear need to return to visit the unseen half and also to top-up on those things that we have especially enjoyed and also to fill in the gaps in this half as we’ve truly only touched on much of it.
We drive down to Rosslare strand, people are enjoying being on the beach as across the bay a ferry sits at the mouth of the port gleaming white in the sunshine. Trucks that have trundled past us heading away from Rosslare and up the N25, N11 and M11 are in the main completing their journey home on this public holiday. We park up at Redmonds Pub. In the three weeks that we have been away they have been busy. The fir trees that has been cut down have all been removed and there is a newly built wall screening the pub car park from the houses behind. The wall though is no deterrent for the kids. Three young lads, perhaps ten years old, scale a wooden pallet and then drop down the other side or walk along the coping stones until they arrive at the garden of the house that they are staying in. People come and go as I sit here typing away. Niki is texting Tass whom we hope to see at St David’s when we get into Wales.
A cup of tea leads to a walk down the strand. We walked along the tideline amogst sand castles patrolled by kids who were willing the sea to come and flood the moat of their building but not wanting the sea to demolish their work. Adults, some with dogs, some solo, some like us as a couple walked or power walked the beach. Some swam under the watch of the lifeguard who from his tower eyrie seemed to keep safe an impossible length of beach.
At a rocky spit we turned back and walked retracing our route. By now people were packing up to make for their home beside the sea. It was five thirty and the heat had gone out of the sun. Rosslare strand is a dead and alive place. There are plenty of people as evidenced by all of the parked cars and those who try to motor up and down the main street. With three takeaway restaurants, a supermarket, a chip shop and a booking shop the place seems to lack soul. Bradys, the pub that is at the heart of the place is shut up and “For Sale”. It looks tatty and in need of some TLC. Were Bradys to have live music, good beer and food I feel sure it would be the happening place that it should be. But for now we are hungry and in need of fish and chips. We head to the cafe alongside the chipper. Going up market we order the same dishes as we had last time here only now we get to eat them outside the cafe. People do what people do, they look at your plate and decide that they want some of that and dive into the chipper and order. I spot a couple who did exactly this, they are in the park a short way along from the chipper where the very last of the sunshine can still be caught at six thirty in the evening on a bank holiday Monday in August.
Back at the van Niki has a pot of something sweet from the fridge and then we’re off into the pub for a last pint of Guinness in Ireland in 2013. The pub was a raucous hell hole. Filled to overflowing it seemed that women and children for the most part sat to the right with men occupying the bar to the left. As there was horse racing on the tv in the lefthand bar that could have expained things. The table of women by the door were certainly well at it, singing, if indeed that is what it was, at the top of their voices. We spot a few faces from our visit three weeks ago. With two pints of Guinness in hand we exit the pub for the relative peace of the patio table. To get there though one has to fight through a phalanx of smokers crowding the door like flies. Well it is a bank holiday and the weather is fine.
Two pints of Guinness later and we retire to the van for the remainder of the evening. Inside the van is still warm from the day. We retire to bed in anticipation of an early start. We have to be checked in by eight. We reason to get there by seven and breakfast somewhere towards the head of the line. Lights out after a few pages of “A Walk in the Hindu Kush”.
Tuesday 6 August 2013. Day 85.
I wake at just after five and start to read aided by the light from our LED torch. The air in the van feels autumnally cold and we both snuggle under the duvet. At six thirty one Niki’s alarm goes off as set. We’re up and dressing and away from the pub car park.
One fellow is out and about on a bicycle with a bag and a litter picker, presumably empolyed to keep the place tidy. We drive out to our roundabout and along the major road to the port. Behind us a green van of the Postal Service follows us. Coming towards us is a procession of vehicles that have just disembarked one or other of the two ships in dock.
At the check in the woman struggles to find us on their system despite our having received a text from Stena Lines this morning reminding us of our sailing this morning! When we gave our name instead of the booking number we were immediately found – phew.
On the quay we draw up in lane eleven as instructed and breakfast. News on the radio fromn RTE, Dublin Bus are on strike for a third day today. A parliamentarian’s son got huge overtime payments over two years – his father is chair of the public accounts committee.
The skies are leaden, there is almost total cloud cover but not a lot of wind which promises a relatively settled crossing. It’s time to stow the table, do the dishes and generally get ready to sail.
The cars and motorcaravans that have paid a premium to load and unload first and get newspapers and coffee etc aboard start to load. All but two of them manage this. The two cars that get left behind have no occupants at this time.
Eventually we get called forward. I drive steadily towards the ship and down a ramp into the bowels of the vessel. Ahead of me a man is waving me forwards to the very front. I follow his waved instructions and park on an incline on the lefthandside of the vessel. There are three vehicles at the very front us, one in the centre front and one to his right. We pick up our things, close the shutters and lock the van for the voyage. From car deck three up the red staircase to deck nine we climb and then make comfortable with a steaming mug of coffee. Three and a half hours of steady sailing bring us into Fishguard harbour. We have spent most of the time reading, sat at a table in one of the cafeterias. On the table beside us a group of women each wearing a badge that says that they are from the New Zeland Quilters Association maintain a steady chatter in their distinctive tongue.
For almost one hour of the journey we seem to glide along the Welsh coastline. One of the first sightings of land is the Bishop Rock lighthouse. Unbeknown to me at the time we were passing coastline from which later in the day we would look out and see the Stena Europe making her way back to Ireland.
Once alongside we were instructed to rejoin our vehicles and at the direction of the crew we streamed off of the ferry forming two lines of traffic as we approached the Police / Customs checkpoint. We pass through without having to stop. Outside the ferryport we park in the adjacent car park and I indulge in a little bird spotting as Niki crafts a bacon sandwich for our lunch.
At just after one in the afternoon we set course for St David’s and Pencaran Holiday Park. Even though we are travelling over rural roads they are larger than their Irish equivalents. These roads are also better maintained and so we keep up a good pace covering the XXX miles quite promptly.
In St David’s we quickly establish that the smallest city in Britain has but one supermarket, C&N’s. We manage to squeeze Brigitte onto one of the parking spaces that just happens to become available in front of the store. Inside we buy pork, chicken and sardines for the BBQ, some salad items, crisps and wine. We then set off to find Pencarnan.
Winding through narrow streets packed with tourists on foot and their parked cars we manage to follow Tass’ instructions and are soon out in the country lanes of the peninsula that leads to our home for the next forty eight hours.
A welcome and a welcome cup of tea is followed by a tour of the Whitby residential caravan that they have hired again this year. We then take a walk out to view Ramsey Island and “The Bitches” the often turbulent waters that flow between mainland and the island. The weather now is glorious and we take photos and watch people out in water craft having fun. The walk back involves descending to the Pencarnan beach and fun for Rosie dog who enjoys chasing stones, as Coco did in his time, the key is that they are thrown just too far in from of her for her to catch.
Supper bbq at our van incl sardines. pot salad lettuce dips and baguette. Wine, cider.
Back to Tass & Simon’s more wine & chocolate – warmer than sitting out under our awning.
Bed and fast asleep.
Wednesday 7 August 2013. Day 86.
We both slept well and woke to the sounds of farm activity in the green fields that lie between us, the sea and Ramsay Island beyond. The sun percolating through the roof blind suggests that we should be up and about making more of the day.
We take breakfast outside under the awning which we left up overnight. The increasing flapping as the breeze picks up persuades me that I should stow the awning before we head for the city. We shower using the site facilities which are sadly lacking and less than wonderfully clean to boot.
Simon, Tass and Rosie their four and a half year old springer come walking up around the field boundary beyond our hedge. Simon and Tass join us for coffee taken outside on our rickety almost ready to collapse, folding camp chairs. We hatch a plan to head into town on a walk and agree to meet up at theirs at twelve.
In between time we take our breakfast dishes and the BBQ, its grill and lid to be washed of the grease and carbon that occurred during last evenings food preparations. Niki has brilliantly reasoned that we should use a cheap scourer sponge on each occasion that we wish to clean up the BBQ. The sponge can then be disposed of as invariably it ends up covered in little black pieces of carbon and is severely tested, some might say destroyed by the abuse needed to clean the enamelled pan, lid and grill.
The walk into town involves looping around field borders, Rosie is with us and she is a lot happier in fields, from the fields we pick up bridle paths and little unmade lanes past picture postcard cottages which are mostly home from home for visiting tourists. We walk through a field with a couple of tents and a caravan, the sign outside is well faded but one can still read the words Caravan and Camping Club. This is the place that we might have stayed at had we not been able to get a pitch at Pencarnan.
We enter St David’s by diving down a hill and walking past the ruined Bishops Palace. This must have been a splendid building in its hey day, standing across a small fordable stream from the Cathedral which is an imposing building built from Welsh stone of differing hues. A funeral is in progress and a hearse waits at the door. Climbing up the side of a short steep hill, the path to town gives onto thirty nine steps and then into an area beyond which is an impressive former gatehouse. The grassy slopes of the hill are peppered with the remains of those who chose this as their last resting place. Sitting atop them in the sunshine are those who have come to recline, entertain their children, and in some cases eat their lunches.
Our first port of call is the Farmer’s Arms where we sample Reverend James? a delicious pint from Brains brewery. For lunch I choose the reputed “Angry Dog” burger.
Thursday 8 August 2013. Day 87.
It may only be a half an hour drive from St David’s but Haverford West is a lifetime away. We stop in a layby just outside the town in order to have a bite of lunch. The sun is beating down and the traffic is thundering by, in both directions. Niki checks the map and assures herself that nearby Milford Haven must be the cause. Whatever the cause the vehicles speeding by us cause the van to rock from side to side. We won’t be here long thanks.
We aim to reach Hinton Charterhouse tonight, over one hundred and sixty miles and about four hours driving in total without adding in time for the small road hold ups we encountered before St Brides bay. Coaches, lorries, camper vans just like us, cars and motor cycles they are all either heading too or from St David’s it seems. We press onwards until we need to stop for fuel at Magor Services.
Buying fuel at top price we only get enough to ensure we reach our destination and “cheaper refuelling”.
I chose to take us around the Bristol ring road rather than face the drive up the M4 and then down into and across Bath. Traffic as we joined the M32 is a reminder of how life was when we lived and worked from Bristol. People cut each other up to gain one car length between sets of constantly changing trfaffic lights on roundabouts and junctions. We moved along at a snail’s pace until we got onto the A4 towards Bath when things started to move a little faster.
Arriving up at Odd Down we stop at Sainsburys to restock on food and drink. At Tass and Simon’s it seems strange to enter their house knowing that they are in St David’s. As requested I water the garden pot plants. I’m excited to open up the garden shed and check over the cycle that Simon has agreed to give me. It is a hybrid Chris Boardman bike that with a little tlc will serve me very well if I can get it into and out of the garage on our camper!
Tass phones and she and Niki have a chat about what the builder has or has not done since they left for Wales. There is evidence of new ceiling lights, tiling and a new wc in the main bathroom but the bathroom sink is on the floor. Downstairs in the kitchen six recessed led ceiling lights illuminate the work area.
Niki has the washing machine at work washing up our dirty clothes that have accumulated over recent days. Later the kitchen is draped with drying clothing hanging from door knobs on clothes hangers.
Although the van is parked at a steep angle, Niki manages to cook supper on the cooker hob. Tiredness takes over and we both head for bed, shattered.
Friday 9 August 2013. Day 88.
Niki and Tass had agreed that the evidence suggested that the plumber had not been working whilst the Whitby’s are in Wales. Bright and early there is the noise of a van parking close to us. Then a nudge on the van. I peer out and spot what I guess is the plumbers van. Niki hot foots it to check that he is OK and and he says that he is there to refit the bathroom sink and will only be there for a half an hour. We have our cuppa in the van and wait for him to conclude his work before going into the house.
Our washing from last evening has dried well over night and the plumber has kept out of the kitchen confining homself to the job at hand, refixing the bathroom sink.
The watering of the plants might not have been the cue but it rained over night, not much but enough to dampen the garden. It looked lush before and so I imagine that the grass and plants will really grow on now that there has been some rainfall.
After hot showers in the downstairs bathroom we stow the van and head off into Bath to visit Lydia, Niki’s mum. At the home Lydia is sitting in the day room with a number of faces that are familiar to me from previous visits. All are fairly mobile and all have some sort of memory loss issues. Lydia’s memory seems to me to be about the same as when we last visited. She asks us who we are, where we are staying and so on. Then she asks the same series of questions again a few minutes later. She is genuinely pleased to see us and loves the fact that “her people” come to see her. She is popular with the staff and some of her housemates. I’m not sure of the modern term to use for people who live together in this way. There are a couple of gentlemen who vie for Lydia’s attention. One of these thinks that Lydia is his wife. What his wife thinks about this when she visits has not been mentioned. The deeply unfortunate aspect of this is that this gentleman is only in his sixties. He is one of the youngest people living here.
Niki upates Lydia on our news. When we talk about Ireland Lydia and Niki duet on an old song many of the words of which Lydia instantly recalls in a way that is almost puzzling given her inability to recall other, one would have though more familiar things. With lunch about to be served we leave and head for Bristol.
Today the A4 at Globe roundabout is gridlocked. A crew is changing streetlights and the traffic flow is plunged into chaos with a huge snake of almost static traffic back into Saltford and almost up to the Keynsham roundabout. We motor up to Brislington and then down through to St Phillips Marsh Sainsburys where the fuel is over ten cents per litre cheaper than on the M4 yesterday. Buying fifty five litres of diesel, we spend five pounds fifty less here than we would have done at Magor.
At two we are parked just off Sandford Road and meet up with Pete, Hannah, Alex and Kaity. Hannah and Alex are staying over as they are assisting throughout the four days of the Balloon Fiesta. Over a cup of tea we catch up on news. Pete’s allotment has produced a super crop of courgettes and the potatoes are also going strong. We load up provisions ready for this evening’s hoped for balloon launch and in convoy head up to Gate 8 at Ashton Court. As we pass the public camper van field I am amazed at the numbers of camper vans parked up, they must number over one thousand I guess.
At the balloonists field Pete’s crew are up at the top of the hill in their usual spot. We park the camper close by. We are again on a slope but both Niki and I have learned to manage sleeping on a sloping pitch! Tiredness it seems eventually always wins out!
We meet up with Nigel and Sandra and Stewart my pilot from my trip in the “Concept” balloon a few weeks ago. The Red Arrows are due to perform later this afternoon and we all go down to the arena to watch the spectacle.
Friday night landing in farmer’s field past Knowle West at ???
Saturday 10 August 2013. Day 89.
At around five the noise of Land Rovers and balloon trailers bouncing down the rough track towards the arena wakes me. I get up and put on the kettle and make a bowl of porridge for one. Niki has woken enough to decide that she does not want to get up just yet!
With early breakfast done I walk down to the arena clutching a thin plastic mug with the last of the batch of coffee. I get there in time to find the basket out of the trailer, the burner assembly mounted and the envelope laid out on the grass.
The weather looks ideal for flying and when Pete arrives he gives us confirmation and the work starts in earnest. A test balloon is filled with helium. Releasing the test balloon Pete gets a good idea of the current wind directions and speeds. There will be more than one wind direction and speed as many things can influence the wind: terrain, temperature, buildings, thermals and a host of other things that I can’t begin to think about.
Before long we are filling the envelope with the 8HP Honda powered fan roaring away at full throttle. Around the arena others are doing exactly the same and the noise of so many motors is quite something.
Jo, one of the Hatch ??? reps is here and is looking after her guests as we get the balloon ready. Stewart mans the burners and after an initial sighting burst he gives the burner a prolonged burst of flame and the balloon starts to become bouyant. I get the signal to turn the fan off and cut the ignition switch.
As the balloon gains bouyancy, the crew hold onto the sides of the basket to keep it in one place. The balloon is also tethered by a line to the Land Rover for added security.
Once the inflation phase is completed, the inflation cyclinder is turned off, the gas in the line burned off and the cylinder disconnected and removed to be replaced by a full flight cylinder.
Pete has fitted his iPad with the local OS mapping displayed. The altimeter and speed indicators are attached to a burner support and all check out. Tests are carried out on the hand held radios that will be used by the pilot to communicate with the lead retrieve vehicle.
With the balloon ready for flight Pete takes over the basket and the guests board. Some are clearly nervous. I reassure one lady and say that by the time that she lands she will be in love with the experience. This seems to reassure her.
Pete gives the crew the order to let go of the basket and we all move away. A member of the crew designated to check for other balloons in our intended flight path gives the “All Clear” signal.
At the top of the burner bracket there is a loop of line which is secured to the tethering line by a release device. Pete removes the safety clip from the release device and pushes the handle up. The bottom section disconnects and swings down which allows the tethering line to slide free and the balloon starts to soar gracefully upwards.
The crew now pack away the inflation cylinder, the tether line, the fan and any of the other bits of paraphernalia that are out of the balloon trailer.
We now become the retrieve crew and head off in the general direction that Pete reports flying into. Today we are aiming for Keynsham and the old Fry’s chocolate factory.
When we arrive it is clear that quite a number of pilots have settled on this site for their landing. Pete had avoided both the football pitch and the cricket pitch or so I thought.
When I spoke with him he says that actually he had landed on the football pitch but that he had got his guests to assist in walking the balloon off of the pitch and onto less precious turf.
The lady who I had earlier spoken with was now beaming from ear to ear. She had really enjoyed the experience of flying.
The crew, me included, set about the work of stowing the balloon envelope and making up the kit. Pete poured glasses of champagne for each of his guests to toast their flight. The crew, once the work was complete were also provided with a bottle of Taittinger Brut. Then it was off for breakfast. For the guests, Jo and Pete this involved a visit to Pete’s local breakfast haunt at Lockside. For most of the crew our breakfast would be sausage, bacon and egg baps back at the camp ground. All good fare and the conclusion of an enjoyable morning flying and retrieving.
Saturday evening landing was at Coronation Park off of Park Road of Tower Road South in Warmley
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