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Published: September 15th 2011
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Day Three: Cork City to Kinsale We leave "Plastic Fantastic" Hotel--lovely reception however, I must send kudos to the lovely and helpful young international staff--- and set out for the unreliable and utterly ridiculous blend of our GPS, the Ireland Atlas with hopeless me trying to navigate, large rental car, small roads, the wrong side of the car and road, and sheer stupid luck. John is good at ignoring my small gasps and louder shrieks, as hedges and brambles whip the side of the car and we plunge into the occasional pot-hole. I now more completely understand how he broke Arabian Horses: patient determination. Of course we get lost several times: after travelling the US and abroad we know that we will get lost and have adventures which will most likely render the best stories of the trip to share with all of you and for ourselves to recall during those great "remember when we were in.... and we got lost.....and...." dinners several months and years in the future. I think we were born to be "Crazy Americans Abroad."
So we get a lift, after grazing through the traditional "international breakfast buffet" at the hotel
Driving to Kinsale
The Southern Coat of Irelalnd (have I told you how much I love scrambled eggs with sautéed mushrooms and beans for breakfast?) and back we go in the pouring rain to the Cork Airport to pick up our rental car . We slosh along with our luggage "just a bit down there" which turns out to be about half a mile to our car. We are too drenched to worry about getting the interior wet. Get used to it...it is Irish Summer.
A word about Irish Summer: I was informed by the Australian desk clerk at the Hotel, and my brief experience corroborates this to be true that if the calendar says that it is summer, no matter the weather (and this year is particularly cold and wintry) the Irish will dress for summer. I am glad to hear this because I was thinking that these poor women in spaghetti straps and shorts with their male escorts in thin cotton shirts couldn't use the internet or were the new Irish poor...such thin clothes for 60 degrees!
So we trek on to Cobh from Cork--John learning by feel the parameters of the car by banging into things accompanied by my shrieks and
gasps as we make our erroneous path, and double backs, and “recalculate” our way, to Cobh. First stop: toilets for two please.
Cobh (is pronounced Cove) was, for a brief period of time, re-named Queenstown in honor of Queen Victoria's visit there. For many would Irish it would be the last bit of Irish soil under the feet of immigrants leaving for Australia and America. A trickle at first, but between the 1840's to 1860’s it became a major stream of immigration: in total 2.3 million souls. This would amount to 1/3 of Ireland's population seeking a new world of hope and prosperity. As we would learn touring "The Queenstown Story" exhibition, many, many would die from the crossing. Disease, and the profit to be made from sending desperate and starving people with little money aboard ramshackle, unseaworthy, and dangerous "Coffin ships" would result in some entire boatloads doomed as soon as their passage was paid.
We go for lunch but it seems almost heresy: we have so much in the face of our ancestor's desperation. After a walk through Kinsale and finally finding a cell phone to purchase we drive on to Kinsale. (Kin-sail) is
a lovely harbor town with lots of traffic and incredibly tiny roads. We arrive unscathed at Landfall House Bed and Breakfast and into the welcoming care of Margo and Donie. They book us into Crackpots for dinner. This turns out to be a lovely eclectic little restaurant with fabulous seafood, a warm atmosphere, pottery place-settings, and Joan Baez background music. It’s a lovely respite for this cold and rainy evening.
Now we are really in Ireland.
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Joyce
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I don\'t think I completed my comment correctly for it suddenly disappeared. To Repeat: I love \"traveling\" with you. You make it all so interesting and fun! You always have great adventures. Thanks!