Killarney, Bunratty and Points Between
The saga continues....
Day 6: Our adventures are coming close to an end. I just adored Kinsale, but it's time to move on to Killarney. It was absolutely beautiful driving up the southwestern coast. We stop in Timoleague Abbey for a photo opp. Proving that this tour is a hands on experience, Michael stops the bus at one point to show us peat. Its a substance that forms from decaying peat moss and other vegetation. It is abudant in marshy areas, and is illegal to remove evidently. Peat is used as a heating fuel and to dry barley for whiskey. We then go through Roscaberry with the little scholars waving at our tour bus on the way to school through the most narrow street. Then we stop in Bantry at a quaint flea market. Then off the Kenmare for lunch. It's time to lose the inlaws and so we go off our own. Guinness for lunch (wistful look)! We eat at an Italian themed restaurant where I get a pizza-I'm missing American food at this point. There's a nice fireplace that keeps us warm, although I have to say the weather has been absolutely beautiful & not too cold. Then back on the bus for the drive to Killarney. There are so many sheep in Ireland, dotting the hilltops and those little stone fences. The story about the sheep is they all have spray paint markings near their rear ends. Evidently this is to mark them, so you know whose sheep is whose, as well as which ones are ready to mate. We stop at Moll's Gap and Ladies View for more photo opps. The lakes of Killarney are beautiful. We finally arrive at our hotel and get our obligatory nap. Dinner is good-Guinness stew. There's a big blob of something in the soup. I wonder what it is. I ask the waitress and am told that it's a dumpling-made of bread. My father in law insists that his is a potato. We try to explain that according to the waitress it's a dumpling, but to no avail-he doesn't know what we got, but he's got a potato. Charging pints to your room at the hotel is very dangerous, but we continue this practice anyway. We go with some other tour group members to the pub next door-Murphy's maybe. We watch a rugby match-boy are they aggressive. We part ways with the group and go to O'Connors-every pub is named a proper Irish name. Then off the Mustang Sally's where we realize that this town is overrun with rich tourists. You'd think at Mustang Sally's you'd hear some good tunes, but not so. Brittney Spears is evidently very popular with the youths. So after finishing our pints we're off & back to the hotel bar where we've had more luck. The rest of the tour group has a big table so we proceed to drink some more. The massage therapist from Texas is flirting with some Irish boys. This causes her boyfriend to befriend some Irish lasses and drama ensues. A few of us in our drunken stupor try to smooth things over between them. All in all a fun night, but we head back to the room. We hear drunk people passing by in the alley outside our room all night-this is a party town-we just weren't invited.
Day 7: Today's trip is to the Dingle (tee hee) Penisula. Luckily it's a crystal clear day so we should get some breathtaking views. The bus trudges along the cliffs and coast. It really is beautiful here. We see the ancient bee hives and all the signs are written in both Gaelic & English. This area is a hold out & most of the people still speak Gaelic. We see Tori Amos' house and the owner of the Steelers has a house here too. There are beautiful golf courses. I'm not a golfer, but I wouldn't mind playing here. At the tip of the penisula is the Blasket Island where we're treated to film on the historical significance of this island. I have to admit I nodded off a couple times during it, too much beer & too little sleep. But the gist of the story is that this Island stayed pretty much isolated from the rest of Ireland and no one on the island could read or write. Nonetheless they had rich tradition of storytelling, which gave birth to some great literary works once writers got wind of the place and went there to record the stories. The ended up evacuating the island in the 1960s maybe because of the push for education of youth and the death of a young boy who could have survived had medical care been available. Although this island is not far from the mainland, the waters could be very treacherous which prevented travel to the mainland at times. We stop for lunch in Inch. We pass by a little beach where there is an entire school of dolphin playing.Then back to Killarney. My husband is pooped & wants a nap. I want to ride in the horse drawn carriages in the front of our hotel. He naps, my inlaws and me take a carriage ride to the Ross Castle. Get the obligatory pictures, snap, snap. Then back to hotel in time for dinner. The carriage driver had recommended a pub, but for the life of me I can't remember the name. We look for it but with no success. So back to the hotel bar. Boston boy flirts with me at the bar. My husband's a little jealous, that's cute. Boston Boy says that he's going to try to make it to Kinsale, after I highly recommended it. He asks about the Dingle penisula. Him & his friends flew into Limerick and he warns that it's not that great there. You see, I don't get flirted with much these days so it boosted me up a bit. Call it a night very early. It's catching up with me. Try to watch some TV but end up falling asleep early. We only have one more day left on the tour and my ankles have swollen to the size of elephant legs. Water retention from drinking too much beer I suppose.
The last day: Leave Killarney for the Cliffs of Moher. We have to take a ferry across the Shannon. We stop along the way for Michael the Tour guide to show us the thatch roof of a little house. He pulls the bus over and explains how they thatch the roofs. Just then in the upstairs window we see a man, then we see a .... a....a butt? Did that man just moon us? Judging from the laughter on the bus, my eyes were not deceiving me- he did shoot us a moon! Alrighty then.We finally arrive at the Cliffs of Moher and they are breathtaking too. There are some daredevils who sit and walk on the very edge of these cliffs. There are disclaimers everywhere because evidently some people have taken a tumble off the edge and have met an untimely end. You won't catch me on the edge. We finally end up the day in Bunratty where we need to rest for the Bunratty Castle dinner we have tonight. We have to dress up for this one and enter the castle. You're supposed to pretend that you're in medieval times and get to drink honeymeade- yum yum. They tell us the story of honeymeade & it's relation to honeymoon. Something about drinking it made your wedding night not as uncomfortable as it could be. Once we are seated we get soup (remember it's pureed in Ireland) and bread, then come ribs and chicken (no forks are given mind you), and all you can drink red wine is in vats on the tables-nice change of pace. Then we're treated to a little show filled with traditional songs. The master of ceremonies looks just like Gil Chesterton (you would only know this character if you watched Frasier) and is dressed in traditional garb along with all the wenches. Miami guy gets locked in the dungeon for being a bad wittle boy (and it's his birthday). They acknowledge the old man in our group who evidently received a purple heart in WWII and they sing "Danny Boy" for him leaving not a dry eye at our table. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was because it was the end of the tour, but this moment was so touching because it encapsulated the entire trip into that one small moment in time. After the dinner I try to swipe one of the pottery chalices, but there's some guy eyeing me and I really don't want to be arrested on my final night so I put it back on the table. We end the night in Durty Nelly's. It's a blow out! There's a bachelor party going on in the next room and some guy playing piano and singing songs. Somehow (blame it on the beer) I end up in drunken sing along fashion belting out U2's "One." There's some old guy who invites me on his lap and I have been told that he is dying and has months to live so what's a girl to do but to grant a dying man a final wish to have a girl sit on his lap. He talks to me, but I have no idea what he's saying. I just nod my head in agreement. There's a good possibility that the dying man story might have been a ruse just to get a little action. Oh well! I rejoin our tour group and my mother in law is snapping pictures. She has this retarded camera with a battery problem so sometimes her pictures don't snap. You can always tell when it's not going to work because the lens extends out but then retreats back in. So imagine our childish giggles exclaiming "IT's IN, NOW IT's OUT" as the lens goes in & out, in & out. I guess you had to be there but it was so funny I almost peed my pants. (Not to digress but I have this embarrasing bladder control problem when I get to laughing too hard, it's gotten worse after going through child birth.) So Durty Nelly's has last call because it's Sunday and time to close way to early. The fiddler from the musicians at Bunratty Castle is there trying to quietly enjoy a beer still dressed in his garb. As we leave Michael the tour guide, who tried very hard throughout the tour to separate himself from our group's revelry is not holding back anymore. He is hugging and putting his arms around the girls as we walk back to the hotel. We have a few more pints. I get hit on by another boy-an Irish boy this time. I tell him my husband is right over there, but he doesn't care. Fortunately my husband isn't a Neandrathal so he doesn't care either. The Boston boy and his group of Boston friends has evidently followed our tour group because they're here playing cards. We don't want this night to ever end, but they don't have a resident's bar in this hotel. Travel warning: Don't stay at the Bunratty Hotel, they are not near as hospitable as The Trident in Kinsale-I highly recommend it! The hotel manager here is a real wank & won't allow us to buy any more pints despite my begging & whining. Stupid drunk American Girl, he's thinking. Can you blame a girl for not wanting the party to end? But like all good things it must....so it's time to catch some zzzzzs for our flight back home. We're leaving at some ungodly time. God, I want a hamburger!
Day 6: Our adventures are coming close to an end. I just adored Kinsale, but it's time to move on to Killarney. It was absolutely beautiful driving up the southwestern coast. We stop in Timoleague Abbey for a photo opp. Proving that this tour is a hands on experience, Michael stops the bus at one point to show us peat. Its a substance that forms from decaying peat moss and other vegetation. It is abudant in marshy areas, and is illegal to remove evidently. Peat is used as a heating fuel and to dry barley for whiskey. We then go through Roscaberry with the little scholars waving at our tour bus on the way to school through the most narrow street. Then we stop in Bantry at a quaint flea market. Then off the Kenmare for lunch. It's time to lose the inlaws and so we go off our own. Guinness for lunch (wistful look)! We eat at an Italian themed restaurant where I get a pizza-I'm missing American food at this point. There's a nice fireplace that keeps us warm, although I have to say the weather has been absolutely beautiful & not too cold. Then back on the bus for the drive to Killarney. There are so many sheep in Ireland, dotting the hilltops and those little stone fences. The story about the sheep is they all have spray paint markings near their rear ends. Evidently this is to mark them, so you know whose sheep is whose, as well as which ones are ready to mate. We stop at Moll's Gap and Ladies View for more photo opps. The lakes of Killarney are beautiful. We finally arrive at our hotel and get our obligatory nap. Dinner is good-Guinness stew. There's a big blob of something in the soup. I wonder what it is. I ask the waitress and am told that it's a dumpling-made of bread. My father in law insists that his is a potato. We try to explain that according to the waitress it's a dumpling, but to no avail-he doesn't know what we got, but he's got a potato. Charging pints to your room at the hotel is very dangerous, but we continue this practice anyway. We go with some other tour group members to the pub next door-Murphy's maybe. We watch a rugby match-boy are they aggressive. We part ways with the group and go to O'Connors-every pub is named a proper Irish name. Then off the Mustang Sally's where we realize that this town is overrun with rich tourists. You'd think at Mustang Sally's you'd hear some good tunes, but not so. Brittney Spears is evidently very popular with the youths. So after finishing our pints we're off & back to the hotel bar where we've had more luck. The rest of the tour group has a big table so we proceed to drink some more. The massage therapist from Texas is flirting with some Irish boys. This causes her boyfriend to befriend some Irish lasses and drama ensues. A few of us in our drunken stupor try to smooth things over between them. All in all a fun night, but we head back to the room. We hear drunk people passing by in the alley outside our room all night-this is a party town-we just weren't invited.
Day 7: Today's trip is to the Dingle (tee hee) Penisula. Luckily it's a crystal clear day so we should get some breathtaking views. The bus trudges along the cliffs and coast. It really is beautiful here. We see the ancient bee hives and all the signs are written in both Gaelic & English. This area is a hold out & most of the people still speak Gaelic. We see Tori Amos' house and the owner of the Steelers has a house here too. There are beautiful golf courses. I'm not a golfer, but I wouldn't mind playing here. At the tip of the penisula is the Blasket Island where we're treated to film on the historical significance of this island. I have to admit I nodded off a couple times during it, too much beer & too little sleep. But the gist of the story is that this Island stayed pretty much isolated from the rest of Ireland and no one on the island could read or write. Nonetheless they had rich tradition of storytelling, which gave birth to some great literary works once writers got wind of the place and went there to record the stories. The ended up evacuating the island in the 1960s maybe because of the push for education of youth and the death of a young boy who could have survived had medical care been available. Although this island is not far from the mainland, the waters could be very treacherous which prevented travel to the mainland at times. We stop for lunch in Inch. We pass by a little beach where there is an entire school of dolphin playing.Then back to Killarney. My husband is pooped & wants a nap. I want to ride in the horse drawn carriages in the front of our hotel. He naps, my inlaws and me take a carriage ride to the Ross Castle. Get the obligatory pictures, snap, snap. Then back to hotel in time for dinner. The carriage driver had recommended a pub, but for the life of me I can't remember the name. We look for it but with no success. So back to the hotel bar. Boston boy flirts with me at the bar. My husband's a little jealous, that's cute. Boston Boy says that he's going to try to make it to Kinsale, after I highly recommended it. He asks about the Dingle penisula. Him & his friends flew into Limerick and he warns that it's not that great there. You see, I don't get flirted with much these days so it boosted me up a bit. Call it a night very early. It's catching up with me. Try to watch some TV but end up falling asleep early. We only have one more day left on the tour and my ankles have swollen to the size of elephant legs. Water retention from drinking too much beer I suppose.
The last day: Leave Killarney for the Cliffs of Moher. We have to take a ferry across the Shannon. We stop along the way for Michael the Tour guide to show us the thatch roof of a little house. He pulls the bus over and explains how they thatch the roofs. Just then in the upstairs window we see a man, then we see a .... a....a butt? Did that man just moon us? Judging from the laughter on the bus, my eyes were not deceiving me- he did shoot us a moon! Alrighty then.We finally arrive at the Cliffs of Moher and they are breathtaking too. There are some daredevils who sit and walk on the very edge of these cliffs. There are disclaimers everywhere because evidently some people have taken a tumble off the edge and have met an untimely end. You won't catch me on the edge. We finally end up the day in Bunratty where we need to rest for the Bunratty Castle dinner we have tonight. We have to dress up for this one and enter the castle. You're supposed to pretend that you're in medieval times and get to drink honeymeade- yum yum. They tell us the story of honeymeade & it's relation to honeymoon. Something about drinking it made your wedding night not as uncomfortable as it could be. Once we are seated we get soup (remember it's pureed in Ireland) and bread, then come ribs and chicken (no forks are given mind you), and all you can drink red wine is in vats on the tables-nice change of pace. Then we're treated to a little show filled with traditional songs. The master of ceremonies looks just like Gil Chesterton (you would only know this character if you watched Frasier) and is dressed in traditional garb along with all the wenches. Miami guy gets locked in the dungeon for being a bad wittle boy (and it's his birthday). They acknowledge the old man in our group who evidently received a purple heart in WWII and they sing "Danny Boy" for him leaving not a dry eye at our table. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was because it was the end of the tour, but this moment was so touching because it encapsulated the entire trip into that one small moment in time. After the dinner I try to swipe one of the pottery chalices, but there's some guy eyeing me and I really don't want to be arrested on my final night so I put it back on the table. We end the night in Durty Nelly's. It's a blow out! There's a bachelor party going on in the next room and some guy playing piano and singing songs. Somehow (blame it on the beer) I end up in drunken sing along fashion belting out U2's "One." There's some old guy who invites me on his lap and I have been told that he is dying and has months to live so what's a girl to do but to grant a dying man a final wish to have a girl sit on his lap. He talks to me, but I have no idea what he's saying. I just nod my head in agreement. There's a good possibility that the dying man story might have been a ruse just to get a little action. Oh well! I rejoin our tour group and my mother in law is snapping pictures. She has this retarded camera with a battery problem so sometimes her pictures don't snap. You can always tell when it's not going to work because the lens extends out but then retreats back in. So imagine our childish giggles exclaiming "IT's IN, NOW IT's OUT" as the lens goes in & out, in & out. I guess you had to be there but it was so funny I almost peed my pants. (Not to digress but I have this embarrasing bladder control problem when I get to laughing too hard, it's gotten worse after going through child birth.) So Durty Nelly's has last call because it's Sunday and time to close way to early. The fiddler from the musicians at Bunratty Castle is there trying to quietly enjoy a beer still dressed in his garb. As we leave Michael the tour guide, who tried very hard throughout the tour to separate himself from our group's revelry is not holding back anymore. He is hugging and putting his arms around the girls as we walk back to the hotel. We have a few more pints. I get hit on by another boy-an Irish boy this time. I tell him my husband is right over there, but he doesn't care. Fortunately my husband isn't a Neandrathal so he doesn't care either. The Boston boy and his group of Boston friends has evidently followed our tour group because they're here playing cards. We don't want this night to ever end, but they don't have a resident's bar in this hotel. Travel warning: Don't stay at the Bunratty Hotel, they are not near as hospitable as The Trident in Kinsale-I highly recommend it! The hotel manager here is a real wank & won't allow us to buy any more pints despite my begging & whining. Stupid drunk American Girl, he's thinking. Can you blame a girl for not wanting the party to end? But like all good things it must....so it's time to catch some zzzzzs for our flight back home. We're leaving at some ungodly time. God, I want a hamburger!
posted by amyd | 12:37 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home