We were having lunch in a pub on our first day exploring Killarney when I overheard snatches of a weather report on TV: Storm Hannah…drenching rains…hurricane-force winds. “Here?” I asked Marcus. I know it rains a lot on the Wild Atlantic Coast, but hurricane-force winds? We checked it out online when we got back to our cottage in Kenmare. Sure enough, the next day was going to be a good one to be indoors. Sounds like a day off.
When you travel for three months, you need to take a day off from sightseeing at least once a week. Laundry needs to be done, bills need to be paid, yoga needs to be practiced, and, if we’re going to continue to enjoy our travels, downtime needs to be savored. Every now and again, you just need a break.
One of my tasks for the day was to map out the weather for the next few days. I had three day-trips in mind, so I checked the forecast for each location. Two of the three were going to be ugly the following day, so by default the Beara Peninsula was our next destination.
There are three fingerling peninsulas that jut out into the Atlantic on the southwest Irish coast. From south to north, they are the Beara; the Iveragh, where the ever popular Ring of Kerry is; and the Dingle, which is growing rapidly in popularity with tourists looking for a little less traffic than Iveragh offers. There wasn’t much in the guidebook to recommend Beara, but it started popping up in conversation with the locals we’ve talked to about our itinerary. “Are you going to visit Beara then? Ah, it’s grand. Very unspoiled and quiet.” I began to sense that it’s where the Irish travel to get away from the tourists. After spending Easter Week in the resort town of Cobh, Beara sounded refreshing. But most importantly, on the day after the storm it was the only place on the west coast where the sun was expected to shine.
Hannah ushered in a cold front, and the day after her visit the temperature as we left Kenmare was 40 degrees. No sweat (literally), as long as it’s not raining. We drove down the north side of the Beara peninsula, along the Kenmare River—a collection of cute little fishing villages linked by the longest, windiest road in Europe, so they say. The river is more like a long bay between two peninsulas. We could see the Iveragh Peninsula across the way. I could imagine all the Ring of Kerry tourists, climbing down off their tour buses and gazing back at us from the other side. I waved into the haze.
But the most amazing views of the entire drive were at the far end of the peninsula. We rounded a bend in the road and descended a steep hill toward the village of Allihies. Nothing but mountains, farms, and the Wild Atlantic. We were blown away.
