It's now
April 28, 2012 and this trip is just going so fast. And, we've just now
found the most beautiful spot in the world!
When last
I wrote, we were on a train to Tralee where we were to pick up our rental car,
and then risk life and limb driving in Ireland where no credit card company
would insure us, driving on the wrong side of the exceedingly narrow
roads. I do believe that our
elder's prayers are what delayed us getting the car which was supposed to be
ready at 3:15, but which we didn't take possession of until 6:30 p.m. But, miracle of miracles we did manage
to make the one hour drive into Dingle before sunset. Cindy took the first shift driving on the wrong side of the
road, and she did pretty well, only nicking the left front tire seriously once
or twice. The man at the rental
car threw in a GPS for free to compensate us for the delay, and, oddly it
started to shriek halfway to Dingle "Blimey, woman, get into the center of the lane or you'll have us all
killed!”
The
town, as we came upon it, was a
storybook vision of rolling hills, divided into a patchwork of grasses,
sectioned off by trees and stone walls ensuring that sheep and cows and horses
stayed where they were put. The
Bay of Dingle shimmering, the Ocean off in the distance. Just perfect. And, what was remarkable was how the many little homes
looked exactly like the houses and hotels from a Monopoly game, except they
were appropriately painted.
Our hotel
was wonderful, wonderful. A
civilized vision of an inn. I
don't know what we were supposed to take away from the fact that our in-room
desk was laid with a copy of Louisa M. Alcott's "Good Wives"...
After
settling in to the room, we ambled along the bay and up a hill to a restaurant
that offered fresh local fare -- fish, fish, fish from the local working
dock. We were entertained
throughout our meal by a group of four older, Irish women who were seemingly
dignified when we arrived, but increasingly sauced as the meal continued. One offering up a round of Irish
Coffees, two vehemently declining...
Our meal was wonderful especially the flavourful warm breads and
butter. I had a duo John Dorry and
Red Mullet and a smear of garlic potatoes which was scrumptuous.
I don’t really remember much of the walk back to the inn, aside
from jack frost nipping at my nose.
We tumbled into bed as soon as we arrived (well, truth be told, we did
brush our teeth first, we’re not heathens, you know).
After a
delightful night's rest, we followed our noses downstairs just as breakfast was
being served which included a buffet of so many lovely things -- cereals,
fruits, and a warm, fresh-from-the-oven bread and butter pudding. I was brave and when they took our
kitchen order I chose kippers and scrambled eggs. Kippers are a smoked fish. Bully for me.
When it arrived, the kippers laid out with twisted lemon slices and a
crown shaped offering of scrambled eggs, I carefully stuck in my fork, and by
golly, I can see where many people might find these kippers to be quite
good. One taste was enough for me.
Note to
all travelers, it would appear that in Scotland, the finer establishments warm
the milk they serve you for your coffee.
Not so in Ireland.
After a
nice stroll through the delightful town of Dingle,...woolen shops, dock full of
gorgeous fishing boats, linen shops, restaurants, local jewelry maker shops, we
packed our bags, weeping silently to be leaving this darling hotel and this
wonderful, magical town, to drive the Ring of Kerry. I took the wheel this time, and Cindy struggled to navigate
with a map laid out for us by the hotelier. On the drive, we continually marveled at the scenery, the
sheep, the cows, the horses, the green pastures, the blue, blue water. No, Papa, we weren't fighting. We never found our hiking destination,
and abandoned that plan at a golf course where the local golf pro directed us
to a path through the course, through the pastures and out to the soft sand
beach facing the roiling blue ocean.
So, so, so beautiful. I
took many wonderful photos (which I was unable to upload to the iPad
...dang...I'll show you later...Cindy posted some shots on Instagram, so you
can enjoy the substance there).
After
we'd rung the Ring of Kerry entirely, we stopped in the town of Dingle one last
time and I indulged in a wee cup of ice cream at world famous Murphy's Ice
Cream -- I tried two flavours and settled on Carmelized Brown Bread. Really yummy. We filled the tank of the beast of a car -- 60
Euros!!!! And traveled down to the
town of Killarney where we found our last minute hotel find, the Killarney Park
Hotel (& Spa). They took one
look at Cindy and my windblown faces and determined that, by golly, they should
upgrade these ladies to a suite.
And they did!
We dined
at the hotel restaurant, which was superb. There was a woman playing the oddest songs on the
piano, like a melodic, sophisticated versions of 'ladies night' and 'the farmer
and the cowman should be friends'... the place was filled with mostly gabby Irish
groups and the service was friendly and impeccable. Loved it. Cindy
had a fish platter, I enjoyed the Kerry Lamb with aubergine risotto and black
pudding. The black pudding was
served up in little cubes. It was
all fantastic. Cindy had been
eyeing the onion rings as they went by our tables, and at the end of the meal I
asked our darling waitress if she would bring Cindy just one.
Just
one.
She,
instead brought us a whole serving gratis, which we nibbled at. When we were done with our meal and
were headed out, the sweetheart headed us off with a plate of chocolate
truffles, urging us to take them to our room if we didn't wish to have them
then.
Lovely, lovely, lovely.
I don't
know if I've pointed this out, but the sun doesn't set here to nearly 9 p.m.,
so though our days have been long and late, it doesn't feel that way because
the sun is hiding for so few hours.
Oh
no!!! it's now April 29 and our
holiday is nearly over! I don't
want to go home. We have
absolutely found paradise here in Ireland, and I don't know why anyone would
leave this beautiful, peaceful, cheerful place.
We pack up from here and head for Cork.
******
Oh, the
sadness, the terrible sadness of leaving the one you've grown to love.
I'm on my
flight from London back to Los Angeles and am as bereaved as can be over
leaving magical, beautiful Ireland and wonderful, lovely Great Britain. Before
I land, here is the last of our trip.
After our
night in Killarney we sadly left the grand hotel with the impeccable service
and, with me at the wheel of our oversized rental vehicle, on the often narrow
and winding Irish roads, traveled Eastward to Kinsale. Yes, the scenery was again beautiful,
mostly blue skies, fluffy clouds, scattered raindrops clearing to blue skies.
The landscape changed from the patchwork quilt pastures with sheep, to rocky
ledges and sheer drop offs, and then darker pastures with cows before leading
us into the harbour town of Kinsale.
The heavy
rain that had been forecast for our entire holiday did finally begin to catch
us
here as
we ducked into the fabulous restaurant Fishy Fishy, which offered delicious
fish freshly caught in the waters just off the dock. Cindy felt it was time to sample the Irish beer and
ordered a Murphy's Irish stout -- pronounced "Mairphees" -- I had a taste of the dark colored stuff which was covered
with a substantial head and delivered a meaty taste -- in my humble
opinion. After lunch, we shopped
the darling town as the wind began to really pick up. By the time we arrived in Cork it was blowing like the
bejeezus.
You might
even say that an ill wind had blown in as well. The hotel staff at Cork wasn't properly welcoming, rushing
us off to our room which was dreadfully dreary, so much so that we asked to be
changed to a room that wasn't quite so dark. With much bustle and stiff intensity, they moved us over to
a room that, though brighter was as cold as a crypt. At this point we rang them up again and explained that we
were really unsatisfied with the way things were going at this hotel, after
such a perfect many stays at hotels around Europe. Again, much bustle and getting back to us, as wind and rain
whipped outside and whistled into the room which would not be heated. Finally, satisfaction, the manager came
to our room with two glasses of champagne with some peculiar, red berries
floating on top, goodie bags of high-end toiletries and offers of many
apologies. We took the champagne,
and I asked drily if the berries were poisonous… She responded that she was
sure that they weren't, not getting my little joke at all! Within an hour we were ensconced in a
room that was more to our liking.
After
recuperating from such a dreadful introduction to Cork, a very big city,
actually, and a college town wherein the beautiful countryside had been paved
over and was chock-a-block with buildings instead of sheep or cows or bunnies,
although I did see a pair of swans enduring the drizzle on the River Lee,..
what was I saying? Ah, yes, after recuperating, we determined it was high time
that we gave our ears a treat and headed off to a pub known to feature
traditional Irish music. We walked
through the town, over the river Lee and found a muggy, crowded bar with 14
musicians all jamming together. It
was delightful. I made friends with a girl who sometimes plays accordion there,
and is a transplant from Ohio. She
had been in Ireland for only a couple of years, but she had already picked up
quite the Irish accent. She
explained to me who a couple of the key players were, including a local
legendary lyricist, and a guy who played this odd version of bagpipes --
instead of blowing into pipes, he squeezes a bellows under one arm --and
another bloke who had some kind of hand-drum the size of a very large
tambourine. My new friend
explained that this was called a 'trad session' and that musicians can just pop
in and join the group, if they know the songs. Pretty darn fabulous.
Next
morning we trekked back down the city streets of Cork looking for unique
shopping opportunities, but only found rain and a band of Amnesty International
solicitors who wouldn't leave us alone.
The local Market was boring, and half empty, so we gave up, freshened up
and pulled out the keys to our beast of a rental and ventured out to Ballymaloe
in the rain.
Thank
goodness, that brought us back to the Ireland we'd come to know and love, the
countryside. We had a most
delightful lunch at Ballymaloe after a bit of shopping in the fantastic gift
shop. My umbrella was blown inside
out as we made it back to the car to travel further up the road to view the
Ballymaloe Cookery School and adjoining gardens.
This
morning it was up at 4 a.m. to return the rental car, catch our Aer Lingus
flight to London Heathrow, then board our separate flights back to
California. We were both fortunate
in that we did not have to endure a long day at Heathrow awaiting afternoon
flights because both of us were able to get onboard an earlier flight; I am on
mine now in my
sweet little Virgin Atlantic fully flat bed, having napped after watching The
Artist.
I shall be
home soon and hope I'm prepared for the culture shock of fewer men being
gentlemen, warmer weather and hair that doesn't curl up most unbecomingly each
time I venture outdoors.
I never
did get a chance to go horseback riding, nor did we kiss the Blarney Stone, or
even view the Blarney Castle. I
didn't see Mary King's Close in Edinburgh or go on any of the ghost tours. I guess I will have to plan
another visit to Europe in the near future.
Cheers!
(that’s how
they say farewell here)
Lori
