Monthly Archives: May 2019

The Burren

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the Burren

We were driving from the Cliffs of Moher through typically Irish, rolling, green pastureland on our way to our next stay in Galway when we came across this. Are we still in Ireland? What sort of geological mash-up is this?

the Burren, up close

This is the Burren (in Irish, Boireann or “great rock”) Great rock, indeed. Weird rock, as well. The limestone “pavement” has been eroded into large rectangles, or clints, with long, narrow fissures, called grikes, between them where the softer rock has eroded away. So weird that the rock eroded along gridlines!

clints (blocks) and grikes (grooves)

Today we hiked in Burren National Park, our third of six national parks in the Republic of Ireland. I had to get out in it and see it up close. We chose a short loop-walk to the monastic site of St. Cronan. And guess what I discovered there. My first holy well!  St. Cronan’s Well. Who knew?

Sure enough, there was a shrine to St. Cronan next to the well and faded strips of cloth hanging from tree branches overhead. [Serendipity] I felt like I had just won a scavenger hunt I hadn’t realized I was playing. Now I understand one reason people go in search of the wells; they’re spiritual geocaches. The thrill of the hunt may be what gets people out there, but it’s even more fun finding something you didn’t know was out there to find!

  • an easy hike to St. Cronan’s monastic site
  • well, maybe not such an easy hike after all
  • cow playgroup
  • “grass growing in turfs of earth…that lie between the rocks”
  • crossing the wall “in stile”
  • St. Cronan’s church
  • St. Cronan’s well!
  • a standing stone at the well
  • look carefully for strips of cloth hanging in the tree branches

In the 17th century, English Parliamentarian Edmund Ludlow, who served under Oliver Cromwell in Ireland, observed that the Burren “is a country where there is not enough water to drown a man, wood enough to hang one, nor earth enough to bury him…… and yet their cattle are very fat; for the grass growing in turfs of earth, of two or three foot square, that lie between the rocks, which are of limestone, is very sweet and nourishing.”

in the grike

He is absolutely right. Rainfall disappears quickly into the grikes between the clints and makes its way into the limestone aquifers below. There is essentially no soil on the limestone pavement for living organisms to establish themselves. What grass and trees there are grow in small plots of soil between the clints, yet the grikes themselves are a haven for all manner of tiny plants from Mediterranean to alpine to arctic in habitat, all living side-by-side. They are miniature, terrarium-like ravines in a network of barren rock; I could explore them all day. 

Very interesting terrain. Not at all what I expected. This, my friends, is exactly the reason I travel.

The Moher of all cliff walks

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cliff walk car park

Psst! Hey, you! Yeah, you. I’m going to let you in on one of the best kept secrets in Ireland. Come a little closer. We don’t want this getting out or it will become another over-populated tourist destination. You want to see the Cliffs of Moher without all the traffic and a horde of tourists? I’m going to tell you about a little car park, well off the beaten path, that can only accommodate about forty cars, max. You drop a couple euro in the cashbox…yeah, two euro for the whole day… and in fifteen minutes you’ve got your own personal gander at the Cliffs of Moher, Ireland’s most iconic view. No, no, don’t thank me. Just keep it to yourself, okay kid?

O’Brien’s Tower on the cliffs

Sound too good to be true? Well, it isn’t. Thanks to our Airbnb hosts in Limerick who let us in on the location of the car park, we’ve been there and done that. It’s not even a car park; it’s a farmer’s field. And the two euro is ostensibly to cover his insurance for allowing thousands of tourists to cross his land each year. But if he’s making a little money off of it, I don’t have a problem with that. It’s a generous service he offers.

The farm is outside the don’t-blink-or-you’ll-miss-it village of Liscannor on the southern coast of County Clare, and it provides access to an incredible, 13-kilometer cliff walk to the village of Doolin north of the cliffs. We actually saw signs for the cliff walk parking as we approached Liscannor, yet almost no one seems to know about or take advantage of this opportunity to take in one of the most beautiful sights in Ireland from a unique vantage point.

The rain had started just as we checked out of our Airbnb that morning. I eyed the thick, black rainclouds apprehensively as we drove through Limerick and past Shannon Airport. It didn’t look like a very good day for viewing the cliffs. Our Limerick hosts had told us not to bother in the rain. But my forecast called for sun, so we pressed on.

I don’t know how or when it happened, but as we approached Liscannor I pulled my nose out of a map to find blue sky with a low line of chubby, cumulus clouds just above the horizon. I looked behind and all around us—not a raincloud to be seen! The weather gods were smiling upon us, perhaps in apology for our first four days in Limerick. What a great day to be outdoors! What an amazing view!

After our walk we drove past the ginormous car park at the official cliffs visitor center. I watched the parade of people making their way up to the cliffs.

I wanted to tell them to get back in their cars and head to Liscannor or Doolin instead.

Don’t go for the canned version! Get outside and walk it!

But I held my tongue.

Let’s just keep it our little secret, okay?

  • birds nesting in the cliffs
  • natural cairn
  • the cliffs

Serendipity

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in the village of Adare

Our last day in County Limerick and the sun was glorious. The most beautiful spot in Limerick to be outdoors on such a fine day? The village of Adare, hands down.

Adare, acknowledged by many as the prettiest village in Ireland, was directly on our path from our last Airbnb on the Dingle Peninsula to the one we’re in now, outside of Limerick. I had intended to stop in transit and spend the day. I have vague memories as we drove through of people sitting outside at sidewalk cafes having lots more fun than I was having hunkered down in the passenger seat of the car clutching my barf bag. “Do you want to stop?” Marcus asked. “Mmph,” I replied. We drove on.

St. Nicholas Church

Remember that blog about backtracking if you can? [Backtracking in the Wicklow Mountains] So, four days later, back we went.

Do you ever have those serendipitous moments when everything just seems to align? Well, our return to Adare was one of those. The main street was quite congested when we arrived, and we had to circle through town twice before the perfect parking space appeared right before our eyes. As I got out of the car, I looked up to see a wee craft shop with some children’s toys out front. The chance of it offering anything I would want to buy was slim, but there was something about the way my car door opened right onto the path to the shop and the crumbling, white-washed wall beside it with little purple flowers growing out of its crevices….

The shop was a cooperative run by the artists whose wares were featured. I love that! Let’s just say I found a few things I wanted to buy, but I also had the most captivating conversation with Keri, the artist on duty that day. She is a potter who makes little bottles used to collect water from holy wells. [Irelands Sacred Water]

We’ve seen signs for these holy wells all over Ireland—hundreds of them—natural springs that were discovered in pre-Christian days and used as sites for pagan rituals. St. Patrick, who brought Christianity to Ireland, was smart to incorporate them into the new religion. Rather than condemning them as pagan clap-trap, he ordained them as holy wells, thereby engaging more pagan converts.

For centuries travelers have sought out holy wells for healing purposes. Not only do they drink and collect the waters, but many soak a piece of cloth in them and tie the cloth on an inflicted part of their body. Before leaving the well, they tie the cloth to an overhanging tree branch. As the rag decomposes in the elements, the infliction ostensibly dissipates. 

I love the folklore, and I love that the Irish can make room in their hearts for their ancient past while respecting their current religious foundations. They have an incredible heritage. Perhaps this is the reason I was brought here today.

  • walk along the River Maigue
  • Desmond Castle ruins
  • a true milestone

The sun will come out

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The Shannon River in Limerick

When Marcus and I were researching our trip to Ireland, we watched the film version of Angela’s Ashes, Frank McCourt’s account of his impoverished childhood in Limerick. One thing that was readily apparent from the movie: It rains a lot in Limerick, like all the time. Frank and his brother, Malachy, were always running through Limerick’s streets and alleyways in the driving (horizontal) rain. At one point the rain was so heavy that their family had to abandon the first floor of their home, which they had to wade across to get to the stairs, and live on the upper level. For us, this trip is all about the outdoors. I only booked four nights in the Limerick area.

King John’s 13th-century castle

True to form, the weather was pretty cold, overcast, and wet while we were in the area, which suited my recovery from food poisoning. Apparently I ate something that didn’t agree with my cast-iron stomach in a pub on the beach on the Dingle Peninsula, which made for an interesting (not) transition to our new home-from-home in the Slieve Felim Mountains about ten miles east of Limerick. But every cloud has a silver lining, and this one was a beautiful, light, airy remodeled stable/cottage on property owned by a warm and welcoming Irish couple—a nurse and her husband. It doesn’t get much better than that! My best friends for the next four days were a fleece blanket, a wood stove, and The Bodyguard on Netflix.

one of two gatehouse towers

But eventually I was able to muster the energy to leave our bucolic surroundings and venture into the city. We spent a couple of hours in King John’s Castle experiencing a fascinating interactive exhibit on the role of Limerick’s castle in the incessant Anglo-Irish conflict and having lunch in a wee snug pub on the river. The return to food in general, and pubs in particular, was challenging psychologically, but it’s hard to go wrong with a good, hearty Irish stew on a cold and rainy day. Things are looking up. Who knows? Perhaps the sun will come out tomorrow.

Is that blue on the horizon?

Sign of the times

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What do you do with this kind of information? As you’re going into a blind curve? On a single-track road?

It’s amazing that we haven’t hit someone head-on. We’ve come close. With some buffoon in a snazzy suit driving a BMW and talking and laughing into his phone. At 100 kilometers per hour.

When we arrived at our destination just east of Limerick Town, Marcus asked our host, Pat, how the Irish deal with the stress of driving on these roads every day. (Pat and Breda live out in the country on a long single-track road off of a longer single-track road.) “Well, you drive in the middle of the road,” says he. Excuse me? “You never want to drive on the edge of the road. You’ll pop a tire.” Interesting. The stress, for him, is the fear of damaging a tire. Flat tire or head-on collision? That’s a tough choice. Not.

So Marcus continues to drive as close to the edge as he safely can. So far, no popped tires, but the air brakes* engage frequently. [*a device for quickly slowing or stopping a moving vehicle that is initiated by the sudden, sharp, and simultaneous intake of breath of both driver and passenger as they round a curve to find themselves on a collision course with another vehicle]

air brake zone

Okay, I’ve been wanting to try this since arriving in County Limerick. Let’s see now. Let me think. Okay, I’ve got one!

There once was a man from the States,
Who traveled the world with his mate.
But the single-track roads
Caused him nothing but woe,
And the tremors have yet to abate.

Well, what do you expect on such short notice?

An Gaeltacht

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the Wild Atlantic from Slea Head Drive

Can you stand one more gorgeous peninsula? Although I can’t promise this will be the last. We have the rest of the Wild Atlantic Way to explore as we head north toward Northern Ireland. But the Dingle Peninsula is certainly one of the most beautiful, and worth sharing.

Slea Head Drive is a scenic, 18-mile loop on the western end of the Dingle Peninsula, in Gaeltacht country. Established in 1922 when the Free State of Ireland was created, An Gaeltacht is the part of the country that is primarily Irish speaking—mostly the central-west and northwest coasts. When the western part of the Dingle Peninsula opted to revert to their native language, the Irish government required that all signs be posted in Irish only—no English. Word has it that tourists were getting lost on their way to Dingle Town, the beginning of the Gaeltacht region on the peninsula, because they didn’t realize that “An Daingean” on road signs is the Irish name for Dingle. So the tourist mecca was granted dispensation and allowed to post signs in English as well as Irish; however, Irish must be posted above English. 

Coumeenoole Beach

It’s surprising to me that in the 800 years that Great Britain dominated Ireland—and outlawed use of the Irish language—the language wasn’t lost completely. If the majority of the Irish population hadn’t been rural, it may well have been. No wonder An Gaeltacht today includes some of the remotest parts of Ireland. But there is no guarantee that the language will survive, even though Ireland has an educational requirement that all students become fluent in Irish. I read that in An Gaeltacht only two-thirds of the people speak Irish as their main language during the course of their day. History shows that when less than two-thirds of a people use a language, the language is at risk of dying out.

lazy sheep

Speaking of remote parts of Ireland, we stopped at the Blasket Islands Heritage Centre in Dún Chaoin/Dunquin to learn more about this cluster of six islands just two kilometers off the coast. Irish farmers settled on Great Blasket Island centuries ago, living off of fish, mutton, beef, and whatever vegetables they could grow. They were so isolated from the mainland that their language essentially became frozen in time, while the language on the mainland continued to evolve. By the 20th century, islanders were speaking their own dialect of Irish. 

Great Blasket Island

The population on Great Blasket peaked in the early 20th century at about 175, but in 1953 the government had to evacuate the last 22 residents, by mutual consent, because of increasingly extreme weather conditions in the North Atlantic that would make rescue, if required, nearly impossible. A few former residents have gone back to the island, but today it is primarily a tourist day-trip destination. The government has recently purchased most of the land and plans to turn it into a national park. I hope the signs are all in Irish, despite the tourists.

Sybil Point and the Three Sisters

Tír álainn (beautiful country).

Lambs

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We arrived in Ireland right in the middle of lambing season, so within a few weeks we started to see lambs grazing with their mothers in the pastures. They’re adorable!

Although they’ve caught on to the grazing thing, they still nurse from time to time especially when anxious about weird guys with cameras hanging over the fence.

A ewe will typically have one or two lambs in a litter, but occasionally there will be three. Because mom isn’t able to feed more than two, the third sheep becomes a “pet sheep,” bottle-fed by the farmer’s family and kept separate from the rest of the herd…raised to who-knows-what purpose. I didn’t want to ask. Let’s assume it’s wool production.

Like Waldo in the ever-popular children’s books, sheep can be detected in just about every photo I’ve posted of the Irish countryside. Here in County Kerry, sheep outnumber people. You may have noticed the bright-colored spots on the sheeps’ wool. Farmers here use water soluble paint to “brand” their sheep. This poor guy must have been at the front of the purple paint line.

Stopping at the Gap

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the Gap of Dunloe

It took three tries, but I finally got there—the Gap of Dunloe, a remote pass through MacGillycuddy’s Reeks. The Reeks, Ireland’s highest mountain range, lie just to the west of Killarney National Park. I first read about the Gap months ago, and I knew I had to go. The isolation was calling me. (Plus, the name of the mountains is just so cool!)

I wanted to hike the Gap the first time we entered the park, but we spent too much time in Killarney town after our wild and crazy drive through the lakes of Killarney. Which is not a bad thing. Killarney is a good-sized town with plenty to enthrall, but after a filling lunch, it was too late in the day to start a four-mile hike.

Our second foray into the park was closer to the Gap, but I didn’t have it in me to start another hike after our eight-mile trek around Muckross Lake.

Our time was running out in Kenmare, and I was beginning to think I’d have to give up on the Gap until I realized that the trailhead lies only seven miles off our path from Kenmare to our next home-from-home on the Dingle Peninsula. Stopping to do a little jaunt on our drive would be a good opportunity to stretch our legs.

As we drove into the valley, a man waved us over to the side of the road. The proud owner of a jaunting car, he gave us the hard sell on why we should allow him to escort us into the gap with his horse and cart. Wary of why he was flagging us down outside the normal confines of the attraction, and in urgent need of finding a place to dispose of some used coffee, we begged off and continued down the road. After taking advantage of the facilities at a gift shop, Marcus politely asked a woman behind the counter if the guy we encountered was legit. Oh, yes! she assured him. All the cart drivers live in the community, know each other, and work together. Their rates should all be the same, and you can trust any of them. We drove back to Sean and his horse, Seamus. Why not? We can walk anywhere, but how often do we get to ride in a jaunting car? Sean was very happy—albeit, surprised—to see us again.

  • our jaunting car
  • onward, Seamus
  • our tour guide, Sean
  • a Chilean pine tree
  • a house, once upon a time
  • Purple Mountain
  • feral goats

An hour, and several Dunloe legends, later Sean dropped us at the end of our chosen tour—four miles into the Gap—and we walked back down the hill to our car.

Everyone was happy: I got to ride in something called a jaunting car, Marcus got to re-take all those out-of-focus shots he took in the jostling jaunting car, we got to stretch our legs a bit, and Sean got to put down another healthy deposit toward his next Disney World vacation. And Seamus? He just lost his 270-pound load, and the walk back to his feedbag was all downhill.

One of these rings is not like the other

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view from Caherdaniel, Ring of Kerry

Shortly after our drive around the Ring of Beara, I started talking about our upcoming trip to the Ring of Kerry. “What?” asked Marcus. “We’ve already done one ring. Why do we need to do another?” I knew where this was coming from: the nerve-wracking driving was beginning to take its toll. If we are going to see what this Ring of Kerry is all about, I’d better keep it short and sweet. I’ll pick a few sights that most appeal to us, and I’ll let the driver pick the roads.

  • dry stone construction, no mortar
  • Welcome to my abode!
  • what they used to look like
  • bedroom
  • clever wall design
  • view from the top

There were a couple of Bronze-Age stone forts I wanted to see, and I thought Marcus would appreciated the design and construction. There was an arts centre I wanted to check out, and Marcus picked out a short hike with a view of the Skelligs (two islands ten miles off the coast of Kerry). The cliffs of Kerry, the Bridge Bar in Portmagee for lunch. Then across the bridge to Valentia Island for the views. (I had a sneaking suspicion Valentia was going to be the hit of the day, but perhaps that was just my views-from-the-edge-of-anywhere obsession.) Then the ferry back to the mainland and back home. It was only half the Ring, and perhaps a quarter of the sights, but sometimes less is more. Marcus approved the roads and driving time. Done.

We chose to travel the ring clockwise because the tour buses travel anti-clockwise, as they say here. (If a tour bus leaves Killarney at 10:00 traveling west on the Ring of Kerry at 80 mph, and a car leaves Kenmare, 20 miles to the south of Killarney, at 11:00 traveling at 10 mph…. Sounds like one of those annoying math word problem, doesn’t it?) My devious plan worked though: not getting stuck behind buses in traffic reduced our travel time, and encountering only a few oncoming buses on those narrow roads drastically reduced our collective stress level.

  • view of the mainland from Valentia Island
  • the Skellig Islands off shore
  • Little Skellig (bird sanctuary), Skellig Michael (monastic site)
  • squall out on the water
  • rain over the Skelligs

To sum up our experience: the stone forts were cool, the arts centre closed, the trailhead too difficult to find, the cliffs crawling with tourists, the Bridge Bar fantastic, and I was right about Valentia Island. If you only do one thing on the Ring of Kerry, drive straight to the island, drive up Geokaun Mountain, and walk the loop trail for 360° views from the edge of Ireland. And Mother Nature gave us an additional treat: From our vantage point 600 feet above sea level, we watched the most impressive curtain of rain sweeping in from the North Atlantic, dousing the Skelligs, and marching across Valentia Island.

  • the Wild Atlantic Way
  • ruins at Ballinskelligs
  • the Skelligs
  • Valentia Island from Cliffs of Kerry
  • lunch spot at the bridge to Valentia Island
  • ruins at Cahersiveen

Beara may have been beautiful in its quiet, endearing way, but Kerry is unabashedly breathtaking! Something I have to keep reminding myself: Travel is not about bragging rights to accomplishing a destination; it’s about choosing what’s important to you and allowing yourself time to savor it.