My Ireland Trip

The Last Entry

nospam@example.com (Pat Patterson) — Fri, 31 Aug 2007 16:58:01 -0500

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!

Headed to Baltimore

nospam@example.com (Pat Patterson) — Thu, 23 Aug 2007 07:20:00 -0500

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.

Back to the USA

nospam@example.com (Pat Patterson) — Wed, 22 Aug 2007 07:50:00 -0500

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.

Day Eighty Three: Irish Nights & Getting ready for home

nospam@example.com (Pat Patterson) — Tue, 21 Aug 2007 06:47:00 -0500

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.”

Day Eighty Two: Staying at the Ballyseede Castle

nospam@example.com (Pat Patterson) — Mon, 20 Aug 2007 17:45:00 -0500

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.”

Day Eighty One: Staying at the Ballynahinch Castle

nospam@example.com (Pat Patterson) — Sun, 19 Aug 2007 12:28:00 -0500

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.”

Day Eighty: The Day of the Leprechaun

nospam@example.com (Pat Patterson) — Sat, 18 Aug 2007 11:06:00 -0500

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.

Day Seventy Nine: The Ring of Kerry

nospam@example.com (Pat Patterson) — Fri, 17 Aug 2007 06:12:00 -0500

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.

Day Seventy Eight: Doing the Dingle

nospam@example.com (Pat Patterson) — Thu, 16 Aug 2007 10:48:00 -0500

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.

Day Seventy Seven: Crag Cave and the Kerry County Museum

nospam@example.com (Pat Patterson) — Wed, 15 Aug 2007 06:51:00 -0500

Wednesday, August 15, 2007 After another restful sleep, I was ready for the day but it seemed Mother Nature was not in an amiable mood, covering Ireland with rain clouds and high winds. As the wind blew through the trees outside my window, it occurred to me that perhaps my sound sleep was attributed to having these green giants nearby. Having been in Ireland for almost three months, it felt good to have the wonderful deciduous trees around to cleanse the air. The small amount of trees on the Emerald Island made me homesick for the abundance of the Evergreen State, which was almost like missing an old friend.

Since it seemed that a run on the Dingle Peninsula would not be an option today, I decided to head into Killarney to upload the previous day’s data and figure out what to do from there. After breakfast I finished up my morning routine and headed out for Killarney.

With the last three major items on my agenda being the Dingle Peninsula, the Ring of Kerry and the Skellig Islands, all of which were scenic activities, it seemed that the weather as of late had much less sunshine than I had complained about in the earlier parts of my trip. It made me wonder if the Leprechauns had anything to do with the change in weather, having not been bothered by them for some time now.

Once in Killarney it did not take long for me to take care of business at the internet café and make a quick run to the An Post to drop off my last batch of postcards. Sitting in my car after a short walk in town, I rifled through my guidebooks to see what there was to do of interest. Coming across a write-up on the Crag Cave, it sounded like an interesting attraction, having been boasted as Ireland’s Showcase Cave.

Headed back north on the N22 to Farranfore, thence the N23 to Castleisland, where which the caves were located, I observed that the weather had not improved, which suited a cave visit just fine. Unlike the Marble Arch Caves I had visited some time ago, these caves were not reported as being a problem for flooding when it was raining heavily. It seemed I had made a good choice.

Pulling into the car park for the Crag Caves, I noticed that it was well sign-posted through town and easy to find on the outskirts of Castleisland. The traffic through the city center, however, was a mess with two N class roads trying to snake their way through the small town’s erratically laid out one-way streets. For an island country of only four and a half million people, it seemed that every town was equally as congested at all times, and left me to wonder if the entire population was on the road at the same time or that the census figures were incredibly understated.

Back at the Crag Caves, I found the visitor center to consist of a large gift shop, a small café and a children’s fun center. As a matter of fact, the gift shop’s inventory had a vast amount of items geared especially for children. Needless to say, there was an abundance of the half-pint humans, and it seemed that the facility was set up specifically for families.

The center did not have an exhibition or any displays regarding the cave and no audio visual presentations. It seemed that the cave itself was the extent of the attraction. It had all the markings of a classic tourist trap, which especially targeted children as the main prey for commercial activity.

Anxious to at least see the cave, I bought my ticket for €12 and waited for the tour to begin. After about 15 minutes, a man announced via public address that the tour was to meet by the green door. As all the ticket holders herded over to the assembly area, the guide soon showed up and we were off.

Once we had received a quick safety briefing, we followed our guide down a walkway which had an overhead cover made from timber, and started down some stairs into a concrete bunker, then continuing down a metal staircase into the cave. When all got to the bottom, our guide took us into the dark but colorfully lit abyss.

Gathering in the first chamber, we saw numerous small lights of different colors lighting up various parts of the cave, as if to point out certain aspects of the formations found inside. As we went along, she halted us to talk about some things found in the cave, then paused for a few minutes, apparently to allow folks to ask questions or take pictures.

Noticing some oddly colored speakers in some of the higher crevices and ledges, it was learned that they were there to add sound to the presentation, but were not operational at the time of our tour. Our guide did not seem very interested in telling us more than her script dictated, and it was rather boring as she showed no enthusiasm in lecturing to her captive audience.

When we got to the extent of the cave where easy passage terminated, she essentially said that the tour was over and that we could head back to the entrance. As folks started their way back, I took the opportunity to ask her about what she had said about the growth rate of stalactites, and told her about the ones I had observed at the Carrigafoyle Castle a few days back.

During the tour, she had said that they grow at a half an inch every thousand years. Based on that it would make the ones I saw in the 500-year-old castle about 3,000 years old. When I told her this, she seemed to go on the defensive, apparently thinking I was challenging her knowledge of the subject. Feeling like someone who had stepped on an emotional land mine, I let the topic die out and decided to do some more research on the matter later. It taught me to be careful of the questions you ask a woman while in a dark and lonely cave.

With that activity only taking about an hour of my time, I decided to find something else to add to my day, as it was too early to head back to my B&B. Avoiding the gift shop ambush, I headed back to the car to scan my guide books once more.

With Castleisland being just a few minutes away from Tralee, it seemed that the Kerry County Museum would be a good choice, and it had been proclaimed as being quite interesting. Having to go back through the zoo in Castleisland, I eventually found myself on my way to Tralee on the N21 and was there in a matter of minutes.

In my efforts to find the tourist office, so as to get directions to the museum, it was pleasing to find that the two were co-located near the town center. Once grounding my car and paying for my parking pass, I was on the front steps in a flash.

Once inside, I found the reception counter close at hand. It was a self-guided tour, which I had found great for museums as it allowed much time to view and study the displays. Once paying my €8 and being handed a floor plan of the museum, I was off to grow some brain cells.

The museum was broken down into six sections; a special temporary exhibit, an audiovisual presentation, a gallery of Irish history, an exhibit on a local Antarctic explorer named Tom Crean, an exhibit on the ruling medieval families, and an exhibit called the Medieval Experience.

The temporary exhibit on display during my visit was about a local hero, William Melville, who was known as the “Spymaster.” Born in County Kerry, he started out as a London cop, but eventually became the James Bond of the late 19^th and early 20^th century, working for a British spy service. As a matter of fact, for all you James Bond fans, there was an interesting piece of trivia I had learned.

If you recall, 007’s boss was named “M”, which happened to be Melville’s name when he was in the British Secret Service. It was the standard at that time to name the high level spies by the first letter of their last name. It is thought that James Bond author Ian Flemings, who had contact with this spy service while in the British Navy, had used this naming convention for the character in his book. So there! You’ve had your Jeopardy booster shot for the day.

The audiovisual was a series of photographs regarding things you could find in County Kerry. It was quite colorful and some of the pictures had been of places I had seen while touring. It was neat to be able to recognize the images, and remember having seen them in person. It was also a good way to rest my dogs, after having been on my feet for some time while viewing the first exhibition.

As for the gallery, I found this to be an outstanding set of displays which told you the history of Ireland from prehistoric times up until today, with clear and concise placards, descriptive pictures, genuine artifacts and realistic life-sized dioramas. It was like “Ireland 101” and I wished that I had seen this before any other exhibit in Ireland, as it would have given me a great frame of reference. Of course there were some things specific to County Kerry, but for the most part it was an unbiased presentation of Irish history.

Having not much interest in the Antarctic explorer, I moved directly to the Knight’s Hall to view the displays on a powerful family of Kerry during medieval times, the Fitzgeralds, who later became the Earls of Desmond. They were among the rebels who were a thorn in Queen Elizabeth’s side, and perhaps a few other places.

Lastly, and most importantly, was the Medieval Experience exhibit. It was like stepping through a time machine into a medieval town with all the characters, portrayed by model figures of course, going about their daily lives. It was constructed in a large chamber, which looked like a sound stage. It was eerily realistic walking through the makeshift street and a surreal experience. As with the gallery, this was also a good presentation of the many facets of medieval life. Along with concise reader boards, there was narration provided at each station as I moved through the medieval town.

As I exited the wonderfully done museum, passing through the ostentatious gift shop, I thought to myself about my final days in Ireland. With it being a scant week away from my departure from the Emerald Island, it appeared that the adventure would soon be over.

With a sigh, it made me think that with the driving finally becoming somewhat second nature and my body finally making the adjustments, it was soon time to upset the whole balance again. Hopefully the bloody Leprechauns will not decide to follow me home. That I could do without!!

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

Day Seventy Six: Fungie the Dingle Dolphin

nospam@example.com (Pat Patterson) — Tue, 14 Aug 2007 05:19:00 -0500

Tuesday, August 14, 2007 After a good night’s rest and lively breakfast, it seemed that the Farmhouse B&Bs were much more personal and felt more like a home. The urban and suburban B&Bs had more of a commercial flavor to them and the guests much more reserved. However, the one common factor I have found about B&Bs in Ireland is that no two are alike, particularly in housing standards. As such, it had lowered my expectations of consistency, which I would normally receive from corporate accommodations back home, with some rooms being a far cry from building code standards.

One expectation I had of this place was that I had been told that there was an internet café in Inch, which was the next town west of Boolteens. However, when I went to look for it last night, so I could check up on my email, it turned out to be a pub with a wireless router. The hub of Irish culture had added yet another facet to its repertoire of services, having seen pubs not only be a social gathering place, but also meeting place, daycare center, office, restaurant and let us not forget its use as a critical navigational landmark.

This particular place was called Sammy’s and was a combination gift shop/restaurant/pub located on the beachfront. Carrying my laptop with me, I went inside to inquire and found out the true nature of the so-called internet café. Having made the effort to find the place, I took a seat at the bar and ordered some dinner while I set up my laptop. The owner, Sammy himself, came over to type in the access password and let me loose on the pub’s wireless router.

After taking the more-than-average time to load my browser, I noticed by looking at my connection speed that is was very slow and the bandwidth appeared to be quite narrow, probably because of others in the area using it. It definitely would not accommodate my uploading of photographs, leaving me to use it for checking my email only.

Having said that, my morning was spent driving to the town of Dingle, the largest town on the peninsula, in search of an internet café to upload my data. It was also on my mind to check into the famous Fungie, who was a dolphin that took up residence in Dingle bay in 1983 and was still in the area. I had heard that not only were boats rides offered to go see him, but also that there was the opportunity to swim with him.

It had been on my agenda to see the Dingle peninsula anyway, so this excursion fitted well into my plans. Unfortunately, since it was supposed to be a scenic drive and the weather did not look very accommodating, it did not seem that it would be clear enough to properly view it today. It was my thinking that if the weather was poor, I would have to reschedule seeing the entire peninsula on a better day.

As I was heading toward Dingle, the road had some extremely narrow stretches, leaving very little room for error when passing oncoming traffic. Luckily, I found myself behind a tour bus and let it clear the way for me, as it forced the oncoming traffic wide, almost running them off the road. It was like a running back following behind a massive lineman as he plowed his way through the field.

Upon entering Dingle, I saw that it was a fishing town with several working boats docked at the pier. There were also many pleasure boats in the marina adjacent it. As you would expect, the town was brimming with tourists and traffic. It reinforced my thinking about coming in the off-season on my next trip to Ireland.

Coming into the town center, an internet café appeared like a glowing, cyber oasis among the darker colored analog shops and pubs. Winding my way through the one-way streets, I found an open spot in a side alley and managed to squeeze my car into a gap with inches to spare. Not wasting any time, I ran in to the internet café and uploaded my data in record speed.

It would have been nice to spend more time there, as it was quite the operation having desktop computers with internet access, wireless connection for laptops, copiers, printers and even a CD burning service for folks wanting to transfer pictures from their memory cards. There was also a flat screen plasma TV on the wall, and the lady at the counter had a full-service, hot-beverage stand and refreshments. Keeping my true reason in mind for being in Ireland, I quelled the geek in me and headed back to my car.

Returning to my car, I headed to the waterfront as it seemed a logical place to find out about the Fungie, pronounced Fun-Gee (G as in golf) and the opportunities to see him up close and personal. Passing the tourist office, I saw a car park and found a space at the far end. Paying for my “Pay & Display” pass to fend off any ticket Nazis, I placed it on the dashboard and started my search.

Nearing the tourist office, I all but tripped over a dolphin-tour sign, and went into its respective office to make my inquiries. It seemed they had regular tours throughout the day, which went out to view him in the bay. Since he was a resident of Dingle Bay, it was almost a guarantee to see something of him, as dolphins were air-breathing mammals and had to come up for air sometime. There was just the question of how long he would stay above water and how elusive he would be of people, as he was an untamed, untrained, wild animal.

The swimming tour was yet another story. The boat that would take the swimmers out had one run time, which was 8am everyday. For some reason that seemed to be the best time for folks to go swimming with him. That or the boat captain was a morning person only.

Another requirement for the swim was to hire a wet suit, as the temperature of the bay water was at times hypothermic, if not bone chilling. Ultimately there was no guarantee that Fungie would come around, let alone rub elbows with you to find out how your day was going.

Having learned all this, it seemed a wise idea to take the boat ride out to just see 1) if he was even around and 2) how amiable he was at getting close to people. Looking at his recent photos they had plastered on the wall, he looked quite chunky and had a few wrinkles about the snout. This and the fact he had been in the bay since 1983 made for a very old flipper.

After signing up for the tour boat, I went into the tourist office to kill some time until boarding. As you would expect, there was Fungie souvenirs ready for your buying pleasure. It made me think about whether or not Fungie knew if humans were capitalizing on his good nature.

I wondered if they were giving him a cut of the proceeds in the way of some fish or other such treats. I thought probably not because he was living in the wild and it would be detrimental to feed him, as he needed to keep up his hunting skills. I had heard one of the tour employees mention he feasted quite well from the salmon in the bay. Looking at his picture, I’d say he was quite the fisherman.

Soon it was time to board and we were off with a full boat. It made me think that getting any photographs was going to be highly competitive, especially since any sighting of Fungie would be restricted to one side of the boat. Thinking I had the height advantage, it did not seem to be much of a problem.

The rain had been intermittent since leaving my B&B and it was not raining when we left the dock. However, as we neared the mouth of the bay, we started to get some liquid sunshine. Zipping up my jacket while taking my cap from my pocket and putting it on my head, I was glad to have taken the seat in the shadow of the pilothouse, sheltering me from the blowing rain.

As the boat trawled about, people were scanning the area for any sign of Fungie. It did not take long for someone to spot him, as it was only a matter of time until he needed air. As the captain tried to steer the boat in the direction of the sighting, it seemed like a game of cat & mouse to get close enough for people to get any pictures. After a time he disappeared, grabbing one last breath and submerging for several minutes.

The captain tried moving about in anticipation of where he would surface again. At no time during the first sighting did Fungie make an effort to approach the boat, as was portrayed in the marketing brochures seen at the docks. Also, he never stayed above water for longer than it took to blow out the bad and take in the new. Perhaps he was burned out with the Hollywood thing of being a star attraction.

After a while the captain throttled up the motor and started to make a run for the ocean. It seemed he was trying to get Fungie to play with the boat, as dolphins were quite famous for swimming along the bows of fast moving vessels. With this in mind, I stood near the edge of the port side, thinking I had a 50/50 chance of getting a close look at him.

Within a couple of minutes, my lucked paid off as he was swimming right along my side of the boat and just below the surface. With my camera at the ready, it would only be a short time until he came up for air. When he did, the shortcoming of a digital camera reared its ugly head, as the delayed response from pushing the button and the time for the camera to actually take the picture resulted in my getting a great shot of his dorsal fin, as he was submerging at the moment of action.

He did not stay with the boat very long and disappeared again. I supposed that he was not the playful young dolphin he was many years ago, when people had photographed him leaping out of the water, bringing his entire body into mid air.

Soon Fungie was sighted again, but he was just swimming casually along and only surfacing long enough to get a breath. At one time he had swum in our direction, but I found it impossible to anticipate the time he would surface, being lucky enough to get any shots of him at all with the delayed action of the camera. It made me think that it would have been a good idea to have one of those disposable cameras with a manually operated shutter.

Oh well, this gave me yet another reason to make a return trip to Ireland. Perhaps I may try to swim with Fungie, but it seemed that if he was that elusive when people were on a boat, he probably was beyond the years of wanting any close contact. After all, wouldn’t you get tired of people coming to your house in large groups and barging in whenever they wanted? Bet you would try and hide, only coming up for air when needed.

Be well Fungie! We love you man!

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

Day Seventy Five: Carrigafoyle Castle & Moving to Boolteens

nospam@example.com (Pat Patterson) — Mon, 13 Aug 2007 05:23:00 -0500

Monday, August 13, 2007 It was moving day again and hopefully only three more remaining until my return to the states. Gypsy travel and living out of a suitcase was fun at first but the stability of being home became more attractive with each loading of the car.

After breakfast I settled my bill and loaded out quickly, as most of my stuff had remained in the car due to lack of space in my small room. However, I was not on the road until after the noon hour, having to spend time at the internet café refining and uploading two days worth of data. With the internet café being closed yesterday, it put me a little behind.

Having talked to my new host on the phone last night, she informed me that I could check in straight away and ground my belongings before touring for the day. It did not give me a warm & fuzzy feeling to go touring and leave my stuff in the car while it sat in a public area. Since my new home was in a village called Boolteens, which was just about 50 kilometers southwest of Listowel, it seemed I could check in and still have time for a little sightseeing.

After taking the N69 to Tralee to meet the N70 to Castlemaine, I joined the R561 west to the village of Boolteens. It must have been a very small village, as it did not appear in my map book. Once leaving the N69 to head out on the N70, I found the road to be the typical two-lane road with no shoulder, but soon after leaving the town limits of Tralee, it started to climb and become very winding. It descended into the Castlemaine area and soon I was back at sea level.

Heading out on the Dingle Road, or the R561 for you technical folks, I found Boolteens just a handful of kilometers out of Castlemaine. Soon I was at the Murphy Farmhouse B&B which, as the name implied, was a working dairy farm.

After checking in with Mary, she showed me my room which was a grand improvement both in the size of the room and in the size of the bed. Having lost much sleep in the last two nights, I was looking forward to a comfortable night’s rest.

With all my belongings comfortably placed into my new home, it was time for some touring. With it being just after 1pm, it had to be something simple and could be done in a reasonable amount of time. After reviewing my list, it seemed that a tour of a local castle would suit me fine.

The castle that interested me was, strangely enough, just north of Listowel and it would have been more efficient to check it out before coming to Boolteens. This behavior really violated my inherent personality, but….Oh well, what’s done is done! At least I was conforming to my rule of spontaneity. Hmmm…Is that an oxymoron?

After driving back to Listowel, I decided to be bold and take a direct route to Ballylongford, home of the Carrigafoyle Castle. Taking the R552, I found myself in Ballylongford without too much hassle, but the paved road must have been constructed on very soft ground, as there were some serous dips in it, which caught me by surprise as I was driving near the speed limit of 80kph. It gave the suspension system a real workout!

Finding the Carrigafoyle Castle just to the north and west of the town of Ballylongford, I noticed that it had been built next to the river Shannon on an inlet. The tide was out which surrounded the east half of the tower house with mud. The western half, which had much of its wall missing, was connected to dry land.

With it looking like someone had knocked a big hole in the west side, I learned by reading the placard in the car park that it had been blown off by British canon fire in the late 1500s. It seemed that Queen Elizabeth had a beef with the Irish Earl of Desmond. Of course, he was rebelling the crown’s authority, which does not make one a close friend.

Normally a castle siege took anywhere from weeks to months, but this assault spanned a mere three days. I thought it must have been magnificent in its day, with its unique construction of flat stone giving it a very square and tidy appearance, which had been called impregnable with conventional methods of the time. However, with the use of gunpowder the mighty castle was brought to its knees.

It was maintained by the OPW and had much restorative work done, but it seemed that to rebuild the western half would probably be more work than they wanted to handle. The best part was that it was both free admission and free access, meaning it would be possible for me to roam about at will. Since there were few visitors, it would also mean solace while taking my time gathering photographs.

Noticing some of the usual facets found in a fortified castle, I did find a few things that were unique. In a bunker located in the outer wall, I found what appeared to be cubby holes above the battle positions. They were organized which told me the purpose was either aesthetic or utility. Since it was a fortified castle and not a manor house, it probably had some kind of useful aspect for the soldiers.

Another strange find was two chambers that were about four feet in height with an equally small entrance. There were no windows and it did not seem to be quarters of any type, unless it was for dwarves, which did not make sense. One of these chambers had its back side missing as it was part of the western wall which had been demolished by canon fire.

A real interesting find was the formation of stalactites on the ceiling near the center of the structure on an upper floor by one of the garderobes. They were about an inch and a half in length, which meant they were hundreds of years old. The tour guide at the Marble Arch Caves, which I had visited earlier in the trip, mentioned the growth rate for these sedimentary formations, but I could not recall the exact figures.

Lastly, there was a chamber near the top of the tower which had a uniquely shaped exit hole out to the north side of the castle. Since the garderobes found on the other levels had been on the north side as well, I supposed it was the master’s chamber and it may have been a private toilet, also known as an en-suite chamber.

After spending some time roaming about and enjoying the cool breeze blowing from the ocean, I took a moment to ponder what the castle must have looked like in the day. Soon I had all the photos that suited me, to include a nice vertical panoramic of the inside area, and found my way back to the car.

As I sat behind the steering wheel staring at the gapping hole in the west wall, it occurred to me that the might and power of the castle had finally met its match. Gunpowder had ended an age and began another.

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

Day Seventy Four: The Gap of Dunloe and the Killarney Lakes

nospam@example.com (Pat Patterson) — Sun, 12 Aug 2007 05:08:00 -0500

Sunday, August 12, 2007 During breakfast this morning, I had a chat with one of my hosts, Rosarie, and it came to mind to ask if she knew anything about the statue of former U.S. President, Bill Clinton, which I had seen in nearby Ballybunion. With a smile and an air of pride, she commented that he had visited Ballybunion sometime in the 1990s and had played some golf while in the town. She did not know why he had chosen to visit the small rural Irish town, but did recall he had been in Dublin and Belfast and probably took a side trip.

She shared a story about the statue that I had not heard and thought it unusual as the US media was always good about targeting the President when strange stories had the opportunity to grab a headline. It seemed that some vandals had removed the golf ball from the statue, probably as a souvenir, and it was a long standing joke in the area around Ballybunion to pose the question as to who had Bill’s ball?

Of course, this begs the question; could the dastardly Leprechauns have taken it? It’s one thing to have fun at the expense of a normal citizen like myself, but to have the claim that the most powerful man in the world had become the patsy for the wee-est of men, would give them the grandest title of all.

After my morning enlightenment, it was time to decide on what to do for the day. Since the internet café was not going to be open at all today, it would be unlikely I’d be able to upload yesterday’s entry, which would give me the whole day to do some touring. Looking out the window, I noticed that the clouds were puffy but scattered, and it seemed it would be a good day to see the Gap of Dunloe. Questioning the weather, I decided to head to Killarney and make the final call once I saw conditions there.

Sunday’s were always fun time for me to drive in Ireland, especially in the mornings as the roads were almost deserted. Making great time to Killarney, I was at the car park in less than an hour. There was no fee for parking on Sunday either, which was all the more fun. After dousing myself with 30 SPF sunblock, as the entire day would be out in the elements, I grabbed my gear and headed for O’Connor’s Tavern to sign up for the tour. The weather appeared to be clearing, which was very encouraging.

As I approached the Tavern, one of the vintage coaches, as they were called, was parked in front and the little office was open for business. Upon inquiring into the package deal, I learned that it included a coach ride to Kate Kearney’s Cottage and a boat ride from the opposite end of the Gap on the lower lake, through the three Killarney lakes to the Ross castle. From there a coach would take us back to O’Connor’s Tavern. As for the actual trip through the gap to the Lord Brandon’s cottage, where which the boat would pick us up, there were a few options; you could walk, ride a bicycle, be carried in a trap, or go on horseback.

Feeling excited about the trip, I grabbed some hot tea as we waited for boarding time. No sooner than I got my tea, it was time to go. We piled into the vintage coaches, which sounded as old as they looked, and started out of town. We made some stops along the way to pick up some folks from hotels, where they had probably made special arrangements for the tour. Eventually we arrived at Kate’s Cottage and offloaded to choose our modes of transport to Lord Brandon’s cottage, which would take us through the Gap.

No sooner than we were off of the coach, some trap drivers began to solicit and organize their passengers. Being a one-person group, I had to wait until a full cart could be put together with some other stragglers. It only took a few extra moments, as the drivers were well practiced at organizing loads and getting things under way.

At this point, I probably should mention that because there was a community in the valley beyond the Gap, and the road taking us there seemed to be the only one which accessed the village, we found ourselves competing for space on the one lane rural road with the odd automobile.

There was a sign at the beginning of the trail which recommended folks use one of the four means of transportation I mentioned earlier, which would leave the residents as the only ones on the road with automobiles. Well, as you would expect, there were some tourists who were adamant at wanting to do the Gap in their car, which made for some interesting encounters between horse and machine. In my opinion, to experience the Gap properly, it had to be done without a car.

Being matched with two other adults and an adolescent boy, we were placed into the cart, which is said to be called a trap because once you were in it, you were essentially trapped until the driver released you. Our driver, Kathleen, also had to organize the horseback riders and escort them along the trail. Riding somewhat cramped in the cart, we followed behind the line of horses as Kathleen gave direction to the entire caravan of animals.

As we moved along, Kathleen hollered commands to the horses while controlling the one pulling the cart. She also had to give orders to the humans on horseback, reminding them how to control the horses. If there is one thing I know about riding horses, it is that you have to tell them who’s boss and never let them think they are. It seemed Kathleen was getting mildly frustrated with the humans, as the horses were obviously in control and moving at a pace of their choosing, which was dead slow.

During the ascent into the Gap, the asphalt road became steeper and narrower. Kathleen asked for those of us who could walk to get out of the cart and make the ascent on foot to keep from working the horse too much. Feeling guilty about being the biggest guy in the cart and most likely the heaviest, it seemed the right thing to do in being kind to the horse. Besides, a climbing walk was probably the best form of low impact exercise for me.

Once on foot, I found myself passing the humans on horseback and having a good time of it. Stopping periodically to glance back at the view, I was able to freely take photographs as my hands were free to handle the camera and not have to worry about hanging on in the bouncing trap. The views were magnificent and made for some excellent pictures.

Once at the summit, I took a seat on a big rock next to one of the many little waterfalls formed in the mountains from rainfall, and enjoyed the sound of flowing water as I waited for the rest of the group to catch up. After a few minutes, the horseback humans passed by and then the cart approached as it reached level ground. As I stood up and climbed down the rock, I stuck my right thumb out as if hitchhiking for a ride. Kathleen brought the trap to a halt and in a flash I was on board and we were on our way to the Gap.

As we moved along, Kathleen pointed out the names of the lakes and mountains around us. There was one called Echo Mountain. To illustrate how it got its name, she yelled out and within a couple of seconds we could hear her voice again in the distance. Having never experienced that first hand and only in concept, I thought it quite fascinating. She gave each of us a turn at playing with this phenomena, which was quite fun.

After a short while the pass started another ascent, and almost without cue, I climbed back out and was on foot for another climb on a switched back road which would carry us to the Gap’s summit. After getting back on board when the cart was on level ground, we began our descent into the valley below.

With Kathleen having positioned the trap in the middle of the horseback group, she was better able to control the other horses, as the riders had obviously relinquished control to the beasts. At times the rider behind the trap allowed the horse to get within arms reach and I’d stroke the animal’s forehead with my hand just to say hello. I wished there was an apple handy, as the horse seemed to be asking me for a snack.

Heading downhill, the horses were easier to coax into moving at a trot, and Kathleen was able to make up for the time lost on the climb. It almost seemed that the horses wanted to run, perhaps thinking that the end was near. As we came down the mountain side, a small town came into view with houses, a small church and a couple of buildings scattered about the valley leaving much land between them. One of the passengers mentioned that there was a school in the community which had a student body of about 25 children. It was a small village indeed.

As we were trotting down the road, I decided to take a video clip as a souvenir, and wished I had more memory on the card to capture more of the experience. Soon we arrived at the end of the trail, leaving us to walk a short distance to Lord Brandon’s Cottage. Paying Kathleen her well earned fare and saying goodbye to our one-horsepower engine, I crossed a stone bridge and followed a trail passed a donkey pasture leading to the cottage.

Nearing a white, one-storey building constructed from brick, I heard Irish music and smelled the smoke from a BBQ grill. As I entered a walkway leading into an open area of picnic tables and a concession stand, I noticed some people having a feast near the biggest BBQ grill I had ever seen. As I walked passed the cooking area, I eyed the glistening steaks and hot dogs as they seared over the heat. I had read that they provided BBQs for private parties at the Lord Brandon Cottage, so it seemed that we had arrived during such an event. This told me that the juicy steaks were off limits to outsiders, of which I was one.

As I walked up to the concession stand, I noticed the time as being just short of 1pm. Our boat was not scheduled to depart from lakeside until 2pm, so that gave me plenty of time to grab a bite and sit down to enjoy the spillover of Irish music from the private festivities. As I sat down with my turkey sandwich and vegetable soup, a cool breeze blew the smell of the BBQ in my direction, but it also brought the sound of the upbeat rhythm of Irish music.

After a time, the BBQ was over and the participants had departed, leaving the folks who had made the trip through the Gap milling about in anticipation of the impending boat ride. As the time drew near, folks were disappearing to gather at the dock, so as to not miss their port call.

Showing up at the dock with about 10 minutes to spare, I noticed that there were a half dozen longboats, which were set up to carry 12 passengers each. Even the longer of the boats, which could easily have carried more folks, was restricted to just 12 people according to the number of life jackets I had counted in the boats. As I watched the number of passengers grow, I figured that it would be best to stay at the back and let others board first.

This thinking was not out of generosity or kindness, but was a result of simple math. I knew that if I was at the front end of the pack, my boat was guaranteed to be full. If I waited until all were on board, there was a chance that my boat would not be full, giving me more room and flexibility in taking some photographs. Guess what? It worked, as I not only was in a boat with just 5 other passengers and the skipper, but it was one of the larger crafts in the tourist armada.

One by one the fleet of tourist boats left the cove and entered the upper lake. Powered by an outboard motor at full speed, our captain had us cruising into open water in no time. Since we were one of the last boats to leave, a fellow passenger had thought that he was going to try get into a race with the lead boats, commenting, “He had this twinkle in his eye.”

The trip was to cross 13 miles of water consisting of three lakes and a river. As we went along, our guide would periodically stop the boat and quiet the motor so he could tell us some of what we were seeing. It was impressive to hear how deep the lakes were, with numbers in the hundreds. Judging from the dark blue color, it seemed to support the fact the lakes were deep enough to sink a ship out of view. Hopefully, it would not be our ship.

Slipping effortlessly between the tight gaps made by small islands in the lake, our skipper had brought the lead boats into view and it seemed that we were actually gaining on them. Of course, it did not feel like we were going at a breakneck speed, as some of the passengers seemed to be lulled into a trance, as the boat cut quietly through the water, making small splashing noises along the sides. Had it not been for the sound of the boat motor, I believe some would have fallen asleep during the ride. But it would have been a short-lived slumber.

Crossing through the middle lake and into a short run of river, we passed under some stone bridges said to be over three hundred years old, and found ourselves on the lower lake, which would eventually dumped into the sea off Ireland’s west coast. It no longer looked like a pristine lake, but more like an ocean bay with its large expanse.

Because the lakes were in the Killarney National Park, the only boats that were allowed on the water were licensed tour boats or powerless craft like canoes and kayaks. This gave the lakes both a pristine appearance, keeping it closer to a natural, un-commercial state, and a vastness due to the lack of manmade objects to pollute the scenery.

With the lake’s expanse and the fact it was just one river away from the ocean, the waters were choppy and white caps could be seen. There were some one-to-two foot swells, which may have appeared small, but with the winds and the low cut sides of the boat, it made for an exciting ride. This and the fact we were 6 passengers lighter, caused the boat to react more so, as we seemed to bounce and roll much more than the other fully loaded boats.

The captain directed that I should move from my place in the middle to a seat further aft, stating that the ride would be much dryer for me. He also directed the couple near the front of the boat to get closer to the bow for the same reason. He grumbled when the woman up front refused to move, saying something about people not doing what they are told for their own good.

Slowing the boat, he grabbed some plastic tarps and handed one to the couple at the bow and the other to our little group of four near the stern. Getting back to his seat next to the motor, he grabbed a portion of our tarp to cover his legs and we were off to pound surf.

Reminding me of the TV series, Deadliest Catch, the boat pitched and rolled with water splashing more as we got further toward the center of the lake. It seemed that our shipmates at the bow were absorbing most of the water, leaving little to find us at the stern. It came to mind that maybe the captain may have had ulterior motives when offering them seats at the front of the boat at the time of loading, having called them his first-class passengers. Perhaps there was more to his eye’s twinkle than just being the first boat to finish.

As we passed behind a small island, which had been the site of an ancient monastery, the water calmed and it was not long before the Ross Castle was seen in the distance. It was neat to see the castle form the vantage point of the lake, as I had only seen it from dry land a few days previous. Taking a picture of our approach to the castle, it seemed that the wild ride had deposited water on my lens, spoiling my any shots I had taken during the later parts of the journey.

Within a few minutes of spotting the castle, we were at the dock and offloading to head over to the vintage coaches for transport back to O’Connor’s Tavern. As one of the passengers got off of the boat, she wavered about as if the ground was rolling and pitching. Perhaps a tavern was the last place she needed to go, appearing to be a little tipsy already.

With my final days in Ireland upon me, there were only a couple of things left on my Must-See list. I was especially glad to have had the Gap of Dunloe on my itinerary, and found it to be one of the coolest things I had done in Ireland.

To see more photographs related to this post go to the Photo gallery and click on the links for “Gap of Dunloe” and “Killarney Lakes.”

Day Seventy Three: A Casual Day

nospam@example.com (Pat Patterson) — Sat, 11 Aug 2007 04:39:00 -0500

Saturday, August 11, 2007 Deciding to modify my wake-up time so as to facilitate departing before the parking disc requirement took effect, I found myself a little un-rested which was also attributed to a difficult night sleeping on my not-so-comfortable twin bed. As such it seemed a good idea to not do any heavy touring today, and go with the flow.

After breakfast I walked over to the internet café a couple of doors down from my B&B to see if they were open. With the lights out and the door closed, I noticed a sign posted that indicated that they would be open at 9:30am, which happened to coincide with the start time of the parking disc. As such, I thought it would be a good idea to go ahead and hit the road and visit an internet café in Killarney, as I wanted to check into the Gap of Dunloe tour which was nearby.

Arriving in Killarney after an hour’s drive and just before 10am, I noticed that the roads were wide open either because of the rainy weather or it being early in the day. I supposed it was a combination of both, finding the traffic in the normally bustling tourist trap to be relatively low. Pulling into the car park, I had no problem getting a spot as several spaces were available. This was not the Killarney I knew a few days ago.

After taking care of business at the internet café, I decided to drive out to Kate Kearney’s Cottage, which was said to be the launching point for the Gap of Dunloe tour. With it being only a few kilometers out of town, I was there in a snap despite the increasingly narrow roads as I got closer to the site.

Finding a space in the car park near the cottage, I noticed several horse and trap combinations. A trap was a two-wheeled, open air cart designed to carry passengers. Entering a small café, I found someone who knew about the tour; however it was too late to catch the one for today. After getting some information from the man at the counter, I decided to head back into Killarney for a bite to eat.

On my way to the car, a gentleman sitting in a trap struck up a conversation with me to tell me some of the options available for seeing the Gap of Dunloe. It was apparent to me he was trying to hustle my business in the process. After he told me the different options for touring the Gap, I thanked him saying that I had much to think about in making my final decision. He was cordial but I think he was a little perturbed at my not signing on with him for a ride to the Gap.

Back in Killarney, I wandered the streets in search of an office that handled the Gap of Dunloe tours, so I could find out about a package deal I had read about on a sign seen by Kate Kearney’s Cottage. Thanks to the gentleman back at the cottage, it was apparent that there were some ala-carte tours available but I wanted something a bit more complete. Looking to get some leads on where to find the operators of this package deal, I ended up heading over to the tourist office for some help.

It was incredible how few people there were in the town center, which had looked like downtown Manhattan earlier in the week. It just didn’t seem right. Oh well, I wasn’t complaining, as it was nice to be able to stroll down the sidewalk and not have to take evasive maneuvers to get through the crowd.

After getting directions from a tour consultant and walking over to the office for the Gap tour, which was a small room at the front of the O’Connor’s Tavern on High Street, it was to my dismay that it was closed with no indication of the times it would be open.

Noting a phone number on a brochure in the window, I called to leave a message regarding my inquiry into the tour. I also read a posting that said the tours met there at 10:30 to organize and board the bus for transportation to the cottage. Should I fail to hear from anyone here, it seemed a good idea to show up at that time on the day I wanted to go and sign up for the tour then.

After walking around a bit and getting some lunch, I modified my plan and decided it was a good day to take a drive along a scenic route in North Kerry. I had a need to see some ocean, and a coastal drive seemed like the fix.

With the two major scenic drives in County Kerry being the Dingle Peninsula, and the world famous Ring of Kerry, I decided that I wanted to save those for another day. Since they were essentially a day trip in and of themselves, it was too late to consider them for today. So I opted for a shorter run along the area just west of Listowel. The route involved the towns of Tralee, Ardfert, Ballyheige, Ballyduff, Ballybunion, Tarbert and ending in Listowel.

As I left out of Tralee heading toward the coast, the weather was still holding but was overcast with low rains clouds. Once getting to Ardfert the rains picked up and it looked like the run would be in a blanket of pelting rain. As such, the visibility was greatly reduced.

It was the one day that I would not have minded sunshine, having been cooked by the blazing ball of fire on the days when a little rain would not have mattered. But the one day I decided to take a scenic ride…..well, I’m sure the illustrious Leprechauns may have had a hand in it. They probably wanted to make a rainbow with which to tease people. No matter, I was going to complete the route and hope it would not be too bad once I was on the coast.

The only town on my route located on the coast was Ballybunion. As I pulled into the rain soaked village, it was clearly a tourist trap, with hotels, restaurants and B&Bs lining the streets. There was even a small carnival set up on the edge of town, but was not operating apparently because of the heavy rain. One interesting sight as I pulled into town was a statue of former President Bill Clinton holding a gold club, situated in front of the town Garda station. Perhaps the most powerful man in the world stopped by to play some golf, giving the townsfolk a claim to fame.

Another claim to fame, which was much older than the Ex-president, was a castle, or rather, the remains of one. Finding it hard to imagine finding such a thing in Ireland, I drove down a road, which followed the cliffside down to a public beach, and parked near a trail leading out to the ruins. Braving the fiercely blowing rain, I walked out to the promontory on which it stood and took a few moments to get some pictures and take in the ocean air. Enjoying the sound of the surf and wind, I shot a brief video clip with my camera, so as to have a souvenir of my experience.

Realizing the rain was soaking my jeans, as it was pelting me in a sideways manner, it seemed a good time to break off the visit and return to my dry car. Getting one last shot of the partial castle, which had been subjected to mother’s natures forces of wind, rain and a lightening strike over the past 500 years, I found it futile to keep the lens dry and thought the water on the lens might make for an interesting effect.

Finishing up my run on the coast, I pulled into Listowel and managed to get a parking space in front of my B&B on the first pass. What a nice way to end the day’s travel on the Emerald Island.

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

Day Seventy Two: Moving to Listowel & The Listowel Castle (Of course)

nospam@example.com (Pat Patterson) — Fri, 10 Aug 2007 04:23:00 -0500

Friday, August 10, 2007 It was moving day again, and this time I was off to Listowel to stay at the North County House B&B, which was located in the town proper. Having stayed at B&Bs in rural and suburban areas, this was my first time to get accommodations inside urban limits.

Being packed and ready to settle by 9:30am, I closed the deal with Siobhan giving her one of the golden coins, which had been my way of showing gratitude for my hosts’ wonderful Irish hospitality.

After exchanging farewells, I made my way to the car and was headed into Kinsale to find a faxing service so I could forward my application & resume to the personnel office, then go to the internet café to upload yesterday’s entry. After this was done, I sat in a bakery to fill out some postcards and drink some nice hot tea, while looking out the store window at the steady drizzle. This being only the second day of rain since my arrival in the southern region, it was way overdue.

Once I dropped off my postcards at the mailbox outside of the An Post, it was time to hit the not-so-dusty road and head for Listowel, which was located between the towns of Tralee and Limerick. It was well north of where I wanted to be, which was Killarney, but this was the closest accommodation that could be found for me due to the extremely high volume of tourists. It seemed that of all the times during the high season, the first half of August was the peak, which meant accommodations were even harder to secure.

After getting back to the Cork City area, I took the N22 west through Killarney to Tralee, thence the N69 to Listowel. Navigating through Tralee was a bit dicey but it seemed I had the technique down for staying on course. I found signage to be best in the south, as it seemed that the EU was subsidizing more projects in this region than in any of the others. Perhaps the spillover effect would find Ireland’s entire infrastructure up to European standards in short order.

Arriving in Listowel three hours later, I found the small town to be equally as busy as any of its bigger sisters. With there still being plenty of time left in the day and having accidentally located my new B&B in town, driving by it while looking for the tourist center, I decided to take in the Listowel Castle. It was located near the town center adjacent the river Feale.

Finding the TIO was easy; so easy that I drove by it twice before realizing it was right under my nose. It was in a church that was precisely in the center of the town square. I had been trying to follow the arrow-shaped signs around the square before realizing that it was in fact at the church. I must have looked like the proverbial dog chasing its tail.

After a quick visit to the TIO, I walked across the busy throughway, as the N69 ran right through the center of town, and found the castle just on the other side of some modern buildings along side the river. I noticed that it was an OPW site and that it was shown by guided tour only. Walking into the visitor center for a writer’s exhibit located next to the castle, I found the OPW counter located in there as well.

Since it had been raining, the curators weren’t sure if they would be giving a tour, as it seemed to keep people away and there were no interested tourists other than myself at the moment. The tour guide asked me to come back in a half an hour and hopefully something could be arranged. Deciding to take a walk about the outside of the castle, it seemed I could find a way to kill some time.

Having read about the restoration efforts the OPW had put into the Listowel Castle, it was easy to see the fruits of their labor. From the front it seemed like an intact castle, but after walking to the other side, I found that a significant portion of the castle was missing. In order for visitors to be able to see the upper levels of the castle, OPW had to construct a modern exterior staircase. It was a hybrid of ancient and modern technology forming the basis of a viewable structure.

Having plenty of time remaining, I walked down the main street, which was Church Street (imagine that) and found my B&B. I checked in and inquired as to the parking situation, as I did not see a car park designated for the B&B. As a matter of fact, there were no car parks, period! It was to my dismay that there was no parking for the B&B specifically, and that I had to compete with the rest of the town’s visitors for on-the-street parking. With it being a weekend, this was to be quite the challenge.

Mulling over my parking predicament, it was only worsened when I noticed the signs on the street that said that a parking disc was required and that it was a two-hour parking limit. Fortunately for me the rule only applied from 9:30am to 6pm, but that would mean that I would have to be in my car and moving by 9:30 and back no earlier than 6pm. So much for a casual morning or an early retirement from the day’s activity.

Arriving back at the castle by the designated time, I found the tour guide ready to go, having rounded up some more visitors for the group. As we approached the locked door of the castle, we scooped up another family of tourists nearby.

Thinking that the tour was not going to be much to see in the way of stone and mortar, the tour guide gave me the impression that he would more than make up for the absent parts of the castle with a robust lecture. It seemed that Tom had much knowledge and was able to not only tell us about the castle itself, but also about some of the people and history behind it. As he took us to the various parts of the castle, it was easy to see that it had been restored in a like fashion to the Ross Castle. Since there were no anti-photography signs, I was able to take some interior shots showing the chambers’ fully restored state.

Thinking that I had a full understanding of the facets for the castles of Ireland, Tom showed us something I had not seen in any of the others. It was a murder hole a bowman used to shoot at attackers as they tried to come up the spiral staircase. What made it insidious was that the attacker would not see it as they came up the stairs, which gave the defender a direct shot at their back.

It seemed that the castles of Ireland had a mixture of technologies, which had many origins throughout Europe. It was my thought that there were some facets of castles that had been devised in Ireland as well. It only goes to show that there is always room for improvement. With over 3,000 castles & tower houses in Ireland, I’m sure there are some neat things I had yet to see.

After the extremely interesting tour, I went back to my car, which was parked outside the TIO. As the streets were one-way only in the neighborhood of my B&B, it seemed that I would have to do a few laps until a parking space would open up within reasonable distance to my accommodations. As luck would have it, I found one on the first pass and despite the small gap in cars, I was able to parallel park my ride in the tight little spot on my first try. That’s when my luck ceased.

Lugging my huge suitcase up the narrow stairs, I opened the door of my room and noticed that it was more like a closet. As a matter of fact, the walk-in closet in the house I had built back home was larger than my new sleeping chamber. Thinking about the remainder of my possessions in the car, I determined that it would be best to leave the stuff in the car, so as to give me some room to maneuver.

Feeling that this was another torment for my ignorance of proper planning, I made myself feel better by thinking back on some of the really austere living environments I had to endure during my experience in the Army, and resigned myself to accepting what I had and make the best of it. At least the small space would make it hard for Leprechauns to find a hiding place in my abode, denying them a vantage point from which to plot their treacherous schemes.

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