Airbags, Smithwicks & A Dolphin Named Dingle

Allo readers. What's the craic? It's me again, and this time I'm on time!

I would like to make a point. After spending a week driving along the south coast of the beautiful country of Ireland, I am quite convinced that I have discovered a conspiracy behind the “droughts” we were forced to endure when growing up in Gunnedah…. Ireland has been secretly stealing all the rain from the rest of the planet. Thieving bastards! It has done nothing but lash down for a whole week, with nary a crack o’ te sun in the days. But, avid readers, that didn’t stop it from being a righteous adventure.

We decided to leave around midday on Monday 31st of August and make for Waterford. Wherever the hell that was. Armed with a Peugeot 307 lent to us by Mr and Mrs Tindal (secretly punk rockers under all that posh accent and hedge-trimming) and a book o’ maps, we set out in amongst the drizzle and drove for a few hours down the east coast. We stopped for a tad of pub lunch and the obligatory Guinness, and also checked out our first ruins - Enniscorthy Castle and Tintern Abbey… I have to tell you… it was epic, even in the pouring rain. We also managed to slip over to the neighbouring Friering Pan, Dunbrody Abbey. Apparently there was a lot of “tension” between the two, as this was the “competing” abbey in the region. Competing in what? Did they have monk-offs?

We arrived in a town called Tramore that night - a seaside place that might be a rocking joint in the middle of summer, but to be honest you could have heard a flea fart in the Main Strip when we got there that afternoon. It was cold and blustery, and the only thing going was the roller coaster (!) in the fun park on the esplanade. It’s like a small, creepy, shut down version of… well I have no idea. Anyway, we had ourselves a dodgy burger from the local food joint, and got an early night at a B&B up the road called The Beach House for a paltry €60, as it was the only place around and the hostel was full. Take that, budget.

The First o’ September saw us put another couple hundred kays on the odometer. This can be a painful exercise if you ever have to listen to Irish radio, and suggest that if you ever want to drive around this much, you better get some CD's. It's not as bad as Polish radio that loops five songs over and over ad nauseum, but it has it's moments. The most amusing though is a) the channel that only plays those Irish jiggy things with lots o' fiddles and boot-stompin', and b) the religious station that plays evangelical crap on Sunday mornings followed by horseracing in the afternoon. Ha!

Anyway, we visited Dunhill Castle near Annestown, which was pretty much a big green wall, and a place called Ardmore which is believed to be the oldest Christian settlement in Ireland. At the top of the town, which is originally a fishing village, is the Sailor’s Graveyard. This houses St. Declan’s Church and a 30m high round tower (12th and 13th centuries respectively) along with an 8th century tiny church. Amazing stuff. We also found a beautiful castle called Barryscourt, near the town of Carrigtwohill (If you think that’s confusing to read, try typing it). A lovely Irish lady gave us and a few other Seppos a tour for free, which helped us learn a load about medieval life in a tower house, and why everything is the way it is. Just fascinating… especially how people pooped in medieval times.

I’d like to make a point of some of the interesting town names we came across in our tour. Killbrittain - I’m sure they don’t mean that. Dunmanus - Did you? Good on you! We found Ballymadog, but not Ballymacat. Kilcock and Kilcummin, probably named by a feminist. Castlemaine, where there was no XXXX. Cape Clear was pissing rain and ye could’ne see a thing, Castle Matrix - the matrix really IS everywhere! And the best of the best - Gaggin and Muff. Choke!

It was on the last legs of the drive to Kinsale, further along the coast, where we stopped in a servo to get some water. Something went horribly wrong here. After running into one way door on the wrong way in, we couldn’t find any Doritos Chilli chips (Aleks is addicted), we forgot what we were doing and left the attendant waiting for us for nearly a minute to pay. We finally got back in the car until I got back out of the car screaming and being chased by a mad bumblebee-type-wasp-thing. I got back in with Aleks in fits of laughter, put the car in reverse to go forward, and finally left. It didn’t stop there. In Kinsale we got so lost in the space of two or three blocks that we couldn’t find our way out and had to ask for directions. Luckily an old guy let us follow him to Dempsey’s Hostel where we missed the turn twice, and finally stalled the car parking in a carpark resembling a cliff face. We called it a night early for fear of getting killed by a meteorite.

The next day we got soundly lost again on our way out of Kinsale. That place is almost as bad as the Entrance. It doesn’t matter where you go, you drive for five km only to end up back in town again. I was frantic and was on the point of letting Aleks drive so I could go into the foetal position in the back seat. We eventually left, somehow, and drove to a place called Ballinspittle (!) and visited the beautiful Timoleague Abbey. This was another 13th/14th century Cistercian abbey that is now in ruins, but is fully accessible. The interior is now used as a graveyard by the locals and a toilet by the local pigeons, and is a beautiful shade of green due to the moss growing.

We had cheapo backpacker sandwich for lunch in lovely Glengarriffe before heading down around the Ring of Beara, a beautiful outcrop of land that looked a deceptively short drive on the map, but like most places in the south of Ireland. The map is a filthy liar - it took two hours for 20km. Every road is tighter than a Scotsman’s fist, and sometimes first gear for 10 minutes at a time. But oh the scenery. It was like The Sound Of Music, but if we had stepped out of the car at any stage, we would most likely have drowned. The landscape can be savage and is sometimes downright frightening in terms of it’s shape… Black volcanic cliffs, thrashing seas, blind 45 degree hairpin turns whilst dodging cars - not stuff you’d expect to see in a place like Ireland. Nevertheless, the rolling greenery came back and went away intermittently, and the Ring of Beara was a perfect entrée to the main course of the Ring of Kerry.

That night we finished up in Kenmare at a place called the Wander Inn, which was a walk-in effort of €50 for the night, and we treated ourselves to two of the crappiest burgers we have ever eaten from a local joint, washed down with a pint of the local brew, Kenmare Ale. Luckily the room was really nice and we felt a little bit more than dirty stinking skiving cheap-arse backpackers for a night.

Finally we arrived at the place that I have been dreaming about visiting since I was 15. The Ring… Of KERRY! (Clarkson would have said it like that). The first place we visited was a ring-fort called Staigue Fort, three miles NNE of the Sneem-Parknasilla Road apparently. It is a classic ring-type fort built in pre- Christian Ireland, somewhere around 4th-5th century AD. The place is built completely of different sized flat stones, without any mortar. The fact that it is still standing and 80% of original size with minimal reconstruction is a testament to the fact that they really don’t build em like they used to. There was an Aussie family there representing their country beautifully by talking loudly in a bogan accent and kicking rocks off the structure as they clooooimbed all over it love!

On our way to Portmagee, where we were going to stop for the night, I managed to somehow push some American dude off the road into a pothole that looked rather small, but turned out to be something of a lake, and boy did he hit it hard. I’d hate to foot the repair bill. The whole car (An Opel Insignia the size of a Commodore) bounced and spun in the mud, and water flew everywhere. I laughed, Aleks put her face in her hands. It was a huge hit, but I’d seen him earlier with a really big camera and a loud, silly wife, so I didn’t feel so bad about it. He should have just waited, I would have stopped stalking him eventually.

That night we stayed at the Portmagee Hostel in the town of (you guessed it!) Portmagee, on the end of the Ring Of Kerry. The Hostel itself was really great, and it’s host fishing village has amazing views to Valentia Island across the bay, incredibly crap pub food, and no ATM’s. But other than that it’s a nice village. It was also still raining horizontally, so we shacked up for the night in the sitting room downstairs to write and read. I also attempted to make Aleks watch Drop Dead Fred, but it turned out to be way worse than I thought it used to be, and we gave it up for an early night in our TWIN BEDS… I got a damn good sleep with the problem of Aleks’ nocturnal testicle-kickboxing alleviated.

The next day we conquered Valentia Island, adjacent to the town. We saw things like Geokaun Mountain (the highest on the island) and the Fogher Cliffs, which are the other side of the island 900-1200m altitude. The wind was insane: I would have easily said gusts to 50 knots! We tried to get to a place called St. Brendan’s Wells, an ancient healing well, but Valentia Island is actually one giant swamp, and proved far too boggy for us to drive or walk in. The bog also prevented us from going up to Bray Head, as there were puddles that would swallow a Peugeot in a heartbeat. We traipsed around the Island a little longer and then ventured over to a town further inland called Caherciveen to buy supplies and get some money. There we saw Ballycarbery Castle and took some photos, before going back to the hostel in Portmagee for another well-deserved rest.

We ventured around off the end of the Ring of Kerry and around onto the Dingle Peninsula as we had a bit of time to kill. I must say that after seeing the Ring of Beara, Skellig, AND the Ring of Kerry, Dingle was my favourite, sheerly on the merits of its AMAZING coastline and mountain backgrounds, and all other forms of weird shaped topography. Really. Take it from me, this place is the most beautiful place I’ve seen so far. We ran into a place that had a few beehive-shaped buildings from 2000BC! Woah! Even though they were charging an extortionate €2 for entry (like most of these places) and the hives looked questionably young, it was still amazing! A little further around the coast at Smerwick Harbour we saw the best of the best in coastlines, even though trying to find a place to take a good photo involved wading through swamplands similar to the one from the Neverending Story that the dude loses the horse in. See photos though, you’ll understand why it was worth it.

The most exciting part of the day however had nothing to do with sightseeing. We were heading out of Dingle Town, after seeing Fungie The Dingle Dolphin’s (yeah I finally got it right, say it ten times fast) statue, and having a chilli hot dog and a coffee. On the road out, doing about 60km/h, the driver’s side curtain airbag in the little blue Peugeot decided that it was time to self test and exploded right next to my head. We cried, “Oh golly gosh! Well now wasn’t that a loud noise!” and pulled the car over, ears ringing and trying to work out what the bloody hell had happened. The ironic thing was that the airbags didn’t even inflate after all that smoke and noise - they just fell out like three floppy sandwich bags. Luck o' the Irish my arse, we just got the luck of the French.

Overnight was spent at Killarney a little ways Northwest, as we had to pick up a few things for the Tindals from a friend there in town. We LOVED Killarney, but we don’t like The Script, whoever they are, as their concert filled every Hostel in town with young silly punters. We found ourselves a nice kitsch B & B right in the centre of town for a good price, and spent the rest of the evening wandering around the pubs watching Ireland qualify for the world cup against Cyprus. Good lads!

The last day was mostly driving, but in the morning we picked up the plants as we were supposed to, and then saw Ross Castle. This is a fully refurbished castle that took 20 years to mend after falling into disrepair, and we went on a 1 hour tour with MORE bloody Americans. I’ve been to America twice and I swear I saw more of the buggers in a week over here than I did there! The tour itself was magic and we learnt a lot more from our really knowledgeable guide… you know, the type that always gives it to the people who think they can trip her up on trick questions?

1600km, 30 hours driving, 5 Guinesses, 6 Smithwicks, a Kenmare Ale, Half our budget again on dear accommodation, some Bulmers Pear, an average Murphy's stout, 500 sheep, 3 Deployed Airbags, two happy campers and a partridge in a pear treeeee!

See you next time, after we get the roof lining of the car put back on and the airbags fixed. We’ll have a Guinness for ye.

---

---

---