After waking up and enjoying a breakfast of poached eggs and bacon prepared by our hostess, Maggie (we met another person staying at the B&B who was actually from Charlotte, N.C.; small world), I psyched myself up for a long day of driving with a heavy sigh. Dubbing today "Scooter’s Emerald Isle Marathon Motorcade," the plan was to take Slea Head Drive all the way around the Dingle Peninsula, circling back through Dingle, then heading east to Adare, around Limerick and eventually on to Kildare. This venture would encompass 298 kilometers, or about 185 miles, though the condition of the roads could potentially make it seem MUCH longer.
However, the journey around Slea Head Drive was one we were looking forward to. A 46-kilometer trek around the very western coast of the country, this drive would allow us to see stunning scenery, some amazing old architecture and the region that was most severely hit by the Great Irish Famine of the 1840s and 1850s. Since my great-great-great-grandfather, James Kelly, emigrated from Ireland during this period, I was interested to see and learn more about these hard times.
Our first stop was along a narrow beach called Ventry Strand. The city of Ventry is most famous for the movies “Ryan’s Daugher” and “Far and Away” being filmed nearby and legendary footballer Padi O’Shea having his famous pub here. It was beautiful in the early morning light, giving breath-taking views out across the water to the famous and haunting Little Skellig and Skellig Michael islands, and back toward the mountains (including Mount Brandon, the second-highest mountain in Ireland) that comprise the Dingle Peninsula.
We came next to the famous Beehive Huts, which are ringforts that were used to enclose farmsteads in the Early Christian Period. Free farmers erected stone walls to keep their livestock nearby and protect them from cattle raiders and wild animals.
These huts are estimated to have been inhabited from before 1,200 A.D., with speculation being that they were created when Norman armies forced Irish farmers off the “good land” and to the periphery of the country. They were dubbed “beehive” huts because of the round structure created by circles of successive strata of stone. With each stratum lying a little closer to the center than the one prior, eventually only a small aperture is left at the top, which can be closed by a smaller flagstone or capstone — or left open.
The one we visited is called Caher Conor, and is considered a cashel. The small nature of the dwellings led us to speculate whether leprachauns actually lived here. This cashel was once occupied by five structures, and due to its perch on a relatively steep hill, was likely well-situated to stay protected from outsiders.
Navigating the intensely narrow road, I came around a bend and was treated to a view of the Blasket Islands (uninhabited for more than half a century) and the westernmost part of Europe — next stop, New York, 3,000 miles. For thousands of Irish emigrants, this spot marked the last sight they would ever see of their homeland, a fact marked and represented by a stunning white crucifix.
I also interpreted this representation as an invitation to say your prayers as you encountered the most difficult and treacherous aspect of Slea Head Drive, a path that reminded me of spy movies where guys with cheesy ‘staches chase each other through slim mountain passes along precipitous drops. During this stretch, there was often room for only a single car, and you even have to drive through a small stream that crosses the road. A quick peer over the side of the ledge brings an even more serious reminder of where you are and what you face with an ill-timed misstep.
Eventually, we came to a more open area of the road, which burrowed across the plains, between the mountains and the beach. Here, you could see pockmarked, vertical lines that represented the final, frantic, desperate searchings for potatoes in this area of Ireland, the last remnants of the Potato Famine. Nearly 40,000 people lived west of Dingle prior to the famine; fewer than 10,000 call this beautiful region home now. The only sign of civilization here is the tiny village of Dunquin, but the sad history of this land didn’t take away from the awe-inspiring images to be seen.
With some breathing room, I was zipping along the road at this point, only to be chastised for driving too quickly and not enjoying the surrounding scenery enough. This upset enough to lead me to drive on the wrong side of the road for about 30 seconds and also to miss Kilmalkedar Church, which dates from the first half of the 12th century. But by that point, we had already seen about a baker’s dozen’s worth of churches that date from the 12th century.
Having skipped the even more dangerous Connor Pass and circled all the way back to our starting point of Dingle (we never saw Fungi, the famous Dingle Dolphin, in Dingle Bay), I faced a 252-kilometer jaunt to Kildare. The motorcade was officially on.
There were a few traffic snarls here and there, but when we eventually made it to the M7 highway, things went smoothly. But just as soon as you think you’ve made it to a modern, open roadway, you’ll see a horse and buggy sauntering along in the left-hand lane.
Making terrific time, we eventually came to Adare, which had been described as a quaint village which could be a nice place to stop and have lunch. Wrong. We didn’t see quaintness on our block, and the “village” was super-crowded and hectic, so we elected to just keep going after a brief stop. However, we knew that Adare Manor Golf Club was nearby, and that the upcoming Irish Open was to be played there. We finally found our way on to the grounds, only to find that the shop was closed. However, as we were walking away, a kindly old Irish gentleman who had just completed a round of golf told us to walk along the course and find “the abbey.” So, keeping an eye out for the tremendously poor golfers who saw bandying about, we came to a gorgeous cemetery, then stumbled into the abbey itself.
Amazingly, this abbey lay along a fairway and right between two greens.
The “parkland” course we were on was constructed in 1900 as a nine-hole course, and eventually completed in 1992 as an 18-hole track. The tourney course, marked by the incredible Desmond Castle, was nearby, but we hung around the abbey for quite a while, taking numerous pictures.
The course was dotted by castle remnants, amazing cemeteries and other ruins, making it jarring to see a wayward golf ball careening off an 800-year-old structure. The Franciscan Abbey we had found dated back to 1464 A.D., and apparently they still hold a dawn Mass in there every Easter Sunday.
The quiet walk around the serene and beautiful old course was just what we needed after a long morning of driving. A lunch of M&Ms and power bars in the car allowed us to keep making great time through County Limerick, all the way to the somewhat-disappointing town of Kildare. Having adjusted our itinerary, we had not made plans for accommodations here, so we did some research and decided that we’d spend a little extra and stay at the Derby House Hotel, where we had our first true bad luck of the trip.
Upon arriving, we found out that one Sara Chan was the proprietor, and not only did she own two Chinese restaurants in town, but we also ran into Asian workers on each floor doing work on the carpets, having to step around them. As jarring as it was to stay in a Chinese mafia hotel in the middle of Ireland, it was even more of a surprise when we took a flight of stairs that led directly into the kitchen. Yikes.
We decided to walk into the center of town to learn more about Kildare and possibly get some directions on how to get to Newgrange (tomorrow’s destination) while avoiding the worst of the traffic near Dublin. We soon found out that the famous Irish National Stud was nearby and so was The K Club (350 euros to play this Ryder Cup course!), but two of the city’s premier draws, St. Brigid’s Well and St. Bridid’s Cathedral and Round Tower, were closed until May. Nice. But we did get some advice on a good place to eat, and after a brief rest back at the hotel, we strolled down to Silken Thomas Flanagan’s.
Deciding to eat in the restaurant rather than the pub, I enjoyed a mixed grill, which consisted of black and white puddings, tomato, egg, bangers (sausage), bacon and chips (fries). A coupla Guinnesses later, I was feeling better about our stay in Kildare.
On our way back to the hotel, we grabbed an Irish Times and learned that Kansas had won the national championship. Then, after being initially told that WiFi was available in our room, we found out that we had to go down to the hotel lounge for access. After reading some disturbing, overly descriptive stories about a gang murder in Liverpool and a brother killing his brother by stabbing him 12 times in a streetfight, I was ready for a break, so I watched some of the Liverpool-Arsenal football game in the lounge (Liverpool won, 4-2, really good game).
Having driven roughly five-sixths of the way across the entire damn country, I was ready to get some sleep in preparation for another long day of driving and sightseeing tomorrow. On the slate? Trim Castle, Newgrange … and freaking Dublin!
The next installment of the Irish adventure, Day 4, will be forthcoming in a coupla days. P.S. You can click on the pix for bigger versions if you like. All photos taken by the Scoot. Giddyup.
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