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Killarney, Kenmare, and the Ring of Beara
Maternity leave is designed so that the mother can rest and recuperate from the severe ordeal of childbirth. Clearly, this can only mean one thing – road trip! On the last weekend before Dot had to return to work, we rented a “Honda Civic”, which the rental company never has, so an upgrade is, as far as we know, automatic. We loaded up the Toyota Avensis, which is still no Audi, and headed towards our first stop, the 13th century castle at Roscrea. On our private tour (i.e. the public tour during off-season) we learned that the castle was built at a major crossroads by the Normans to defend against the Irish tribes. The Normans built a very strong fortress with state-of-the-art military technology, no doubt costing a small fortune. They even had a poop chute, which spread waste in such a manner as to deter invaders, whilst also protecting the inhabitant’s backsides. The Irish, limited to primitive swords and shields, never bothered attacking. They were probably laughing the whole time, saying, “Heck, a wooden palisades would have put us off!”
Roscrea Castle Skipping past the troubled city of Limerick, hotbed of IRA criminal activity, we headed through Killarney National Park to our B&B in Kenmare, a short drive past Killarney. Or so we thought. Apparently, the good road builders of Killarney took tips on frost heaves from Alaskan road builders and combined this with the narrow, winding mountain roads of less well-traveled Switzerland. Then they added sheep, as any good Irish road should. The scenery was beautiful, and Dot and Lindy were able to appreciate it. I was too busy making sure I kept blood flowing to my fingers to fully appreciate the peaks, lakes, and valleys, although I do have a growing appreciation for the tranquility of sheep, who have yet to jump in front of any car I’ve driven. Arriving in Kenmare, a cute town perhaps designed to attract tourists, we realized that our B&B was nowhere to be found. An embarrassing phone call and a bit of back-tracking later, we arrived to a wonderful room and lovely hosts, Bob, Vanessa and their tiger-striped Irish hunting dog, Tigger. Breakfast was as wonderful as Bed, with Lindy off feeding Tigger and Vanessa cuddling Niamh while Dot and I ate and jabbered with a Massachusetts character named Sue and her hungover niece, Sarah, who didn’t do too much talking, or eating for that matter, but who had at least managed to avoid breaking any more glassware in the wee hours. In addition to the fine B&B, Kenmare is a cute town complete with its own stone circle. I can almost see Aslan being killed on the center stone! (Don’t worry, kids, he symbolizes Jesus and will rise again.) There is a tragic downside to the town, though. It has more than its fair share, and in Ireland this says a lot, of toothless town drunks who begin with a handshake and congratulations on the new baby and end up not letting go of your wife while you stand wondering where politeness ends and fisticuffs begin. This particular town drunk knows the answer, gained no doubt through years of experience, because he lets go just on the better side of the options. We were quite shocked by it all, only to discover (back at the B&B) that this sort of behaviour is quite common, somehow turning it into more of a chuckling experience, although I’m not sure why and suspect it shows some existential flaw in our psyche.
The stone circle in Kenmare Kenmare is a starting point for the Ring of Kerry, a well-known drive (or car-park, depending on season and tourists) around the Iveragh Peninsula through scenic country of severe mountains meeting the ocean. The next peninsula south, Beara, is known for similar scenery and many fewer tourists, so that is the road we chose. To fix the problem of fewer tourists and to capitalize on the marketing work of their northern neighbors, this route is now known as the Ring of Beara. This area was once home to a large copper mine and a much larger population. After the mine ran out and many of the miners moved to Butte, Montana, the rugged terrain of Beara was not good for much beyond sheep. That is, until the farmers discovered that you could simultaneously farm sheep and Americans. A good thing for them, too, as sheep tend to be a marginal commodity. So, after a short jaunt up a one-lane road, we went on a very nice hike at Gleninchiquin, a working sheep farm where our entrance fee helped to support a traditional way of life, nicely updated with electricity, running water, and other modern conveniences. Complete with mountain lakes, a waterfall and glorious views, Gleninchiquin was clearly the highlight of the trip.
Hiking at Gleninchiquin After departing Kenmare, Dot decided we needed to travel to Blarney (near Cork), home of the famous Blarney stone, for the perverse reason of traveling all the way to Blarney and not kissing the Blarney stone. I found a nice compromise, and kissed a stone that is part of the Blarney Stone Restaurant, although it seems not to have provided any of the eloquence promised by the Blarney stone itself. In addition to not kissing the Blarney stone, Dot had one additional reason for traveling to Blarney, which, of course, was shopping. Blarney is home to the Blarney Woolen Mills, where all things Irish and touristy are available, especially wool sweaters, some of which were on clearance and available at unbeatable prices. The store is so large that is has a separate lounge, pub, and restaurant. After several hours, we emerged, squinting and slightly dazed, carrying bags filled with stuff, I think, although it is a bit of a blur. We all, and I’m including the baby here, seem to be more woolen these days, so it must have been a successful experience.
Niamh, only more woolen We had time for two quick stops on the way back to Dublin. First, we went to Mitchelstown Caves. The caves are filled with stalactites and stalagmites as well as other interestingly bizarre formations, and extend for about three miles. There was also a distinctive and pleasurable lack of a gift shop and fellow tourists. However, the tour only went ½ mile, the farmers who owned the caves wouldn’t allow photos (you might sell them), and the entrance fee was on the high end. Still, it was a fine experience overall. Next on the itinerary was the Rock of Cashel. This is one of the most scenic collections of medieval buildings in all of Ireland, with a round tower, high cross, Gothic cathedral, and castle, according to our guidebook. Arriving past closing time, a stroll around the outside, a few photos, and some tasty Indian food were our experience. Not to complain, though – we managed to pack a lot of living (and driving and shopping) in a three-day weekend, and landed back in Dublin a bit wiser and, given the late hour, very ready for bed.
Rock of Cashel There was a nice little footnote to the trip. Checking my e-mail when I returned, I was informed that New Zealand has changed its policy regarding postgraduate students rather drastically. The upshot of all the changes is that I will not start until February 2006. This means that, hopefully and please keep your fingers crossed, Dot will come over at the same time as the rest of us. Additionally, I will get more money, Dot will get a work permit automatically, and the kids will be treated like locals for school purposes. The head of the math and stats department apologized for the inconvenience. I told him it was all right, no bother at all.
Otago Harbour, near Dunedin - Peter, Dot, Lindy and Katie Niamh |
