Co. Sligo and Yeats Country

Saturday to Monday, May 30 - June 1

On Saturday, we drove northeast from Connemara for Co. Sligo.  From here on, this is all new territory for us. No more comparisons to 1987!

The land is softer than we found in Connemara, lush and pastoral.  This is Yeats Country.  As we were driving around, we would see little brown signs that depicted an inkwell and quill pen that would indicate we were on the Yeats route.  I kind of doubt he wrote with a quill pen, but it does give you the idea the area has something to do with a writer.

Our first stop on Sunday was to visit Yeats' grave at the little church in Drumcliff where his grandfather was rector.  A simple grave, but with the striking backdrop of Ben Bulben, a massive table mountain (as it's described locally) that rises dramatically not far away.  This place and his epitaph were spelled out by him in one of his poems, Under Ben Bulben.

Ben Bulben:

From Drumcliff, we set off to explore the coastline north of Sligo town.

We visited Lissadell House, a large, forbidding Georgian house that is being restored.  We took the hour–long tour that led us through the main floor and the horrifying below-stairs area.  (Horrifying in that it is dank and crumbling. It made us very glad that our lot in life did not have us being servants in that house.) While the house was stately but very cold feeling, it is set at the edge of a large, open bay.  It is a huge estate with a walled Victorian garden, a kitchen garden, and a very large gatehouse/coach house complex.  It was a good walk through the woods from the coach house and stables area to the open land where the house stands.  Interesting, but we weren't wanting to stay there.  Not a very welcoming place.

A short ways north, we turned off the numbered road onto a track that took us out to Streedagh Point. (My Michelin map didn't even show a road in this area.  Between the suggestion of our host and the help of our car's GPS system, we found our way to the point.)   The wind was blowing like crazy, but it was a beautiful view to crashing surf, a lovely little beach cove, and a long, protected dune area.

At our lodging in the Sligo area, we are on what is called a Yeats Country package, which provides a picnic lunch for our touring days.  Since it was beautiful and we had the place to ourselves, we decided Streedagh Point would be where we would picnic.  Given that I could barely open the car door or stand still long enough to take a quick snapshot (and, perhaps, the fact that it was barely 50 degrees outside), we quickly decided that eating inside the car was going to be the preferred choice.  A bit awkward, but yummy food (lettuces from the inn's garden with smoked chicken, cherry tomatoes, apples with local cheese, rolls, and a cupcake for a sweet treat--not exactly suffering, are we?) with a dramatic view.

From there, we headed to Mullaghmore,  a charming little port with a long strand.  It was a nice spot to get out and stretch our legs.  It was a bit more protected from the wind, but there was a series of big dark clouds and their attendant rain showers moving through, so we didn't spend very long out.

We rounded out our day with a fabulous Yeats Country highlight, the Gleniff Horseshoe Drive.  Our host, Simon, had mentioned it as a good drive, but he hadn't given us any helpful hints on how to find it.  We spent a lot of time wandering around in the countryside on tiny roads and couldn't find it in the area he'd pointed to on our map.  We finally gave up and got ourselves back out to the "highway." No sooner were we heading south again, when we actually saw a good sign telling us to turn for the drive. So we tried again.  We didn't see another sign for probably 10-15 minutes, but we eventually found it.  

It was worth all the fuss.  Even in so-so weather, it was dramatic and beautiful.  This area of haunting, table mountains and almost no signs of humans is a beautiful spot. We never found any trails or places to stop and walk, but the road was pretty easy in that there was no traffic to speak of.  I think we only encountered two cars while we were on this horseshoe drive.  The road is basically a loop through a cirque in the Dartry Mountains.  From the highway, all you can see is a set of flat-topped mountains.  But this drive (once you find your way to it) takes you back into them, so that you're surrounded on three sides by these behemoths, all lush and green and dotted with sheep.  Quite dramatic and beautiful.

As we always say, "Into each vacation, a little rain must fall."  In the case of this trip, we've revised it to, "Into each vacation, a little rain must fall (and fall and fall) and wind blow (and blow and blow)."

We've been told Ireland had 2 "lovely" weeks in April, but it has (and therefore we have also) been experiencing an uncommonly cold and wet May.  We've gotten used to the wind and frequent showers, and we've been good Northwesterners and determined not to let it get in our way......until Monday.

Even though we'd had rain and hail hitting us in wave after wave on Sunday, the real fun came on Monday.  There were orange alert storm warnings for heavy wind and lots of rain.  Whee!

We headed out relatively quickly that morning, since the weather was supposed to worsen noticeably in the afternoon.  We took country roads north to Lough Gill and made a scenic loop.  The weather was quite cold and rainy, but we could at least get a sense of this pretty lake that was very important to Yeats.  We stopped at Parke's Castle and toured this lakeside, fortified castle.  It was bitterly cold, so we bustled through fairly quickly.  We moved on and found a viewpoint on the south side of the lake for our in-the-car-again picnic.  

The weather was really picking up steam, so we changed our plans and decided on a relatively short and tame coastline drive.  By the time we reached the approach to that drive, the rain was hitting us in buckets and coming at us horizontally.  We decided the thing that sounded best to us in the whole world was to spend some of our afternoon in front of the fire at our inn.  And that's exactly what we did.  Initially, we had the drawing room all to ourselves, but bit by bit our fellow guests straggled in as we all took respite from the storm.  

Then the sun came out, so we grabbed our jackets and headed out for a walk on the inn's grounds.  Fresh smells, lots of birdsong.  No sooner did we get about 10 minutes from the house than the showers started again.  We waited one shower out under cover of some trees, but when our second foray netted us another shower, we headed back for the warmth of the house, finally willing to concede defeat to this dreary day and its determined weather.  And what a lovely defeat it was.  

Connemara Past and Present

When we visited Connemara in 1987, it was the stuff of Irish legend.  It was lonely and barren and rocky, and you wondered how even sheep could find enough grass to eat.  There were peat bogs actively being worked by people.  There were simple little thatched roof houses.  And, of course, the Connemara ponies.  That wasn't all there was in the region, but it was what one came to see and was the predominant impression it made.

In the meantime, Ireland has had a major economic boom and bust, a more exaggerated version of what happened in the States.  We've been struck, everywhere we've traveled on this trip, at the dizzying amount of new construction that has taken place since we were here before.  It was noticeable around Dublin; it was noticeable near Ballymaloe.  And, given how remote Dingle is, we were surprised at the quantity of new homes there.

But Connemara is even more changed.  We kept saying, "Where is the Connemara we remember?"  In this instance, I don't think our memories are at fault.  I think reality has simply changed.

For one thing, the thatched roof houses seem to be a thing of the past.  We only saw a couple, and one of those was a big new house.  We saw a number of the small, simple houses this area was known for, which now sport slate roofs.

So we had to look harder to find the Connemara we loved before.  We had to look beyond the clusters of holiday cottages and the large new estate houses.  We had to drive off the beaten track, down some little side roads.

And, when we did that, we could still see the rocky fields and shallow little lakes.  There were still plenty of sheep.  The crenelated coastline is still beautiful.  The Twelve Bens still offer some beautiful mountain views.  The peat bogs are still there, and you can still encounter that wonderful smell of peat fires burning.  We even found a few ponies.

On our previous visit to Connemara, we drove through Clifden, the "capital of Connemara," but didn't have time to stop.  We always said we'd like to come back, and so we did. We spent a couple hours walking through the town and shops and having a bite of lunch at Mitchell's Seafood Restaurant.  The town sits uphill from its harbor and is a thriving business community, clear out at the end of this sizable peninsula.

On that previous visit, we also drove to Kylemore Abbey.  It is an image you'll see on almost any Irish calendar.  A striking building in a stunning setting.  It started life as a private house, but eventually became a Benedictine monastery in the 1920's.  When we were here in 1987, it was a girl's school run by nuns.  You could drive to a spot to see the Abbey, but you could not visit the house.  At this time, the public can visit five rooms in the main house, the chapel, and the walled Victorian garden.  We were glad to get to see it, especially the large garden and the head gardener's cottage (a residence we can identify with a bit more than the castle).

Our drive back to our inn was through a nature preserve that runs between the Maumturk Mountains and the Twelve Bens, the heart of Connemara.  In this area of grand open landscapes, the sheep were roaming freely and one had to stay alert.  Lambing season was fairly recent, and the babies aren't too seasoned yet at roadways and cars.

So while much has changed in this out of the way place, it is still a beautiful and evocative place--another chapter in our Wild Atlantic Way journey.

Joyce Country

Thursday, May 28

When we decided to visit Cong (see "Close Encounters"), we found ourselves in an area called Joyce Country on our Michelin map.  While we knew we'd be visiting Yeats Country in a few days, we had no notion that we'd be in Joyce Country until we landed in it.

As Jerry said, "I didn't know he had Country. I thought he was all about Dublin."  In fact he was born in Dublin, lived in Dublin, and wrote of Dublin.  But apparently his people are from this little corner of northeastern Connemara, which straddles Co. Galway and Co. Mayo.

Either way, this was a very happy discovery.  The landscape isn't as dramatic as sea cliffs and headlands, but it is some of the prettiest territory we've seen.  We agreed that, if we were to rent a house, Joyce Country is most likely at the top of our list (with Dingle not too far behind).

Lough Corrib:

Lough Mask:

Along Lough Nafooey:

A little spot of rain; there is a reason these hills are so green!

This is definitely sheep country.  We kept seeing black-faced sheep.  We were tempted to stop in at Joyce Country Sheepdogs, where they give demonstrations of the dogs' skills (for potential buyers).  The dogs are especially handy in this countryside.  They can get to the high, steep slopes and bring the sheep back down to lower pastures.

All in all, a very happy detour (if you ignore the adventure we had getting out of this lovely spot).

Close Encounters

Well, these crazy roads weren't done with us yet.

On Wednesday, we left the Dingle Peninsula to head for Connemara--our longest driving day of the trip a repositioning day.  We knew it would be a bit of a slog, with several cities to get through and little scenic diversion.

We were leaving in a pretty heavy rain, but we knew we got to start the day with a scenic highlight--Connor Pass, the second of Ireland's rather famous passes (Healy Pass being the other).  We had driven it on our 1987 trip and remembered it as not intimidating at all, just a curvy road climbing up a wide swath of a mountain flank and coming out to a beautiful view of beaches along Brandon Bay.

I'm afraid our rather dusty memories were also rather faulty.  This is one very hairy road!  It has some sheer drop offs and narrows to one lane in several places.  And when one says "one lane" in reference to Irish roads, we're talking even narrower than the already narrow roads and usually enclosed uncomfortably with stone walls on both sides, no turn outs at the ready.

On top of the rain, we found ourselves in a cloud bank at points, so the only views we got on this stressful drive were of the wet road in front of us and some breathtaking "slopes" below us.  So we played "dodge 'em" with numerous cars and were very thankful when we reached the other side. 

So much for our memories of routes of the past!

The rest of the drive was uneventful, though the weather was pretty awful.  The winds, which had been very blustery on Dingle, we're trending toward galing on the north side of the pass.  The three cities had ring roads that allowed us to skirt much of the congestion, and we even had a freeway/toll road for about 50km that saved us some time.

On Thursday, we planned to drive some more of the Wild Atlantic Way.  (Once again, our inn is on the WAW.  Though we had read of the existence of something called the Wild Atlantic Way, it was mostly in reference to the northwestern part of Ireland.  We had no idea how much we would be bumping into it or following it--even in the southern part of Ireland--and we hadn't realized that several of our inns were located on it.  It's just all part of the fun of discovery when one travels.) We were going to loop inland through the rather barren stretch of Connemara and take the WAW along the coastline back to our inn.

At the last minute, we took a detour north to visit Cong, where The Quiet Man was filmed in 1951.  It's located on an isthmus between two large lakes--Lough Corrib and Lough Mask.  

We made a loop out of this detour by taking a "green" road (i.e., a scenic road) back to our starting point.  

We beetled along through a pretty area of hills and lakes, but suddenly found ourselves on a very narrow little goat track of a road and once again climbing steeply uphill.  We kept wondering if we'd somehow gotten off the "real" road, but we'd never noticed any options.  We remarked that thankfully there didn't seem to be any traffic.

And then the real fun began.

As we were coming downhill from this unexpected pass, we suddenly came face to face with a tour bus. (!!) The bus was going nowhere to accommodate us, so it was up to us to make room for it.  In this instance, that meant backing uphill until we could find a wider spot.  I could see such a place in my side mirror, but Jerry could not see it.  So he had to back up on faith and with me telling him which way to aim the car and how far he could go.  We got into the "wide" spot, and the bus driver indicated we still needed to bring around the nose of the car for him to be able to clear us.  Happily, he went by. While we collected our wits, we let a car go on past us from uphill, then we ventured on. 

Just a few hundred feet later, we saw that car veer off into a steep uphill track that approached a farm gate.  Then we saw why: here came yet another tour bus!  We did our best to pull off into the same spot, but hit a crater-sized pothole that stopped us in our tracks.  Jerry did some quick thinking and got us out of that predicament and enough off the road for that stinking bus to get by.  After it passed and the other car departed, we got out to assess damage. The tire looked intact and we could see no damage to the car.  Whew!

The rest of our drive was comparatively easy and uneventful.  We stopped off to have a well-earned Guiness (for Jerry) and Smithwick (for me) and were very happy to pull into our inn and park the trusty car for the day.  Oh my!

On the Dingle Peninsula

Sunday to Tuesday, May 24-26

The route that brought us to Dingle Town was quite spectacular, rimming the sea--as we've come to expect on this trip.  Our inn for the 3 nights we're in Dingle is about 15km from Dingle Town.  It is located on the Wild Atlantic Way, on a bluff overlooking the sea.  The Dingle Way trail also passes here, which has allowed us to claim a bit of time along this well-regarded path.

Dingle Peninsula juts out 40 miles from the Irish mainland and is the farthest west point in Europe.  To say this is a lovely setting would be an understatement.  The landscape is dramatic, and the sea is king.

Looking west from our inn, the Three Sisters:

Looking north along the Dingle Way trail in front of our inn:

On Monday, it was misting, so we decided that would be a good time to visit Dingle Town.  It's a busy place, with lots of shops and things to attract tourists.  But it is also the business center for this whole region, so there's lots going on.  Our inn owner had told us which shopping areas to avoid and where to find the higher quality things.  It would be easy to part company with one's money, but I remained strong.  Holden Leathergoods was terribly tempting. They make some beautiful purses.  Fortunately, they were expensive enough I was able to get myself out the door empty handed.  Then there's the fellow who makes exquisite gold jewelry based on the standing stones and other ancient ruins so numerous in this area. Those pieces, while very appealing, were so expensive I didn't even make it in the door.

One highlight was a visit to a little cheese shop, where they had quite a display of local cheeses.  The young woman behind the counter graciously allowed me to take a few pictures, "especially because you asked," she said.

As the weather lifted a bit, we decided to drive to Dunquin to see the Blasket Center.  But we missed the turn and found ourselves on the narrow Slea Head Drive (the loop is all part of the Wild Atlantic Way).  We drove this rather harrowing road back in 1987 and remember some hairy bits.  We can now say we've once again driven the Slea Head Drive and lived to tell the tale.  

Our host had warned us to drive this portion that starts out of Dingle Town and goes along the sea cliffs CLOCKWISE.  We'd also read that advice in several guidebooks and articles.  That is because it is precipitous and narrow, and the tour buses are required to drive it in that direction.  So, being the good little rule followers we are, we set off in that direction.  And, to be fair, most people on the road were doing the same.

But not everyone!  There is nothing that requires you to go a certain direction.  These are open roads, after all.  And wouldn't you know that someone driving a van would be one of the ones to decide he had to navigate this challenging portion of the drive counterclockwise.  We met him at a particularly narrow spot, and four cars (two each going in both directions) became a logjam.  The two primary vehicles in the pickle were us and the van.  Each of us had another car on our rear bumper.  On our immediate left was a stone wall, on the other side of which was a rather harrowing plummet to the sea.  We didn't think we were going to have that problem; it was the paint job on the rental car that was at issue.  On the other side of the dreaded van was a rock cliff face rising up.  Not very forgiving surfaces.

Even though I was practically wearing the imprint of the rocks on the stone wall on my left, I told trooper Jerry that he could get a bit closer.  He managed to squeak backwards a few feet; the van driver squeezed past us and we inched forward, all of us holding our breath.  I think I've had nightmares like this--no way ahead and no way back.  But we made it, so apparently there was indeed a way ahead.  Thank heavens!  No more of that for awhile.

If you look closely, you can see the road and a car coming along.

That being said, there were some awfully pretty views along the drive.

We eventually made it to the Blasket Center for a good background on the harsh life on Great Blasket Island, which is just offshore.  It was evacuated in 1953, by which time the population had dwindled to just 20.  Interesting film, pictures, and stories of the isolated life on the island.

Tuesday was our day to visit some of the ancient ruins near our inn.  (Dingle is dotted with monastic ruins, standing stones, beehive huts, and ring forts.) We went to see Gallarus Oratory, built over a thousand years ago.  It is made of mortarless rock and is still watertight.   

We also visited nearby Cill Mhaolcheadair, built around 1140, but including some standing stones that date back to the 6th century.  There is an "alphabet stone" and an ancient sundial.

While we were wandering through this site, we were being serenaded by some noisy young lambs, which gave it an interesting twist.

We drove to Ballyferriter to try to find the old hotel we stayed in when we were here all those years ago.  There has been so much building in the area, we couldn't recognize much.  We learned that the hotel has been closed for a long time.  But our detour took us by a charming pub, which turns out to be the home of West Kerry Brewing, a craft brewery.  We had a glass of their excellent porter and got to have a nice, long conversation with the owner/brewmaster.  I picked up a map of a dozen or so craft breweries along the Wild Atlantic Way, and almost all of them are ahead of us as we move north.  We have a new goal!

We've had a lovely visit to Dingle and are so glad we decided to come here again.  It will be hard to leave this spectacular area, but  Wednesday we head toward Galway and Connemara.  

On the Road To Kerry

Sunday, May 24

On Sunday, we drove from the Bantry area, up over Caha Pass (304 meters) and through a series of rock tunnels and Moll's Gap, which brought us into Co. Kerry.  

We stopped to admire the view of Killarney National Park at Ladies View.

We also stopped at Muckross House.  Everyone and their brother had also decided that this Sunday afternoon was the perfect time to visit this place.  The gardens are quite lovely, and the rhodies and azaleas are at their peak.

We had not traveled this way on our earlier trip, so these were new stops for us.

We then drove through Killarney.  We've always heard it is a heavily touristed area, and we would have to say we're now aware of it first hand.  We've never seen so many lodgings in one place.  For what seemed like miles, almost every building we passed was a hotel, a guest accommodation, or a B & B.  The traffic was bumper to bumper and poked along.  We were quite relieved to get past Killarney and head our car toward Dingle.