Monday 22 July 2013. Day 70.
A slow start to the day. There is not a lot of noise which leads me to the view that the weather is poor. Water droplets on the roof light confirm this suspicion. There has been rain over night.
When I get up it is clear that people are pulling out of the site now that the weather has broken. The German couple in the VW camper below us are meticulously folding away the waterproof cover that they had previously placed over the pop-top roof and its lightweight sides.
We exit Wavecrest at five minutes to twelve, just in time. We are forced to wait at the road as a crew are busily coating the road with tar and stone chippings. At least today the chippings will have a chance to set firm unlike the week previous when the new surface will have been torn up almost as soon as it was put down.
I had read about Ockham stone which Niki says is on the way to Derrynane. A perhaps Neolithic stone inscribed with notches to represent letter characters the actual stone was in very poor shape when we found it. I wonder that such a piece of history continues to be allowed to weather and be subject to vandalism but this is the case.
Derrynane by contrast is being preserved. The house is home to some wonderful artefacts that bring to life the times and life of the celebrated Daniel O’Connell. Most notable is the carriage that was built to carry O’Connell on his release from prison. The elevated seating and steps thereto all gilded in gold relief. Used only once this chariot lent something of the romance of Rome to the history of the man who in so many paintings is depicted as a latter day Roman. It is worth noting that the Romans did not come to Ireland. O’Connell had an upbringing which saw him tutored in France in Revolutionary times. These experiences informed how he was later to deal with the British colonisation of his home land. Fascinating stuff.
We head from Derrynane down to the strand and wander across and around the beach. The golden sands are the equal of those in Cornwall and on the French coastline. Back in the car park we take time for a cuppa. As we are about to leave a German family in a converted Merc camper arrive and we give our “spot” to them.
The road onwards to Killorgin is marked by stunning scenery and rather unusually there are places at which one can stop and take photographs. In Killorgin Niki gets a Doctor’s prescription and pays €1.20 to obtain her Movicol by prescription. A trip into the supermarket sees us restocked with coffee an almost as significant purchase as the script!
Killarney does not yield up a good value for money campsite and so after a prolonged, mostly by slow moving traffic in the city, search, we park in a pub and drink beer in the company of the locals.
The village where we stop for the night, in a pub car park. John Jo a small wiry man owns the pub. When he appears at around eight thirty to relieve the bar woman, he says I saw your van up at so and so. I say well we went under a railway bridge travelled about a bit and then came out under a second bridge. I said were you in a field near the railway bridge? In a four by four? A Mitsubishi perhaps?
He confirmed all of the above and added that he had been dozing in his car. I said that to have noticed us he must have been awake then. We shared a laugh. The Guinness slips down of an evening. Niki stays true to her tipple of Bulmers served over ice.
Finishing up before me Niki is away to the van to prepare supper. There is potato, bacon, egg, onion and cheese served with green lentils. A very fine meal after which we head for bed. The pub is guarded by a GSD type dog which for some unknown reason takes to barking and does not let up. The noise is almost enough to prevent me from getting off to sleep – almost!
Tuesday 23 July 2013. Day 71.
A slow start see us awake early but dozing until nine o’clock when we have tea in bed. Overnight there has been rainfall which continues. Niki expresses her wish that the gardens at Glengarriff also receive some of this downpour. I’m confident that much of SW Ireland is getting a soaking!
The dog is still at it, barking only every so often now though. Perhaps it is the van that has him spooked or perhaps he just likes the sound of his bark. Barraduff, apart from the pub, the garage and shop opposite, appears to be a farming community. With the exception of Niki, all of those resorting to the pub are men. Three in particular seem to be regulars. There is Fred, in his late forties armed with a wicked sense of humour and a capacity for Guinness. An older chap in a peaked cap, keeps the conversation ticking along in between gulps of Harp. A contemporary of Fred’s is also drinking Harp. They say that the cooler lighter brew suits them better in the heat.
All evening, everybody has watched as a huge tractor goes barrelling up the street pulling behind it a massive slurry tanker. It’s return journeys lack the impact of the loaded outbound journey. This farmer is clearly wanting to get the job done ahead of the rain as the tooing and froing continue to eleven o’clock for sure and perhaps later. Now we can see why as the rain hammers down.
When we set off for Muckross House at around eleven the weather is showing signs of improving. But ask anyone about the rain and the stock answer is “It’s Ireland, what did you expect?”.
You might think that you have arrived at Muckross when a group of horse and jingle merchants suggest that you can park over there “on the grass”. Ignore this unless you really want to ride behind a horse in a trap. The main entrance to the house and all of the associated buildings, gardens and estate is a couple of miles further up the road. Once there, there is no mistaking the place. there are car parks, bus parks and yes, even camping car parking!
The house itself is a mid 1800’s pile built by the Herbert family who spent six years and significant sums of money getting things in order for the visit of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in 1861. Shortly thereafter the family found themselves in financial ruin and had to sell the house and estate to Arthur Guiness, part of the Guinness dynasty. These people in turn sold on to an American couple who presented it as a gift to the Irish Nation in1932…. see history notes.
An enjoyable waltz around a grand house on a showery day. There were, predictably, many hundreds of people visiting Muckross. The place seemed to cope well with the interest. We retired to our camper for a spot of Chaource on toast.
With lunch over we motored the few miles to Ross Castle. Ross is a fine example of a restored “tower house”. Apparently there were some three thousand to five thousand of these tower houses built in Ireland. The principal of the house is that the design makes it hard to attack and relatively easy to defend. A chieftain would have a tower house from which he controlled the nearby lands, extracting taxes from those who came to work the land. Some twenty or so guards would be employed to keep the house secure. They would live at the house with the family and their servants.
Our tour guide, Claudia, gave an excellent explanation of the way in which life was lived. The way that the house was built, extended and left to go to ruin. The materials and building techniques, used in the construction of the house. It was interesting to see the Chieftain’s room, his justice room and also the dining room and the bedroom. Having such a house built was clearly no small undertaking and the location of the house confirm that the families that ruled from here were powerful dynasties.
We left Ross with a smile on our faces and motored down part of the Dingle peninsula to Inch. As Niki puts it, “It’s funny to think of a four mile long beach strand being known as Inch”. On arrival we found the place packed with wannabe surfers, swimmers, sunbathers and people content to take the air. Niki made arrangements for us to use the SNI site known as Sammy’s Shop Site. We then visited Sammy’s Pub and sampled some Guinness. There were plenty of people and things to observe. More than one motorist who had braved parking on the sand got their wheels spinning and had to be helped out of the ensuing dilema. Then it was the turn of the surf school tractor and trailer. They got bogged down big style. At one point the waves were lapping around to the front wheels of the tractor which was pointing up the beach. A second larger tractor appeared on the scene and eventually with the original tractor reversing and the second tractor pulling at the rear of the trailer, the whole started moving. Two of the wheels on the double axle trailer wouldn’t turn and so the trailer skidded out of the ruts that it had become fixed in.
Supper at Sammy ‘s Pub comprised fresh cod and chips for me, Niki had cod over mashed potato with a gratin topping. We indulged with puddings. Niki ordered a cheesecake which when it arrived resembled a huge wedge, it was so big. My sticky toffee pudding was sticky, covered in a toffee sauce but did not deliver the promised taste of Bushmills.
The only way to settle such a large meal is a walk. We managed about one and a half miles of the strand in total. The wind whipped up the sand and in the distance the rain clouds readied themselves to dump rain somewhere. I hope not here thought I as we retraced our steps back to the van.
In the morning we are off to traverse the Dingle and, if all goes to plan, visit Tralee for the evening.
Wednesday 24 July 2013. Day 72.
Inch in the morning, rain beating on the van, complete cloud cover and mist. It is hard to think that yesterday this place was bathed in sunshine and people were bathing and frolicking in the sea water and on the sandy beach. This is Ireland.
A slow start is becoming the norm. Today we had hoped to shower using the facilities provided on this SNI site. The facilities leave a lot to be desired and so we resort to using our own shower. Or rather we would have done had I been able to get the Eberspacher, know affectionately as “the Urban Dispatcher” to heat the water. Two possible causes present themselves; one, a lack of water in our holding tank, or two, an insufficient level of charge in our leisure batteries. The latter seems the most likely cause but in any event we can now only heat water using a kettle on the stove. This takes away our option to shower in the van. The facilities still look unattractive and so we resort to having a strip wash.
We drive away, windscreen wipers and headlights on. The road winds up and around the cliffside and we are facing the Atlantic Ocean as it pounds into the cliffs below us. The road turns inland again and we run along quite sizeable roads into Dingle. Finding a parking space here is a challenge for it seems that the place is buzzing with tourists like ourselves. I spot a supermarket and as luck would have it a car pulls out of a parking bay that we can just squeeze onto. Niki dashes off to do the shopping as I investigate the Urban Dispatcher and keep watch over the van. At first test…?
Further along we stop to admire the views. To our right there are a collection of stone houses. A handpainted notice invites people to view them. Up a short rise there is a grey painted farm house, the front door open and seated just inside is an eledrly woman. She is keeping watch and as soon as people come up the rise she steps out to inform them that there is a charge of two euro to view and photograph the stone houses on her land. She is doing a steady trade today despite the weather which by now has improved in so far as the rain has stopped.
Out at sea I spot what looks like a small ferry craft pounding into the waves. It is a rough crossing though from where and to where she is bound I do not know. It looks likely that she is heading for a port on the Dingle peninsula a long hard crossing but one that will surely have saved time and fuel cost for the passengers.
Coaches stop behind and in front of us to disgorge their guests who take photographs, admire the view and stretch out their legs. Many are Americans who are perhaps here to rediscover something of their past?
We motor on.
Thursday 25 July 2013. Day 73.
From Sir Roger’s Campsite we venture down the road towards the beach. A sign suggests three carparks at varying distance down a road. We dutifully follow the sign and arriving at a fork in the road, with no signs, go left and thereafter find ourselves reversing back to the fork, this road ended in a farmer’s yard. The man who had been cutting his hedge tells Niki that we should return to the cross roads and then go left where we will find the beach and car parking. As I reverse back past him he tells me word for word the same message.
There is room on the beach car park for us. We park and hop out of the van to have a look at Banna beach, one of the world’s top ten beaches, according to trip advisor. Miles of golden sand and a very calm sea were on offer. Banna holds a European Blue flag and people were there enjoying themselves.
We left heading ostensibly for Listowel. As we came up the road to Ardfeart I suggested to Niki that we might stop at the OPW Ardfeart Church site. We were welcomed by Donal Stack who mentioned that his wife had been a participant in the Pan-Celtic events that had taken her to Cornwall in years past. Donal has not yet been. He has a keen interest in
Ardfeart Friary
Listowel the castle, Annette our guide and the OPW man who accompanied us on our tour.
The Tourist Information lady at Listowel who printed off campsite information for us and who also told us about the writers of Listowel including Niki’s favourite ‘the Quiet Man’ Niki retelling the story of her and her dad staying at the campsite at Cong where they kept showing, nightly, the film of the Quiet Man! I bought Niki the book containing this and other stories by author Maurice Walsh.
We wander down the square of Listowel and fetch up in a butchers where they proudly advertise sausages and burgers made without gluten. Niki bags some. Then we walk to the newsagents in hope of an iPaper. We do not find one. Instead, we take shelter as the rain pelts down. I get chatting with a farmer who is here because it being Thursday, is market day. His once weekly visit to town. This character is of the view that there is oil beneath the marshy soil of his farm. He assures me that all of the conditions are right, the area is volcanic and they are in a marsh. He would like someone with money to come and drill a well on his land. His eyes visibly light up when I tell him about the nodding donkeys in Dorset. I learn that Listowel has a huge tunnel beneath it. The tunnel is more than capable of carrying off all of the heavy downpour of rain that we witness.
The road from Listowel to Tarbert is new. It passes through peat bogs, some of which are still being worked. At one point Niki reads from a huge banner that we pass “Fina Gael have used lies, threats and the media to attack twelve turf cutters”.
As we reach the quay at Tarbert the ferry is about to depart. Niki is concerned, as am I, about the angle of approach. The ferryman says that they have successfully carried lots of campervans without any problems. My response to him is that we shall see what happens in the morning.
The ferry is away and as it leaves a camping car that I had spotted in Lidl in Listowel, pulls up. The driver, a fellow from Lyon, is keen to know when the next ferry might be. Niki imparts the information to him.
I get chatting to some fellows who have mangled the propellor of their pleasure craft. Then there are a group of three guys who have been out in the estuary in search of conger eel. They had one on the hook but lost it. They are slightly miffed as on an earlier forray they had got into a pile of eels, reeling in thirty. Some of these had been as much as forty plus pounds in weight and a good fight.
We left the quay and back tracked about a half a mile to Shannon’s Bar named for the river that gives into the ocean here.
Billy the bar host at Shannon’s Bar, Tarbert
Tommy the fisherman with five brothers and a sister in the Bronx, New York.
Friday 26 July 2013. Day 74.
Under the now virtually redundant high voltage power lines we passed a blissful night in our camper van in the car park of Shannon’s Pub. Determined to make a good start we got up and breakfasted and down to the ferry pier for just before nine. The thinking being that the ferry would be in for nine. When it hadn’t appeared by nine fifteen we checked the board. Sailings are at half past the hour. Sure enough at half past nine the ferry pulled in and disgorged its cargo of lorries, coaches, vans, cars and foot passengers.
We were at the front of the queue and first on. It was touch and go but we got Brigitte onto the ferry without scraping her bottom in so doing. Parked in a lane all to ourselves with the hand brake on I decided to hop out and climb up onto the passenger deck, at over three metres high I could look down onto the top of Brigitte. Niki accompanied me and I think that this is the first time she has seen Brigitte’s roof.
We remain topside for the crossing. Twenty minutes is the time taken to cross the Shannon. This should give some sense of the width of the river. On each bank there is a power station. As mentioned, the one in County Kerry stands idle for much of the time. The one in County Clare, situated at Moneypoint looks to be a newer and possibly larger affair and was at work as could be evidenced by the plume of smoke rising from one of the two towers.
As we docked in Clare there was a big queue of vehicles waiting to board. We were to be last off. We benefited, as did a lorry driver, from the repositioning of the ferry, further up the incline, once the bulk of the vehicles had driven off. The angle is less steep and also the crew member who directed me off, told me to drive off at an angle. This seems to have a beneficial effect viz a viz ground clearance. Something learned for future perhaps? We got off cleanly and away.
With Donal Stacks words ringing in my ears I wanted to see what Loop Head has to offer. The weather is perfect, sunny, calm and dry. The only slight downside is that I have allowed the diesel tank to get rather depleted. My aim being to minimise such weight as I could to make getting on and off of the ferry as easy as possible. We motored along passing through towns and villages with shops and pubs gaily painted. People are out and about holidaying and enjoying the sunshine.
About half way out to Loop I spot an agricultural store where they sell auto diesel. We will call in there later on our way back to fuel the van. At the furthest point on the headland there is a working light house. A trust takes care of the now disused accommodation and also provides an illustrated tour which includes an ascent of the light tower.
At €5 each it was perhaps a little over priced but still offered a great insight into the role of the light house and in former times the role of light house keepers.
Saturday 27 July 2013.
Walk to the pier.
The Burran.
The wing mirror incident.
The Garda.
The search for a garage.
The decision to come to Kilnora.
The pub.
The football
The supper beef and guiness stew, bacon and cabbage – both served with a hearty dollop of mashed potato – both great tasting, simple fare.
Removing the wing mirror mount. Cleaning up and re-ftting the door parts. Stripping the wing mirror.
Type up y’day and today/ Another roller coaster.
Sunday 28 July 2013. Day 76.
I awoke early and read using our led torch to illuminate my kindle. After an hour or so I decided I’d like to doze for a while and put down my kindle and turned off the torch. The next thing that I knew, Niki was out of bed and had made tea. It was just after nine o’clock!
We breakfasted looking out across the yard behind the pub and the fields beyond. It was quiet apart from a very few cars passing by.
By eleven we were up the road. The streets were packed with cars and people. Those that were heading to church had an earnest look about them. Perhaps they were pushing the clock and arriving, just in time?
We parked outside of the Burren Centre which was fairly humming with people. All of the parking spaces were taken and so we parked on the street. Niki was careful to tuck our one remaining mirror in out of harm’s way!
The Burren centre is an idea that took root in the mid 1970’s when Kilfenora was a dying village. in the past the construction of a light railway line which by-passed Kilfenora taught people that to miss out spells disaster. A group of motivated people got together and determined that they would set up an ecological centre, the word interactive had not then been coined. The place proved to be a great success. Despite moves in the mid eighties to create a similar centre in a nearby location the Burren centre beat off the competition and has re-developed and expanded and remains a place of useful factual information on this fascinating area.
The geology, flora and fauna are of central interest as Mediterranean, Arctic and another group of plants all live together in this special micro-climate.
We probably spent an hour and a half at the centre gathering information from the short video and also by looking at the exhibits. Man’s influences on this area can also be seen in the various tableaux. The model of the three ringed fort, Cahercummaun influenced us to choose Corofin (Corrofin) as a base from which to explore in the afternoon.
Before we left Kilfenora we explore the Cathedral and look at the remaining examples of crosses that lend the name “Place of the Crosses” to Kilfenora. The isolated cross that I had spotted last night proved approachable once we had found the stile in the field wall! The cross is huge. I have never seen a bigger Celtic cross. Within the cathedral a section that had fallen into disrepair now has a glass roof beneath which there is a superb display of carved grave lids and also some crosses and fragments of crosses.
A part of the cathedral has been roofed at some time in the past and serves as the place of worship for those who follow the Church of Ireland.
As lunch beckons we move the van back into the yard behind the Pub. A cuppa and a bacon sandwich fuel us for the shortish journey to Corofin. On the road we pass the ruin of Lemanagh Castle and Niki remarks that she thinks that she might have passed by it with her dad. Almost immediately on entering the heart of Corofin we come across the hostel/campsite and pull in and set up.
The weather has been showery for most of the late morning and early afternoon. We take the opportunity to get the scooter out before the next shower arrives. Togged up in our green waterproof nylon jackets and black over trousers and hiking boots we must make an amusing sight on the little scooter! Traffic is light as we buzz down narrow lanes. There is an absence of signage to any of the landmarks that we want to visit.
We find ourselves going up a steep hill and all of a sudden we come across Parknabinnia Wedge Tomb an impressive sight atop a hill with views in every direction. The Oratory site which seemed to be almost opposite was unmarked and one could have associated any or none of a number of “features”. Clearly hereabouts you are expected to be able to navigate your own way if you are not on a conducted tour! Having said that I’m rather glad that this site is off of the beaten track and that there is no visitor centre here!!
The rain starts to fall as we slog onwards in search of Cahercummaun. We find a finger post and one parked car. There is a choice: a grown-in lane or a track with some tarmac in evidence. I opt for the tarmac track and we end up in a farmer’s yard. Backtracking we park next to the finger post and set off up the overgrown lane behind a couple who are speaking French.
The walk into the site turns into a mini hike. We are in a cleared way with hazel growing on each side obscuring any view that there might have been. We arrive at an uphill section, part of this has stone steps and a hand rail. Further on the track opens out into a large enclosed field which in turn gives on to a raised boardwalk which follows the outer of the three walls of the Lios or fort.
Cahercummaun even in its current state is very impressive. It was last professionally excavated in 1934? I wonder what might happen here in the future and even more importantly what happened here in the past? We get a right soaking but our waterproof clothes, motorcycle helmets and walking boots keep us 95% dry.
We walk back out to the scooter taking more notice of the way the path has been sectioned off from the farmer’s land, using posts and wire topped with barbed wire. Is the intention to make things stock proof or to keep us tourists off of the farmer’s land?
We head off towards Lemanagh Castle. A few miles up the road we pass the Michael Cusack Geneology Centre, an impressive modern building which blends well with the landscape. We toured the car park and left. There did not appear to be any other visitors. We wend our way onwards through occasional showers and eventually descend the hill to Lemanagh Castle. As has been the case every single time we have passed, there were a small group of people standing at the hedge line taking photos and wondering whether or not to risk climbing the hedge, dodging the electric fence and walking across the field, in defiance of the bull who is resting under a tree chewing steadily. Niki is sufficiently interested to see inside this place that she / we throw caution to the wind and follow the sound of American voices coming out of the building.
The facade to the front is the best remaining feature of the building. Inside everything has been removed, leaving only the external walls and the two tower structures. Some work has been done to make the building relatively safe and there is an injunction to people to do no damage to the building. We later learn that public monuments such as this one are owned by the nation but that the land that they are surrounded by is generally owned by a farmer or landowner. Only where OPW has bought the land and an access way can full or partial access be granted.
So it seems that on this occasion we have trespassed. I would, in my defence wish to point out that I pressed the gate buzzer on the automatic gates but did not get a reply. I felt that I had tried to enquire whether we might be permitted to view the castle and that as time was of the essence we proceeded to enter. Had the land owner wished to prevent trespass s/he should have made the site secure and also dispalyed signs to indicate that entry is not permitted.
From Lemanagh Castle we buzzed back into Corofin and to the site. After a warming cup of tea I typed up a few thoughts for this journal. Sitting in the kitchen / general room I was plugged into one of the electrical sockets that could reasonably be liberated from its normal use. Or so I thought. I’d noticed, before we set off on our trip, that one of the sockets was free. When I came to use the power supply I did not check to see what had been cut off, hours earlier. I spent around a half an hour typing away and then the woman from the VW camper van came into the room and enquired about the internet connection. We got chatting and I explained what I was doing and that sadly the internet was not accessible from this room. A talkative woman, she told me that she and her husband had been travelling for a year and that he is now retired and that she has taken a year sabbatical from work and is not looking forward to returning to work. Mentioning Cornwall I was astonished to find that they had lived in Cornwall for twenty four years. Her husband had been a teacher in West Cornwall and they had lived at Sennen before moving to London. I spoke about our wing mirror troubles and the woman spoke highly of the garage just down the road. I said that I would go there in the morning to enquire about the mirror and thanked her for the tip.
Niki arrived and announced that supper is ready. I made introductions and started to pack up the laptop. Then I noticed a pool of water coming out from under the fridge freezer. The unplugged appliance had revealed itself! I stowed my laptop and did the only thing that I could, I plugged the lead into the socket, the fridge freezer started to make gurgling noises and when I checked it a half hour later things were cooling as they should.
We walk the length of the high street and count ten pubs, in a small village, ten pubs. Some are next door to one and other. What differentiates them? Why do people use one place in preference to another? Niki chooses Bofey Quinns, run by Trish with the red hair and rather fetching cut. When we enter the restaurant is doing good business with six or more families having a Sunday evening meal out. Children are rushing about playing inside the bar. Three young boys, two perhaps are brothers and the third a younger friend of the younger brother are play wrestling and having fun. The waitresses dodge around serving food and drinks as requested. We are told that we can sit in the restaurant even if we are only having a drink. We order Guinness and Bulmers and sit on a rather squashy bench sofa. To our left a father, his daughter and his wife are playing a game of cards that Niki says resembles Blob. The young girl wins most of the hands – one of the advantages of drinking ribena?
After a couple of rounds of drinks Niki and I head back to the van. The French students who are boarding in the Hostel are still creating an uproar. Then a woman perhaps in her twenties takes up a guitar and starts playing and singing. A good voice, this makes a happy diversion as we play a couple of rounds of dix mille. When we head to bed we have the sound of a burglar or car alarm droning on and on and on from somewhere in the village. Later still, the pub opposite Bofey’s, ***, which seems to be the favoured haunt of the young crowd, erupts with noise. Perhaps it is closing time. There are a few very loud voices going for it. They might be drunk, they are certainly noisy.
Monday 29 July 2013. Day 77.
I wake early and, armed with the LED torch, start to read about the Blasket Islanders.
Visit garage order mirror 190 euro.
Trip out – Turloughs, penal stones, burren limestone. Fr Ted’s house. Drive thru Carran to Cathar Connaill stone fort, lunch carrot soup, entry fee €7 pp to visitor attraction?? non., Off to find Poulnabrone Portal Tomb. Interesting chat with OPW staffer re €300,000 cost to cquire the site, coincidentally this is also his est of number of visitors here annually.
Back down to Kilinaboy to visit church and round tower. Then to Inchicuin Lake and back to van.
Cuppa, shower and then a little snooze,
Phone autofactor and get a price of €140 for the mirror.
Walk to see our friend John at the garage and he cancels the order for me. I phone our man in Ennis back and get the mirror ordered. €140 or €190 for the same part, which would you prefer to pay?
Back at the van Niki is cooking supper, boiled potatoes, cabbage (bought from the local shop), pork chop, beef burger and pork sausage. The burger and sausage are from the butcher in Listowel where Niki bought gluten free products. The pork chop is a left over from when we cooked up a few nights ago.
We tried a couple of times to reach Graham and Mary on skype, frustratingly without success.
It seemed like time to walk through the village and have a pint at the Inchquin Pub. When we got there they were closed and the notice on the door pointed out that they open from ten in th emorning to six at night. It seems their focus is more on food for visitors to the village. We soon retraced our steps to Bofey Quinn’s where the bar staff were in danger of outnumbering the clientele.
The difference on a Monday night as compared with the Sunday night is staggering. Our VW camper friends, Terry and Linda, were nursing their pints of Guinness and might easily have been on the point of leaving when we arrived. We joined them and spent an interesting hour or so hearing about their travels in NZ, Auz and Japan. The conversation turned to the Burren and Niki discovered that there is a tower house that we have so far missed. This one is complete and is also the tallest one in Ireland. Happily it is close enough to where we need and want to go tomorrow, we shall be able to include it in our ramblings.
After a couple of pints of Guinness and having put the world on a better course we cross the road and meander back onto site. The French students are on their last night staying here and are still enjoying themselves, something that they seem only to be able to do at the top of their voices. They spend much time on the upper floor of the washroom, kitchen etc block. The crashes and wallops that can be heard from below suggest that they are trying to bring the floor down. It reminds me of being a Boy Scout and playing British bulldog in the Scout rooms. That was a noisy cattle herding affair. Perhaps the French have their very own version?
Armed with a whisky nightcap I head for bed. Before not very many minutes have passed, my kindle is falling through my fingers as I begin to nod off. Niki, sitting almost upright, reads on after kissing me good night.
Tuesday 30 July 2013. Day 78.
The weather since the spell of exceptional sunshine broke has been sunny punctuated by showers of rain. This morning is no different. The Aussie Dutch couple who had motored across from New Ross yesterday afternoon are up and away again by nine. Henk (Hank) drives large trucks for a living down under. Wheeling around forty seven tonnes of ore. He handles the hired camper van like it is a toy. Which compared to a huge Mack or Volvo truck, it is!
We will be away this morning assuming I get the word back from the motorfactors, Top Parts. When I phone them at eleven they confirm that my mirror has arrived. Between nine and eleven I use my time to breakfast and then get the scooter loaded back into the garage. With a wet bike, wet tyres and a wet ramp this is more complex than usual but I manage to get her put away and all of our kit restowed.
Niki and I say farewell to Terry and Linda and then we set off for Ennis. Ennis is a sizeable town and having the address and the sat-nav brought us easily to the door. As the street was lined with parked vehicles and as the nearby car park has a height barrier fitted I did the only sensible thing. I parked with the driver’s side of the vehicle on a pavement. I left room for pedestrians to pass and leaving Niki in the van, I went off to find my part.
The chap who served me was a character, having a bit of craich about the price of the mirror. I quickly spotted that the arms of the mirror were shorter than those on the damaged mirror. My man said that I could take the new one out to the van and see whether it would suffice. It did and I returned to the shop to pay for the mirror and to get a length of scotchbrite tape to warn oncoming traffic that we have two large mirror that they need to avoid as well as the body of the van!
Fixing the new mirror onto the van took a matter of minutes. I feel a sense of relief now that I can again see something down the driver’s side of the van. Since the loss of the driver’s mirror on Saturday I had been driving “blind” to hazards on the driver’s side of the camping car. The risk of my accidentally colliding with a vehicle that has chosen to overtake our slow moving Brigitte was the hazard that I wanted to remove. Having a mirror on the side of the vehicle meets that aim – hurrah! The tape attached as a bright yellow horizontal on each mirror should serve to alert oncoming drivers. Given time, we shall see whether it achieves that outcome!
Lunch today is a hastily eaten sandwich whilst we are stopped on the pavement and then with Siobhan our sat-nav lady providing directions we head off to find the round tower at Kilmacduagh. We enjoy a spell of driving in the countryside and then a few miles on the M18 up to Gort where that road reverts from a double carriageway to a single carriageway road.
We’re back in narrow country lanes again as we rejoin the Burren once more. Drivers here show no common sense nor courtesy to us. We are just a slow moving obstacle that they zoom towards before eventually realising that we need rather more of the road than does a standard size saloon car. Much of the time I pull to a halt and the oncoming driver squeezes past at a less than safe pace.
It is a relief to arrive at the tower, visible from a few kilometres around, this impressive structure stands at one hundred and twelve feet tall I am told by the lady who lives opposite and does B&B. She goes on to tell me that the tower has a two foot lean and a few other interesting snippets. We park just outside of the height restricted car-park.
With walking boots on Niki is ready to explore. We view and photograph the tower, the churches, the abbey and the Abbott’s house. All are disused and despite being in varying states of dis-repair, all are fascinating. The land around these monuments is in use as a graveyard and the headstones make for interesting reading, here as elsewhere that we have visited.
We arrive back at the van after walking through a grassy field. Our timing proves ideal as the heavens open and a downpour of rain soaks the place. We were so lucky to have the sun in the sky for our photos. I only hope that we have some powerful images that convey the sense of the place.
Today’s final destination is Spiddal on the Galway bank of the Galway Bay. Siobhan indicates that the journey will last for about an hour. We follow the N18 towards Galway. This is the weekend of the Galway Races and so we will not attempt to enter the city. The proliferation of roadside signage is, at times, overwhelming. Most, unsurprisingly, is to do with the Races. That the Irish love their racing is evident by the size of this event.
We motor up to, across and beyond Galway. The city bustle and cheek by jowl living lead me to think that it is no wonder that people enjoy escaping to the coast and beaches just as much here as they do in all of the other places that we have been fortunate enough to visit.
We have chosen the best evening of the week to fetch up in Spiddal it seems. The local pub has a trad music night that is highly rated. According to the Rough Guide, it is not unknown for top musicians to drop in and join in. We shall see what happens later.
The Spiddal caravan and camping park is a very long kilometre from the village. We have encountered these elastic kilometres before, most notably at Doolin where the Riverside site was supposed to be two clicks from Doolin Pier. When Niki and I drove down to the pier, after I had walked there and back, we checked the mileage at around two miles each way. This would mean that the distance is closer to four kilometres than it is to two kilometres! We will take the scooter to visit the village later and that will afford the opportunity to check the distance.
Once we arrive Niki takes over the washing room in order that we can catch up on our laundry. An hour later she has the van filled with drying knickers, they just need finishing off after having been tumble dried. Other dry items are being folded and put away as I peck at the keyboard.
I think I should cook tonight. It will be a re-run of last night’s meal but without the pork chop… Supper proved a success and after I got the scooter out for our run in to Spiddal. We fuelled up the scoot and had a tour up and down the main street, turning off only to visit the harbour area. The view across to the Burren, a reminder of where we had been and the view out to the Aran Islands a reminder of where we might on some future trip go.
Spiddal seems very quiet at eight thirty at night. The pub, according to the Rough Guide, is the place to find music and singing on a Tuesaday night. When we arrived there were a few young guys in the larger bar. They were watching the last of the racing on the tv and cheering or hooting depending on how their horse was doing.
The land lady served us and enquired whether we were going to the races. I replied that we were not and confessed that I do not know a single thing about horses, racing or gambling. It is a big event here in Galway, equivalent to Cheltenham some say.
Others turned up at the pub and enquired about the music. Some stayed. Others went and returned later. Others went and did not return. The music tonight will kick off between nine thirty and ten depending on when “they” get back from the races.
Four fellas appear and order up at the bar. The landlady will take no payment for their drinks and so I guess, correctly, that these fellas are the singers. The take over a small round table in a corner by the fire place. Guitars and a mandolin are unpacked. There is chat about the races and the weather and whether people will be going this year or not.
The music and singing start up and a fine sound it is. The three older fellas are hard at it in minutes and the younger guy sits supping his pint – Coors lager. The leader of them has a fine baritone voice that could fill a large hall and he uses it to very good effect. Then the young fella picks up. He has a song about Paddy driving trucks in UK. A line about an AEC, a mention of Bristol – I’m keeping a mental note for when I can get into Spotify to try to identify the song.
There are a few songs that are known to Niki and I and more that are not but carry well – all are about identity, freedom and self expression it seems. Things this Cornishman can identify with.
More people arrive and the landlady is moving about with purpose, keeping the beer flowing and clearing the used glassware. Some folk join the group at the table until at the finish there are seven of them sat around. A woman with flowing, curly hair is one of these. She produces an Irish instrument that looks like a large tambourine and is played using a double ended stick (I’ll name these later). Then there is a fellow who produces three penny whistles, each with a different colour plastic mouthpiece and a wooden flute. The final fellow to join has his back to me and enigmatically, despite looking like an actor who we should know he doesn’t seem to join in the singing. Much of the time he is hopping outside to answer his phone.
The carryon is going well right up until midnight when Niki and I decide to take our leave. What a cracking evening and all down to the luck of buying the digital Rough Guide and also that Spiddal looked small and attractive, is beyond Galway and has a campsite. The campsite is nothing to write home about but it was the initial basis for our choosing to stop over.
Wednesday 31 July 2013. Day 79.
The morning after the night in the pub at Spiddal dawned slowly. At first waking it seemed as though the day might offer good weather. The noise of the rain on the van roof as I woke up for a second time to take from Niki the steaming hot mugs of tea, that we would sit and drink in bed, was confirmation that today’s weather would be anything but good. The drum beat built until it was deafening. I made a mental note, wait for the rain to ease before putting the scooter back in the garage of the camping car.
We breakfasted and I took our bowl of cutlery, plates and a saucepan across to the block. One fellow was braving the shower on what felt like an autumnal morning so cold and wet was it. The best aspect of the block is the hot water. It is scalding hot and if you use the third sink, the one on the left, the water flows freely. One aspect of the hot water that is less than welcome is its colour. It is brown. Translucent but brown. It could be that the water is collected from a peat stream. I washed things up and rinsed them with the cold water which is clear.
As I returned to the van, the family in the camper van opposite us were pulling away. Today they left their generator and their mains lead to indicate that they would return later and wanted to resume occupancy of the pitch. My best guess is that they were away to the Races.
Back at the van the rain had lightened and so I got on with the task of loading the scooter as Niki tidied up within. By eleven we were away. We parked outside the Chemists where there were a couple of free parking bays. Niki rushed off to the Spar shop for a few items of need, milk, bacon, ham, crisps and then we were away into the eye of the storm.
As a driving day it was evil. the visiblity was down to a matter of feet and we had determined to go up the coast road and then to cut inland to see what we could see of the lochs at the roadside. By the time we had made it up to the T junction for Clifden I had stated that I wanted to go Eastwards and that we should aim for an OPW site, with a roof, so bad was the rain and wind. It was at this point that a group of four cyclists went by, heading in our direction. They were all pedalling hard, whether that was to do with the loaded panniers that adorned their bikes or their intention to get somewhere within a specific time I do not know. I noted their then position and thought how lucky were we to be sitting in the warm, being powered along by Brigitte’s 2.8 litre turbo charged diesel engine.
Driving East seemed to have the desired result in that the amount of rain hitting the windscreen seemed to lessen. Perhaps it was just lashing Brigitte’s backside. We came upon a rough pull in that I thought looked appropriate and there stopped for a spot of lunch, overlooking a Loch. In truth there wasn’t much to see. I could make out water, rocks and some trees.
We bounced down the road to Oughterard. Despite being a red road on the map and designated the N59 this road, like many others, has shocking undulations, the occassional devilish bend and ancient and narrow bridges. Our lunch stop had allowed the cyclists to breeze past us and to get well up the road. With Oughterard behind us we made for Aughnanure. This involved driving down a road past the local Golf Club. Each time we pass over a road by a Golf Club I expect to hear a golf ball impacting on the side of Brigitte. I continue to hope that my expectations in this are not realised.
Aughnanure is tucked away beyond a car park, at the end of a long narrow road on a curve of the river. An interesting tower house it has sadly lost much of its banqueting hall. The subterranean river eroded the land on which it stood.
From here we were off again to Athenry to look at yet another castle. Our guide here, a very knowledgeable young man, explained that this castle was heavily influenced by the Normans. It was also much extended and as with all castles modified. The AV presentation was one of the best in an incredible suite on the first floor of the castle.
Back on the road we enjoyed a few miles of motorway driving. Motorways here, as in Cyprus, are modern two lane affairs. We turned off of the motorway back onto country roads to complete the run up to Ballinasloe. This avoided a section of toll road. Then we were back onto the motorway for the drive up to Athlone where we planned to overnight on the banks of Lough Ree. The signs all pointed us to the golf course, hotel and campsite at Hudson Bay. Given the huge and busy Hotel I was expecting to find a sumptuous campsite. Instead, at the end of what has become an overgrown lane, we found the campsite. The gate was chained closed and the grasses had grown to a height of four or more feet.
Over a cup of tea in a car park overlooking the Lough, Niki found a couple of SNI sites for us to head towards. We eventually ended up at “The Mill” just East of Moate. Having phoned ahead it was strange to not get a reply when we went to the door. By now hunger and thirst had the better of me and so we returned into Moate and parked up.
At the pub we chat with a golfer: park hudson, golf club or mill. other guy turkey and greece. flipping property. the cashier and the woman in the bar. the land lord, the reporter colm died funeral tommo motor neurone disease.
Two pints, chinese from the Canton Kitchen eaten on the high street back to mill.