Day 1 Sun./Mon., September 14-15. Wait For It.
The plane was late coming in from Dublin. We were told we had almost an hour delay, so Dolores went off to look at the airport shops. Within probably ten minutes, they announced the start of boarding. I headed out to round up Dolores, and we got back well before they called for our row. In spite of the quick start for boarding, we were maybe 45 minutes late taking off. The pilot assured us that it didn't matter. We would get to Dublin on time. And we did.
This was not necessarily a good thing. When you arrive anyplace before dawn, most of that place will not be up and working yet. This wasn't obvious at first, because airports never really shut down. We could get money from an ATM, and buy bus passes from a convenience store, and get on the early bus, all with no trouble.
The bus dropped us off a block from our hotel, and I knew which way to go. When looking up the Temple Bar Inn online, I had been advised to not confuse it with the hotel across the street - the Temple Bar Hotel. So I double checked the address, and did a google street-view to make sure I knew where to go. And it was wrong. Google said it was the Inn, but I should have believed my lying eyes which told me the sign said Hotel. But they are across the street from one another, so it's no big deal.
Allowing for delays in getting money and passes, waiting for the bus, and the longish ride into town, it was about 8 a.m. when we got to the hotel. The very nice lady behind the desk, who arrived just after we got there (see above, re dawn), looked over our reservation and told us very nicely that the room was currently occupied, and would be available by noon. So we had four hours to kill, in a town that was still waking up. To our bodies, it was effectively 2 a.m., just a late night for Dolores and me, but way past Marty's bedtime.
I had realized that this would happen, and figured we could just take the Dublin tour bus ride to pass the time. But it didn't start until 9 a.m., or later by the time it got to our stop. That's OK – Trinity College was right there, and we could go in and look at the Book of Kells. But that part of the library didn't open until 9:30. We were too tired to go for a walk. So we went back to the hotel, and sat in the lobby, and waited. We actually got the room sometime around 10 a.m., and immediately collapsed on top of the beds.
Along about 2 p.m. we had had enough sleep to move again, which was good because Marty was hurt. He had had something happen to irritate his right eyeball, and was in some pain. It apparently happened just before we left home, but it got worse with time. Now his eye was red and watering, and he felt bad enough he didn't fight too hard when we said he had to have it checked out.
We asked the desk clerk for an eye doctor, or something similar, and were sent off north of the Liffey. It wasn't too far, so we walked. The doctor was a GP, acupuncturist, and hypnotic therapist. We did not go in. I asked at a local Christian bookstore (figuring they would be helpful by nature) and was told where to find an eyeglass store which might have a doctor.
Two blocks more, and we were there, and Marty got checked out right away by the optometrist. Not being an opthalmologist, she couldn't do anything more than send him to the emergency eye clinic at the hospital. And she warned us that they closed to 4 or 4:30. It was now after 3:30. So we took a taxi to the hospital, driven by the obligatory foreign driver who found the hospital, but didn't know where the emergency entrance was. It didn't matter – we were only just starting our trek.
We went in the main entrance, and were sent back out, and around to the back of the hospital. The lady at the desk, said the emergency eye clinic was upstairs. The security guy told us to go out and around somewhere, but when we told him we were told to go upstairs he relented and took us upstairs and opened the locked door. He even gave us instructions on how to find the clinic – turn left, then right, then follow the signs. He just didn't say how far it was.
We got to the clinic before it closed. “Closed” meant they weren't going to let anyone else in, not that they were going home. But Marty was in, and now all we had to do was wait. There were several other patients waiting, and they were all seen in order by the doctor, and Marty was last, because he came in last. Everyone came out of the examining room, and resumed waiting. Sometime near 5, the doctor gathered all of us up and led us to another part of the hospital – the regular opthamology department.
More waiting. Eventually, Marty's turn came. A different doctor examined him, and decided that there wasn't any infection, just inflammation. He prescribed two types of eyedrops, and sent us on our way. It was now about 7:30, and the hospital did not have a pharmacy for us. And every pharmacy we passed was closed.
We were about 2 kilometers from our hotel, but we had bus passes. But we didn't have the bus route map – that was in the hotel. So we started down O'Connell Street, looking at every bus stop for some indication that it might go near our hotel. Not a clue. To make it harder, the route is given in Gaelic first, and then, maybe, in English. But we couldn't find a bus going our way.
We did find one bus that was going out of service, and tried to ask the driver what bus we should be looking for, but he took off without bothering to answer, saying he was late. I was amazed – I had finally met a rude Irishman. Everyone, on both trips, has always been so helpful and courteous, that his brushing us off stunned me. It is an excuse that he was late and in a hurry – that never does one's manners any good, but it was still remarkable.
By now it was around 8 p.m., and we were hungry. We started looking at restaurants, and kept finding high prices or limited choices, or both. But we found one, Madigan's, that seemed to be OK, and went in. I had a very nice lamb stew, Dolores had bangers and mash, and Marty had a big burger. Marty and I had Guinness, and Dolores had Bulmer's cider (Magner's in the States). And Dolores, who was paying, got stiffed €10 on her change. We went a block down the street, and found a late-night pharmacy. But not that late. It closed at 9 p.m., and it was now 9:30.
We finally got back to the hotel, tired from the long walk, and lack of sleep. We had seen a lot of Dublin, but very little that we actually wanted to see. But the day was over, and we looked forward to a more enjoyable day tomorrow. Then Dolores, who can't live without checking stuff online, found an email from Winifred, who was concerned about Borghild's weight loss. She volunteered to give her her pills, and I replied, accepting her offer. But it dug into my brain, and somewhere around 3 a.m. I woke up realizing the simple solution to the problem, which had not occurred to me before I left. There is a liquid version of the pill, which can be rubbed onto her ears, much easier than giving a pill. 3 a.m. here in Dublin, is 9 p.m. in Kingston, so I called Winifred and explained the new plan. Now all I had to do was call the vet later in the day, and get the medicine lined up. Back to bed.
Day 2 Tuesday, September 16 Walking And Drinking.
We were a little smarter today, and looked up pharmacies on google. There were two just across the Liffey from us, about 2 blocks away. So we got Marty's eye drops, and started dosing him. Then it was time for some more unintended walking.
I had advised Dolores to get a voltage converter for her laptop, and she did. But she didn't read the small print – it had enough power output, but it was not for things like computers. I don't know why not, because it had the right numbers, but neither of us wanted to risk the laptop in experimenting. And I had forgotten to pack the adapter plug for Ireland when I packed my converter.
We asked a security guy at the pharmacy where we might find these things, and he suggested a book store up the street. They didn't have them, but a clerk there suggested a camping supplies place, a couple of blocks away. It seemed an odd suggestion, but they did have a converter, but not powerful enough, and no adapters. But the clerk there (an American) suggested an electronics store a couple of blocks away. I had already found it on google, but had thought it was too far from our hotel. Now it was much closer, so we went there.
They had an adapter for me and a converter for Dolores, but it wasn't powerful enough. I could use it on my netbook, though, and she could use mine. So we were set. Until we discovered that her computer needed a three prong outlet, and my converter only had a two prong outlet. I went online and learned that the electronics store, in general, carried a more powerful converter that would be perfect, but I couldn't tell if the local one had it in stock. To be continued, tomorrow.
But we were at least done with our errands, and could finally start sightseeing. We dropped our purchases off at the hotel, and went out again in search of a tour bus. This is a great deal – we paid €19.50 each for our bus passes, and can't find a bus going where we want to go. For the same price, we get a ticket good for two days that takes us on a fixed route all over Dublin. We can get off, and get on another one later. It takes us to most of the places, including museums, that we want to see.
We had just left the stop for the National Museum when I realized that we wanted to see that museum, and that this bus was the easiest way to get there. If we didn't take advantage of the hop on, hop off feature, we weren't going to see some of our sights. So when we got to the stop for Christ Church and Dublinia (the Viking exhibit), we got off and went into Dublinia. It's better than it was when we were here 6 years ago. They've expanded it to include the development of medieval and modern Dublin, and have some very nice displays.
We got on the next bus and stayed on until we got to the Guinness warehouse. The tour was expensive, €14 for seniors, but Marty wanted to go in to get the free pint at the end (he is immune to irony) and offered to pay for me. So I let him. The tour was interesting enough, and Dolores gamely went through the class in how to drink Guinness to get the most enjoyment out of it. She even drank about a third of her pint at the end, before giving the rest to Marty and me.
We had just started on the tour when I remembered I had to call the vet about Borghild's medicine. I got through, but there was a lot of noise at my end from the tourists, and a very quiet voice at the other end. I managed to get the idea across, but they have to order the medicine. I am hoping that all will go well.
The tour goes up through the building, seven floors of it. The free pint is on the seventh floor. So we went straight up from the third floor, but took the wrong elevator. It only went up to five. And the elevator up to seven was always full by the time it got to our floor. So we finally took the elevator down to the bottom, and started up empty, picking up a crowd on the way. The top floor is an enclosed observation deck, with a 360 degree view of Dublin. So you could get your pint and walk around looking at the city, very enjoyable.
We got back on the bus, and took the rest of the tour until we got back to the hotel. We rested a bit and went out to dinner. The doorman at the hotel recommended a place, but we thought it was over-priced. So were the others near it. But the further up the street we went, the lower the prices became. We finally settled on a place called The Norseman. We all had steak and stout pie – very good. Marty and I had O'Hara's stout, just as a change from all the Guinness. It was good, a bit milder than Guinness. Dolores hadn't been too impressed by the Bulmer's cider the night before, and went with a perry called Kopparberg, from Sweden, which she liked a lot.
So our first real day of sightseeing went pretty well. We'll take advantage of the two day bus ticket to travel to the other places we haven't seen, tomorrow.
Day 3 Wednesday, September 17 Museums And Music.
The continuing story of Dolores and the magic voltage converter, part 2. After breakfast, we sent Marty off to visit his favorite place in town, the Dublin Stock Exchange (don't ask). This would keep him from getting tired out on the walk to the electronics store, where Dolores and I were going. It was supposed to be a nice, sunny, warm day, but I am here to tell you that Irish weathermen are no more accurate than ours. It didn't rain, but it was cool and a bit windy.
We had already been in the store, so we knew where to look, and there was the right converter. It was a bit more expensive, but they took the other in exchange. It was also larger and heavier, a regular brick. But it worked just fine when Dolores tried it out later, so this story line is now closed. I know you're disappointed.
We stopped at a nearby ATM to replenish our cash, and then went into an Irish music store to browse. The sales clerk was a nice lady from Chicago, who was happy to sell us some CDs. Marty stumbled in later (literally) and bought some more. If my thumb drive of Irish music doesn't work in the car, we'll still have plenty of music to listen to.
We split up in the afternoon. Dolores wanted to go to the National Library to see an exhibit on Yeats, and then go to Kilmainham Jail (don't ask). Marty and I went to the National Museum. We all got off at the same stop, and Dolores asked a fellow standing there if the nearby building was the library. He said it was, and off she went. Marty and I knew the museum was in the other direction, so we went our way. We weren't seeing a building, so I looked at the map, and realized that the bus only let us out near these places, not at them. We had to turn down a side street to get to the museum. Dolores eventually found out she had been misdirected, and made her way to the library. We had gotten local phones for Dolores and Marty so we could keep in touch if we were seperated, but we forgot to use them to tell her about the error. Oooops.
Dolores says she had a nice time at the library and the jail. The Yeats exhibit is a permanent one that she had seen a sign for on our first trip. And the prison was appropriately gruesome. Marty and I had a good time, too, at the museum. He was impressed with the gold treasures, and the other medieval artifacts. We went through the Viking exhibit and the medieval Irish exhibit, stuff I had seen before, but it was nice to see it again. Marty, as he has been doing right along, chatted up a couple of the guards at the museum, and would still be talking to them, if I hadn't pulled him away.
Dinner was at O'Neill's restaurant, which is run on a sort of cafeteria plan. You go through the line and get your food. You get your drink where you pay for everything, or at the main bar. The prices were good, and so was the food. For once, we were back at the hotel before ten. Another good day of sightseeing. And Marty's eye is looking somewhat better. It's still mostly red, but not so much, and he says the pain is gone. Tomorrow we get the car, and head off into wildest Ireland.
Day 4 Thursday, September 18 Dolores Drives Us Well, Marty Drives Us Crazy.
It was a simple plan: Get up, have breakfast, pick up some groceries at the store next door (for lunches), check out of the hotel, and leave Marty to watch our luggage while Dolores and I got the car. What could go wrong? Well, Marty assumed Dolores and I would be leaving for the car before breakfast, and he dawdled an hour away.
So, we got breakfast and shopped for groceries and checked out just fine. Dolores and I went to the car rental place, and were immediately told we had to pay for the insurance, because Europcar has to have a letter from your credit card issuer, specifically mentioning you (by card number) and Ireland, signed and dated within 21 days of the rental. I suppose this is technically possible to have, but I'd have to see it to believe it happened.
We weren't going to argue about the matter, even if we didn't like it. The clerk came down a bit on the price, and threw in roadside assistance for free, and we said OK. Dolores was going to put it on her card, until the clerk asked for her driver's license. She had her credit card, but had left her purse, and her wallet with the license, with our luggage and Marty. My card offered the same coverage for extra drivers that hers did, so I charged the car. Now we would have to come back with her license to allow her to drive the car.
Back at the hotel, Dolores went in to get Marty and the luggage, and soon returned. I loaded the luggage while they went back for the rest, and I waited. And waited. And waited. Dolores' suitcase had partially failed, and they had had to repack some stuff. But we got everything in the car, and headed back to Europcar to make Dolores legal.
Then we headed across Dublin to the Harley-Davidson dealer for Marty (remember what I said about not asking?). Marty wanted to give them a DeKalb dealer's cap, and some other trinkets. We were running late – it was 1 p.m. and I had wanted to leave Dublin by 11 a.m. at latest. So Dolores and I reworked our schedule of stops to make it fit the time available. Then I went in to drag Marty out, mid-story, so we could continue our trip.
Marty was surprised to see the car missing, but Dolores had wanted to take her turn, and I said she should practice in the parking lot. She returned, we got in, and off we went. Dolores drove the rest of the day. Marty saw almost nothing of Ireland, despite being in the passenger seat, up front. I couldn't see his hands, but firmly believe he was white-knuckled all the way. He almost never looked out the side window at the countryside – he just stared straight ahead, as if his concentration was all that was keeping us alive.
Dolores had a little trouble with centering the car in the lane, but less than I had had in 2008, and by the end of the day, she was driving very well, including on some narrow, twisty mountain roads. She did not panic at the guy coming into her lane to pass a tractor. She did not panic at the extra large truck that took up all of his lane, and part of hers. She didn't crash into anything, or damage the car. I think she did a damn fine job.
Our first stop was Dalkey village, a small place trading on medieval history and kitsch to make a buck. The “castle” was a stone tower, really a well fortified townhouse. There wasn't much to it, but they made the most of it, with a tour led by costumed guides in medieval roles. It was interesting, in a minor way, but the tour added too much time to the visit. Dolores and I had already cut out a monastery, and now I decided to drop the first hillfort as well.
By now it was after 3 p.m., and I wanted to see Glendalough. It was all that was left of the day's schedule, up in the mountains, and our evening stop was in Wexford, at the southeast corner of Ireland. We had a long way to go, and a lot to see, if we could get there.
The route was highway for a while, then we turned up into the Wicklow Mountains. The roads twist and turn going up and down hill. It's challenging driving, even more so if you're not very familiar with manual transmission, and driving on the wrong side of the car, on the wrong side of the road. As I said, Dolores handled it very well.
Eventually, we got to Glendalough. We went in and got our Irish Heritage passes, which cover lots of the sights we were going to see. We glanced briefly at the displays, and turned down an invitation to watch their DVD program. I wanted to see the place, and get to Wexford before it got too late.
We started down the path, and Marty said he'd just stop there and sit on a bench and wait for us. So Dolores and I saw a very nice early medieval monastery, and a very full non-medieval cemetery, and some nice mountain scenery. And Marty got no more than the scenery. If that, because he wasn't sitting in a place with the best view.
Down the mountain, still twisting and turning. Then we finally got back to the freeway, and started to make good time. Then off the freeway for a GPS shortcut. We finally got into Wexford, and Dolores turned in at a gym. I asked her why, and she said the GPS said we had arrived at the hotel. Well, we could see people exercising inside, so it wasn't a hotel. We went back out to the main road, and saw the hotel's name in front of the building beside the gym. Back up, and try the parking lot. It was full, and Dolores had a job to do to turn around in it. There was another parking lot across the street, so we went in there. It was packed to the gills with cars. It turned out the hotel was hosting meetings of two different organizations that night. We had to park at the far end.
It's a nice hotel, with a friendly staff. They gave us key cards for the hallway entrance, and a regular key for our room – very odd. The room is fine, even larger than the one in Dublin, but the overhead light didn't work. We reported this to the woman at the desk, and it was fixed before we came back from dinner.
Dinner was at the hotel, because we were tired of driving, and there was no other place to eat nearby. But the menu was good, especially if you like fish. I don't but Marty and Dolores enjoyed their baked salmon. I had a burger, with a bit too much pepper or onion in it. Dolores tried the Kopparberg Naked Apple, and it was very nice. We had a very nice cheesecake and an apple tart for dessert, both very good.
Marty's eye is looking a lot better, and he says the pain is gone. He climbed a bunch of steep stairs at the castle today, and may have over-exerted himself. He says he's OK, but you know Marty. Maybe a good night's rest will set him right.
Day 5 Friday, September 19 Tom-Tom makes a mistake.
We got off to a prompter start this morning, though not without some anxiety. Dolores couldn't find her camera or her passport. She thought the camera might be in the car, but couldn't remember seeing her passport since leaving Dublin. Fortunately, it was my turn to drive, and when I opened the driver's door, her passport was lying between the seat and the door. And her camera was indeed in the car, buried under jackets and books.
We started off by going to see Ferns castle, built by William Marshall and now a nice ruin. There's only a tower and a half and parts of two walls left, but it still looks impressive. Diarmait Mac Murchada, the former king of Leinster who invited the Normans in, used to have a castle there. He burned it down to keep the Normans from taking it, but William Marshall liked the location and rebuilt. We were about ready to leave when the guide came by with a party, and asked if we wanted to join, and go up the top of the castle. Marty decided, wisely, to pass on the invitation. Too many steps.
We then went to Enniscorthy, a major center of the 1798 rebellion. There's a castle which has been turned into a museum, and a historical center for the rebellion. We only had time for one, and went with the historical center. They used a mixed bag of media to tell the story of the rebellion, and especially the part Enniscorthy and Wexford played in it. They had quotes from speeches and documents on the walls, but many of them were hard to read, being in color against colored backgrounds that often obscured the text.
But they covered all the other revolutionary trends in Europe and America at the time. And they had some good graphics, and a detailed timeline of the rebellion. They had a short three-screen movie giving some idea of the big battle at Vinegar Hill which was pretty good. It showed British soldiers firing volleys in proper two rank formation, one firing, then the other moving up and firing.
By now the day was getting shorter, so we dropped off a couple of places that would have made our day too long, and just went to the Irish Heritage Center, near Wexford. It's a very nice place, all wooded, with samples of Irish houses and other things from the last 8000 years. You walked along a path from clearing to clearing, working mostly forward in time.
They had a reconstruction of a dolmen that looked like it had always been there. Their stone ring was less interesting, and the Bronze Age tomb was pretty dull. But they had a nice small sample of a ring fort, and a crannog. The early Irish monastery was a mix of styles from the eastern part of Ireland, and the western part, which was a little odd, but the beehive monastic cell was very nice. We closed the place down, being the last car out of the parking lot.
It was 5:30 now, and we set off for Waterford for the night. Tom-Tom gave us directions, and we followed them religiously, because it was never wrong. Until now. We were going along some back roads on what I assumed was a shortcut to the highway. Instead we came up to a “Road Closed” sign. Worse, it would not come up with an alternative that did not include the closed road.
I finally got around the problem by driving toward Wexford, and getting on the road to Waterford. I pulled over and set the Tom-Tom to set a new course, and it worked this time. It was almost 7 before we got to the hotel, but it could have been later.
We didn't like the dinner menu at the hotel, and went into town to find a meal. One of the receptionists gave us some tips on where to find good restaurants. We found one we liked, and went the street to check out another that was highly recommended. It looked good, too, and since we were there, we decided to eat there. It must have been good, it was packed. The waiter told us there was a 45 minute wait for a table.
So we went to the other restaurant. There was no wait, and there was a very charming waitress. Marty had a haddock the size of Moby-Dick, and Dolores and I had beef stroganoff. It was good, but not great. Dolores looked over the dessert menu, and asked me “What's a queen of pudding?” I quickly told her the truth - I didn't know. But I suggested she ask the waitress, since she worked there and ought to know. The waitress said, “I don't know.” But she asked the cook, who told Dolores what it was. Don't ask me, because I didn't catch much of the answer, but Dolores didn't care to try it.
The weather has been dry and warm enough during the day, but apparently it will be rainy for the next few days. And maybe warm tomorrow, too. In anticipation of this, I remembered today that I had forgotten to pack an umbrella. Still, I've got a hat, but not the one I started out with. I had bought a new hat for the trip, a driving cap. I lost it somewhere between O'Hare and Dublin airports. So on Monday, while Marty was having his eye checked by the optometrist, I went across the street to an Irish gift shop and picked up something similar. So I'll be a bit dry.
Marty won't be, because his new jacket is a perfect windbreaker. It has an impermeable outer shell that won't let air through, and a spongy lining that holds all possible moisture. So, if he sweats, the moisture is trapped inside, and he is drenched from within. But his eye is looking better and better, so he has some good news.
Day 6 Saturday, September 20 Dolores drives like Rory - Ooops!
Well, it didn't rain, but it wasn't warm, either, until late in the day when the sun came out. But another day without rain suited our plans perfectly.
We went into Waterford and wandered a little bit. We saw Reginald's tower, supposedly built by some Viking in the early 900s, and the only official building (it's a museum) in Ireland named after a Viking. We didn't go in, but spent some time looking over the reconstruction of a Viking boat that was parked next to it. It was not entirely accurate, but interesting, and certainly good enough for the tourists.
We walked past the Greyfriars abbey, which is just the shell of the church, without access that we could see. But we didn't look too hard, either. Judging by the stage and the beer glasses, it is also a center for partying by young people.
Then came the real reason for the visit – the Waterford crystal factory. They took us in through all the stages of making crystal items. Even on a Saturday, there were people working – if they turn off the kilns they ruin the material in them, and it takes days to get them hot enough again. We watched them blowing the molten material into molds and setting the basic shape. Then the top edge is smoothed off.
The items are marked to help guide the men who cut the crystal, but the marks are not very detailed. The men go through a long apprenticeship that teaches them how to cut, and the marks are just to indicate the placement of cuts, and top and bottom. I saw one man cut along two lines, and then fill in another cut in between those two, even though there was no guide line. That's the way the design was supposed to be, and he learned it as part of his apprenticeship. A very interesting tour.
Then we hit the road for Kells priory, a very nice, and odd, monastery. It is surrounded by a large wall and several towers, added in the 16th century to defend it from attack. The really nice thing about it is the extent of the place. Most old monasteries have the ruins of the church, and maybe a couple of other buildings. This one had the foundations of most of the buildings, maybe all. It was nice to see the size and complexity of a large monastery. The only disadvantage to the place was having to cross a sheep pasture to get in
Next came Jerpoint abbey, not too far away. As was normal, there was little left of the outbuildings. But the church still had three walls in place, and it was impressive. There was some good stone carving still visible, though somewhat worn. And we caught part of the talk by the guide. Unfortunately, he started his tour when we had already seen most of the place, and we didn't want to go through it again.
We had been having trouble making all of our planned stops – every day something had been dropped because we ran out of time. But today we were on our way to our last stop, Callan friary, before going to Kilkenny. Then Dolores clipped a parked car's side mirror with our side mirror. I'm not sure what damage the other car's mirror took, but ours was shattered. It's still in one piece, but fractured.
Immediately after, the left front tire went flat. The mirror bump couldn't have flattened the tire, but something had. Earlier, she had clipped a curb with some force, but that only scraped the wheel cover and put a small cut in the sidewall, There was no puncture, and after the flat it looked the same as before. But there we were, with a flat tire at almost 5 p.m. on a Saturday.
We managed to change the tire, with a little help from a local man. But the spare, while full sized, was just a temporary tire. We tried finding a garage to fix or replace the flat, but they were all closed. And tomorrow is Sunday, with almost no chance of finding a garage open. We'll have to drive carefully tomorrow, and hope for a garage in Cork on Monday. Dolores thinks it's a curse – it's our first Saturday in Ireland, just like last trip when I destroyed a tire on our first Saturday. It's a problem, but not the end of the world.
We got to our B&B for the night well enough, but we missed the Callan friary. The flat happened just as we were approaching it, and we changed the tire in its parking lot. But we didn't have time to visit. But the B&B is nice, with a very friendly landlady. She made us tea and coffee, and served it in the parlor. Another guest, a charter bus driver originally from South Africa, joined us and we chatted for a while.
Eventually we went into the city center for dinner at a place called the Club House Hotel. Marty had a massive steak, and Dolores and I had the lamb duo – slices of leg of lamb, and a lamb chop. Very good. And the desserts were fantastic. Dolores had a strawberry and rhubarb cheesecake, and I had a super-chocolate cake. YUM!
So we're doing fine, even if the car isn't. The clerk at Europcar gave us a deal on the roadside assistance package, so we can use that tomorrow to get help, maybe. And at worst, we can find a garage in Cork on Monday. All I have to do is drive carefully tomorrow, when it's my turn.
Day 7 Sunday, September 21 Slow Sightseeing, Slower Driving. Or, Two Rocks, Lots of Waiting.
We chatted some more with the fellow from South Africa this morning at breakfast, and did not get off to as early a start as we should have. Then there was no place to park near Kilkenny Castle, so we had to drive around a bit to find an empty spot. We finally found one about two blocks from the castle, which wasn't too bad.
The last time we were in Kilkenny Castle, I believe we could take pictures everywhere except the Painting Gallery. Now everything is closed to photography. Last time they told us the gift shop was closed for remodeling. The only thing resembling a gift shop is a rack of books where you buy your tickets. I wanted souvenirs of the celtic artwork in the Painting Gallery, and they had nothing that really showed that. I was disappointed.
But not as disappointed as Marty, who went looking for the toilet. We later found a map that let us trace his route. He had to go down a flight of stairs, along a long corridor, up a flight of stairs, and down another long corridor. Judging by the map, the toilet was just above the bottom of the first flight of stairs, or maybe 30 feet from where he started off from. But there was no direct route.
The castle is still nice, with few changes since the last time we were here. They are still restoring parts, but nothing major had changed. I was again disappointed when we got to the Painting Gallery, as the celtic decorations seemed more faded and worn than they had last time. It would be nice to see them properly restored.
From Kilkenny, we went to the Rock of Dunamase, part of the William Marshall collection. It's a massive ruin perched high on a hilltop. They had a map out front showing the layout, with each successive layer of fortification being higher than the last. Marty didn't think he could handle the climb, but I suggested he try getting up to the barbican gate, so he could get a better view without too much effort.
He actually made it all the way to the top, taking his time, and resting while Dolores and I took pictures. A fair amount of the barbican gate is still there, but at least half of the main gatehouse is gone. Part of the keep is intact, but most of it is present only as a huge pile of debris. So it was hard to discern what was still there, and decide what function anything had. There were a lot of people there, locals as well as tourists, which is nice to see. Many brought their kids, who loved climbing over the rocks.
Anyplace else in the world, I would call the roads we drove on the Grand Prix course, but in Ireland all the roads are twisty and narrow. The tight two lane road turned into a one lane road, though traffic still went in both directions. Throw in some blind corners, and it's a lot of fun, if you live. We took this road for a mile or so to the Rock, and then back again to leave. I had hoped for another road that was shorter and straight, but no.
Because we couldn't drive faster than 50 mph with the temporary tire, we had already eliminated Buttevant abbey from our schedule. It was a bit of a detour, and dropping it save 2 hours in the day. We still thought we could get in two more sights, so we headed off to Cashel, to see the Rock of Cashel. But I had set the travel time estimates on normal speeds, and on the highway we were now traveling much slower than normal. We got to Cashel in time to see it, but we knew we didn't have time to see Cahir castle afterwards.
I dropped Marty and Dolores off at the entrance on top of the hill, and then parked the car. They would not have survived the climb up. I even had trouble with it. There's a lot of restoration work being done at Cashel, and some parts were closed off. But a large part of the nave was still open, and so was Cormac's chapel, which I like best. We got there about an hour before they closed, and it was enough time for us to see everything we wanted.
Then a long, slow drive to Cork, mostly on freeway/tollway, though at 50 mph that just meant fewer twists, and no oncoming traffic. The only really bad thing about the drive was that the sun was in my eyes almost the whole time. I had sunglasses on, and the visor down, but there were times when I couldn't read street signs that I really needed to read.
But we finally got to our hotel, the River Lee Hotel, right on the river. It's big and new, and has free parking in a nearby underground garage. To balance off that, they charge €18 for breakfast. Each. After dinner I walked around looking for a breakfast place, asked some college kids, and was told there weren't any anywhere nearby. So we looked around online, and found a breakfast place not far from the tire repair place.
We learned about the tire repair place from a clerk at the desk, who gave us its name and told us how to find it. He also gave us the name of a restaurant that was good, and inexpensive, and had traditional music. The food was good. Marty and I had Irish stew, and it was very good, though the chef was lazy and didn't cut the ingredients into any smaller pieces than he had to. The food was inexpensive, too. The Irish stew was €12.90, and Dolores fish and chips was a Euro more. The music was not traditional tonight, though. It was some sort of rock quartet, loud but with a good beat.
So tomorrow we go get breakfast and get the tire fixed or replaced, and then we can get back to a normal vacation again.
Day 8 Monday,, September 22 Don't Believe Anything I Say, I've Been To Blarney.
We were ever so diligent today, we went out to the tire place before breakfast. We actually planned to have breakfast first near the tire shop, but we couldn't find the place. So we got the tire taken care of. It was not fixable, and the guy did not have a new tire, but he did have a used tire that seems to work well enough. And it only cost €40.
We drove into the center of Cork for breakfast, because that's where all the restaurants are. Our hotel is not far from a university, but there are no breakfast places anywhere around here. Nor anything but fast food places for other meals. So we went into town, missed a turn, got lost, and pulled over across the street from a pastry shop/restaurant. Breakfast there was good, and cheap. And the waitress was kind enough to point out our location on a map, so we could go on.
Our next stop was not far away – the Elizabeth fort, named after the first Liz, built to intimidate the Irish of Cork. It has had a long and varied life, but is still there, and in use as a police HQ. The fort parts are still open to the public, except now. All the interesting parts are behind a “Keep Out – Work Zone” line. At least we didn't spend half the day getting to it.
We then talked over where to go, and decided to start with the Cobh Heritage Museum. It has exhibits on Irish emigration (both penal transportation and voluntary), the Titanic (whose last stop at land was at Cobh), and the Lusitania (which was torpedoed nearby). I wasn't terribly interested in the Titanic exhibit – it was horrible and tragic, but I've heard the story too often in the last several years. And the Lusitania exhibit, following the Titanic one, was almost just a rehash.
The emigration section was more interesting, but somewhat lopsided. There was a lot about the thousands who were sent to Australia as punishment, but relatively little about those who voluntarily went to America, and less about the thousands who went to Canada. Aside from that, it was a good exhibit.
When we left there, we headed off to Blarney to visit the castle. Marty had been telling us that Eve (his wife, off and on) had forbidden him to kiss the Blarney stone, because he was already full enough of Blarney. I said that if he kissed the Blarney stone, he would re-charge it, supplying enough Blarney to last hundreds of years. As it turned out, Marty had no intention of kissing the Blarney stone. It was 100 steps up, and he wasn't interested in climbing that far. And neither was Dolores. We later told Marty he should have just kissed any stone in the castle. He could then truthfully say that he had been to Blarney and kissed the stone.
That left me to venture up into the castle. It is a daunting task, because most of the way up is by narrow spiral staircases. There are rooms to look at as you go up, which break up the climb, but not by that much. All the rooms are small and it's hard to go from one room on a given level to another room on that same level. The only large rooms were in the middle of the castle. A room they called the Family Room which had a large fireplace, and above it the Banquet Hall which did not (odd, that), and above that the chapel. And all open to the sky.
The further up you climb, the narrower and steeper the spiral stairs get. I've been on a lot of spiral staircases in my time, and I think this was the most difficult I've ever climbed. Had Marty tried to go up, he would have had trouble from the beginning, and would never have been able to manage the last few steps. Fortunately, there are two spiral staircases in the castle, so one is used for going up, and one for down.
I finally made it to the top, and enjoyed the fine view of the countryside, and of the people kissing the stone. There are two attendants present – one to hold you, and one to take your picture (€10 each at the gift shop). I got a few pictures of people risking, not their lives, but their dignity, kissing the stone. And I got a couple more from below, later. (I should not have to mention that I did not join them.)
The trip down led past more tiny rooms tucked into the walls, none of them easily connecting to any other rooms, except maybe on their staircase. Traffic control is good, and you never have to worry about meeting someone going the other way. A map of the castle would make it easier to understand, but it would probably have to be a 3-D map to do the job properly.
Dolores wanted to see Cork Gaol (she had so much fun at Kilmainham), but we were running out of time, so we just went back to the hotel. She and I looked around the internet for a restaurant, and decided to try Clancy's. They had a special on Mondays – two 3-course dinners for €15 each, which was great for 3 courses. Marty and Dolores took that – Marty had steak, and Dolores had chicken curry. I had roast duck, not on the special, but very good, and boneless.
Tomorrow we head off to Killarney. It's a short sight-seeing day, which will give Dolores time to ride a horse, and Marty and I time to do the laundry. Not very glamorous, but necessary.
Day 9 Tuesday, September 23 Murphy's Day – If It Could Go Wrong, It Did.
It was such a simple plan: go to breakfast where we went yesterday, then drive up to Killarney. What could go wrong? Well, we didn't have a name for the restaurant, much less an address, though we knew roughly where it was. Roughly wasn't good enough, of course. We were near the place, but didn't know which way to turn. So, trying a shortcut to where we thought it might be, I drove down a very narrow street.
Narrow streets are common in Europe. Narrow streets with cars parked on them are also common in Europe. Collisions with cars parked on narrow streets are also common in Europe. No one was hurt, and the damage wasn't all that bad, but very obvious. The other car had a long scrape along the passenger side. Our car had a dent in the front left fender, and a long scrape on the passenger side. Fortunately, the owner of the parked car was there and saw his car being scraped. He wasn't happy about it, naturally, but he wasn't jumping up and down mad, either. I think it helped that I admitted it was my fault.
He called the police, Dolores called Europcar to report the accident, and I started filling out Europcar's accident report. I was finished well before the police arrived – it was over an hour before they showed up. The police were quite nice about it, asking what happened, taking down information about us. I didn't get a ticket, which I thought unusual, but I wasn't going to complain.
When we were through, we all shook hands and went our not so merry ways. We found another place for breakfast, or brunch, since it was nearly noon. Then on to Cork airport to see the local Europcar people. We assumed that they would give us a new car, but they said we could keep the one we had if we wanted. Taking a new car would somehow leave the unlimited coverage behind, so we said we'd keep the old car.
The only problem was the broken mirror. We had to get that replaced, and they couldn't get it done today. They found a repair shop in Killarney that could replace the mirror, so that was solved. Then their insurance company said they couldn't let a car with a damaged mirror on the road. So we had to take another car. And put up a deposit of €3000. The number had shifted around in the discussions we had had about it. It started out at €2000, shrank to €1200, and finally emerged at €3000. I suspect there was some chicanery in there, but the alternative was to walk.
[The good news came in two parts. The first part was that the original car was almost out of gas, and the replacement had a full tank. Not having to buy a tankful of gas in Europe is no little thing. The second was that the credit card insurance did cover the costs. Oh, and the continued full coverage took care of another bump later. We could have done worse.]
The first car had been a Saab Toledo, not a bad car. The new one is a Mitsubishi Lancer. Its trunk is not quite as large, and not as conveniently arranged as the Toledo. We can get all of our luggage in, but we have to pack it in carefully, and there is no extra space. The radio has no USB port, so the music I brought on a thumb drive is out. Fortunately, we have all bought CDs of Irish music, so we'll have something to listen to.
We finally got out of Cork and on the way to Killarney. We had planned a couple of sightseeing stops for the afternoon, and we knew that they were out. But Dolores might still get in some horseback riding, while Marty and I did laundry. But no. I had found two places in Killarney that offered self-service laundry, the only two such places in the city, as it turned out. We all went to the first one, and it had three washers and three dryers, and many more customers ahead of us.
So we went to find the other one, but our maps weren't too accurate. I turned on the GPS, just to use its map as a guide to where we were. We finally found the second laundromat, and it was just a dry cleaning shop. We went back to the first one, and the line was no better, and the girl in attendance said she'd be closing the place once the current customers were done. So we're going to try rinsing out our clothes and hoping they dry.
We decided that, as we were already downtown, we should have dinner. We had the names of two good places, but didn't like the menu at one, and the other was not close by. We tried to find the restaurants we ate at last trip, but couldn't remember just where they were. So we walked around a bit, checking out the menus, and found a nice place that offered roast lamb. Dolores and I had that, while Marty settled for a burger. It was a nice meal, but we're still looking for the real outstanding meal. We know it's here somewhere; we just haven't found it yet.
Tomorrow is the Ring of Kerry tour. Someone else will drive, and things should be better.
Day 10 Wednesday, September 24 A Day Without Problems, So Far.
We're staying in a very nice B&B/hotel, the Old Weir Lodge. We had a nice breakfast this morning, and then got ready for the Ring of Kerry tour. The hotel took care of getting us tickets and arranging for us to be picked up and taken downtown. At the end of the tour, the bus dropped us off at our door.
The bus that took us downtown was a medium sized mini-bus, about the same as we took last time. It took some people on the tour, but we were switched to a full size bus. This gave us extra height over the hedges and fences, which made it easier to see things. There were more passengers, so it did take a little longer for the driver to count heads, to make sure he wasn't leaving anyone behind.
The tour was the same as last time – they haven't renovated Kerry in the meantime. Marty and Dolores liked the trip, what they saw of it. They both napped from time to time. Marty wanted to stay on the bus at the first stop, but I pulled him off to see the peat bog village. They've moved the bog pony away from the wolfhounds, so you couldn't any longer compare their sizes. But it seems to have helped the pony – it's in a pasture now, and fat as anything.
Many of the rest stops are for the benefit of gift shop owners, and at one shop I heard Marty talking to the owner about yarn. I couldn't imagine why, since he doesn't use it for anything. I was still looking for the yarn Winifred wanted, but I hadn't seen any yet. I assumed Marty had seen some yarn nearby, but I had already been through the store without seeing any. So I looked again, and found some yarn in a bin on the floor. It was sold by weight, not length, but a big bunch was estimated to be 365 yards. Winifred wanted 400 yards, so I got two bunches. The only choices of color were white and grey, so I got white.
We stopped for lunch at a big restaurant at the Ring of Kerry Hotel, but the prices weren't too bad. Service was slow, but they were serving at least two bus loads of tourists all at once. You didn't get a check for your meal – you went up the lady taking money, told her what table you were at, and she punched it into the computer, and voila, your table's orders, and the price. Quick and efficient.
The afternoon dragged a little bit, as there were fewer stops to see things. But the tour was good, even for a second viewing. And Marty and Dolores did enjoy it, and they did see most of it. It was a nice, sunny day, cool at first but warming a little as the afternoon wore on. A really good day to do outdoor sightseeing.
In the evening, Marty took a nap, and then Dolores took a nap. I let them nap rather than roust them out for dinner, because it was kinder, and it was still early (not necessarily in that order). While they slept, I looked up restaurants in Killarney. Lots of restaurants, and many have Irish food, and many are inexpensive, and many are both, but trying to decide which one was hard. I finally settled on Cronin's, because the prices were good, and we might be early enough for the early prices. We weren't, but the prices were still OK. Marty had pork chops, Dolores had roast lamb, and I had lamb chops. MMMMMM! Good!
We learned how Killarney funds the city government. You have to buy a ticket to put in your car's window to show you paid for parking. Most places post the hours of operation (or non-operation) by the pay machine. There were no hours posted here, so last night I bought enough time to last until morning. Tonight I was about to put some money in the machine when 2 different men told me not to, that parking was free after 6:30. I wonder how many other strangers have fed these ticket machines in ignorance.
Day 11 Thursday, September 25 The Vacation From Hell Continues.
We left Killarney at a good time this morning, with Dolores driving. The new car is a 6 speed, so I made sure she understood where the gears were before we started out. I also reminded her that I was at risk for €3000 – almost $4000 – if we had another accident, so she should stay closer to the center line than the shoulder.
Off we went, and everything was fine. Until Dolores started to get drowsy. She didn't fall asleep, but her eyes drooped just as we came upon a small traffic island. Marty and I both tried to warn her she was too far over to the left, but it was too late. We hit the curb hard, and blew both tires on the passenger side. Nobody was hurt, but the car was now immobile.
I walked down the street a quarter mile to a gas station. I knew they couldn't fix the tires, but thought that they could call someone to haul us to a repair place. It took a couple of calls, but they managed to get someone. Moloney's Recovery Service is connected with Moloney's Tire Service, so that's where we went. They fitted us out with two new tires, and charged us €190 for the tires and the tow.
It was now afternoon, and we were behind schedule again. We decided to skip Desmond Hall in Newcastle West, and go to Desmond Castle in Adare. The first thing we learned in Adare is that the Office of Public Works (which runs the castle) has decided not to do any more tours of the place. So we can't go there. The next thing we learned is that Marty has no interest in seeing the most picturesque town in all of Ireland. We forced him to see it anyway. He did enjoy seeing Costelloe's butcher shop in person.
So we got to Limerick at last. There was time left in the day, so Marty and I went off to see King John's Castle. We took a slightly longer route than we should have, but it really didn't matter. Even the right route wouldn't have gotten us there in time to get in. It closes at 5:30 p.m., but the last admission is at 4, and we got there at 4:20. So I showed Marty the outside, which is the best part anyway. And he got a chance to drop a crystal into the Shannon River (don't ask).
We went back to the hotel, where Dolores had been napping. We looked over the restaurant choices in town, and settled on a place called The George Hotel. It was upstairs in a building with other businesses on the ground floor. Dolores had lamb chops, Marty had cod, and I had veal cutlet with mushrooms. It was all very good.
When we got back to the hotel, we discovered that the hotel's private parking lot was full, and I had to park in a public lot that was actually closed. You get a code from the reception desk at the hotel, and punch it into a keypad at the carpark. I dropped Marty and Dolores off at the hotel and set off to park the car. I actually passed a small “pay and display” lot across from the hotel, but I didn't see the small entrance and didn't want to damage the car by going over the curb.
So I drove around to where the city garage should be, saw something like a parking garage, but there was no sign so I drove on. I soon realized that that was it, and turned around for another try. I went in, followed the drive, and wound up back on the street again. I tried again, paying more attention this time, and noticed the entry and exit were closed by steel gates.
I looked for a keypad on the entry side, and found it. I pulled the emergency brake, got out, punched in the number, and hopped back into the car as the gate rose. I didn't want the gate to close again, so I rushed to pull in, misjudged the angle of approach, and banged the front left fender into the door jamb. This left a melon sized dent in the fender. I shudder to think what that is going to cost me.
Day 12 Friday, September 26 Two Abbeys, No Castles, Good Music.
I was tired this morning. I had slept well enough, but the strain, worry, and frustration over the accidents was getting to me. I had taken Dolores off driving duty after she blew the tires, but I could hardly criticize her when I put a big dent in the car myself. So I put her back to driving. She was rested and I wasn't. And she drove well, again, and on some nasty roads.
Everything on the day's schedule can be seen in one day, without too much trouble, by me. I didn't build into the schedule the extra time for two more people getting washed, dressed, and packed in the morning. Or the delays that creep in because we're talking to each other. So right away, I asked who really wanted to see Bunratty Castle. No one did, so it was dropped.
Dolores had wanted to go for the feast, but we talked her out of it. It costs €70 per person, the food isn't terribly medieval, and the diners are packed in like sardines. The entertainment, judging from their advertising video, is very good. But that's still an expensive evening.
So we went to Ennis Friary, in downtown Ennis. We found a place to park on the street about a block away, and went in. The church is mostly intact, but little remains of the rest of the compound. The cloister arcade is half gone. Still, it looks rather nice. And it didn't take long to visit.
We went to our hotel next, since we were staying in Ennis, and we might as well get checked in early. It was a B&B called Railway View House, and I had found two different locations for it on Google. I couldn't tell which one was right, but they had a Facebook page with a map, and I figured that had to be correct. I put in the GPS code for that location, but printed off a Google map showing both places. And a good thing that was, because the main choice was totally wrong.
We drove to the other location, and saw the sign, but not in time to pull in. Coming back, we managed to get in. The drive is not very wide, and only a short wall separates it from another drive. The sign sits on top of the wall, and could refer to either drive. We set a “Favorite” location on the GPS, so we could get back without so much trouble. That didn't work either. The B&B is so far down an unmapped drive, that the Tom-Tom kept leading us to another street just behind our place.
On to Quin Abbey, where we got two views. We stopped first at a place that said “view of the abbey”, which was true, but there was no path to it. So we went around the corner, and found the entrance. It's another ruin, with most of the out-buildings missing. But the church is in much better shape, and it still has the complete cloister arcade. The abbey was built upon the site of a Norman castle which the local Irish had burned down earlier. I asked the caretaker if any of the castle had made it into the structure of the abbey, but he said it was all freshly built.
Our next stop was Knappogue Castle, restored enough that they hold medieval banquets here, too, just like Bunratty. We went up the long drive and parked in front. There was a mechanical crane in front, and a man on the battlements working on something. But we saw an open door, and went in. The firt thing we saw was the banquet hall, and it would be very crowded at feast.
We looked at a few things, and I went down a corridor and looked out. I saw a sign for the ticket office. Obviously, we had come in the wrong way. We went out and tried the door that had to lead to the ticket office, but it was locked. The main parking lot had only one car in it. The place appeared to be closed. And it was. We found out later it was only open through August. I thought I had seen something saying it was open in September, but I was wrong or misunderstood it.
Our last stop for the day was Craggaunowen Castle & Crannog, conveniently near the other two. We pulled into the entrance area, and found it was closed, too. Same problem, So we went back to our hotel.
Tonight we had planned on going to Doolin for dinner. Doolin is the capital of traditional Irish music, with bands playing every night in three different pubs. I went online to check out their menus. We had been told McGann's was the best, and their prices were certainly good. I checked the reviews on TripAdvisor, and people said the music started at 9 p.m., or sometime later, but that the place filled up quickly. So we left early enough to get in before 7 p.m.
The road is largely a main road, of varying width, but well paved and with cats eyes (very helpful coming home in the dark). But there were a couple of stretches of narrow, twisty roads to make things interesting. Since Dolores had had some nasty roads during the day, I offered to drive at night. It wasn't too bad a drive, actually. We wound up parking in another pub's lot, as it was the only place around to park.
The food was good. Marty had beef stew, Dolores had roast leg of lamb, and I had duck. All great. We finished our meal about a quarter to eight, so we had time to kill. So we ordered dessert. I thought they had forgotten about our dessert order, but it finally arrived, more than half an hour after we ordered it. The service wasn't bad, but the place was crowded, and not just with music lovers. A table near us of 9 young women got up and left long before the music was to start.
After dessert, we ordered some more drinks, just to justify our keeping a table. We also got some table mates. An English couple were looking in vain for a place to sit and eat, and all the tables were full. We were in a large booth, and there was space for them, so we let them join us. They were very nice company, and had been staying in Doolin for a week just for the music. They said that O'Connor's pub was better for the music, because they always started around 4 in the afternoon. But all the musicians played all the pubs, so you would hear good music everywhere.
And the music was good. They cleared the patrons out of one corner, and the musicians set up there. They played to a rapt audience for about a half hour. Then the audience became less rapt in the music and more in its own talking. The music wasn't any worse, but people seemed to lose interest in it, and turned to talking. It got so we could hardly hear the music, so we left.
The drive home was interesting in the dark, but there wasn't much traffic, so it wasn't too bad. A good day, even if we didn't see everything we wanted.
Day 13 Saturday, September 27 Connemara Is Wild, And So Is The Driving.
We were out reasonably early this morning, by our standards. Our first stop was Caherconnell ring fort. It's not terribly large, but mostly intact. The ground has built up around the fort, so the walls don't look too impressive. But a fire pit they discovered shows the original ground level about three feet lower. The walls are about 4 or 5 feet thick, all dry stone work, which is pretty impressive. There are a few traces of internal buildings, but not much. It's privately owned, and the family is raking it in, not from the fort, but from the gift shop and cafe.
We then drove a very short way up the road to a dolmen. Dolores and I thought Marty would like to see dolmens, but he doesn't really. There was one he wanted to see, but I can't find it anywhere. None of the others interest him. Granted, it is just a large rock balanced atop a couple of other large rocks, but it is of some archaeological significance. He did come most of the way up to it, and the last bit was over uneven rocky ground.
Our next scheduled stop was a cave which Dolores had suggested. But we all decided it could be dropped. Then came a long drive to Aughnanure Castle, northwest of Galway. Dolores had been driving, and very nicely allowed me to finish off with the nasty roads there, and beyond.
Aughnanure is a nice square tower castle (google says there are over 200 of them in County Galway). The castle is in fairly good condition, though the walls and outbuildings have largely disappeared. One wall is labeled the Banqueting Hall. It was built outside the tower, above the local river which, after acting as a moat for 3 sides of the castle, slipped underground. The rest of the hall collapsed when the limestone ceiling of the underground part of the river broke.
There are a couple of surviving watchtowers, both rather short. The main tower has arrow slits everywhere, even inside. The basic floor plan seems to be to have a big room and a small room behind it on each floor. It had lots of defensive features, but I'm not sure how comfortable it would have been.
Then we set out on the trek to Letterfrack, the nearest town to Kylemore Abbey. Google shows two routes, and Tom-Tom chose the more rural one. Lots of twists and turns, and uneven road surfaces, it was a bit of a challenge. Some of these stretches are posted at 100 kmh, or about 62 mph. I had trouble doing 80 kmh, or even 60 in some places. How the locals do it is beyond me. And they do actually do it, because I was the slowest one on the road.
But the scenery is worth it. The hills are taller, and more rugged looking. The green grass of other parts of Ireland is replaced by some other vegetation. It's actually surprising to see houses tucked away under some mountain. The sheep roam freely, including onto the road. It's wild country, and very beautiful.
But we got here safe and sound, and even had time to play some cards after dinner. One restaurant in town was closed today (Saturday), another was full of rowdy young people, another was open, but not serving dinner today. The place we're staying in has a pub attached, and the food was generally good. Marty ordered a bucket of mussels, and for once his appetite failed him – he couldn't finish it. Dolores had duck, and says it was very good. I ordered chicken kiev, and it was OK, but the flavor was off for some reason. But some really nice desserts topped everything off nicely.
Tomorrow we visit Kylemore Abbey, and then drive a long way to Athlone. I had wanted to take a different route back east, but after looking at the map, and the lack of major roads, I think we'll go back through Galway. It's ground we've already covered, but it's shorter and, hopefully, safer. Besides, Marty was napping a good part of the way, and hasn't actually seen it yet.
Day 14 Sunday, September 28 We Meet The Nicest, Friendliest Man In Ireland.
Winifred was shocked when I told her we were staying in a hostel near Kylemore Abbey. She thought I had gone completely peasant, or something. The staff were friendly and helpful, it had wi-fi, the beds were comfortable and not too small. There were towels, but there was no soap. Fortunately, Marty had brought some. And breakfast was self-serve – cold cereal or porridge (if you can figure out the stove), toast, and fruit. Yeah, it wasn't very good, but the price was cheap, and where else were we going to stay on the west coast of Ireland.
So, after a skimpy breakfast, we headed off to Kylemore Abbey. It sits at the foot of an impressive and large hill. The view from the front is fantastic, with a lake and more hills and glens. It was originally a 19th century “castle”, then bought by some Belgian nuns to replace the abbey they lost at Ypres in the First World War, which is why it is now called “Abbey”. They ran a school there until quite recently, and still live there. It is all open to the public, “all” meaning 5 rooms. It was a rich man's home, but it's not ostentatious. It was nice to see, but I'm not sure it was worth the long drive out and back.
Speaking of driving back, Tom-Tom wanted to take us back to Galway by the same back roads we had taken west. I fooled the GPS by going to the town of Clifden, the next town over, and then looking for my route to Athlone. It worked, and we were off east on a better, but not much wider, road. But the traffic was light, and the day was fine, with only a slight spatter of occasional rain.
Dolores and I had seen Athlone castle on our last trip, but only the outside. It had been at night, and the castle was obviously closed. We couldn't stay to see it in the morning, so I wanted to see it now. It looks great from any point outside, and there's the original stone tower from the motte and bailey castle. But everything inside is a presentation on the history of the castle (a little bit) and the 17th century wars it was involved in. There is no trace of what the castle looked like inside, and even the older stone tower has an exhibit masking its interior. Rather disappointing.
The other problem of exhibits, is that they take longer to look at than bare stone walls. We spent enough time there we had to skip Tullamore, which Marty had wanted to see. I had already explained to him that Tullamore Dew hadn't been distilled there for sixty years, and all they had was a museum. But he still wanted to see it. But with the day running out, and having to choose that or another place he wanted to see, he voted for Roscommon Castle.
Dolores and I had been here before, too, and seen it all then. But it was nice to go back for another look, and Marty hadn't seen it yet. He enjoyed it, checking out all the ruined bits, and trying to figure out what various parts were. It was good to go back, also, because I learned something new about the castle, I had thought the way in was the main gate of the castle. But looking on the map, it was the postern gate – the main gate was across the courtyard from it. I couldn't believe I had missed a main gate, and went back in for another look. Yep – you can see where they blocked up the opening, except for a small grill. But almost all the internal structure is gone, and the outside isn't accessible. Knowing what to look for, I did manage to get a long-distance high-zoom picture of the front of the gate.
Then we went to our hotel, Hannon's Hotel Roscommon. We checked in and went up to our room, and Dolores and I started looking on the internet for restaurants in Roscommon. The best deals seemed to be right there at Hannon's. Then Dolores got an email from them with a pdf file of things to do and see in and around Roscommon. This is a very nice list, with full descriptions, of nearby tourist sites – all tourist hotels should do this.
We went down to dinner, and a guy walks up and introduces himself – his wife is the manager of the hotel, and he helps run it. He welcomes us all and listens politely to our chit-chat. He comes back later to make sure everything is fine. We had told him that this was Marty's first trip to Ireland, and later on, while we were playing cards in the lobby, he comes up again, and gives Marty a wallet. It's got the Roscommon arms stamped on it, and is the last of a batch of promotional wallets they had.
He may be just cleaning out the junk drawer, but Marty is flabbergasted at the generosity. In between all this, he's running around doing hotel things, shifting luggage and boxes and stuff. He stops by one more time as we were about to go upstairs, and introduces his wife, the manager, saying she'll take care of us tomorrow, as he's off to Dublin right now. He's obviously very busy and he still finds time to be friendly to a bunch of first-time customers. If he isn't the nicest man in Ireland, I don't who is. So, if you are ever in the Roscommon area, stay at Hannon's Hotel.
This is Marty week. Every day has at least one sight personally selected by him, ending with Newgrange. So he should have some really good, and fresh, memories to bring back home. He is enjoying himself immensely, and that makes all the bad news bearable. It feels good to see him so happy about being here.
Day 15 Monday, September 29 Lots Of Hard Driving With Little To Show For It.
We left Roscommon for Ballaghadereen, the ancestral seat of the Costello clan. I put it on the tour so Marty could see the part of Ireland his family came from. Marty assumed his family came from exactly here, and the local library could help him find his relatives, or something. Fortunately, the library is closed on Monday. The town is nice enough, and not small, but not especially picturesque. On the way out of town, we stopped so Marty could scoop up some dirt to send to his brother (don't ask).
Then we went to Boyle to see the abbey. Dolores and I were here 6 years ago, and part of the building was covered in scaffolding for restoration work. We wanted to see how it had come out. Last time we came in October, and got to see everything that wasn't in the work zone. Now, in late September, it's already closed for the year. It's a shame, because the restored section looks very nice, and it would have been great to walk around in it. Still, we got a partial look at it.
Marty had wanted to see a group of caves in a cliff somewhere between Boyle and Sligo. I found them on the map, and added them to the trip. It wasn't too hard to find them, but there was no way we could get up to them, They are near the top of a fairly tall hill, with a very steep slope leading up to them. So we looked at them from the flat ground.
Then we set off for Carrowkeel Megalithic Cemetery, very near according to Google maps. It may be near as the crow flies, but if the crow is driving, he has to follow a convoluted path on a narrow, rough road. We finally got to a spot with a sign that said “No Cars Beyond This Point”. We could see the road, now unpaved, wind down the valley, and then up the neighboring hill, and around it. We didn't want to walk it, so we turned around and saw the other sign. This one said the road could be used by cars, but not buses. We didn't care. Another kilometer or two of bad roads did not seem so enticing.
We got back to a real road eventually, and headed for Sligo. For the first time on this trip, we were actually ahead of schedule. It felt weird. We went to our hotel, checked in and got our car parked off the street. Dolores and I went off to see Sligo Abbey, while Marty napped. We had seen it on our first trip, but it had been raining that day. Today was dry, but we missed the guide who took us around last time.
We saw a sign in the hotel lobby for a dinner special that looked pretty good – main course and a drink for €14, pretty cheap. And roast pork was one of the options. So we went to dinner here at the hotel. Then the waiter came back to say that they were out of pork. This seemed odd, since the special was advertised in the hotel lobby, and they must have planned for it. Odder still, as we were the first customers tonight, so they couldn't have sold out. So Dolores and I had roast beef again, while Marty had scampi.
It was good, but not special. We have had good food almost everywhere, but Dolores and I remember getting especially good food, great meals, often on the last trip. And we haven't had any really memorable meals yet. We've seen dishes on the menus which could have been spectacular, but they always fell a little short. Maybe we're just being too fussy.
After dinner, we taught Marty how to play canasta. He learned large parts of the game, but some of the most basic points eluded him throughout the night. Still, it was fun, though he may not want to keep playing it. Last night we gave up on rummy to try three-handed blackout.
Day 16 Tuesday, September 30 Foiled Again At Donegal.
We left Sligo a bit earlier than we usually start out, which was good because we had a lot of traveling to do. Our first stop was at Donegal Castle, which Dolores and I had seen last time. I especially wanted to see it again to take a picture. There's a beautiful fireplace in the castle, and on the last trip I took a picture of it. But I didn't check the picture quality until much later, and it was badly blurred. So I wanted to get a good picture of it this time. We pulled up to the castle, and the first thing I saw was the sign with the hours: Closed Tuesday and Wednesday.
It had been under restoration work last time, and that is now finished. It looks very fine, and we got some pictures of the whole restored outside. But it was the inside that I had wanted to see. Oh, well.
On we went to Dunluce Castle, another place Dolores and I had seen in 2008. Marty loves my poster of the castle, so he wanted to see it, too. Tom-Tom took us there on a creative path, dodging around Derry somehow, and staying somewhat close to the coast.
We we only going to be in Northern Ireland for one day and night, so we had estimated how much we needed in pounds to get by. We stopped at a gas station with an ATM to get some money in pounds, and waited and waited for it to dispense the cash. The ATM finally spit out my card and a note saying it was out of order. We never found another ATM.
But it was OK, because the British government office running Dunluce accepted the Irish government's heritage pass. Dunluce hasn't changed since the last time we were here, except for the brochures and signs. They have some very nice illustrated signs depicting the castle's appearance at various times. And they've changed some of the information. They had said that the kitchen at the back of the castle fell into the sea during a storm while a banquet was going on in the 17th century. Now they say that there are paintings of the castle from the early 19th century showing that part of the castle, so it must have fallen off in the later 19th century. The other story was so much more romantic.
Then we went along the coast to the Giant's Causeway, which you can visit for free, as long as you don't use any of the site's facilities. But that includes parking. And it's a long walk from anywhere else you can park. And you have to show your ticket to leave the carpark.
Fortunately for us, the site takes plastic. Even better, the bus down to the causeway takes euros and pounds. So we saved ourselves a long walk there and back, either part of which would have killed Marty. It's not all that far, but part of it is moderately steep, and Marty already had a good workout at Dunluce.
I was surprised by the causeway. I had always imagined it as this great mass of basalt columns stretching into the distance, each column dozens of feet, if not yards, across, all of it towering over everything around. The reality is that the columns are about 18 inches across, and they only cover a smallish area. The ones we saw were only some 10 to 15 feet high, at most, and most were smaller. But there's another section around the point from the bus stop, which we didn't see, and some of them may have been taller. So I was a little disappointed because all the pictures I had seen had no scale to them, so everything seemed huge, but they really are great.
Dolores walked part way out to the sea on a bunch of loose bits, using Marty's 2 walking sticks, then thought better of it and turned to the solid columns. They are like a paved walkway, with the paving stones of uneven heights. This makes walking on them fairly easy, and also climbing on them, like stairs. So Dolores climbed out onto a moderately tall cluster thrust out into the sea. Marty and I took pictures.
After Dolores safely returned, we set off for our hotel, a B&B in Portstewart, on the coast. It's a nice little place, but the front door puzzled us when we went out for dinner. The landlady is out, and had a friend check us in. She told Dolores something about how to lock the front door of the place, but it didn't make sense to her. I tried fiddling with it, and couldn't get it locked. I finally tried lifting the door handle while turning the key - that worked.
We had dinner at a nearby restaurant. Marty had lasagna, Dolores had steak, and I had a pork chop. Marty loved his food, as usual. Dolores thought her steak was a bit chewy, and my pork chop was thoroughly cooked, but not overdone. Which means it was dry, not moist. It was good, but a little more juice in it would have been nice.
We came back to the hotel and Dolores and I worked out the best route to take tomorrow to get to Loughcrew Cairns. We checked Tom-Tom, and it wants to take us by way of Belfast. But Google has a route just as fast going straight south, and on fairly major roads. The last part is going to be back roads either way, so that's not an issue. I don't really want to go near Belfast – the possibility of bad traffic is too great.
Day 17 Wednesday, October 1 Marty Climbs Mountains, Dolores Climbs Rocks, Again.
We figured out how to fool Tom-Tom into taking us our way to Loughcrew Cairns – just ask it to take us somewhere closer on OUR route. It worked and we were on our way. It was a three and a quarter hour drive, either way, ooops, make that three and three quarters. We made a pit stop at a gas station and Dolores accidentally backed into a car that was being refueled. There was a light scratch, which actually buffed out very easily, and an almost invisible bending to the edge of the wheel well.
But the car was a BMW, so the police were called. It was one of the cops who buffed the scratch off the car. They made sure that everyone exchanged insurance information, and sent us on our way. The whole thing took maybe half an hour. The rental car took no damage, only a buffed out scratch, thanks to the same policeman.
We finally got to Loughcrew Cairns a bit after 2 p.m. We went into the ticket office and were told that the tomb we could go into was about a mile and a half up the road. The good news was we could drive, and the better news was that the key was available. So we left a €50 deposit for the key, drove up the road, and parked the car.
The tomb wasn't at the carpark, of course. Megalithic tombs are generally found on top of hills, and this was no exception. We climbed a longish flight of stairs, then started following the grass path. There are enough visitors to keep the path beaten down pretty well, though last week's equinox festival must have helped trample the grass quite a bit.
I looked up from the top of the stairs and saw the tomb way up above us, but I didn't say anything. I didn't want to discourage Marty or Dolores from making the climb The path is long and often steep. There are two benches along the way to rest on, but they are fenced in to protect them from the sheep, and it's not easy to open the fence. But with enough rest stops, Marty made it all the way up to the top. I was quite proud of him for toughing it out.
Along the way we had been passed by several other tourists going up. So when we got to the top, they were waiting for me to open the tomb. There's a mucking great padlock hidden behind the gate, and a hidden handle to pull the latch open. It took a little poking around to figure out how to open the gate, but I wound up quite proficient at it.
There are three small rooms with low ceilings, and difficult connections. Between the first and second rooms one must duck down very low, and stay down just a bit longer than you think necessary. Between the second and third rooms, one must climb over a two foot high barrier. The third room has three smaller openings where the burials were. The center one has a marvelous carved stone standing in the back, which the morning sun hits at the equinox.
The people waiting for us let us go in first, as thanks for letting them in. After they left, I went in again to get some pictures – I had been holding the lock and key and my hat (which fell off) and I couldn't manage a camera at the same time. Then I locked it all up. Dolores had meanwhile decided to climb to the top of the cairn. She used Marty's two walking sticks again, and made it up just fine. She started down in the wrong direction, but I positioned myself at the easy access spot, and she made it down safely.
And then another visitor showed up. He was a freelance photographer, come to take pictures from the top of the hill, and not loath to see the inside. So I opened it up again for him. When he had taken all the pictures he wanted, we chatted a bit about the places we had been or were going to. Finally we had to leave. But another couple came by and wanted to go in. I sent Dolores and Marty down the hill, and let the newcomers, a young woman and her mother, into the tomb. After they came out, I locked it up once and for all, and hurried down the hill before anyone else could show up.
We got back to the ticket office just as the attendant was getting ready to leave, and retrieved our deposit. By this time it was too late to get to Trim Castle, so we just scratched that one. Dolores and I had seen it last time, and Marty was too worn out from climbing up and down the hill to even think about climbing stairs in a castle.
Instead, we headed for the last stop on the day's schedule – Tara. Marty somehow found the energy and strength to walk out to the remains. There were some other people, a man and two women, just ahead of us. When they got to the Stone of Destiny, a five foot tall pillar, they each put a hand on its top and walked around it clockwise three times. Marty, of course, did the same (don't ask). The only surprising thing is that Marty did not talk to the other people, nor they to him, despite their shared interest in parading around stone pillars.
We didn't really see much of Tara, because Marty wanted to leave after his little stone dance. Tara is a bunch of earth rings and ditches, with scattered mounds. It looks sort of interesting, but we'd have had to have more time to properly examine it. And a decent map, telling us what each bit was.
Our B&B is in Navan, not far from Tara and Newgrange. Dolores' guidebooks did not say much about Navan, so she thought it was a small place with no chance for supper. It's actually a fair sized town, and our host gave us a good tip for dinner. The Central Bar, on Main Street, has five separate bars, though we didn't audit the count.
The Early Bird Special was available until 10 p.m. during the week, so we all got beef short ribs. The ribs were wide, and the meat was at least an inch high on the bone. And it was tender; and it was tasty. Marty was too full for dessert, but Dolores and I had blueberry cheesecake, with nice berries in the cake. Excellent!
Back at the hotel, I cracked the whip and we cleared all the souvenirs and guides from the back of the car, and repacked everything into just our suitcases and one bag. This way, when we get to Dublin tomorrow, we won't have to schlep a ton of odds and ends into the hotel with us.
Tomorrow is Newgrange, and Marty can hardly wait.
Day 18 Thursday, October 2 The Trip Is Over. Marty Is Happy. Mission Accomplished.
We wanted to leave Navan early enough to beat the tour buses to Newgrange. I don't know if we did beat them there, but the crowds were not overwhelming. In fact, we arrived at about 10:12, and got tickets to the 10:15 bus to Knowth. This was actually a minor problem, as the buses left from a spot some distance from the ticket booth, and Marty is a bit slow, especially after yesterday's exertion.
But we made the bus and went to Knowth, a big passage tomb site near Newgrange. It has one huge mound and some 18 other, smaller mounds. And it has the biggest collection of megalithic carvings in all of Europe. The big mound has two passage graves, each longer than the one at Newgrange, but you can't go in because the rocks aren't stable enough for safety.
Almost everything you see there is restored – the mounds are mostly dirt, and the dirt shifted and slid off over the millenia. The big curb stones around the main mound are original, but some other stones had to be replaced by modern stones. The grave chambers have large shallow bowls to hold the cremated remains, and the bowls are too big to fit through the passages. Which means they were put in place before the rest of the mound was built.
Both Knowth and Newgrange have a large number of white quartz stones around their main entrances, but two different archaeologists worked on the two sites, so the restorations are different. At Knowth, the man in charge said the stones were a sort of paving in front of the entrance. At Newgrange, the expert said they were part of a decorative facade to the wall. As the guide at Newgrange put it, no one knows, it's all just a guess.
After Knowth, the bus brought us back to the visitor center, where we had a half hour wait for the bus to Newgrange. In time, our bus was ready, then full, then on its way to Newgrange. As he let us off, the driver told us there'd be another bus to take us back in an hour, maybe. He sounded as if this had already been a bad day for the bus drivers.
As usual, they split us up into two groups to see the interior of Newgrange, and we were in the second group. Dolores passed the time by walking around the mound. Marty dropped a bombshell when he said he didn't want to go in. It is not true that I threatened him. I did point out that he wanted to see Newgrange above all other things in Ireland. I mentioned that I brought him to Ireland so he could see Newgrange. I told him pointblank that he was going to see the inside, to make me happy, if for no other reason. But I did not threaten him. He did go inside. And he loved it.
After returning to the visitor center, we had lunch and discussed our plans for the rest of the day. The two castles on the schedule were quickly dropped. Marty and Dolores both wanted to go back to Dublinia, the viking exhibit, to visit the gift shop. The gift shop is at the top of the museum, and you exit there. The building used to be the cathedral chapter house, and had a bridge connecting it to the cathedral. This bridge is now the exit, taking you down and out at the cathedral.
There's no way to get to the gift shop without paying and going through the entire exhibit. Unless you go up the bridge from the cathedral to the old chapter house. The door is locked from that side, but you can wait for someone to leave and keep the door from closing. So they did that, and it worked. Even better for them, they each found whatever gifts they were looking for.
It was now time to get our hotel room and return the car. Crossing the last mile or two of Dublin suddenly became almost impossible. Traffic was slow and congested. We finally got to within a block of our hotel, and had to take a detour – the route we wanted was now only open to buses. So we went around a long way, through frozen traffic, and finally got to the hotel. We dropped off Marty and the luggage, and headed to the car rental place.
Even worse luck. An ambulance went tearing down the street we needed. We soon saw him about a block down the way, blocking one lane. It took a long while, but we finally made it past him, Dublin is odd to drive around in, because of a lot of one-way streets, and the river. You wind up crossing the river a couple of times to get anywhere.
Fortunately, the car rental office was still open. We had called from the car to make sure, and were relieved to find it stayed open until 6 p.m. We had to explain why we were returning a different car than they had sent us off with, but there was no real problem, even over the dent. I'll find out later what that'll cost.
Dolores and I walked back to the hotel, and I went up to check us in. But Marty had already taken care of that. Somehow he talked the reception girl to give him the keys to the room. Gift of the gab, indeed. I went out to get some coins for the bus (they don't take currency), and find the bus stop. Once that was done, all we had to do was go the dinner, sleep and get up in the morning.
Dinner was at the Norseman again. Marty had the steak and stout pie again. Dolores and I had the beef and Guinness stew. It was very good, with a nice rich gravy. Dolores found a way to like Guinness at last.
It's been a generally good vacation, but with some very bumpy spots. Still, the whole point of the trip was to get Marty to Ireland, and show him as much as possible. And we did that. He is thoroughly happy with everything, and I am happy that I could make him happy.