Journey
Out West
After a month of work I need a break
(yes, really!) so looking forward to a trip across the sea to the land of no
snakes. Up early Saturday morning for a cooked breakfast from Debbie then spend
2 hours attaching roof bars, filling roof box, attaching bikes to the roof bars
and putting 3 on the back bike carrier. All with sterling help from Jack who
arose early for the occasion. Albeit reluctantly. Whilst Debbie finishes
packing Maya and Lily-Rose run up and down stairs bringing our bags out. Cat
food out, windows closed, check 5 passports, goodbye to Casper and we’re off
heading out West. Glorious hot sunshine without a cloud in the sky as we head
down the M4 but just past Swindon the clouds appear. Still, hot and dry and
we’re on holiday so we’re all happy. First stop my parents between Bath and
Bristol. Spoiled as usual and catch up with my sister and her kids so a lovely
start to our trip. After celebrating the parents 51st wedding anniversary
Sunday morning we head off again and hit Wales to be greeting by torrential
rain the type you can’t see your wing mirrors in. Careful driving through the
storm then into sun for sarnies looking out into Fishguard bay then onto the
ferry for an uneventful crossing to the Emerald Isle. Hit land at 6pm then it’s
full speed west along the great Irish roads with sort of half hard shoulder
half slow lane used to let others overtake. A great use of the road rather than
the British set lanes and a haven for cyclists, pedestrians and joggers on fast
roads. We stop off at Dungarven to eat chips overlooking the harbour surprised
at how busy the pubs are given a Sunday night. Same spot as we stopped for
chips 4 years ago when last going to Kinsale and unbeknown to us at the time
where Deb’s very generous friend Mary went to school. Mary’s integral to our
tale as it’s her sister and husband, Gretta and John, who own the Kinsale house
we’re staying at and generosity we’re taking advantage of. This generosity is shown
in spades when we eventually arrive in Kinsale to be greeted with all
essentials in the fridge – eggs, bread, tea, milk, butter etc. We unpack the
car and whilst kids explore the fantastic rooms and bagsy beds Debbie and I
share a Prosecco before I fall asleep on the sofa satisfied and tired.
Kinsale
Exploration
Lazy Monday morning getting up late and
breakfasting on the food left for us, including delicious heavy wholemeal
buttermilk bread, in glorious sunshine. Determined to read James Joyce after an
abortive attempt at Ulysses in my youth I start Dubliners whilst the girls
explore the shops and Jack does the teenage morning thing. Sleep that is. After
lunch we cycle round Kinsale bay to the Bulman pub with some surprisingly short
sharp hills that only Jack can tackle by pedal. As the sea is out we pass the
pub and carry on up the steep hill to Charles Fort for a bit of exploring but
not on the ramparts as we’re warned by security. The fort has a great view back
to Kinsale and out towards the sea where Kinsale Bay meets the Atlantic. It was
an English fortification to protect Kinsale against attack by the likes of the
Spanish helping the Irish back in the Armada day. Today looking at the yachts
passing by in the glittering sea and tiny figures playing on the sandy beach on
the other side of the bay it seems so tranquil. We zip down the hill to the Bulman
again and quench our thirst on pop, gin and Irish stout. The pub has a portrait
on each side commemorating the two sides of the 1601 Battle of Kinsale when
those interfering pesky Spanish sailed in to help the Irish rebels take on the
imperialist English. To no avail and we hung on for another 400 years of
ignominy. I say “we” feeling mostly English but my Irish ancestors probably
wouldn’t concur. Whilst at the Bulman bar I overhear someone ask the barman
where the name Bulman comes from as it’s their surname and quite unusual. Reply
being that the pub was named after the Bulman Buoy off shore. Not exactly
illuminating! Refreshed we tie bacon onto the crab lines and from the harbour
wall (well, more a wall next to the sea than a harbour as such) we cast off.
Never seen so many crabs biting the bait. Every time a line’s thrown in we haul
up a couple and soon the buckets are so full we’re in danger of being nicked by
the Irish equivalent of the RSPCA for factory farming. As the crabs club
together to form pyramids for escape the kids decide the funs been had and
they’re all sent on their way in a crustacean Olympian 30 metre dive contest. We
relax a bit more in the sun amusing ourselves by looking through my stout
giving a red hue to the water. It’s black at a distance but red up close, stout
that is, not the sea, tho apparently back in those more violent days the local
river turned red. Having had wet puppy bother us for bacon bits and shake water
over us we cycle back home for pasta, to examine our sun tan lines and to watch
the disturbing Jim Carrey in Cable Guy on the laptop.
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| Bulman Beach |
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| Crabs galore |
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| Crabby Pattie ingredient |
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| Pincer movement |
Next day is just as sunny with the odd dark
cloud threatening a sprinkling and I lose myself for a while in Joyce’s
vignettes of Dublin life though frustrated that I don’t get to know his
Dubliners better. After morning meandering around Kinsale again we lunch then
strike out on bikes past the marina and over the bridge spanning the river.
First we head to Sandy Cove which doesn’t seem like either then back along to
the beach across from Charles Fort and next to James Fort. It’s hot and we soak
up the sun though no one will go swimming with the keenly disappointed
Lily-Rose. Jack sleeps, Debbie makes a sand castle and Maya and me break my 40
year old frisbee – brand named “Disco” as bought before disco music was
invented. I’m gutted. It’s getting windy so we cycle back home to a BBQ with
hideous chicken and sausages for the kids and scrummy corn and veggie kebabs
for the adults. Then watch History Boys to bring the day to an educated close.
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| Local Beach |
Wednesday morning hacking into the house
internet router to no avail then into town to have a haircut at a barbers
promising Traditional and Trendy cuts. Not sure if they mean it’s one or the
other but as trad is pretty trendy in east London I think I can’t lose. After a
short wait the guys goes at me like a Gaelic Edward Scissorhands on amphetamines.
His sniffing doesn’t help and I fear for my ears forgetting about what my
Barnet’s going to look like. After wild Wahl treatment on the back and sides he
attacks the top with scissors angled downwards taking the clumps of hair off his
scissors by clacking against his comb like a demented flamenco dancer with
castanets. Ten minutes later he’s finishing off in a traditional way taking off
neck and ear hair and I open an eye to view the damage and see how much blood
there is. He doesn’t bother to show me the back with a mirror but I can see
that it’s a really good cut and in my surprise give him a healthy tip. Wander
through the farmer’s market but not overly impressed and instead head to the
SuperValu to get a bottle of Tanora which is a traditional Cork tangerine
flavoured kiddies pop drink recommended by an 80 year old I got talking to in a
local print shop. He drank it as a boy, until it fizzed out of his nose
apparently, and it reminds me of the Tizer that was brought round the houses on
milk floats when I was a lad. After sandwich and Tanora lunch we drive to
Garrettstown Strand which is very windy but after Debbie’s encouragement (and
then some) the rest of us go swimming. It’s pretty “bracing” at first but after
a while being in the water is better than the alternative of being in a gale
half naked. Eventually the two wet suited girls leave swiftly followed by us
boys. We visited this beach last time in Kinsale but this time Jack manages to
avoid the jelly fish and I avoid having ants in my pants. Red blighters at
that! Linger awhile on the beach until we realise Maya and Lily-Rose are sat in
the car boot so we set off for the Old Head of Kinsale which is still off
limits unless you belong to the golf course. Jack courageously walks into the
grounds to be accosted by security and we agree with the old guy we met in the
same spot four years ago who let us know that for 400 years during English rule
he could walk over the Old Head and now he can’t and it’s bullshit. We concur again
four years later! Instead we stop at a pub overlooking the sea and drink in the
views and stout, gin and pop. The evening sees myself and Jack cycle up to the
GAA ground anticipating a rip roaring Gaelic Football match as recommended by
the tourist office. Turns out it’s the local under 13 girls team so I’m fairly
glad I’m with a 17 year old and not lurking about on my own. We watch the first
half and sort of understand what’s happening – that Kinsale are thrashing the
opposition. The entertainment paling and having little idea of the score we
speed down the hill at half time to be greeted by hot fudge chunk brownies for
supper.
The
Western Peninsulas
Off on an excursion to the westernmost
reaches of the Emerald Isle passing through Macroom, Killarney and a strangely
desolate Kilorglin past the southern edge of the misty Slieve Mish Mountains
and along the coast to bustling Dingle. Struggling to park we find the parish
free car park then next door a great bed and breakfast place (An Capall Dubh
for reference – the black horse) so all sorted. We wander through the town
centre along by the harbour and some of us spend time in the gift shops. It’s a
pretty town with a mix of pub restaurants, gift shops, the usual town shops and
lots of arty and health food shops which seem pretty common in Ireland – at
least in the south. After ambling for a while we get back in the car to circuit
the end of the Dingle peninsula stopping at ancient stone age cliff top
dwellings and windswept beaches. The weather alternates between driving rain
barely able to see 20 yards ahead and shafts of sunshine making for an
atmospheric tour with the inland mountains constantly shrouded in cloud and the
off shore Blasket Islands flitting in and out of view through the sea mist. A
beautiful route albeit rather wet and having to constantly avoid dozens of
vintage motorcycle riders. Back in Dingle town we wander then eat at the
recommended Chinese opposite us then settle down in front of the telly for a
fix of Harry Hill and a guide to the Paralympics.
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| Dingle Beach... |
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| ... with amazing light |
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| Yep, it's raining |
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| Windswept but happy |
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| Dingle's beautiful beaches |
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| Blown down the hill... |
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| ... worth it! |
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| Atmospheric Blasket Isles |
After a hearty Irish breakfast we drive
back east and hit a very busy Kilorglin that is now one big traffic jam.
Eschewing the Ring of Kerry tour we cut across the peninsula over Macgillycuddy’s
Reeks (mountains) stopping at Lough Caragh and the Bellaghbeama Gap for lunch
then me and the kids hike and scramble up a very boggy mountain atop which we
shout and listen to our voices echoing around the peaks. Having made it back
down with mostly soggy feet we drive down the spectacular descent to sea level
and at Kenmare turn west again along the Beara peninsula again cutting off the
toe by crossing the Caha Mountains at Healy Pass. Getting car crazy we then
head home to Kinsale and a well earned rest for the driver.
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| Lough Caragh |
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| Bellaghbeama Gap |
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| Healy Pass |
Bank
Holiday Weekend
Well, perhaps not over Eire. It’s the
usual weather pattern that’s lasted the holiday. Torrential overnight rain (at
least sounds like it sleeping next to the roof) brilliant sunny morning cloudy
midday light or heavy showers in the afternoon leading into sunny intervals in
the evening. Repeat. Saturday sees us lazily getting up and lunching before
cycling round the bay to Charles Fort again to see some historical battle
re-enactments. Unfortunately as there late afternoon they’ve reached a weird
mix of the two World Wars and we’re treated to resistance fighters with fat
yank fighting Germans with loud pops, lots of shouting and red smoke bombs. The
allied bazooka never gets fired which is a huge disappointment to me. The
Germans win concluding by taking it in turns to kick the dying yank which I’m
sure is against the Geneva Convention. All the while we’re kept away from the
scene by someone dressed in medieval garb constantly fingering his knife and
glowering at kids messing about near his invisible line of control. A bit
disappointed we wander away pausing to watch the medievals engaged in axe and
knife fighting which is all very weird given they’re all adults. Wondering at
why people would spend their weekends doing that we take the hill down to the Bulman
pub and spend an hour trying to catch crabs. They’re not biting today for some
reason (a lower tide?) and the only consolation is the Beamish. And I thought
those medieval re-enactors had a juvenile pastime.
Lazy Sunday afternoon ain’t got no mind
to worry... girls go shopping and Jack and I walk around the top of town. Finish
Dubliners and enjoyed a lot. Evening go for a very tasty Asian Tapas at the
restaurant along the road a treat as it’s Jack’s last night with us. The volume
of writing per day in this account has slowed to the pace of life...
Monday up early and drop Jack off at
Cork airport and feeling a little sad and with a space in the seating us
remaining visit Cobh recognising it vaguely as we drive in then definitely as
we park behind the impressive cathedral. Debbie then sees the pub on the sea
front that we went in to eat last time here. Really can’t remember why we would
have come down here last time out so a big surprise we’re back. This was the
last boarding point for the Titanic (then known as Queenstown and changed post
independence for obvious reasons) so we visit the small but very impressive
Titanic Experience. Guided tour as if you’re a passenger with films etc then
leave us to look at the exhibits pointing out how many factors contributed to
the disaster. Main one seems to be the captain going full steam ahead when in
ice berg country presumably because he felt the ship was unsinkable. We each
get a ticket with one of the real passenger names then at the end you can check
if you survived or not. All four of us
were lost at sea. Not being disheartened we eat lunch shooing wasps and
watching the gulls and crows fight it out to have the highest perch. Crows win
surprisingly. We meander homeward and stroll along Kinsale front in the
evening.
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| Cobh from sea front |
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| Cobh from higher up |
Excursions
Tuesday sees me up and about early
making sarnies and the girls filling the water bottles. Spare inner tubes and
waterproofs packed I wheel the bike out of the garage under the gaze of the
regular morning tourist tour gathering (I really must find out why our place is
on the tour) and cycle off with the girls waving. It’s my big bike ride day.
Air is calm at home but by the time I get to the bridge going west from Kinsale
it’s a strong headwind slowing me down. I climb the R600 up into the hills where
the wind comes and goes so not too bad. Through the nicely named Ballinspittle
then up and down until I reach the start of Courtmacsherry Bay. This has a long
flat road picturesquely sweeping along the estuary where I see all types of
wading birds with long beaks running up and down the muddy shore. The tide is
out and there’s a heavy smell of mud and seaweed that’s not altogether pleasant
but very reminiscent of being beside the sea. The coloured houses of Courtmacsherry
are in sunshine across the bay and I can see Timoleague at the far end of the
estuary which doesn’t look too far. After a while I realise the deceptive sweep
of the bay means it’s a fair old way to Timoleague but as the weather’s warming
up I’m on the flat and the view is beautiful the extra miles are enjoyable.
Short stop at Timoleague to look at the ruined monastery then leave the R600 to
follow the bay coast road for a while to Cousrtmacsherry itself then head up
the steep hills inland to Butlerstown with a slight detour to see the much
signposted Keohane Monument. Turns out it’s a local who was on Scott’s
Antarctic journeys the monument being a sculpture of the man and a sign telling
me it’s 15,000 km to the south pole. I’ve noticed quite a few pubs commemorating
Antarctic explorers so maybe they bred them down here. I cycle down to the sea
at Seven Heads with cliffs along the coast on each side and at a small couple
of bays where people are body boarding I eat lunch sheltering from the strong
sea wind. I retrace my steps atop the headland then carry on to the small town
of Clonakilty with it’s narrow one way system and local shops. This is as far
west as I go and cycle back to Timoleague this time taking the R600 gently
rising and descending to the coast again. Timoleague is the middle of my figure
of 8 loops and I hit very steep hills and little signposting on my way to
Kilbrittain and it’s oddly positioned whale skeleton (i.e. inland) and castle. Couple
of killer hills here en route to Ballinadee and so very happy when I reach
there as on the map looks like it’s on the estuary feeding into Kinsale bay. I’m
still suspiciously high up though and then start on an upward journey that
every time I think I must be at the top the next corner carries on up. I must
be tiring if I’m dreading the next corner and resultant hill but eventually I
do, of course, start on the long descent home. As always the legs pick up on
the homeward and known trail and I speed down to Kinsale Bay bridge and would
give Cavendish himself a run for his money speeding along the estuary and past
the working harbour. Arriving back home to a glass of Beamish and then a hot
soak I complete the transformation by shaving and sit down to a delicious pasta
meal courtesy of Debbie all the more delicious due to my sharpened appetite. After
tea we saunter out for a sit down at the 50s style ice cream parlour where the
girls share a sundae (chocolate ice cream with choc sprinkles and brownie
chunks) and I have a well deserved scoop. You burn an awful lot of calories
going up and down Irish coastal hills for 60 miles (or 90 klics in the local
currency) so I think a hazelnut choc ice cream isn’t too sinful? Slept well.
Route on Garmin site:
http://connect.garmin.com/player/217748297
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| Both sides of an estuary I cycle round |
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| Keohane Monument |
Wednesday starts as usual and the hot
sun lures us into thinking it’s a beach day. Debbie not too chipper so me and
the 2 girls pile into the car with boogie boards and cossies to search out a
hot beach. Unfortunately by the time we reach the coast near the Old Head of
Kinsale it’s blowing a gale off the sea, we can hardly stand and the sand is
whipped up straight into our faces. Life guards haven’t bothered putting their
flags on the beach, or they’ve blown away, and the only seafarer is a wind
surfer speeding up and down the shoreline with regular lift offs taking them
airbourne for seconds at a time. Looks great but not so for mere bodyboarders
so we drive on. Inland I show the girls the Kilbrittain whale skeleton which
they’re singularly unimpressed with and we eat sarnies in the car with the rain
sheeting down. After apples the rain stops and we go for a walk up a country
lane as the woodland path is waterlogged. The sun comes out as the girls are
doing a zippity doo dah dance routine up the lane. An entertaining walk but you
had to be there... just as we reach the car the rain comes down again. We drive
to Timoleague where the graves in the ruined abbey give Lily-Rose the shivers and Maya catches her
head on a stone lintel. We press on through Clonakilty until we get to the
Dromberg Stone Circle which aligns to the mid winter setting of the sun. After
looking around soaking up the atmosphere we lay our gifts to whatever spirits
inhabit these parts. Our bracken, flower and blackberries are placed alongside
coins, bracelets and sweets and we depart with a newly arrived family of new
worlders looking at us as if as we are either mad or heathens. Having paid our
dues to our ancestors’ gods (we all have a little Irish in us) we head back to
Kinsale guided by appeased hands and without further excitement except for
gorgeous scenery.
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| Zippity Doo Dah |
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| Dromberg Stone Circle |
Last Days of the Summer
Thursday is our last full day in Kinsale
and it’s glorious sunshine though a nip in the air. We take it easy doing a bit
of packing, washing towels and trying to make the place look ship shape and Bristol
fashion. In the afternoon sun we wander up to Desmond Castle which is a small
medieval castle in the centre of town that was mainly used as a customs house
(lots of Irish wine connections I never knew about) but also prison and
workhouse. After a very knowledgeable introduction from a local historian we
visit the cells and wine museum. Races down the field next to the big church
then home for a glass of wine on the sunny veranda before some lovely grub at
the Stolen Pizza ranking a quarter star behind the Asian Tapas. Girls watch
Gregory’s Girl and I finish Huckleberry Finn. And so to bed for our last night
here.
Packing the car Friday morning and with all the bikes we’re making good going getting away by midday. Good journey though rolling green countryside to Cappoquin to see Mary and Tim's new build which is simply amazing and it's a great thrill and honour to be their first guests. After noseying around the house we go for a stroll down Mary's family lane to see the house where she was brought up. Afterwards Tim waits for beds and sofa whilst Mary gives us a guided tour of the local area including local catholic church and graveyard, her village school which a lovely neighbour lets us in, local protestant ramshackle church and graveyard and finally shows us a gothicly asian inspired bridge house. Beds not arrived so Tim and the two girls wait at the house flying kites and visiting Mary's brother and dogs whilst Mary, Debbie and I go into the local town for a bottle of stout (me at least) served by Mary's sister in law. Returning home with big Jim's lettuces we have pizza before the furniture arrives and we build the new sofa. After a while we go to bed in anticipation of the early start...
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| Affane Old School |
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Mary showing Lily-Rose how children had
to behave a "few years" ago :-) |
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| Wild woman of the haunted forest |
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| The House itself |
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| A surprising bridge opening for rural Ireland |
Last day of the holiday and we leave just before 6am to get the 9am ferry from Rosslare to Fishguard. I sleep fitfully on the ferry floor before the uneventful drive back to London in the sun with air temperature rising all the time until reaches 22 C in west London. Unload the car just as Jack and Gill arrive to help Maya home with oversize suitcase. The flat seems dark compared to the windowed residences we've stayed in but it's good to be back. It's been a fantastic holiday and despite the long day travelling we all feel well and truly rested. Must return to the snakeless land soon...
