Catching up

Onwards then from Kilrush and Katie O'Connor's hostel. I should have asked Mary who ran the hostel who Katie was! I just didn't think at the time! So, on my way through county Clare, I stopped off at various places along the coast.
One place I loved was Quilty, because it really reminded me of the Ireland of my childhood, with lots of old traditional cottages, painted white or pastel blue, though none with thatched roofs these days. I found a beautiful little cottage that I loved - it's now my screensaver - and also found that in typical Irish style over the last few years some of the old houses just along the road had been knocked down and new ostentatious houses built in their place!

This was a house along the road!
Some of these wouldn't look out of place in Florida or California, for example, but in an area such as rural Quilty? Mmmm. Not the right place at all. It's sad that the old Ireland is being knocked down and what is replacing it is sometimes brash and more reminiscent of parts of America. Their heritage is gradually being lost. However the boom years in Ireland are over now and perhaps there won't be as much new building in the next few years.

Another stop was at the Cliffs of Moher, where now a subterranean visitor centre and a series of craft shops are more than ready to take your money. Car and coach parks cost you. The visitor interpretive centre costs more, and a climb up O'Brien's tower costs yet more. Where once you could actually walk to the cliff edges and look down to the sea, as we did years ago with Dad - well, we were allowed to lie flat on the ground and poke our noses over the edges while Dad held our feet to stop us going too far - there are now fences and walls to prevent access, and paths and steps and special viewing areas..... and worst of all, hundreds of people milling around, talking into their camcorders, and having their photos taken at strategic viewing points! Oh the scenery is spectacular but it was bliss to be on the road again.

Doolin wasn't far away, and I finally found the road I needed to be on. The place has grown somewhat in the years since I was there last, with new builds all along the road here too, and in the village.

This is how it used to look, probably not that long ago too, and here's how it is now.

The pub I remembered was still there, though I don't remember it serving meals, either inside or outside, at umbrella shaded tables in a designated area across the road, - well it was pouring with rain that visit so I wasn't for noticing anything really - and a few old cottages had been transformed into shops, one selling Irish musical instruments, and books on how to play them; CDs of traditional and contemporary Irish music, and more besides! There was a craft shop and a knitwear shop, another shop selling stained glass ornaments in Irish designs, and another CD shop full of Irish music along with a bit of a cafe. A sign indicated this was the last music cafe before America! Nice garden area to sit out in too! There was also a village shop selling everything for the visitors' needs, including postcards and ice cream, and supplies for the residents. Those definitely were not there last time!

The hostel - new too - was just along the road and over the bridge from the pub. You could see one from the other, and I booked in for the night, getting a small dormitory to myself, as in most of the other hostels during my trip, because of the quietness of the season so far. The hostel manger was Czech, and was keen to talk about his country when he heard I had visited it - a good number of years ago!

I had supper sitting outside the pub in the warm sunshine and later came inside to listen to a session of Irish music with a group of locals playing flute, fiddle, button accordion, tin whistle, spoons.... it was very entertaining, really rousing stuff! My accompanying ONE pint of Guinness went down very nicely with it. It's right what they say about Guinness! It doesn't travel well! It tastes so smooth in Ireland but over here I feel there is a sharpness to it that leaves a bit of an aftertaste.

Next day I was going to drive towards Galway, through an area of limestone country called the Burren, which at this time of year is just beautiful with wildflowers. After visiting the Burren Exhibition and film show at Kilfenora (photo of the church, not the exhibition), I was advised to take the coast road round Black Head if I wanted to see the wild flowers, so I chose that route over the one that takes you past prehistoric tombs and forts - this time.

Heading back to the coast I passed through the town of Lisdoonvarna, where a very unusual festival takes place each year. Single? Want to find a partner? Come to Lisdoonvarna's matchmaking festival in July. It seems to have grown into quite a popular event, with lonely visitors coming from all over the world in the hopes of meeting their someone special!

No time to hang around. I had to get on along to the coast road. Well, the scenery is amazing. It's rock as far as the eye can see, though there are bits of green too, and in a few more minutes I was to see why.

At one spot where cars and coaches obviously stopped and parked up, I did the same and wandered for a good hour over the limestone pavement, marvelling at the bare rock and the clusters of plants that grew in every crack and crevice. It was wonderful, and again I took loads of photos of the scenery and the flowers.......

I have to say I was amazed at this picture. As a thumbnail it looks like a painting of some mountain scenery, but click on it and see how it is actually a photo looking down a crack between two rocks! This was pure co-incidence!

Time was moving on and I was to meet Michael at their village road end at 5.00p.m. Not knowing how long it would take, but guesstimating that it would be about an hour, I continued my journey, round Black Head, past the lighthouse, through Ballyvaughan, into County Galway, pulling up at the road end in Kilcolgan just a few minutes before the appointed meeting time. However, Michael had just beaten me to it.

It's a long time since we last met, but despite his white beard, grown for his role as Santa Claus last year, I discovered, he was as recognisable as ever.

Big hugs, and then we got back into our cars so I could follow him along the narrow road to the new home he and Bernadette chose when they left the Claddagh, in Galway, a few years ago.

Bernadette and daughters, Louise and Mary with ther own littlies were there to greet me and I quickly felt at home again with the family!

Mischievous Jessica must be about the age her mother,Louise, was when I first met her. That's amazing!

(Have I told you the story of how I met this lovely family? Once upon a time...... I'll tell you next time!)

Baby Ella soon captured my heart, a little doll of a creature, with a fine head of the dark hair she was born with, and smiles on demand! Oh those smiles! She looks so alert and makes you think she follows everything intently, taking it all in. What an amazing little 9 week-old!

Michael took me for a little tour of the area, and down to the pier where the tide was high and the children were having a wonderful time swimming and splashing in the water. I was introduced to a few of the adults who had also come down to the gathering point and was shown the boat and a nearby house that belonged to one of them! Michael calls it - the house - "The Sea for Breakfast" which is the title of a book by Lilian Beckwith.

Here's the boat, the taller mast belong's to Pad's boat. I know you can't see it too well but you get the idea..........

.....and here's the house. Not bad, eh?
(Taken from the pier where the boat is moored)

We had supper later when Mary's fiance, Morgan, got home, and Louise, Jess and baby Connor had gone back to their own home. The only one missing is Chris, Lulu's fiance. Catch up with him soon.

What a time we had reminiscing, story telling and catching up on all the years! As Michael said "Where did they all go?"

Where indeed, Michael? Where indeed?

Talk again soon.

The Dingle Peninsula

I brought you as far as Dingle in my last blog, so here I'll take you round some of the places I visited the next day. It was another hot sunny day as I drove off from Baile na nGall to look for Gallarus Oratory.
It was somewhere I remember visiting with the family when I was a kid. Dad was really into all the historic stuff, and though I wasn't that interested in those days, I am now. This is another Early Christian church from anywhere between 500 and 1200 A.D., not a replica, not a restoration but the real thing. It has survived intact for all those centuries probably due to the way it has been built with the shaped stones - no mortar - tilted slightly to allow rain to drain off instead of in. If you are sufficiently interested to click on the link above you will find more information and pictures. I think that there may have been a wooden ceiling once upon a time as there are stones positioned above head height that look as if they would have supported beams along its length, and it would also have had a door.

The site was crawling with Spanish visitors on a coach tour when I got there, so I hung about till they disappeared before I explored. Next to the church is a standing stone with some carving on it. Apparently it is not possible to find a meaning for the "inscription" on it, but it is likely to be a grave stone.

From Gallarus I continued along the coast as much as possible, passing the Three Sisters across Smerwick Bay, and stopping for a welcome cup of tea and a scone and jam at Tig Aine, meaning the house of Aine.

Apart from the sign on a standing stone, the first thing I noticed were the solar panel out front. Aine and her family are very committed to reducing their "carbon footprint" Aine herself is a weaver and artist who sells her paintings and woven goods in the craft shop, while her son looks after the catering side of things. The cafe is partly situated in an old glass conservatory, where you will also find her weaving loom.

Outside, the ducks and geese waddle about alongside the goat, with wonderful views beyond them.

Next door is the new restaurant, built to fit in with the traditional style of the old stone cottages round about, but it is quite beautifully and simply decorated inside. I actually sat outside on the patio, in a very comfortable white painted rustic rocking chair, just relaxing with my cuppie in the heat of the sun, admiring the scenery, and looking down across the garden with its standing stone over to Sybil Point and the rocky islands.

I swear the standing stone has a face! Can you see the two black beady eyes and the long nose? You'll have to click to enlarge it, I think!
Next port of call was Dunquin where the ferry leaves for the Blasket Islands, and where "Ryan's daughter" was filmed way back in 1970 - can't believe it was that long ago! I have since discovered that the main buildings of the "village" were specially built for the film and that they were demolished afterwards, which is why they can't be found, but the harbour is still there, down a very steep concrete path that zigzags down to the sea. A few curraghs, the tarred canvas-covered boats used by fishermen for centuries, sat upturned on one of the turns, and standing beside them I could see in my mind, the scene where the villagers are hurrying down to the harbour in a big angry crowd - though I can't remember why they were hurrying... or angry! Well it was nearly 40 years ago I saw it! Of course the young man operating the ferry boat out to the Blasket Islands didn't remember the film at all! He wouldn't have been born then!
So once I had climbed back up the steep path - it was easier in bare feet on the grass at the side, instead of sandals - I looked round the headland a bit taking some more pics of the Blaskets.

One of the great Irish story tellers, Peig Sayers, from Dunquin married an islander and spent 40 years on Great Blasket - not an easy life - bringing up her large family and entertaining at night when everyone went visiting eachother, before the island was abandoned by its small population, in 1953/4 and thereafter she enthralled the mainlanders with the tales she had first learned from her father as a child.

The road then ran round the coast to Slea Head, clinging to the cliff, and mayhem ensued when a tour bus came to a bend and encountered a couple of cars going in the opposite direction. Of course you know who won! The cars had to manoevre back into a position where the coach could pass and drive on - and that wasn't easy on the narrow road.
At Slea Head itself, a lifesize monument of the crucifiction of Christ is tucked into the rock face, watched that day by a rather handsome herring gull. What a poser!

Here the road turns round towards Dingle again. I found the farm where the ancient beehive village was, and got out to have a look. The enterprising old woman in the house must listen for all the cars that stop in the roadside parking spot, for when I walked up the track to the gate I could see her, sitting in an old car that obviously hadn't moved in a while, waiting to pounce. "That will be two euros" she told me. Oh well! I paid up and the grandson opened the gate for me. I spent a while there creeping in and out of the buildings, some standing independently and others joined by a door between.

The walls are pretty thick when you look down on them from above - about 6 feet or more (2 metres). In one there was an underground passage they say is where the villagers would hide if the village was raided. I wonder? How would they have hidden it from the attackers? Just then my camera battery ran out, so there were to be no more photos for a while. I thought I had charged up the other battery I carry, but obviously I hadn't as it too was as dead as the proverbial dodo!

Anyway, your woman had disappeared by the time I came back through the gate, so I popped along to the front door to shout my thanks. She came beetling out and thanked me profusely, offering to let me in again for nothing once I had my battery recharged! Best buddies by now, I took my leave and continued along the road unable to take photos of the sea and the beach, and I feel ashamed to say I can't actually remember them, but then I came to the Stone House cafe and restaurant, where I stopped for another cup of tea and piece of cake.

I was kindly allowed to recharge the battery a bit while I was there, but it was only enough really to take a couple of photos or so of the Stone House itself - and it IS stone, all of it, even the roof! Very nice place too. Nice decor, and the menu looked pretty appetising!

My destination for the day was Kilrush in County Clare on the north side of the Shannon river so I must have driven up there without taking a lot into my brain! I saw, but can't remember! Crossing the Shannon on the long ferry took about 20 minutes and from there it was only a short drive into Kilrush with it's wide wide street lined with townhouses with Georgian front doors and halfmoon fan lights.

There's more to the town than that further up but I found the hostel here and booked in, before setting off to explore, and it was here I found an internet cafe the next morning and wrote about the peninsulas of the south west.

So my next blog will be of my journey round the Burren I think! That was something else really special, but more of that later.

Talk again soon.

Ring of Kerry

It has taken me ages to get back to blogging, since I got back from Ireland. At first it was so hot and humid that to settle to anything was a trial, far less using a laptop emitting lots more heat, so at last I'm playing catch up, with the front and back door open and a nice breeze wafting through the house.
I was telling you about the Skelligs on my last decent posting - an experience I am so glad not to have missed. Seeing the gannets and puffins and that Early Christian monastery clinging to the edge of the rock face was the most amazing thing.

I stayed a couple of nights in the hostel at Port Magee, a pretty little town with more coloured houses, shops and pubs.

and next day crossed the bridge to another island.



Valentia Island had some beautiful viewpoints - in this picture, looking north east towards Caherciveen and Dingle Bay -

and more colourful villages such as Knightstown a "modern" village designed by a Scots engineer for the Knight of Kerry, the principal landowner on the island, in the 1840s.
I had been recommended to visit a grotto at a large slate quarry begun in 1816 where workers were trained by experts brought over from the slate quarries of Wales. The Paris Opera House, the British Houses of Parliament and various railway stations in London were roofed in Valentia slate, and in 1860 a large export order even went to South America. Flagstones and tombstones, sundials and garden seats were also products of the quarry, a steam engine being used to power saws for shaping the slate. During the famine years in the 1840s the quarry provided employment at quite high wages, but because labour was so scarce, women were also employed to work alongside the men in shifts of 11 hours.

The quarry had its ups and downs, closing for a time when Welsh slate proved to be a cheaper option, and reopening to provide employment for islanders at the turn of the 20th century. In 1911 it closed for good when a massive rock fall made it impossible to continue.


The grotto itself was erected in 1954 - the Marian year, a holy year dedicated to the Virgin Mary, when all such grottos began to appear - above the enormous cavern of slate workings, and contains statues of the virgin Mary and St. Bernadette. Why it was set up here, at a disused quarry at the end of a road I don't know.
Today the wildlife around the quarry and the plantlife on the spoilheaps adds to the interest of the place.

Instead of taking the car ferry across to Reenard's Point on the mainland, I completed the circle of the island and crossed the bridge back to Port Magee before heading off to Caherciveen, birthplace of Daniel O'Connell (1775 - 1847) who won Catholic representation in Parliament in 1829.

This almost fairy tale castle was in fact a former base of the Royal Irish Constabulary, known locally as the Barracks, which is now a heritage centre, with displays on Daniel's life, as well as the history of the town and its environs.

Just down the road was a bridge over the river Fertha, where I took photos of these pretty wild scabious flowers on the parapet. I took lots of wildflower photos during my two weeks in Ireland!


Not far from Cahirciveen on the Ring of Kerry road is a restored stone ring fort, probably orinating from the 10th century. Its outer wall had a series of steps built into it on the inside, to enable lookouts to be posted along the top of the walls, I suppose, and this inner wall was probably the home of a chieftain or someone of great importance.



and then I came to Ballycarbery Castle, a very interesting-looking ruin, from the 15th century. From the "entrance" under the barbed wire, the walls looked fairly complete, but from the other side it was seen to have lost a complete half of it!


I wouldn't have tackled the uneven, broken and fallen stairs within the walls myself, they looked too precarious, but some others who were there at that time scrambled up as high as they could go.
It had been quite a substantial tower house in its day, one of what I later learned ws a ten pound castle!

On past Kells, not the one where the famous illuminated book of Kells came from - that's Kells in County Meath - through Glenbeigh, another family holiday spot from years ago - didn't recognise it either, though I had images in my mind of a wide street, a long low hotel where we stayed and white painted plaster garden walls over which hung the myriad fuschias whose buds we loved to pop. Perhaps if I'd stopped and looked around....? I got into terrible trouble with my parents in Glenbeigh years ago. I can't have been more than 10, but I had befriended a little local lad - about the same age as me - who offered to take me to the creamery on his donkey cart the next morning. Thinking there was no harm in it, I got up early and met the lad, climbed up onto the cart with the large milk churns and off we trotted to the creamery where the churns were no doubt unloaded, though I have no recollection of that. We returned along the road to the hotel to be met by my angry parents who had obviously been worried sick about the missing daughter! I just couldn't see what all the fuss was about!
You don't see donkey carts any more, and the old milk churns and carts now sit in peoples' gardens as ornaments.

I did stop in Killorglin though, and again my memory of the country town where we once witnessed King Puck, at the Puck Fair, was lost! Old buildings have gone and been replaced with modern blocks, and a one-way driving system has been introduced.
At the bridge, there was a fairly recent statue commemorating King Puck, a goat who is crowned King for the duration of the annual 3-day horse Fair. The origins of the goat as King are as old as the hills and have been lost in the mists of time, but year after year, in August, the Fair still takes place, and King Puck reigns supreme - the only King left in Ireland today!

From Killorglin I planned on taking a road down the south side of the Dingle peninsula but once again, signposting was hopeless and I ended up on the edge of Tralee... beside a windmill! I had to use my sometimes hopeless sense of direction to get me onto the road I then wanted. Signposts for Dingle had disappeared, but I was sure I was going the right way.
Before long I found myself climbing yet another pass, the Conor Pass that led straight to Dingle town. Several people stopped to climb this rocky spot to look at a lake in the corrie, but I didn't feel adventurous enough, not without a stick or a hand to help me back down! You can see the weather wasn't too brilliant that day, which was a shame as I suspect the views around here are worth seeing!

- and the reason the Dingle signs had vanished? The Kerry council had decided the name should be changed to the Irish name An Daingean - and quite a controversy had arisen because of it.

New housing in Dingle is fairly in keeping with the tradition of coloured houses.




The town was very busy indeed and I drove round about three times looking for the backpackers' hostels. The three I tried for accommodation were chocabloc full, but I eventually found the way to a hostel some miles out of town, and was the only person there. It was quite hard to find right out in the countryside, but it was comfortable and quiet, which suited me well.


The hostel is behind and above the shop in this black and white photo, the building with four dormer windows, almost in the centre of the picture. It was once the postman's house and the family home of the woman who now runs it as a hostel. That must seem rather strange to her! She was very friendly and chatty though, and brought me a cup of tea to the lounge where we sat and chatted for ages.

Next morning the sun was blazing again and I continued my journey, but that's for another day.
Talk again soon.