The first thing we did on landing in Dublin was pick up our hire car. That’s when things became amusing and bemusing. The vehicle check in guy told us 3 things – Ireland is well signposted, the Wexford turnoff is junction 7 on the M50 and call me anytime if you have a problem or just want a chat.
Taking the second one first, it wasn’t. Not even close. In fact after about junction 20 the M50 became the road we wanted by simply changing its name.
Regarding the first point, a typical conversation this week has gone like this :
Me : is this where we turn
Child bride : yes, we should have turned there.
Typically the sign you want to see is on the far side of the intersection so if you don’t have vision like superman you need a sat nav and we didn’t have one.
And we haven’t called him.
I could go on about the roads all day. They have N and M roads which are the good ones But they also have L roads and R roads. Perhaps left and right but sometimes L and R are on the same side of an M so I assumed they had 2 people naming them and they were going in opposite directions down the same road to save time. And how about hurtling down a motorway at 120km/hr (a civilised speed it has to be said – our nanny state should take notice) and being confronted by a roundabout. We also thought that all roads led to Amach until we realised this was Gaelic for “exit”.
A two lane road is only one and a half lanes wide but still has a white line down the middle so the buses and trucks know which side to be mostly on and the rest of us know which hedge to be in. But away from the touristy areas (where most of the traffic is) the two lane roads are three lanes wide so there is room to pull over and let impatient drivers pass. I could go on about the roads forever but let’s move on.
The weather’s been okay apart from day 1. The sun’s come out occasionally and……well it’s Melbourne – 4 seasons in a day but you can’t fault the Irish dedication when it comes to summer – blowing a gale and freezing cold but the kids are still in the sea and the blokes are in shorts and t-shirts because it’s July and therefore, by definition it’s mid-summer and sod the weather. As they say in Melbourne, so they say here, “if you don’t like the weather, wait a minute”.
Apparently one of the 99 things you must do before you die is kiss the Blarney Stone. We did. It’s been kissed by millions of others over many years (since 1800). I feel a cold sore for the ages coming on. Kissing the stone is supposed to give you the Gift of the Gab so this begs the question – why do women bother (sorry girls – couldn’t resist – see Addendum to Following the Wine Traders October 7th 2017) ?
Interestingly the initials of the Blarney Stone are BS and if you are speaking Blarney, you are in fact bull shitting. There is a connection there which calls into question the bull shit story about Queen Elizabeth I. You’ll have to google it. I think it’s a much more modern link.
Did the Ring of Kerry. In other circumstances that sentence would have an entirely different meaning but however you look at it, the scenery was up there with the most spectacular we have ever scene. Expected to see Braveheart and his hordes come sweeping down the hills – the movie was made in Ireland for all the sticklers. Lots of evidence of long since melted glaciers like in the Lake District (ex geologist speaking here) and not a Tony Abbott protester to be scene. Who was the bastard who canned the carbon tax two and a half million years ago and caused the world’s glaciers to melt? No more politics until next time, promise. Apart from a dig at those wind turbine monstrosities that litter (literally) the pristine Irish countryside for no good reason unless you like higher than necessary electricity bills. To get our history fix we stood where St Finbarr stood in the sixth century one morning at Gougane Barra so there are more important historical, moral, philosophical and sporting dilemmas to contemplate than a few useless wind turbines.
We stayed two nights in a remote area of the Dingle Peninsular at a B&B. There are two pubs across the road within a hundred metres of each other. That’s about as remote as Ireland gets. Got to love the Irish and their priorities. When we arrived I was met by the owner with a handshake, an introduction and a cup of tea. I have never encountered that level of hospitality in all of my travels – Camp Junction House if anyone’s interested. And if you want to see something incredibly spectacular, check the google images for Connor Pass, Dingle. They don’t entirely do it justice but you’ll get the idea.
We walked from the Courtyard B&B where we were staying in Bunratty to Durty Nelly’s pub. It’s about 400m and we passed two pubs on the way. In Ireland if you point in any direction there is guaranteed to be a pub within a few hundred metres.
Passed briefly through County Limerick into County Clare on our way to the airport. But brief is enough to justify reciting the best ever of those verses named after that part of the world :
There once was a girl from Cape Cod
Who thought all good things came from God
But it wasn’t the almighty who lifted her nighty
It was Roger the lodger the sod.
Ta daaa.
I’m sure there’s more but this is enough for now.
Off to Copenhagen tomorrow and an early start.