Entries by Pat Patterson

Greetings!

This blog has been set up to share my experiences as a result of 83 day trip to Ireland. Each entry is set up in short story format. By reading my journal you can tantalize your senses, seeing and feeling Ireland as I did. If you are traveling yourself, this will be a helpful tool, lending much travel wisdom.

To read my journal, scroll through the calendar (on the right) using the arrows and find the month and day you wish to read about based on the list below. Click on the date and enjoy the ride. Here isthe the list of my Irish adventures:

If you click on the thumbnail photos embedded in my blog, you can look at an enlarged version. Simply click on the "Back" button in your browser to return to the blog. Also, I have uploaded ALL my photographs to a photo gallery and you can peruse them at your leisure. Just click on the link, "Gallery" at the top of this page.

Feel free to email me if you have difficulties with my web site or blog, and I will help you out. You can send me an email by clicking on the link, "Contact" at the top of this page.

Enjoy the journey with me and have a wonderful Irish day.

~~ Patrick

Friday August 31, 2007 With most of the tasks required after such a long journey being handled, I was finally able to find some comfortable time to sit down and make my closing remarks. It seemed like it was just yesterday when I had departed Washington for this great adventure, but it had been three months since that big day.

While checking in to my flight at Baltimore Washington International airport, the airline representative informed me that my larger suitcase came in at 66 pounds, which was 16 pounds over the limit. Since I was a premier customer with Aer Lingus, they did not weigh my bags but it seemed that US Airways put a limit on all of its passengers.

As I paid my overweight fee, it did not seem to make sense to me as the bag was packed with the items with which I came, and all the items acquired during the vacation was packed in the second bag. Could it be I had a stowaway? Did the wee men decide to return to the states with me? Who knows, it was too late to do anything about it now with departure time close at hand, and it seemed futile at best.

The flight was uneventful but long with me arriving into SeaTac at 10:18pm. By the time I got my luggage, caught a ride with the airport shuttle and got home it was well passed 1am. It made me glad that I had an intermediate stop in Baltimore for a few days to begin the adjustment from jet lag. With only a three hour adjustment to be made now, it seemed I would not be far from getting back to normal. Had I flown direct from Ireland to Washington it would have been an eight hour adjustment, which would find me falling asleep mid day and waking up bright eyed in the middle of the night.

Having had a few days to rest and get my issues in order, I came up with the following numbers regarding my 83 day excursion to Ireland. It reminded me why I was so tired and in need of a vacation.

Attractions visited: 75

Distance driven: 15162 Kilometers

Fuel used: 909 liters

Driving an average of 183 kilometers a day on Irish roads, it was amazing I still had my sanity. Of course, maybe I didn't and just thought it was still there. Perhaps the bloody Leprechauns had it. What ever the case, I was home and the trip was over sanity or no.

Sitting in front of my computer while composing this entry, I occasionally glanced over at my pot of golden coins. It seemed that along with this journal, it would help me relive my days of dashing through the Irish countryside and remember the things I learned during my Ireland trip.

With the prospect of starting a new career and a fresh beginning in the workplace on the horizon, it gave me a satisfied feeling to know that I have had the trip of a lifetime and one few people will ever have a chance to undertake. My future trips will not be nearly as extensive but with the knowledge I have now, it will make those short trips much more interesting and my time better spent.

Bringing this journal to a close, it had been an underlying motive for me to be able to share my experiences so as to make your short trips as interesting as possible, so you don’t have to waste your time learning the painful lessons I did. In essence, you will have gained wisdom from my experiences, having taken the time to read along and follow me on my adventure in Ireland. As a good ole Gaelic blessing states, “May the roads rise to meet you. May the wind be at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face; the rain fall soft upon your fields. And, until we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of His hand.”

Slan go foill!

Thursday August 23, 2007 With the air conditioner cranked up to full speed, I awoke in New York with the outside temperature already in the 70s and the time was only 3am in the morning. Along with the humid, stagnant air, the temperatures were expected to become unbearable, with my environment having altered quite a bit since leaving Ireland. That and the jet lag would prove to be a considerable discomfort, having awoken in the early morning both bright eyed and bushy tailed. It was all I could do stay awake last night until 10pm, with my body still functioning in Irish time.

I remained in bed until at least 5am, thinking it a proper hour to arise. Since breakfast was to begin at 6:30am, it would give me plenty of time to get myself together and work on my entry some more. After about 8pm last night, my brain began to shut down, having only pounded out a simple draft.

Deciding to stretch out my stay after breakfast to make sure I would miss the rush hour traffic, I processed some photographs and wrote some email while relaxing with a nice cup of coffee. Now that I was back in the US with very the fast interstate highways, the 200 mile drive would take a handful of hours so there was no need to rush.

At 11am I cleared out of the hotel and hit the road. In New York the rush hour can last all day it seemed, so the first part of my trip in getting out of Queens and into Staten Island went quite slow. It took me an hour and a half to cover the ten miles to the Verrazano Bridge, which would take me across New York harbor into Staten Island. Despite the grind, it was much more pleasant to creep down the road with an automatic transmission, as opposed to a grueling crawl in Ireland with a manual shift.

Slowly chugging along, I had an odd feeling and could not figure out if it was my missing Ireland or the jet lag. Reflecting back on the places I had been in Ireland, it was my thinking it was sadness and not a body clock issue. The Irish Nights show planted Ireland firmly into my being and fostered my affinity for the country and the people. Perhaps when I get back to Washington and get around its likened environment of Ireland, it would all be better. At least I did not have to smell livestock back home.

As I was leaving Brooklyn, I saw the signature farewell sign that I had seen on my way to JFK back in May. This time I was ready for it, and officially documented the mob’s famous words of wisdom, “Fuhgeddaboudit.” It would not be a problem for me to comply with its directive when it came to the traffic that day.

As I was flying down Interstate 95 at 75 mph and still not keeping up with the flow of traffic, I noted the temperature on the car’s external thermometer as being 80 degrees. The water vapor hung in the air reducing visibility, which meant it was quite humid as well. Having grown up mostly on the east coast, the humidity was something to which I never could tolerate. Fortunately, unlike the cars in Ireland, this one had an air conditioner and I had it on full blast.

Arriving in Baltimore at my mother’s house at about 4pm, I found her inside with the windows wide open for ventilation. It seemed cooler for her as she was airing out the house, having had the dwelling sealed up during the 90-100 degree weather they had in the last two months. Having been living in Ireland for the summer with the temperature barely getting passed the mid sixties, what she thought was cool was a heat wave for me.

As I settled for the evening, I pondered the tasks for the next couple of days until my flight out on Monday. It seemed that my need for posting entries would be suspended until getting back home, giving me time to compose my final thoughts in closing the journal for my Ireland trip. Barring any difficulties with my nemesis and their ability to find me with their pot of gold, my next entry should be my last, bringing my adventure in Ireland to an end.

Wednesday August 22, 2007 Last night was a busy one back at the hotel room, while getting everything packed and ready to go for my flight back to the USA. After getting my 6am wake-up call, I drug myself from the comfort of bed and got my day started. After the morning routine, I went out to the dining room for breakfast to fill up for the day’s adventure.

Once back at my room, I finished up packing my suitcases and spent some time uploading last night’s photographs to the blog site. With my room being close to the hotel’s wireless router, I was able to pick up the connection with my laptop, allowing me to work from the comfort of my quarters. When that was completed, I burned the remainder of my queued images onto a CD, resulting in a total set of 15 disks for the 83 day excursion.

After loading the car with my two fully packed suitcases and laptop case, I settled my bill of €37.50 with the hotel. The relatively low cost was obviously attributed to a concept I learned in economics called the economy of scale. With the hotel’s high volume to help offset costs, it was possible for them to offer such competitive rates. With the inundation of B&Bs throughout Ireland and very few hotels, this was the only way for them to compete. It seemed to me that the lack for economy of scale and the lack of competition, with regard to some other economic issues in Ireland, were partly to blame for the relatively high prices. But I digress.

Returning my car to Hertz, I was at the terminal in short order ready to check in with my airline. Since I was a business-class passenger with Aer Lingus, termed a premier customer, I was able to use the special check-in line, and was processed in minutes. Hoping to find other ways to kill time, it seemed I had much waiting to do for my flight, having arrived two hours before the scheduled departure.

Trying to do the airport-security dance, which included stripping off all metal, removing my jacket, belt and shoes, while simultaneously removing my laptop from its case, and placing all the items into separate trays, I felt a little hurried by the lesser burdened folks behind me, who were waiting patiently for me to get through the check point. After getting through the process, it took a few minutes to reassemble myself at the other end, but at least I wasn’t holding anyone up. It made me wonder what else could be done to make getting through airport security more cumbersome.

Once in the waiting area, I noticed that it was relatively smaller than most other international airport concourses. Everyone was required to remain in the gym-sized area until called for their flight, as airport security did not allow folks to wait by the gates until it was close to time for boarding. Since it was a small airport and the gates had to be used for both local and international flights, it was probably an operational reason to keep everyone consolidated in the large chamber. Fortunately, everything a passenger could possibly need was found there, to include some US Marines in desert uniform. It appeared they were flying back to the states having just come back from Iraq.

Locating the VAT refund desk in the far corner of the concourse, I remembered to keep my receipts for all the gifts I had bought, but had only some with the required form provided by the retailer, which was used to process the refund. Some of the vendors who sold me their wares did not have the forms to give. I had read in one of my guide books that it was possible to get a refund had you the receipt only, but upon talking to one of the workers at the VAT refund counter, it was learned that the form WAS a requirement and just having the receipt was NOT adequate.

It seemed that the VAT refund program was voluntary for retailers, and if they did not want to give out the forms, it was not their duty to do so. So my word of advice is to ask before you buy, and if they do not provide the form with the sale, you may consider another vendor. As it stood, I had forms for three of my purchases and got cash back on the spot. It paid for my lunch, so it was fine with me.

As I was waiting for my refund, I overheard a woman holding an American passport (Yeah, I looked) complaining to one of the VAT refund clerks about not getting all of the money she paid in VAT for her purchases. Bordering on sounding very rude, she seemed to get belligerent with the polite Irish employee. It made me shake my head, thinking that it was folks like that which gave Americans a bad name. I wanted to tell the misguided woman that if she didn’t like the way people ran their country, then stay home. But alas, something told me to just let it go.

At the far end of the concourse, was the US Customs and Border Protection station. With a little over an hour of time to wait for my flight and having had a quick bite to eat, I thought it would be a good idea to find out the process for getting to my airplane. As I talked to an agent at the entrance to the queue about the requirements, it was learned that I had to process through the station and would be allowed to sit at the gate area at the proper time. It seemed that when the plane was within a couple of hours of departure, they posted the flight number on a sign near the queue to alert people when to begin processing through customs.

On my trip to Ireland, I processed through Irish customs in Dublin, and not at JFK when I had departed from there. It seemed that the process was reversed for USA bound passengers, making them process through US Customs in Ireland before boarding the plane. The station was limited to checking passports, reviewing any required paperwork and a short interview with a border patrol agent, leaving only the luggage inspection to be done at JFK. Later I found out why this was vital to the efficient processing of passengers in New York.

Since my flight number was posted on their sign, it seemed a good idea to go ahead and get the process done so I could relax at the gate and wait for boarding. It also meant getting a jump on the rest of the passengers so I wouldn’t have to spend a lot of time standing in line.

With only two people ahead of me in the queue, I was at the desk of an agent in less than 10 minutes. After reviewing the declaration statement I had filled out prior to getting in line, he checked my passport by swiping it through a reader and looked at a computer monitor as he conducted his interview. After about 5 minutes of questioning, he seemed satisfied I was in order, and stamped my passport while directing me to go wait in the gate area.

Sitting by an electrical plug-in, I was checking my email with the airport’s free wireless service while keeping my laptop’s battery charged. It was my plan to use the battery power to work on yesterday’s journal entry on the airplane, having not had the time last night to do a draft. Within a few minutes, an airport tug was approaching the gate with an Airbus 330 in tow, which was named the St Maeve. It appeared that our plane had arrived and was pulling up to the gate for servicing before the transatlantic flight.

After having some employees do a quick check of carry on bags, we were assembled near the jetway door in preparation for boarding. After years of being a coach passenger, it was nice to be at the head of the pack for once as a business-class passenger. Soon we were allowed through, with the plane ready to fly.

As I boarded the plane, a flight attendant met me at the door and checked my boarding pass to determine which way to direct me. Seeing I was a premier customer and not some coach bum, as I may have seemed in my jeans and dark blue T-shirt, she put on a smile and cheerfully showed me the way to business-class section. It was amazing how the word “premier” changed the attitudes of Aer Lingus employees.

Upon finding my luxuriously spacious seat, I noticed only a couple of people in the business-class section. Supposing they had yet to board, I took the opportunity to get comfortable in my new space, which would be my place for the next six and a half hours.

It was not long until I heard the head flight attendant come over the intercom to announce the closing of doors and direct the attendants to do a cross check. Looking up at the 24 premier seats in the business-class section, I noticed only six of them being occupied. It appeared that the news of the pilots’ strike motivated the passengers assigned to this flight to depart ahead of schedule, leaving all the extra seats.

With the other business class passengers sitting on the right side of the plane and none in the middle or left section, it looked like I had the whole plane to myself. Feeling like Donald Trump, I kicked back in anticipation of the spoiling I would receive from the three flight attendants assigned to the business-class section.

During the flight, I managed to get my draft completed before the computer started crying for a plug-in, and I spent the remainder of the trip enjoying the above-average amount of attention from the flight attendants. There was always a full glass of water and a hot cup of tea by my side, and we were fed both a gourmet meal after departure, and served a light meal before landing in JFK. In between we were given treats to keep our needs met, abating the chance of us ever being hungry or thirsty.

We touched down at JFK around 4pm local time and managed to taxi directly to our gate, despite the busy traffic at the massive airport. As we were disembarking, I gave my flight attendants a “Slan go foill” which must have caught them off guard, as I didn’t hear a “Slan” in return until I was on my way out the door.

As we filed into the concourse, and down a hall to the immigration checkpoint, a representative was standing at the end of the corridor and directed us passed the inspectors, telling us to retrieve our luggage at carousel six. Since we had cleared the administrative portion of customs in Shannon, it was not required of us to go through the same process in JFK. I was glad too, as the mass of people waiting to be interviewed made me think had we not taken care of it in Ireland, it would have been some time until we were out of the holding area.

Once at the baggage claim area, a buzzer was heard and the carousel began to move. It did not take long for my bags to appear and I was happily off to the next station. It reminded me how I felt when arriving in Shannon, and my luggage did not. It was so disheartening to be the last passenger at baggage claim and watch a carousel revolve in circles void of your luggage.

At the far end of the baggage claim were the inspectors who cleared the declaration paperwork and determined if further screening was needed. Having answered “yes” to one of the questions, which was whether or not I had been on a farm, I was directed to another inspector to clarify the issue and receive further processing.

When the border agent asked me if I had touched any livestock or had walked around their living area, I told him that I did not, adding that the smell was bad enough from the road. Of course, I had forgotten about the time I had been in a sheep pasture while exploring some abandoned castles. After he inspected the bottom of my shoes, he signed me off and directed me to the exit which lead to the terminal.

Once in the busy terminal, I found the loading dock for the Air Train and boarded it to head to the area that housed the car rental services, which was Building C. The train eventually stopped at my destination after it made its loop around the many terminals at JFK airport. It sure beat walking, especially with my considerable load of luggage.

Disembarking the train, I found the Hertz desk at the ground floor and must have had the luck of the Irish, as there was no line in front of me. Despite some difficulty with my inadvertently canceled reservation, she got it in order and I was in my rental car by 5pm. It took me an hour from the time the plane touched down until I was seated in my dark blue Toyota Corolla. Now that’s what I call efficiency, with perhaps a little luck to boot!

After taking a moment to get acquainted with sitting on the left side again and conditioning my mind to drive on the right, I started my zippy little car with automatic-shift and headed out to find a hotel room for the night. With it being 13 hours since I arose in Limerick, I did not think it would be fun to fight rush hour traffic in New York with such a low energy level. It seemed a wise idea to spend the night in New York and tackle the beast tomorrow.

Once I checked into my good ole American Best Western hotel room with hardwired internet access, I got back on the streets to get some US greenbacks, buy some red licorice and get back to my room so I could order a New York styled pizza. It was good to be back in the USA.

Of course, I still had two more legs left in my trip, which included heading to Baltimore tomorrow and then flying back to Seattle on Monday. It was too early to close the log, promising at least two more entries until the deal was done. When my pot of gold coins is safely in my house, my Ireland trip will be over.

Tuesday August 21, 2007 My morning at the Ballyseede Castle style was a pleasantly quiet one. However, it was not a quiet as the Ballynahinch, due to a noise that awoke me this morning, which may have been attributed to the castle ghost. There was a strange water sound in the ceiling above my room and it sounded like bad plumbing. Perhaps the ghost, Hilda as she was known, had been taking a shower or some such activity to remind the humans she was still about.

I went downstairs for breakfast as opposed to having it brought to my room, having been convinced by the lady who checked me in yesterday that it would be better to come down to the dining room for the morning meal. It probably was a good idea, as they had a buffet-styled breakfast along with the normal fare made cooked to order, but there was nothing like the smell of room service in the morning. It smelled of……affluence!

Maximizing my stay, I remained in my room to work on my entry and process some photographs until it was close to check out time. It was nice to not be rushed, as I had plenty of time to make my way to the Two Mile Inn in Limerick and be ready for the Irish Nights dinner show. The event was to take place at the Bunratty Folk Park at 7pm, which was a handful of kilometers away from the hotel.

After finishing up my work, I packed my bags and hauled my belongings down the staircase and out to my car. Not feeling like a pack mule, I took a couple of trips to get everything out of my room. As I was doing so, the dog, which I had seen laying by the fireplace last night, was doing a good job of playing dead by the front entrance again. Arthur, as he was named, was the castle guard dog and it appeared he had taken up a good position to monitor the activity at the entrance. It seemed that he had things well under control.

After settling my bill, I charted a course for Limerick, which was via the N23 to Castleisland, thence the N21 to Limerick. The hotel was located just on the other side of the city on the N18. Having seen it many times during my earlier stay in the Limerick area, I knew it was right on the N18 on the northbound side of the road.

The drive was mostly uneventful and the traffic through the towns was much lighter than previously experienced. Making good time, I was in Limerick by 1pm. The thought of having to head back south for my stay in Tralee the following evening made me weary, and it was still undetermined where my accommodations would be after that, if the Thursday flight out of Dublin was not going to happen.

I thought about how it would be possible to squeeze in another shot at getting to out Skellig Michael tomorrow morning and still have time to drive to Dublin to get ready for the flight, should it be approved. It seemed I was trying to drive myself to death before departing Ireland. The thought of finally heading home was quite appealing, and kept me going at a vigorous pace.

Pulling into the parking lot for the hotel, I noticed there were few cars and it seemed deserted. However, upon entering the lobby, I noticed much activity in the massively spacious lobby. It had a vaulted roof which made the place look very airy. There were several sitting areas, and I quickly noticed the computer workstation at the end of the chamber opposite the front desk. I also had read that they had wireless internet in the public areas as well.

Upon checking in, I inquired as to the availability of rooms in the coming days, trying to formulate some ideas for accommodations should they be needed. When I told the woman behind the counter my situation with the airlines, she gleefully informed me that the Aer Lingus pilots had called off the strike and that the airline was operating normally.

Wondering about my flight arrangements, I mentioned to her that I did not get any messages from the company regarding my status, and thought that they should have tried to contact me. Unless of course, the illustrious Leprechauns managed to intercept any attempt by Aer Lingus to reach me.

Feeling the need to visit the Shannon airport, I completed checking in and moved most of my belongings into the room before charging out on the N18 northbound. It was my thinking that the original flight was back on the airlines’ to-do list, and that it would be possible for me to get my seat back before it was too late.

Breezing into the airport short-term parking lot, I bolted out of the car and briskly walked into the terminal building to the Aer Lingus ticket counter. Geraldine, the employee with whom I made my new bookings, was not present and had just left for the day. When I inquired as to the status of my original flight, the gentleman informed me that there was plenty of room and that he could book me without a problem. He noticed that my booking for the Thursday flight had been approved and that I was still set to fly on the 27^th as well.

Pondering if I should stay with the Thursday flight out of Dublin and try to fit Skellig Michael into my agenda, I thought it best to go with the original plan, as I was not looking forward to both a drive back to Dublin and dealing with the zoological airport in the capital city. It seemed to me that I should get while the going was good and give myself the rest of the day to prepare my bags for travel. With the flight scheduled to depart at 2pm tomorrow and the airport being close at hand from my hotel, it seemed I would have plenty of time to do my preparations and still take in the Irish Nights show.

Once arrangements had been finalized, it was time to head to the shopping center to buy a suitcase in which to carrying all the loot I had acquired since being in Ireland. Having to deal with several small bags full of stuff for the last few weeks, it would be nice to organize and consolidate everything into one tidy container. It was my thought that it would make going through customs much easier if I had all my declared items in one case, and all my belongings of U.S. origin in the other.

Laying out my day, I thought it would be good to pick up my dropped-off laundry from the cleaners at the Shannon Skycourt shopping center on my way to Irish Nights, as it would be ready after 5pm. This left me with the task of purchasing a suitcase and going back to the hotel to start packing. I also needed to upload yesterday’ entry and attach the appropriate photographs to it. There were also some last minute gifts that needed to be found, and it seemed a good idea to do that at the Bunratty Folk Park gift shop just before the show. With the plan made, it was time to execute.

With everything happening as planned, I found myself in the Bunratty Folk Park with an hour to spare. Deciding to stroll about the park to see if there was anything I missed during my visit earlier, I marched over to the castle to do some looking around.

Checking out the castle grounds, I had found an odd looking ramp paved with baseball-sized, rounded stone and it seemed to dead end at a rural road, with it being a few feet below the grade of the street. It seemed that it was an ancient road, and the more contemporary road had been built over it, cutting it off from where ever it may have gone. It was odd indeed, and was like nothing I had seen at any castles before.

Walking back through a wooded area, I noticed several trails and decided to follow one to a remote area. Admiring the deciduous trees, my eyes caught a small black object at the foot of what appeared to be an oak tree. It was nestled in some green plants and the top of it shined in the sunlight that penetrated the tree tops. Deciding to walk over for a closer look, my eyes swelled when it appeared that I had finally located the object of one of my more important Ireland quests; it was a small black pot filled with gold coins!!!

Feeling my heart race, I wondered why the Leprechauns would have left it in such an open place. But then again, several things started to make sense when pondering the mind of my most pervasive nemesis.

It seemed that the wee men were trying to keep me from Skellig Michael, perhaps trying to divert my attention away from the true location of their pot of gold. It appeared that the only time they did not screw with me was when I was in the Limerick area, perhaps using some reverse psychology. Well it seemed their plan failed and I was the ultimate victor, having fell victim to their devious schemes earlier.

Now the hard work would begin, as they would probably try to stop me from leaving the country with the booty. Getting out of Ireland with the gold was one thing, getting out alive was another. It would require much diligence on my part, and I thought that it would be necessary to be extra vigilant of any reprisals.

After packing up my loot, along with the pot just for good measure, I headed over to the folk village to wait for admission to the Irish Nights show. Finding a seat on an antique-styled bench, I noticed that there were some folks waiting for the show as well. Soon a herd of tourists from a couple of tour buses started fill the area and it seemed that it was just about show time.

Within a few moments, a man dressed in traditional Irish clothing opened the door and begun to allow folks in the building, while taking their tickets. As we filed into the door, there were some maidens in period clothing serving small glasses of mead, Irish cream or juice. Taking a small glass of mead, I sipped the drink while enjoying the flavor of the honey-based wine.

Heading into the main hall, where which there was a stage with several tables set before it, we met a woman who was giving guests their seating assignments. Since the event was reservation-only, they had all the guests organized so as to maximize table usage, ensuring that there was no empty seats. Since I was a party-of-one, I had to sit at a table with two other small groups, making me the filler of a lonely seat.

Waiting for the event to begin, we sat and chatted for a time, as there was still a tour bus group which still had not showed up. It seemed that they were not going to start the festivities until all were present. There were two women on the stage, one with a guitar and the other with an accordion-styled instrument, playing Irish music to keep the masses appeased.

Coming in about 20 minutes late, the final group of guests took their seats and the show was on. Similar to the medieval banquets, as they were apparently run by the same company, the performers were also our servers, and they introduced themselves to the guests of their assigned tables before things got under way. Upon learning our preferences for the main course, of which mine was the Irish stew, they scooted off to get the process started.

The man who greeted us at the entrance, who seemed to be in charge, came on stage to introduce the troupe and gave us a basic idea of how the dinner show would transpire. Once that was said, he kicked off the event and the non-performing members departed the stage to start serving the meal.

Bringing out the first course, which was a simple garden salad, they served us as we enjoyed some music from the performers not engaged in serving tasks. In between courses, the master of ceremonies came on stage to introduce the various segments of entertainment that took place as we consumed our dish.

The show included hearing traditional Irish music with the guitar, the fiddle, an Irish drum and an accordion-styled instrument. There was much singing too, both by the performers individually and collectively, and at times including all the guests. If no one knew the words, clapping was the accepted alternative. Our host even commented that there were some folks that should not consider singing at all, for the benefit of the others.

One of my favorite parts was the Irish dancing, which was similar to the Riverdance performers seen back home. There was one form that looked similar to square dancing. They even got some volunteers into the act, if you want to call them that, having been coerced by the MC and some others in the audience. The humor, to say the least, was in abundance, as the chief host took every opportunity to exploit the guests as if they were props in his act.

One of the performers was labeled as a world-class dancer, and he demonstrated Irish dancing while sweeping the stage with a push broom. It made me think that had I tried to do something like that, I would have needed medical attention soon thereafter.

The pattern was to serve a course, then gather on stage to present a song, some music, a dance or a storytelling session as we ate. It was dinner with a garish of entertainment to make the food go down in the most pleasant of ways. Once the dessert had been served and the tables cleared of dishes, it was time for the full force of the multifaceted show. It was a neat way to digest a wonderful meal.

When our host recapped what we had seen in the show, seemingly bringing the event to a close, he labeled it as being traditional Irish entertainment and announced that we were about to see something a little more contemporary.

As the lights colored a dark and surreal tone, smoke emanated from the facade of a little cottage built on the backside of the stage, and dancers appeared in modern day costume to demonstrate some contemporary Irish dance. The thundering of the dancers’ hard soled shoes on the stage sounded like the charge of a hundred horses and the music added to the excitement with the quickened fiddle and Irish drum. It was an awesome performance and served well as the show’s finale.

Fortunately I had a fresh memory card loaded into my camera and was able to record a video of the dance in its entirety. However, the file size was 765mb, making it too big to burn onto a CD. It did not make sense that hard drives were holding more gigabytes while becoming increasingly smaller in physical size but that a CD still had a maximum capacity of 700mbs. Oh well, at least I had it saved on both the memory card and on my laptop for the trip home.

With the show being over at 9:30pm, it seemed that it would be a long night and an early morning in order to get all my preparations done before my departure from the Emerald Island. I also would have to sleep with an open ear, just in case the Leprechauns had discovered they had been deprived of their pot of gold and figured out how to find me in order to recover it.

It was probably as well that I had not found it earlier in the trip, as it would have made for a stressful vacation, having to always look over my shoulder. However, I was not out of the woods yet.

To see more photographs related to this post go to the Photo gallery and click on the link for “Irish Nights.”

Monday, August 20, 2007 Waking to the sound of wind blowing through the trees outside my window, I opened my eyes to glance out at the evergreens rocking back and forth. The air smelled clean and fresh but was slightly damp due to the morning rain. It was a magnificent Happy-Birthday morning.

With my room being as large as a small gym, I had plenty of room to do my morning stretches, not having to crowd myself or use the space on top of the bed. It had an affluent feeling being able to stand before the large window looking out into the garden.

After preparing myself for the day, I sat on the couch to proof read my entry for yesterday, while adding some more information to spice it up. For some reason I did not feel too motivated at getting my work done last night, and decided to relax in my room instead. I did manage to upload my photographs however, which was the most time consuming use of connectivity.

A light rapping was heard on my door at around a quarter past eight, and it was Peter with my breakfast tray full of items I had listed on the menu card, having posted it on the outside of my door last night. Wanting to spend the maximum amount of time in my little palace, I thought having my breakfast in the room would be a delightful touch. Still dressed in my bedroom slacks, it was fun to sit on the comfortable sofa while eating a full breakfast.

After getting my work uploaded and it seemed that all was set, I decided to check out before noon so as to give me plenty of time for the drive back south to Tralee for my stay at the Ballyseede Castle. Once the car was loaded, I checked out and paid my bill, which was remarkably low considering the elaborate room and service. The room cost €170 for the night, which was much less than I had expected. It was a pleasant surprise, and made me think that when I return to the Connemara, the Ballynahinch was to be my accommodation of choice.

As I was leaving the Connemara, I noticed that there were several hub caps along the road, and supposed it was because of the rough nature of the asphalt, which had jostled me around on the way out yesterday. It was a surprise that one of my hub caps was not among the other casualties. Perhaps we can make an index to indicate a road’s degree of roughness, calling it the hub-cap factor. Having said that, I’d give this road a “10”, as that appeared to be the number of hub caps I saw on the road today.

I also noticed something unique to the area and thought that perhaps that was why there were so many loose sheep along side the road. Throughout all of Ireland, with exception of the Connemara, the livestock pens had been enclosed with stone walls. Here, however, the pens were enclosed with wire field-fencing, and in some areas the fencing was either fallen or in disrepair. Having noted before while staying at the Dundrum House in Armagh, sheep are skilled escape artists and will stop at nothing to get to the greener side of the fence.

Being a Monday and at the tail end of tourist season, it seemed that everybody and their mother was on the road. The drive for me was a series of slow trains, being pulled by everything from tractors and trucks to reluctant car drivers and bicyclists. It took me five and a half hours to go from the Ballynahinch Castle to Tralee, covering 310 kilometers. I was told later that I had made the trip in average time. Unfortunately, that did not make me feel any less tired.

As I pulled up to the Ballyseede Castle, it seemed that despite my arrival at 4pm, it still looked somewhat void of cars and made me think that it was still early. Parking at the entrance to ready the car for offloading, I walked up the front steps and went inside.

Entering the foyer, I saw a registration desk with a guest book, but no staff members in sight. Toward the back and down some stairs I found the Reception Desk, which was actually a small office with a windowed counter. Looking through the window, I noticed a disorganized mess but no people. There was a buzzer on the wall beside the window that said “Ring for Service”, so I did. The sound of crickets seemed to enter my mind, as there was no response.

After a few minutes, a woman dressed in staff uniform appeared from across the foyer. Upon getting her attention, I asked if anyone was working in the reception office. As she walked passed me and entered the office, she said, “I guess… I am.”

After giving my name, she was able to find my reservation on a cluttered desk in the adjoining office. Grabbing the key for my room, she asked me to follow her. As we were ascending the staircase, I noticed the finely finished hand rails and the many oil paintings of people from different backgrounds and periods. I wondered if it was a family album of the previous residents, as the castle was sold to hoteliers in the late 1900s after having been a family home for the Blennerhassetts since 1590.

Once we got up to the third level, she walked over to a door that faced into the staircase area. A small sign was on the door to identify the chamber as being the Shaw Room. There were a couple of short steps up to the door, and it made me think that they were what I called “Gotcha steps” as they would “getcha” if you weren’t paying attention. After some difficulty, she got the door open and revealed a room that was not near the grandness of the one I had at Ballynahinch.

It was bigger than most of my former B&B rooms, but it did not measure up to the palace I had last night. There was a double bed, a wardrobe and small dresser and a tiny chair. The windows overlooked the elegant sitting area in the back lawn, and allowed a cool breeze to flow through the room.

It was nice none the less, and I was happy to have it. It just seemed a little anti-climatical, and I thought that it would have been better to have stayed here before my visit to the Ballynahinch Castle. Oh well, it was much better than a B&B and much more comfortable.

As we left the room and headed back downstairs, I asked her some questions about the offerings at the castle. At no time did she offer me the types of services that had been presented to me by my porter at the Ballynahinch, and I felt a little short changed from the apparent inattention to my needs. She did not even offer to send someone to help me with my baggage. It was a big let down from yesterday’s experience.

Once I hauled my belongings up to my room, I grabbed the camera to do the big walkabout to gather some cool photographs. Along with the fabulous looking building, there were many antiques and decorations found throughout the various chambers. What really got my attention were the suits of armor. Upon examining them closely, I noticed that the armor protected everything except the knight’s backside. I was sure there was some trivia associated with that discovery.

Once back in my quaint room, I relaxed on the bed and refined my entry from yesterday in preparation for uploading. I had noticed that they had a computer workstation set up on the lower floor and that it had a USB port available for my memory stick, which made for a way to easily upload my data. There was also a phone in the room which I could use for dial-up purposes, but it was my intention to use that for email only.

With an hour before the dining room would open, I went down to the dungeon to use the coin-operated computer to upload my text and organize the entry’s photographs. The machine cost €1 per eight minutes of usage, which I found to be a higher rate than any internet café I had used to date. It also claimed to provide broadband connectivity, but its sluggish performance told me either the machine was in need of file maintenance or it was designed to be slow. Having put in enough coin to get me to dinner time, I did what I could and resigned myself to the thought of using a dial-up connection in my room to finish it up.

Entering the dining room, I found it to be quite ornate and very elegant with all the antique furnishings. I had thought that the castle was an antique collector’s Disneyland, with room after room of well aged treasures.

Standing there with no one else in the room, I wondered if the castle’s staff had taken a holiday, leaving me to fend for myself. After a minute, a young woman in staff uniform walked into the room and looked at me like I was the creature from the black lagoon. She had two other guests with her and escorted them to a table and asked them to take a seat. Quickly, I glanced at the mirror to see what could have possibly alarmed her.

Turning back to her, I asked if the dining room was open. She nodded and I asked where she wanted me to sit. Waving her hands, she directed me to sit where I wanted. As I took my seat at a two-person table near the window, I thought that she must be new and had not received training in fine dining. As a matter of fact, she seemed a little apprehensive with the use of speaking English, having noticed a Slavic accent.

Coming back with a bread plate and some water, she put the items on my table and took my order, having left a menu with me upon my sitting down. When that was done, she disappeared once again. It seemed that she was a staff-of-one for the dining room, which was another burn after having such a wonderful fine dining experience yesterday.

She did well at keeping up with the two tables’ needs but had there been a full room, she would have been quickly overwhelmed. As I sat at my table, a group of a dozen or more people came into the foyer. A small bus pulled up to the entrance and they all boarded it, appearing to be heading off for dinner. It seemed that the minimal staffing in the dining room may have been planned as it seemed that our two parties were the only patrons left in the castle.

After enjoying my four courses, which concluded with an apple-blueberry crumble with ice cream, I felt my birthday dinner was complete, and thanked Kate as I returned to my chamber to retire for the evening. As I entered the foyer, I noticed a large furred carpet lying atop another more elegant patterned carpet in front of the fireplace. After a closer examination, the furred carpet was actually a large dog which had seemed to be dead but was resting very peacefully, ignoring any comment I made.

Telling the animal not to move on my behalf, I ascended the stairs to head back to my room. As I was climbing the stairs, I wondered how the next few days would transpire, leaving much room for planning. It seemed that after tomorrow, it was going to be a day-to-day operation.

Hopefully I will hear something from Geraldine, who worked at the Aer Lingus ticket counter, about my status for flying out on Thursday. With tomorrow night’s planned event of Irish Nights to cap off my vacation in Ireland, it seemed fitting to be heading back home soon thereafter and not have to wait until next Monday. Should it not happen, at least it will give me more chances at visiting Skellig Michael. Unless of course, the bloody Leprechauns find a way to screw that up too!

NEWS FLASH: The Aer Lingus Pilots canceled the strike. I’m coming home as planned.

To see more photographs related to this post go to the Photo gallery and click on the link for “Ballyseede Castle.”

Sunday, August 19, 2007 Despite yesterday’s chaos, today had the promise of being very exciting even if the illustrious Leprechauns managed to do their dirty work. It was moving day again, but would probably be my last night staying at a B&B, depending on how things transpired in the next few days. For tonight, I was to be residing in the Ballynahinch Castle, which was located in the Connemara just east of Clifdon in County Galway.

Once breakfast was over, I finished the normal routine and had my stuff packed and loaded in the car by 10am. On my way to settle with Mrs. Murphy, I stopped to have a lovely chat with Mary, who was one of the women that worked at the B&B. Soon Mary went to tell Mrs. Murphy I was ready to close my bill, and we exchanged farewells.

When my farmhouse host appeared, I gave her one of the special golden coins along with the vouchers, telling her I appreciated the wonderful hospitality. Understanding the magnitude of work involved with running her farmhouse B&B, which had hosted as many as a dozen or more guests a night during my stay, I dismissed myself to make my way to County Galway, telling her I’d be back for another visit in the future.

Since it was Sunday, I felt traffic would be much better on the N21 north, and took that route instead of the N69, which took a wide loop to the west of the N21. The N69 had been my route of return last night in order to avoid the mess I encountered on my way up to Shannon yesterday. After bypassing Limerick, I continued on the N18 to Galway then followed the N59 out to the Connemara. The castle was located outside of Roundstone and was sign posted from the N59.

On my way out, I saw a rare sight on the roadways; it was the Gardai (pronounced Gar-dee). Passing them at a little over 100kph, I noticed that they had a device mounted on a large tripod and it was pointed at oncoming traffic. They did not seem to be in the act of stopping vehicles, and appeared to be monitoring only. However, having been told about the speed cameras in Ireland, and how it was the practice to photograph speeders and mail them a ticket, it appeared that this was what they were doing. Hopefully I don’t get any mail from the ever elusive Gardai.

Once in the Connemara, the roadway became narrow and extremely rough, with many twists and bends, which hadn’t changed since the first time I came out here to see the Dan O’Hara heritage center. Having to slow down for the occasional sheep, it seemed that the great time I made from Castlemaine to Galway, which was about 200 kilometers in two and a half hours, was reduced greatly.

Once off the N59, the wood lined road brought me to a large steel gate with a white gate house adjacent the entrance. It seemed I had found the estate and it seemed to be quite the establishment. I was feeling rich already!

Pulling up to the main house, I noticed that it was not the type of castle I had been use to seeing, and it was definitely not a fortified castle. It looked more like a manor house, with its crisp lines and ornate décor. There were gardens throughout the property and the castle sat alongside a flowing river. There were gravel walks scattered about and trees covered the area like a forest, with both deciduous and evergreens abound. Benches and stone walls surrounded the grounds and it smelled and sounded like nature, and not the livestock kind of nature I had been experiencing for the last three months.

Finding a parking space to the left of the front entrance, I would have exited the car onto a red carpet had there been one laid out, and I found myself in the grand lobby ready to check in.

Upon receiving my key, which actually was given to a porter named Peter (Seriously, no joke), I was escorted to my car and assisted with taking my luggage up to the room. Climbing the grand staircase to the next level, we reached the door to my chamber, which was called the Maharajah Room.

As Peter opened the door, it swung open to reveal the biggest hotel-styled room I had ever seen. It was more like a suite, with a four post bed, a sitting area with sofa and chairs by the large window, two desks, a cedar chest, and an upholstered bench near the fire place. There was an adjoining room which had a vanity and wardrobe closet with bathrobes and slippers waiting inside. The bathroom had a shower & tub with two vanity sinks. There was a table by the toilet with various toiletries and other useful items a traveler may have forgotten while packing.

The suite was named the Maharajah, in honor of one of the castle’s former owners and a former Maharajah, who was affectionately nicknamed Ranji, as his proper name was quite lengthy. As such there were some paintings on the walls of Indian subjects, and one of himself in traditional Indian dress. It seemed that Elma had arranged for one of the premier rooms in the castle. What a deal!

Once my stuff was in the room, Peter went to fetch some hot tea for me as I took in the ambiance of the décor. Having only seen something like this on television, I felt like a million bucks as I toured the suite. Grabbing my camera, I took some photographs just to remind myself later that I had actually been there.

Once Peter brought me my tea, he asked if there was anything else I needed. After releasing him to go about his business, he reminded me that should I need anything, it could be obtained by ringing the reception desk and someone would see to it straight away. It was clear to me that this was no B&B, and better than any hotel in which I had stayed in the past.

Deciding to leave my room to get some photographs of some of the other chambers in the castle and some outdoor scenes as well, I started with some shots of the indoors and found a large carpet with a pattern of the U.S. Presidential seal hanging on the wall in the staircase area. It had been presented to President Ford during his visit to the Connemara, when he stayed at the Ballynahinch Castle.

At the base of the staircase was a rack with some heavy duty fishing poles stacked in it. With the river just out back, it seemed a guest could try and catch his or her own dinner. With the cost of the meal at the castle, that would not have been a bad idea.

Walking into the dining room, I saw some employees getting the chamber ready for the evening meal. All the staff wore black slacks and skirts with white shirts having a tie about the neck. Everything was looking first class and ready to serve.

Along the waterfront besides the castle, were some gardens with paths running through them. Taking a stroll through the sanctuary, I pondered a peaceful moment sitting on a bench in the garden along side the river to take in the serenity of the sound from flowing water and the cool breeze blowing through the trees.

After spending some time roaming the estate and capturing images with my camera, I decided to head back inside to admire my room some more before grabbing the laptop to get some online-work done. Having not uploaded my entry from yesterday, I was excited about getting connected to the castle’s wireless router. It was located in the sunroom adjacent the large sitting room, where which I could sit in solitude to work peacefully while looking out at the river and trees. People would kill for an office with such a view, and I took every opportunity to enjoy the million dollar experience.

While chatting with some folks from Arizona, I uploaded my entry from yesterday in mere moments, enjoying the speed of the wireless router. After checking my email, I began to jot down some thoughts for the current day’s entry. As I was working, staff members would frequently pop in to see if there was anything I needed. It seemed like a competition among them to be the one to get the tasking.

Soon it was time for dinner, and I packed up the laptop to return to my spacious chamber. I could not get over how big the room was, and thought that the bathroom alone had been larger than my B&B room in Listowel. It was too much fun!

Not having a suit and tie, I decided that they would have to accept my garb of a polo shirt and jeans, as I had not prepared for such an elegant occasion when packing for my trip to Ireland. At €55 per person, plus a 10% gratuity added in, I figured that they wouldn’t mind my casual dress.

Entering the dining room, called the Ovemore Restaurant, I was met by a staff member and escorted to my table by the window overlooking the river. She pulled out the chair for me and I took a seat, after which she removed the linen napkin from my place at the table and spread it neatly over my lap. Something told me I was not at Denny’s.

As I perused the menu, she departed to fetch some water and a bread basket. Having been a restaurant manger many years ago, I had some knowledge of fine-dining protocol and prepared myself to fit right into the scheme of things. I couldn’t help overhearing those around me who did not understand how to order from the menu, and were confused by having three knives and forks at their place setting. Flipping a utensil over I noted it was Newbridge Silver, and that it was much heavier than the standard stainless steel fork you’d find on your typical dining room table.

Soon I was surrounded by a couple of servers who removed the excess place settings, lit the candle at my table, and poured water in my long stemmed glass. Shortly after that, a server carrying a large basket of various types of breads came over to ask my selection and placed them on the small plate to my left.

Before I could butter my bread, another server came over to take my order. Having made my selections for the four-course meal, she disappeared to get the process going. As I sat waiting for the first course, I gazed out onto the river as it flowed passed the castle. I could see other guests walking the paths through the gardens as a light rain sprayed the gardens and trees. The view reminded me of home, with the many evergreens blanketing the hillside completely around the estate.

Once the first course came, I felt liked someone was watching me, waiting for any indication that I needed some attention. As soon as I finished my lamb salad with ginger & lemon sauce and slid the plate to the side, a server came out of nowhere and scooped the plate up, disappearing just as fast.

Within a moment the next course came, and it continued in that fashion until the final main course was completed. Before I could even dab my mustache with the cloth napkin, a server brought me a desert menu to seal the deal. After ordering a decadent “Assiette of Chocolate”, I felt like the dining experience transpired like a well rehearsed dance.

Retiring to my room after dinner, I sat down to begin working on my daily entry. When checking in I was told that there were no wireless nodes in the castle to allow guests to pick up the router from their rooms, and that because of the stone walls, laptops could not detect the wireless router from a distance either. When I noticed that my room was directly over the sunroom, it occurred to me that it should be possible to detect the router as the floors were made of wood and not stone.

Booting up my laptop, I was happy to see that it was able to find the router. Sitting on the sofa by the large window overlooking the gardens, I relaxed in the expansiveness of my chamber and enjoyed the convenience of working in my room.

After 80 days of staying at B&Bs, it was a delightful change to the routine, and made me think that if there was money in my pocket, it was better spent being comfortable. How often do you get to stay in a multimillion dollar castle and live like a king for a night? Yep! This was the only way to go!

To see more photographs related to this post go to the Photo gallery and click on the link for “Ballynahinch Castle.”

Saturday, August 18, 2007 It would have been a normal morning with a quiet breakfast but something happened that proved to be an omen for the rest of the day’s events. As I sat down to begin my breakfast with a bowl of cereal and a banana, I reached for the small silver pitcher of milk and before pouring its contents onto my healthy concoction, something caught my eye.

Looking closer into the container I noticed what seemed to be tiny specs and small bubbles which looked like small droplets of oil, floating on the top. A strange feeling came over me liken to someone who had recent trauma and their senses were alarmed. There was something different about the milk, but I was not sure what it was. When one of the serving ladies came into the dining room, I called her over and said that I thought the milk looked odd. She took the pitcher of milk and disappeared into the kitchen.

After a couple of minutes, another woman came out of the kitchen carrying a silver pitcher and put it on my table. She said that the milk which the young server brought back into the kitchen was……freshly made dairy milk!!!

Hah!! It seemed those shamrock-toting, pot-of-gold hoarding devious little Leprechauns had tried to slip me another gut bomb! But it seemed I foiled their devious scheme to bring me to my knees this time. As the saying goes, fool me once, shame on you – fool me twice, shame on me. Will the little bastards stop at nothing to keep me from their pot of gold? All I can say is that you should never underestimate the power of a redhead!

Adding to recent events, I thought that my nemesis may have had a hand in something that happened last night. When checking my email at Sammy’s pub and getting my dinner, I saw a message from Aer Lingus, which was my airline transportation to and from Ireland.

The email said that due to “industrial action” my flight heading to JFK on Wednesday was canceled and that I should go to their web site and make a new booking. They were kind enough to say that they would not charge me for changing my travel dates to an earlier time, and MAY not charge me to extend my travel to arrange a later date. Gee, wasn’t that generous of them.

It made me wonder what they meant by “industrial action”, as I had never heard that term used in business school. Being a recent graduate with a Bachelor’s degree in business, and having been a customer all my life, it seemed that what they meant to say was that it was crisis management due to mismanagement. What ever the reason, it had the potential of making things very inconvenient for me.

After a victorious breakfast, I finished proofing my entry and packed up for another try at the Skellig Michael trip. This time I called the Skellig Experience visitor center to put my name on the boat list and give them my mobile phone number, asking the curator to give me a ring when they received the report on sea conditions. Since they would know around the noon hour as to whether or not the trip was a go and the trip departed at 2:30pm, I figured that placing myself in Killarney would put me in range with time to spare.

After getting into Killarney around half-ten, it gave me plenty of time to upload my data and check my email. It also gave me time to see about changing my flight plans with Aer Lingus. It was one thing to leave my luggage in New York on the trip over, but now they wanted to leave me in Ireland to fend for myself. I envisioned the Leprechauns reeling with laughter, as they reflected on my misfortune.

Getting my data uploaded and having checked my email, I tried to go to the web site for Aer Lingus to see what I could do to remedy my dilemma. When I tried to log in, it did not like my information and denied access. Perhaps the little green bastards found a way to hack into the Aer Lingus web site as well. It seemed I was getting no where with regard to resolving this crisis.

About that time, my mobile rang and it was the curator at the Skellig Experience. It seemed that the stormy weather that had enveloped my neck of the woods, had also made its way to the Skelligs, and there was to be no trip to Skellig Michael today. It made me wonder if the person he had talked to on the radio was really the boat captain, and not a Leprechaun splashing in a bath tub.

He asked if I was going to be around next week, as he heard the weather was forecasted to improve. Telling him I was not sure of my plans yet, it seemed that it would depend on how things went for the week.

With that, I decided that a trip to Shannon Airport and the Aer Lingus desk was in order. With the trouble I was having with their web site, and not being comfortable with trying to iron out this problem on the phone, it was my thinking that a face-to-face meeting was vital to the success of getting suitable arrangements.

With my flight out of Baltimore departing on the 27^th for Seattle, a flight getting me back to JFK before then would prevent me from having to adjust my plans with US Airways. Let us not forget rescheduling my rental car out of JFK and the shuttle van from Seattle to my home in Olympia Washington. Oh wait! I almost forgot about where I was going to live while waiting for my delayed flight out of Ireland. It seemed that the little men had gone through great lengths to create such a mess.

However, if arrangements could be made to leave earlier than the 22^nd, you would think that there would be no problem, right? Well, I had booked two castle stays, one on Sunday and the other on Monday in celebration of my birthday. I also reserved a seat for Irish Nights at the Bunratty Folk Park, which was a dinner show with Irish dancing, music and storytelling. These arrangements were to be the pinnacle events for my vacation in Ireland, bringing it to a glorious and colorful close. Having said that, what do you think was the probability of me wanting to leave before my planned departure date?

High tailing it to Shannon by way of the N22 to Castleisland, thence the N21 to Limerick to meet the N18 to Shannon, I found the route to be very grueling with the N21 coming to a crawl in Castleisland, Abbeyfeale, Newcastle West and Adare. The only saving grace was a bypass to the west of Limerick. This would make only four cities I have found in the Republic that had bypasses. Hopefully in a few years that would change before the congestion in the small towns due to the increased traffic got to a paralyzing level.

Once at the airport, I was able to find the Aer Lingus counter and noticed some customers ahead of me with the same dilemma. Throwing myself on the mercy of the employees at the ticket desk, I hoped there would be a proper solution.

It was learned that the so called industrial action was in fact a strike by the airlines’ pilots, because they objected to the way the company was operated and had problems with management. With Aer Lingus planning to discontinue a major connection from Shannon to Heathrow airport in England, which was a major hub in Europe, it seemed that this may be part of the reason. At any rate, the pilot’s decision to strike would affect many passengers, of which I was one.

What was interesting was that the pilots’ union chose the day of my planned travel to strike. It made me think that perhaps the Leprechauns had an inside man assigned to the union committee for Aer Lingus pilots. Was there no end to this madness?

After informing me that many folks had already responded to the message to amend their travel plans, the woman at the ticket counter said that unless I took a seat on a plane departing tomorrow the 19^th at 2pm, the earliest flight I could arrange would not be until the 27^th of August. The Aer Lingus flight on the 27^th would mean I’d miss my connection from Baltimore to Seattle, as that was the day it was planned for departure. Leaving tomorrow at 2pm was not looking good either.

She said I could talk to a reservation specialist, who had been on the phone with the other customers at the counter trying to help them out, but that I had to wait until they were done. Thinking I had nothing better to do, it did not seem a problem to wait.

During idle conversation, it slipped that I was a business-class passenger, and the world seemed to morph into a parallel universe, as she began to madly type on her computer keyboard. When the customer before me was finished with the Aer Lingus representative on the phone, she grabbed the phone from him and handed it to me. She directed me to tell the reservation specialist that I was a premier customer, and perhaps she could make something happen.

As I mulled over the possibilities with a reservation specialist on the phone, the lady at the counter tried to go into the system to see what she could find as an alternative. Trying to determine if the pain of rescheduling my domestic travel was more than the disappointment of canceling my carefully designed exit plan for Ireland, I decided to fly on the 27^th and would work things out with my US travel. I figured that once in back in the states, my options for travel were more plentiful.

When I hung up the phone, Geraldine informed me that it may be possible for me to get a flight on the 23^rd but that there was no guarantee it would fly, as they had not found a crew to fly it. Having confirmed my booking for the 27^th, she went ahead and put me on the wait list for the flight on the 23^rd of August. Taking my contact information, she said that she would let me know the status of the flight as soon as possible.

With my two bookings in hand, I felt somewhat relieved and begun to make some tentative plans in my head as I walked out to the car. With a light rain spraying me in the face, I wondered if the Leprechauns had orchestrated this whole mess, trying to make one last effort to bring me to my demise. Perhaps not, but it felt like it was indeed the day of the Leprechaun.

Friday, August 17, 2007 The day started out with good intentions, but it did not happen the way I wanted. The plan was to see the island of Skellig Michael, with the backup plan of the Ring of Kerry should the weather not allow the boat to get out to the ancient monastery a mere 12 kilometers off shore. Since the ports, where which I could hire a boat to get out to the islands, were along the route for the Ring of Kerry, it seemed an efficient plan.

Let me preface this by saying that the Ring of Kerry had a similar unwritten rule like the Dingle peninsula, only the direction of preferred travel was counterclockwise or anti-clockwise as they called it here. I’ll explain more on this later.

Heading out right after breakfast, having gotten up extra early to make sure my files were ready for uploading, I wanted to get down to the Skellig Experience visitor center as soon as possible to find out when and if the boats were running. Once in Castlemaine just east of my B&B, the route was to take the N70, which was the road designated for the Ring of Kerry, southwest to meet the R565 just south of Cahersiveen. The R565 branched off the Ring of Kerry and was the road to get to the Skellig visitor center. It was also the road designated as the Skellig Ring. The two rings interlocked together in sort of a chain.

With my being on the road just before 9am, it was smooth driving all the way to the visitor center, with the N70 being a two-lane road with intermittent shoulders and in good condition. As I passed the town of Glenbeigh, which was just wet of Killorglin, the scenery took on a different look, with many trees to be seen. There were both deciduous and evergreen trees making for an interesting landscape.

About five kilometers out of Cahersiveen I found the interchange for the R565 and the Skellig Ring. After a few minutes on this road, I found the visitor center situated across the channel from Portmagee on the south end of Valencia Island. It was just on the other side of the bridge that connected the island to the mainland and Portmagee.

Finding the car park for the visitor center almost deserted, having arrived a little after 10am, I secured the car and was headed for the visitor center in the shake of a lamb’s tail. Approaching the building, I found it to have a unique architecture with an arched roof that was covered with a grass lawn. Looking at it, I thought they must have had a heck of a time trying to mow such an oddly shaped surface. Had they tried using sheep to keep the grass down, they probably would have had some casualties both in sheep and the humans on which they fell.

Once inside I learned that it was possible to sign up for the island trip here as well, making it one-stop shopping for Skellig Michael, which is actually spelled Mhichil in Irish. The boat ran once a day leaving at 2:30pm and returned a couple of hours later. I found out that there were some private charters close by that headed out at 10am, but it was too late for me to consider that option.

The curator at the counter told me that the boat captains, who had headed out earlier to judge the seas, would be calling in a report around noon as to whether or not it would be possible to make the afternoon run. With plenty of time on my hand, I signed up for the boat ride and paid the admission to the visitor center exhibit, which included a film about Skellig Michael.

After seeing the delightful film about the history of the ancient monastery, I went out to look at the exhibit and take in some more information to prepare me for the journey out to the small, rock island on the ocean. The monastery had its beginning in the 7^th century and was home to early Christian monks for over 600 hundred years.

After reading the information placards and photographing some of the interesting life-size and miniature dioramas of the tiny monastic community, I was informed that the boat ride had to be canceled due to weather. Thanking the curator for letting me know, I told him of my return tomorrow to try again, explaining that it was my expectation it could happen and that the weather was not something anyone could control.

Deciding to go ahead with the run on the Ring of Kerry, I figured that it would be fun to finish the Skellig Ring, which would reconnect me with the N70 just a little further south from where I had left it to go to Portmagee. As I left town, I saw a sign which said that coaches were not allowed on the Skellig Ring. “Hmmm,” I thought, the road must be really hairy if they won’t let buses on it.

And that it was, with it being essentially a one-lane unimproved road that had a steep climb to the top of a coastal elevation. It took much cooperation on the part of drivers for small cars to be able to share the road, so it was obvious that buses or lorries would not be able to make the trek.

Once at the summit, the road began a slight descent and headed toward the coastline. It was a magnificent view once close to the water, with the rocky edges and crashing surf. Soon the road headed inland to reconnect with the N70. Along the way I saw several bog fields which were actively being quarried and passed several large mounds of cut turf, which seemed to be stacked for drying before shipment. Apparently this area did not fall under the bog protection act of the EU.

Driving slowly down the rural road, I encountered a dog heading my way that was walking on the road to my left, which would have been his/her right. Upon seeing my car, the little guy, or gal, moved to the left side of the road to allow me to pass. It seemed that even the animals respected the proper driving etiquette. It’s a sad day when a dog is smarter than a tourist, but then again it did not take much. Unfortunately, I was not quick enough to get photographic evidence for those skeptical readers.

Looking at my map, I noticed several smaller roads branching off from the now R566, and saw that I wanted to transition to the R567 to take me back to the N70. Somehow I either did not see the sign or there was no sign to be seen, and found myself back at the R565 where I had originally departed the N70. I had gone full circle! A little perturbed at my navigational error, I went ahead and got back on the N70 continuing on the Ring of Kerry. It seemed a good idea that if the Skellig boat did not run tomorrow, I would try to drive the Skellig Ring once again to find out where I had gone wrong.

Continuing down the road, I noticed the weather to be getting rainier and the visibility was decreasing with every kilometer. It seemed that today was not the day to consider any scenic touring, which only perturbed me all the more. It appeared that Mother Nature was not going to give me good sightseeing weather today.

This was a shame because the run around the Ring of Kerry had the potential of being as magnificent as the Dingle run yesterday, if not more. Still stopping to take photographs, it did not take much of my imagination to envision how the landscape would look had it been clear and sunny weather. As you will notice in the photos I took today, it is possible to see some of what the scenery had to offer.

Despite the rain and occasional fog with low clouds, I got an idea for which parts of the Ring were the most scenic, and thought to return before my departure next Wednesday to get some proper photographs. The areas of the Ring I found to be the most interesting involved the section from Waterville to Cathair Donall and from Kenmare to Killarney. It seemed to offer the most interesting landscape and the most nerve-wracking of roadway.

Okay, as I promised, the rest of the story on the counterclockwise requirement. First of all, let me tell you that the entire stretch of road in the Ring was a two-lane road in varying degrees. At no time was it a one-lane road like the one I described at Slea Head on the Dingle Peninsula. So that was not the issue for the directional preference.

What I did notice, was that the two-lane road had become so narrow that should two large vehicles meet, it would have been almost impossible for them to squeeze by each other. Having said that, it seemed to me that the counterclockwise flow of traffic was a rule adopted for buses to follow, and not necessarily cars. A bus and a car could have made the squeeze, but it would be a little unnerving for an inexperienced driver.

There were, in fact, cars taking the clockwise direction and doing just fine. It seemed to me, however, that if drivers wanted to minimize frustration, it would be advisable to not go against the grain. So the bottom line is that you can do the Ring of Kerry in a clockwise direction, but just be prepared to work a lot, while possibly terrorizing your passengers in the process.

As I approached Killarney, I noticed the Lady’s View, which I had mentioned in my post about the Gap of Dunloe, and stopped to glance down at the lake on which I had traveled earlier. It was easy to spot Lord Brandon’s Cottage and the town nestled beside the Gap. The weather still made for a somewhat hazy picture but it was still discernable.

Once back in Killarney, I stopped by the internet café to upload yesterday’s data. Sitting in the comfortable office-style chair in the darkened room, as I was uploading my photographs ever so slowly, I yawned and thought that tomorrow would be another chance at making the trip to Skellig Michael. With the Ring of Kerry under my belt, the island was the last, but most important site left for me to visit in Ireland.

To see more photographs related to this post go to the Photo gallery and click on the links for “Skellig Michael” and “Ring of Kerry.” Please note the IMG_####.jpg files are in high resolution to enable clearer enlargement.

Thursday, August 16, 2007 During breakfast I had the opportunity to sit with some folks from Wisconsin who had completed seeing the Dingle peninsula yesterday. It seemed that the weather had been localized to the extent that it appeared lousy here at the B&B and was nicer further west onto the peninsula when they made their run. It also looked equally as poor this morning, but with my time running out in Ireland, bold measures were required. Rain or no, it was time……to do the Dingle!

Needing to run into Killarney, I decided to upload my data at the internet café there as opposed to using the one in Dingle. The management there did not like folks uploading photographs on their system, and were restrictive in the practice when enough customers started bogging down the bandwidth. Be it far from me to be a bandwidth bandit, so I figured it would be best to use another internet café.

After arriving in Killarney I was fortunate to find a parking space on the street near the internet café, and ran in to upload my files. After reviewing my entry one last time, I was going to upload the photos first before posting my text. However, in my haste to hit the road this morning, I forgot to transfer the files onto my memory stick. Well, it seemed I was going to have to hope that the Dingle café would be understanding enough to forgive me for stealing some bandwidth. I did not want to have a backlog of files to upload, especially with the anticipation of obtaining several photographs on today’s scenic drive on the Dingle peninsula.

After stopping by my room on the way back from Killarney, I made my way into Dingle and had much difficulty finding an available parking space near the internet café. The streets were absolutely packed with people and cars, as it seemed that the town’s tourist population had swelled considerably with the end of summer in sight. As such, feeling like a true native, I decided to park on the sidewalk in a double-yellow-line zone. It seemed that when in Ireland, if there was a sidewalk, there was a parking space… period!

Uploading my files in record time, I was on the road again but stopped at a deli to grab a quick snack to eat in the car, before charging out onto Slea Head Drive. Anticipating some slender, winding roads, I was not going to attempt to drive and eat at the same time, even though driving had become more relaxing now. It only took a few minutes to inhale my chicken and chips and I was on my way.

As I was heading out of the service station lot, I saw a man with a dog and donkey heading into town. The donkey was loaded for bear with a white sign on its pack that said, “Slow” and the gentleman looked quite weathered in his loose garb and floppy hat. Judging from his beard and length of hair, he had not been groomed in some time either. It seemed that I could add another creature combination to the list of things that shared the roads of Ireland.

Before I go into the trip, let me advise you with a critical piece of information to remember when cruising the Dingle Peninsula; drive the loop clockwise! The reason for this is simple; that is the direction the tour buses go. Let me explain.

The roads are very narrow at some points in the loop, and only one vehicle can pass at a time. This required cooperation among drivers in which one had to assume a passive role and accommodate the other. As such, it seemed that there was this unwritten rule that who ever is bigger, DOES NOT BACK UP!

So if the driver of a car encountered a bus, guess who has the onus to pull off or back up? If you said the bus, you will find yourself rotting in your car waiting for it to get out of your way. Having said that, I will consider my readers fairly warned.

As I had expected, the drive was a narrow two-lane road without a shoulder, with only enough room for opposing traffic to pass ever so tightly. Fortunately, there were several pull-offs along the way to allow drivers to stop and get out to view the scenery and take photographs. It was also comforting to see the buses going the clockwise direction, making me feel like I had the right information.

Having been in Ireland for the last three months enjoying the pristine scenery, the first few kilometers were pretty ho-hum for me, except for the occasional coastal view of the surf pounding the rocky shores. There were even some beehive-shaped, stone houses supposedly from prehistoric times, which added a nice touch to the scenery. There was, of course, an admission to view them, so I decided to grab a long-distance photo.

It seemed that every household on the peninsula had a shingle hanging for some kind of enterprise, so it would be hard to validate sites that were not a part of a government agency. It may sound cynical, but when there is a feeding frenzy on tourism, I expect everyone wants a piece of the action.

The drive went from “Ho-hum” to “WOW” in short order as I neared Slea Head. The road became rough and snaked along the rocky edges, with shear drops just off the side of the road. Fortunately there were stone barriers to keep the unwary driver from an early demise. With driving speeds at a crawl on the dicey road, it was easy to see why it was crucial for traffic to be going a consistent direction. Encountering opposing traffic at this juncture would make for quite the frustration.

Once around the head, the road opened up some but still required caution. At what seemed liked the apex of the drive, was a white statue of the Crucifixion with three women standing at the base of the cross. There were no placards to be seen to explain the ensemble’s purpose. Having read about the many shipwrecks in the area between Slea Head and the Blasket Islands just off the coast, I supposed it may have been a memorial or beacon for ships.

Heading back around the north side of Slea Head, I was glad to see more pull-offs, which allowed me to stop and take some photographs of the magnificent scenery. The views were picturesque and I imagined that many painters found inspiration from the beautiful landscape. There were a couple of beaches along the way, and I could see some swimmers and surfers taking advantage of the active surf.

Once around the head, the road moved inland somewhat and began a turn back to Dingle. Before driving into the town’s roundabout at the east end, I pulled off to look at my map to see if there was any more to the peninsula other than the Slea Head Drive. It looked like the R560 heading out of Dingle covered the rest of the northern half of the peninsula, so I continued through town to find the roundabout on the west end, where which the R560 could be met.

As I entered the eastern roundabout, I saw a green sign that said Connor Pass but no markings indicating the R560. Using my reasons of deduction and comparing the map with the roads around me, I figured that this was the way to go. Since being in Ireland, I had to use some creative navigation skills, with the occasional gut feeling, to find my way. It seemed to be paying off, so I went with the road to Connor Pass.

As I reached the edge of Dingle, I saw a white sign with an arrow on it that pointed down a road, indicating the way I wanted to go. As I passed the sign, having to jog my course a bit, I noticed that some vandals had modified it by using a large marker to add an “S” to Connor and covered over the letter “P” in Pass with some white paint. So it seemed that I was going to be driving my rental car up Connors……..Alrighty then, on to the next paragraph.

As I ascended the mountainside, which was barren with the exception of grass, stone walls and the occasional livestock, I could see the summit in the distance as the road crested and apparently traveled down the north side of the elevation. I could not wait to get at the summit to stop and examine the view from what appeared to be the highest point in the region.

Stopping at the summit to take some photographs and a short break, it was easy to see the town of Dingle to the southwest and the town of Castlegregory on the northern coast. When standing on the north slope, I had to be very careful of the shear drop along the side of the road. Looking down, there was a commanding view of the landscape of fields and lakes below.

After taking a few panoramic shots, I climbed back into the car and continued on down the north slope. Cutting back toward Dingle on the N86 after reaching sea level, I found a sign-posted short cut to Inch that would put me on the road to Boolteens. After a short jaunt I was on the road that would take me back to my B&B.

Having started the Dingle tour around the noon hour, I completed the run in about five hours, which included the stop at the internet café, a quick lunch and several stops along the road. It would have easily been a day trip, had I stopped at some of the tourist traps along the way, but for me the pleasure was to just………do the Dingle!

To see more photographs related to this post go to the Photo gallery and click on the link for “Dingle Peninsula.” Please note the IMG_####.jpg files are in high resolution to enable clearer enlargement.