Ireland 2004 Oyaas Family and the Isle of Destiny

The purpose of this journal is to chronicle the August 2004 trip of Mark, Joanie, Andy and Sean Oyaas to Ireland. Its intent is to stimulate memories and provide travel tips to friends and family interested in taking a similar trip. The original idea was to bring along a Dictaphone and capture memories of each day at day’s end in a friendly pub or restaurant before calling it a day. Alas, I begin this journal by myself all the way in to Saturday, August 7, in Killarney, our second full stop along the way.

Photo: Monroe's in Galway; "hey Andy no passing out we just got here!"

Special thanks are due Steve Salmen, a new friend and owner operator of Remarkable Journeys a specialized travel service that customizes trips on behalf of individual clients. There is no way we could have begun to plan the kind of adventure without his experience and insight.

It is so true the road to hell is paved with good intentions and this intention has proved to be a hell. First of all, Andy and Sean have dismissed it totally - completely “gay”. Secondly, in five days of travel, short trips and long journeys, we have yet to find a quiet, friendly pub in which to sit around and capture memories. So here it is, Day 6, and we’re starting on the fly.

Travel Tip #1:

Because time and distance are very deceiving and because Day 1 is pretty much a total loss in terms of enjoyment, we would recommend any complete tour of Ireland be 14 days. Two days for travel time, and 12 days of less-maniacal touring.

Observation #1:

It appears you’re not likely to find the friendly Mr. And Mrs. Pub Operator in the tourist stops along the way, especially in high season. We have found that most of the pubs are staffed by high school – possibly post-high school – age teenagers with hardly a brain and no interest in service whatsoever. That doesn’t make the surroundings any less enjoyable or charming or the Guinness any less tasty, but if you’re on the road going from place to place and simply want to stop for a friendly breather and quaff your thirst while picking up some local color, don’t count on it.

The Oyaases left Minneapolis on a 3:00 USAir flight to Philadelphia. Ross Alwin was kind enough to drive them to the airport.

The first leg went off pretty much without a hitch. Bags were checked through to Shannon Airport. We arrived in Philadelphia about 6:00 pm Eastern Daylight Time, just under a two hour flight. However, we were delayed on the runway for at least a half an hour portending even greater mess getting out to Shannon.

Scheduled to leave at 8:50, we didn’t board until 9:30 and sat on the runway until approximately 10:50. There had been two days of hard rains and lightening storms in the Greater Philadelphia area and it wreaked havoc on the airport. The whole family slept in fits and starts; probably about three and a half hours of the five hour flight to Shannon.

Travel Tip #2:

Overseas flights on USAir do not furnish free alcoholic beverages.

We were scheduled to arrive in Shannon at 8:15 am but because of the delays came in some time after 10:00 in the morning. Skies were overcast but the famous Emerald Green was fairly evident everywhere we looked. The entry into the country was quite easy. We loaded up our bags and hopped the shuttle to the rental station. We were slated for a “midsize” wagon from Citron but instead the rental agent, a Brit who was married to a woman from the Shannon area, suggested a Honda HRV.

Joan and Mark each packed 24-inch rolling Swiss Army luggage and had bought for the boys some rolling duffel bags approximately the same size but soft-sided. Despite numerous warnings we all over-packed, in part because we had heard from Steve Salmen, our travel guru, that there was talk of unusually hot weather for the time that we would be in Ireland. The mix-and-match of light clothes and heavier clothes proved to be a classic statement of over-packing.

Travel Tip #3:

If you think you might need it, you don’t. Leave it out.

Khaki pants or similar for men are the most versatile. There are places where jeans are a little bit underdressed. Khakis that can double as dress pants, one pair of jeans and two pairs of shorts, heavier weight, probably is enough. Knitwear that looks okay with sensible shoes is probably best for evenings in anything above a pub (jeans and shorts are fine in a pub any time of day or night). White tablecloth and hotel restaurants women would feel more comfortable dressing up somewhat.

Observation #2:

At least during high season in this economy, there are many more Europeans than we expected traveling. The Italian, French and Spanish women – and even the British women, of which there are many – tend to go fairly far out including backless dresses and high heels both during the day with jeans and at night with their dresses. (Thinking about these women has caused me to need to take a pause, so I went down to the hotel bar and picked up a bottle of champagne, opened it, and politely brought a glass into Joan who was soaking in the tub after returning from a massage.)

In spite of our upgraded car, we had a hard time fitting our four backpacks and four sturdy luggages into the rear of the Honda. Joanie and Sean kindly accommodated one of the rolling duffels in between them in the back seat, while Andy provided services as blue-knuckled navigator during the first part of our drive-on-the-left adventure.

The rental agent seemed to have the same line for everybody who gets off the plane and asks the question about driving on the left: Ah, don’t worry, you’ll be fine.

And so it is. You get a little test driving out of the airport lot; make a left, make a left, and then a right. The first right you make is your first experience on a roundabout, which really does become quite simple, that is quite easy, to get used to. Roundabouts are actually quite a logical method of controlling traffic in semi-busy intersections and move things along somewhat faster than stoplights would. The trick is to learn that even though you’re on the main road you yield to anyone who is already in the roundabout. The car we have is a manual transmission vehicle. Left-hand shifting hasn’t been a problem. It’s somewhat counterintuitive but it’s simple once you get started. Up, out is first; down, out is second; in and up third; down and in fourth; fifth is a throw over, it’s a gear you’ll rarely use; and reverse is straight down from fifth. The only difficult thing to get used to: there isn’t a safety, a press or a button to get into reverse; you can go straight down to get to it, and in tight situations where you need to turn around it’s actually hard to think of and you keep pressing down and it doesn’t engage the reverse. It’s simply down to get there.

From Shannon we took N18 up through Ennis and continued on to Galway which we intended to make our first stop. We had debated cutting over in western County Clare and visiting on that first day the Cliffs of Moher and the Burren on our way to Galway. Through simply dumb luck and the fact that we were two hours late, we chose to go directly through Galway. We are very grateful. The roads in the Burren, which we’ll describe later, and along the Cliffs of Moher are typical very tight, narrow lane, two-way fast traffic roads, and from town to town directions aren’t very good. Driving for the first time on the left with three hours sleep and the stress of travel in general would have made for a very poor experience around the Cliffs of Moher and in the Burren.

We made it into Galway and found the center of town sometime just after 12:00. It was our first experience driving in town – in the old parts of town, that is – with narrow streets and fast-moving traffic that includes tourists and commerce. Through dumb luck we found the center of town and the town square, Eyere Square, the Eyere Square multi-level park and shopping centre. The shopping centre itself is an unimpressive mix of American – like Claire jewelry – and American-wannabe shops.

The Square was under construction and not very attractive, but the pubs and restaurants around it looked inviting and interesting. The first one we saw was actually the most inviting although we walked around several others before we went back to it. It was Flaherty’s and they featured a carvery at lunch that included turkey and chicken breast. When we got down into the pub we realized that carvery meant buffet. The place was busy, filled with business people at their lunch and a smattering of tourists. We weren’t sure if we went through the buffet line that we’d have a table when we finished, so discretion being the better part of valor we proceeded on to the Park Hotel and the more dulcet Park Hotel restaurant.

Galway is the home of the Claddagh symbol and the Claddagh District is considered the more artsy or Bohemian area. It is the place we wanted to stop before we headed further out of town. The Claddagh District is called the Claddagh Quay, which is actually spelled q-u-a-y but pronounced key. The word refers to area around the waterfront, roughly a wharf.

While in the Claddagh Quay we decided to stop at a bar/pub Monroe’s to have our first half-pint of Guinness. The pub was fairly empty save for a very drunk, possibly 30, 35-year-old man who was weaving around trying to trade in his beer that he had ordered for money or at least a different flavor. The bartender was the first of many, very young, fairly curt people we’ve met along the way.

So with our first half-pints of Guinness under our belt, we bravely asked the bartender the best route to take us to Recess or Clifden, which is the direction of our first hotel, Ballynahinch Castle. We were ready for a long story about the road to Clifden and complicated directions to get us there. Instead, he curtly responded: “I’d take the Michelin (which he pronounced mick-lyn). The other road is more scenic but on the Michelin you can see where you’re going.

“How do you get to the Mick-lyn?”, we asked.

He said he’d be right back. He disappeared into the back and never returned. So off we went, hoping to find N59 which according to the map was the main road and we assumed the Michelin. Instead, somehow we got twisted around but headed out to Salt Hill, which was at least on the way.

From Salt Hill we got onto Route 336, R336, which brought us through Barna, Spiddle, Ivaran, Rosaveel, from which we had hoped to head north to Maam Cross and pick up the much sought-after N59. We missed the first of many turns and ended up on an isthmus which we called Judy Corrao but was actually Carraroe, which dead-ends. It provided us our first real experience with map reading and swearing made all the more fun by a half-pint of Guinness and being very overtired.

Back on Route 336, we found Maam Cross and stopped at the Peacock Hotel, a combination hotel/restaurant/tourist trap/craft shop. We asked for directions to Ballynahinch expecting a warm embrace and tails of the trail from Maam Cross to Ballynahinch. Instead, we found a very curt “go through Recess and take the first left.”

Sean and Andy not so quiet men in the 'Quiet Man Tribute" in Maam Cross

It was along N59 between Maam Cross and Recess that we first experienced the joy of sheep along the road, an experience we would have during our entire stay in Connemara. Traveling through Recess we looked diligently for the first left and ended up on Route R340, a very narrow almost one-lane road covered with sheep with no hint of Castle Ballynahinch. Again, discretion being the better part of valor, we turned around, went back to Recess, and asked at the gas station about Ballynahinch. It’s the second left, the woman said. And there’s plenty of signs to note the Ballynahinch turn. So we continued on and eventually found the right left.

We arrived at Ballynahinch Castle on Tuesday, August 3, just about 6:30 Irish Standard Time, which would have been noon-thirty Minnesota time on three furtive hours of sleep. We were assisted with our bags by Max, a porter in the hotel/castle, and very uncomfortably based on what we have read in the tourist books did not tip him.

Joanie and Mark shared a very lovely double-king-size bedroom and Andy and Sean had a well-appointed twin room. We showered and changed and went downstairs for dinner about 8:00. After showering I went downstairs to check on seating for dinner and found a delightful man – actually, our first delightful man in Ireland – who, when I inquired about a table, responded, “So you just got here and you’re showering off? Great. Why don’t you come down about a half an hour or so?”

I said you want us down at 8:30? And he responded, “Brilliant.” And so it was. We actually had a very nice dinner at Ballynahinch including a ’99 Burgundy which at 40 Euro really was to die for. Sean and Mark had beef, Joan had chicken and scallops, and Andy – much to our surprise – ordered rack of lamb. He had been communicating with the sheep all the way along the narrow roads and at one point uttered a “baa” behind a poor woman on a bike. Joanie at that point scolded him and said, Andy, don’t yell at the biker. What do you think might happen? And he said, I don’t know, maybe she’ll fall over, thinking, oh my God there’s a sheep behind the wheel.

Anyhow, he ordered the lamb and devoured it. The boys went up to their room. Sean carefully undressed and sat at the end of the bed while Andy literally passed out in his clothes, feet straight up. The long journey, which brought us east across the Atlantic Ocean, finally ended about 11:00 Irish time on Tuesday, August 3.

We woke up without much problem about 9:00 on Wednesday, August 4. I went out for a short run. Our intention has been that the boys and I would run every day at least twenty minutes. I went out for a short run, not wanting to wake the boys, and found several lovely country lanes which were part of the Ballynahinch estate. Out on a road which proved to be a shortcut to Clifden, I came upon a break in the wall – which are everywhere along the roads up in Connemara, beautiful, hand-laid stone walls with little or no mortar in between. In this break in the stone wall there’s a picket fence gate which led down about a 50-foot drop down to a trout stream deep in the forest.

Breakfast at Ballynahinch is a continental buffet which includes fruit, scones, croissants, orange and grapefruit juice, cold cereal, and a combination of food “from the chef” which is hot food including oatmeal (“porridge”), eggs cooked to your liking, and meats. It is surprising to see the same staff that served you up until 10:00 at night there at 10:00 in the morning, having worked the entire breakfast shift as well. It’s our first experience of many with foreign workers of which there are plenty in Ireland now that the economy has picked up. There were people from India and France as well as Germany providing the table service at Ballynahinch.

At the crack of noon, which is dawn Oyaas Standard Time, we headed out for our first adventure. Down N59 to Clifden. We walked around Clifden, which is very much a tourist/resort town. Clifden, as does the bulk of Connemara, resembles northern Minnesota, the North Shore and the tourist towns along it.

Along the main street in Clifden there are some charming shops and our first experience with village pubs. We stopped in the Café Nimmo and sat on the patio overlooking an inlet on Clifden Bay which is on the very west coast of Ireland along the Atlantic Ocean. From Clifden we drove N59 north and back east through the Connemara National Park where we found almost by accident Kylemore Abbey. Kylemore is very much a recommended tourist stop in every travel book and magazine. Although Clifden was congested, it didn’t feel unusual. It wasn’t until we got to Kylemore that we realized how crowded and full of tourists the popular stops would be. The parking lot was jammed, cars, vans, and almost hundreds of motor coaches filled the expansive parking lot at Kylemore Abbey.

Kylemore is a Benedictine Nun Abbey that includes a girls high school/boarding school. It was built by a British doctor from Manchester, Dr. Henry, who became a beloved figure in the west of Ireland. After he died he left the castle grounds to the Benedictines who although were formed by the Order of King James the Second and consisted almost entirely of Irish women from the very beginning, had never had a true home in Ireland.

We walked the grounds, going from the church to the mausoleum where the Henrys are buried, and back to the main area where we picked up a shuttle bus to tour the Victorian Gardens. Back off the shuttle bus we took a quick look around the Kylemore Abbey and got back in the car and headed up to Westport.

The road from Kylemore to Westport is very scenic, although typically congested and narrow. The village of Leenaun is particularly interesting. It sits on Killary Harbor or Fjord, touted as the only Fjord in Ireland. There is a religious shrine within four feet of the road that actually sits on the far spine of the Fjord itself. If Clifden is Lutsen, Westport is Duluth, very much North Shore touristy albeit in an Irish setting. Andy and Sean liked Westport. There was some vitality and many shops and interesting pubs and restaurants.

We stopped at a jewelry store which was a dumb stop upon reflection because they do not have the Value Added Tax rebate so we ended up paying full price for items that we probably could have got tax refunds on in other shops.

Travel Tip #4:

There are two main Value Added Tax refund settings. Some shops offer you an immediate refund and require only that you turn in the forms at the airport before you leave. Others are in a system where you must provide receipts and show the items at the airport to receive your refund. Many of the larger shops and stores have a hybrid of sorts. If you are buying standard stuff you may want to choose your stop based on the ease of the VAT refund.

From the jewelry store we headed down to Matt Malloy’s. Matt Malloy is a flute player from the Chieftans and is Westport’s most celebrated citizen. There’s a picture in the pub of Matt and President Clinton at Matt Malloy’s. The locals make no small mention of him and are quick to say that he often plays in the pub when he’s in town. It is a charming little place. It was crowded with locals. Andy had his first half-pint of Guinness. There was traditional music playing at Malloy’s that night but it wasn’t going to start until 9:30.

From Malloy’s we headed off to dinner, first toward J.J. O’Malley’s Restaurant located above J.J. O’Malley’s Pub on Bridge Street, the main street in Westport. O’Malley’s couldn’t accommodate us until 8:30 which was more than an hour and a half, and with two starving boys and a long trip back to Ballynahinch ahead of us, we chose the Mediterranean Café which Joanie spotted on a muse off of Bridge Street. It appeared to us that the Mediterranean was run by some version of the Irish-Italian Mafia. Its proprietor, a disheveled 30-something looking man with a very prominent black eye, greeted us at the door. He turned us over to an 18-something year old waitress who hesitated before she seated us in the middle of the absolutely empty restaurant. It was at the Mediterranean Café that Mark had his first sample of Irish-Italian chicken breast, which was actually pretty good.

During the middle of dinner there was some commotion in the front as a burley Irishman came in seeking the proprietor. Head down, proprietor shuffled out to the front and said, rather enthusiastically, “I was looking for you to come earlier this afternoon.” The Irishman said, “I did. I came here at one when you told me to come and you weren’t here.” “Oh, I must have been out to the bank,” said the proprietor. “The staff didn’t know where you were. I need to talk to you and I need to talk to you now.” And out the door the two of them went.

We eventually made our way back after dinner to Ballynahinch where Joanie enjoyed an Irish Coffee, the best ever, she would say, and then a smooth shot of Tullamore Dew Irish Whiskey. Mark had two Connemara Irish Whiskeys, which very much has the flavor of peat infused. And off to bed we went.

On Thursday it was our intention to head off to grab a ferry and go to the Arran Islands. At breakfast the travel-weary Oyaases questioned the merits of the Arran Islands trip to Marion, a lovely Irish woman who was serving as hostess/server in Ballynahinch Castle and the pub. It was Marion’s suggestion that we blow off the Arran Islands in favor of a trip up to Cong , a village she had worked in and was actually originally from. She suggested that we visit the Quiet Man Coffee Shop for tea and sandwiches, wander over to Cong Abbey, and then provided us with a free admission to the Quiet Man Cottage.

By Thursday we were a little bit more certain about our driving and had our bearings, so the route to Cong, N59 to R336 to R345, seemed fairly straightforward. It was along this drive that we realized how important Loch Corrib (or Lake Corrib) is in the Connemara region. It actually stretches from near Galway just a mile or two out where the River Corrib actually flows into the Galway Bay, all the way north and west to Joyce’s country which is in on the edge of Connemara Park.

The Village of Cong is actually an island on the north end of Lake Corrib separated by the River Corrib. We dutifully did as instructed and checked in at the Quiet Man Café Shop and had lunch. Wandered the Cong Abbey and, at the suggestion of Marion’s friend at the coffee shop, took a walk in the woods past the monk’s hut up into the pigeon hole, which is just a hole in the ground about a half a mile through a path in the woods.

Monks at the Monk House

From Cong we traveled back the way we came, Route 345 to 336, over N59 all the back to Ballynahinch to the road R341, where we drove into Roundstone, just a few kilometers, maybe 10, from Ballynahinch. Roundstone is a little sea town, very pretty, charming pubs on either side of the street. There was an area bike ride, Ride the Bog, which is the area just around Roundstone, probably a 20K bike ride. Lots of families and kids, everybody had “I Rode the Bog” T-shirts. It was crowded and festive as we pulled in. We stopped at Desiree Ryan’s Pub and had a half-pint each and then repaired to Ballynahinch Castle for dinner.

Friday morning Mark and Joan got up early, actually much earlier than planned because Mark screwed the time part of the clock up, so rather than arising at 7:30 we got up about quarter after 6:00, and went out for a long walk along Ballynahinch’s grounds. Truth be told, Lake Ballynahinch and the grounds around the castle are as pretty an area as there is in Connemara.

Travel Tip #5:

We all strongly recommend a visit to Connemara and a stay at Ballynahinch. Our suggestion would be, after the flight from Shannon stay somewhere in or near Galway, and make your way the next day when you’re fresh and a little more familiar with the driving up to Ballynahinch by taking Route 336 along the Galway Bay as we did the first day by mistake.

Staying at a place like Ballynahinch gives one a great feel for a Connemara-style wooded, almost fairyland countryside within intermixed country lanes and sheep. A great stay would be one full day around the grounds, enjoying the grounds and the lake and fishing or biking, depending on what somebody wanted to do, and then the tours out. We would suggest skipping the town of Clifden and going perhaps directly up to Westport on one day and down through Cong and then spending more time in the smaller towns near Ballynahinch, especially Roundstone which was very beautiful.

Fairies in the Forest

After the walk around the castle grounds, we went into Joyce’s, which is a small, almost strip village, shopping/gas station/craft shop, which is again a code word for tourist trip.

Travel Tip #6:

Travel tip here is you will see just about the same thing everywhere you stop that’s called a craft shop, and there’s no sense in buying at the first place that you see. We found that prices in Clifden or Westport were quite a bit higher on almost everything, although Sean and Andy bought a soccer ball, which was fine, on the first day in Clifden and Sean bought that had-to-have hat which he has worn quite a bit since so he’s gotten his use out of it, although the same would have been at least 20 percent less in Joyce’s craft shop. But we ended up doing some shopping, Mark purchased a tweed jacket and vest, Joan bought a sweater. We brought the boys back and they each bought themselves a sweater. We have shopped since and feel that the prices in that shop were about as reasonable as you can find.

After breakfast, we pack the luggage into the clown car and head off down N59 through Galway hoping to make our way through the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher and then down to Killarney, our next destination. N59 moves along pretty well down to Galway, although you average about 40 miles an hour. You travel the entire distance of Lake Corrib although you only see the lake from time to time when you get close to villages.

We stayed on N59 and connected with a short span of N6 to N67 and headed toward the Burren. The road around Galway is quite easy once you know where you’re going. We traveled on N67 through Kinvara and stopped in the town of Ballyvaughn where we had lunch at O’Brien’s Pub. Alas the O’Brien’s who ran this place weren’t any O’Brien’s that we knew. Again, it was surly teenagers having a hard time serving two or three tables at a time.

We decided to stay on the N67 rather than take the recommended R480 through the heart of the Burren, but we do believe we saw quite a bit of the weird barren countryside that the area is famous for. We headed down through and along N67 and made it through the Cliffs of Moher by three in the afternoon or so. The area was jam-packed with people and the walkway to the cliffs was elbow-to-elbow all the way up. It was surprising to see how many knuckleheads stand on the very end on the far side of the gates and just tempt fate. One fool was drinking out of a flask and teetering around. There was no good reason for him not to have tumbled the 500 or so feet down into the ocean.

The Band in the Burren

From N67 we decided to head down to the ferry at Kilmer rather than taking the road back through Shannon and Limerick down to Killarney. This was Kathleen O’Brien’s suggestion and it proved to be a good one, saving us at least two hours travel time.

The span from the town of Kilfenara down N67 through Lennich and Milltown Malbe was one of the most confusing and frustrating parts of the ride to that point. There were very few sign markings, even on the main roads, and you can get twisted and end up going in a completely opposite direction having spun off a roundabout in a small village the wrong direction. After a little bit of screaming and yelling we finally all concentrated on where we were going and made it to Kilrush and then Kilmer for the ferry ride across to Tarbert.

In Tarbert you pick up N69 which brings you through Tralee and on into Killarney which was our next full stop, the Killarney Great Southern Hotel. We arrived just as the restaurant was having its last seating and decided to eat in town. The Great Southern is an old hotel, this year celebrating its 150^th year. Its staff is rather and cold impersonal but the rooms are nice and it is well located within the village of Killarney. We had little problem finding a place to eat and ended up at Foley’s Restaurant and Pub along High Street which is actually High Street Main Street, the Main Street in downtown Killarney.

Killarney is widely criticized in the tourist books as one of the most plastic tourist trap cities in all of Ireland and while that may prove to be true to, by our observation, it is also a little bit more accessible, especially for young people. Across from the Killarney Great Southern is a large outlet mall that includes a Nike store and a Blarney Woolen Mills outlet. We found the outlets, the yarn mills outlet and the Blarney Woolen Mills outlet a perfect place to stop for gifts that accommodate the Value Added Tax refund and shipping.

Friday night we decided not to take the Ring of Kerry tour and instead chose to spend Saturday wandering around Killarney, shopping and enjoying some local color. Friday night, speaking of local color, we did stop in Buckley’s Bar and picked up some local music. Joanie particularly had a good time in there. The boys stopped for one, as they say, and headed back to the hotel. We had a couple and joined them about 11:30.

Saturday again we shopped and wandered around. Working with the porter in the hotel who was half bellman, half concierge, we were able to get tee times at a wonderful little municipal golf course, Ross Golf Club of Killarney, which is on the road to Ross Castle just a five minute drive from the hotel.

Saturday afternoon after shopping we did drive out to the golf course to make sure we could find our way and stopped in the clubhouse and watched the last 30 minutes or so of a Gaelic football game, Armaugh vs. Fermaugh. It turned out the game was the quarterfinals of the National Gaelic Football Championships and we saw Fermaugh beating Armaugh. The wily green team was able to hang on and score the last point over the far more athletic and experienced orange Armaughs.

Gaelic football is an interesting sport and has an interesting triangle strategy that’s easy for soccer, basketball or even hockey fans to identify. It’s very rough, absolutely a collision sport, although no contact is allowed unless you have the ball. You can run with the ball by dribbling with your hands and you can pass by throwing sides, forward or backward with your hands or foot passes with a bounced drop-kick. The players have amazing control, both with their hands and their feet, and can pass the ball 40 yards dead-on while just evading a tackle

Saturday night we ate at Treyvauds which was lively and crowded but we had no problem getting a table at 7:30. The food was good as it was at Foley’s the night before.

Sunday morning we got up early – legitimately early, 7:00 – to make an 8:00 accommodation that was made for us at the Golf Club. The term accommodation is used in that we didn’t have an exact tee time; they just send us off based on the arriving regular tee-timers. The course proved to be very un-crowded. There were some locals that went off on their own before Bjorn, the fellow watching the club house, made his way in, roughly 8:10, 8:15. They sent us out with rented clubs and trolleys, which are the golf pull carts, and we went off for nine holes. All three of us had a hard time golfing into a very strong wind and when we returned Bjorn allowed that this was about as strong a wind and nasty a week as they’ve seen all summer here in Killarney. Just our luck.

The course is beautiful, set with the mountains of the area in the background. The greens and fairways are very well kept. The rough isn’t very long but it’s tricky and it’s almost impossible to get out with anything greater than a sand wedge. We didn’t keep score, which was a good idea. The scores don’t go that high.

After the round we stopped in for a cup of coffee and juice and chatted with Bjorn who, as it turned out, also worked at Robertino’s, a restaurant in Killarney along High Street. He made reservations for us for 8:00 that night. We found him so friendly and then we realized that he wasn’t Irish at all; he was a South African of German and Swedish extraction who spends part of the season here in Killarney at the golf club and working at Robertino’s and, for the next two winters, will be working in Myrtle Beach at the golf courses in South Carolina.

We talked to Bjorn about our surprise in not meeting very many Irish people. He said the trend – here to stay – is that the European Union has allowed for much more mobility especially for young people to work where they want to work. Work permits are not required if you work in the European Union.

After golf on Sunday afternoon, we ordered a picnic lunch packed by the hotel staff and headed out to the Dingle Peninsula and Dingle Town. We took N72, a main road out of Killarney, and opted for Route 663, a smaller road as a shortcut through to Milltown up to Route 661, which brings you along the Dingle Peninsula through Fiebach and Inch.

As I started off on Route 663, Andy said why aren’t you staying on the main N road. I said, this seems to be a good shortcut. Andy said, you know what the word shortcut means? Recipe for trouble. However, it worked out.

Travel Tip #7:

Not only plan your trip using the map and the route numbers, but use town names and village names along the way as well. Signs are very, very infrequent, especially in the west, even on the main N routes. We were later told by a waiter that kids like to have fun and switch signs around anyhow, so the best discretion, discretion being the better part of valor, is plan all routes using town names as well as the route numbers themselves.

As you reach Fiebach you begin to see Dingle Bay itself and the road starts to slope upwards, reaching a peak at Inch. The main feature of Inch is Inch Point and a long beach which, in spite of the high winds, was fairly well populated on that Sunday afternoon.

We headed along, connecting with N86 directly into Dingle Town. At the outskirts of Dingle Town traffic came to a halt, very reminiscent of the Hudson Bridge over the St. Croix on a crowded summer afternoon. It turns out there was a Dingle horserace at the track outside of town attracting thousands of spectators and in town a three-day sailing race was taking place, the annual Dingle Regatta. We took a quick – or at least as quick as traffic would allow – spin around to look at the town but didn’t get out of the car, instead opting to pick up on a travel tip that Joan had remembered regarding the Connor Hill and Connor Pass. As we started winding our way up the hill the roads got narrower and narrower, perhaps the narrowest roads we ever saw, and just as the first oncoming was approach Joanie said,” I seem to remember that the travel book did say this was the most treacherous stretch of road in Ireland not for the faint of heart. Hmm. Maybe we shouldn’t do this.

Alas, it was too late. There was no place to turn around, and we started climbing up a rather steep terrain, inching our way past cars, each car providing a greater challenge than the last. It was here that we coined an interesting term of art regarding oncoming drivers: Mickey Muthafucka. The term we were frequently using was “move over you Mickey Muthafucka”. A Mickey Muthafucka is a stubble-haired, flat-faced, pig eyed brute who typically has a crucifix and boxing gloves hanging from his rearview mirror. He delights in watching you squirm as your car scrapes up against the side wall on the passenger side of your car. You meet Mickey Muthafuckas all over; however, they are particularly annoying when on the other side of the side wall there is a 700 foot drop below.

There’s a car park viewing point at the top of the hill and as we approached it we noticed that there were several people out of their cars leaning into a very heavy wind. We were so concerned with the drop and the narrow passing of cars that we had neglected to notice the high winds that ripped across the top of the mountain. We all got out of the car and experienced what we called the game of Wind: standing on a very small wall, you could lean at a 45 degree angle out over the wall and over the hill with nothing but the wind holding you up.

Wind Bags

After a rousing game of Wind, we proceeded back down the other side, the north side of Dingle Peninsula, finding that traveling down the hill is much easier than traveling up. We stopped in the town of Castle Gregory and decided to have our picnic out on the point at Castle Gregory Golf Club. It turned out to be far too windy to get out of the car so we ate, in the confines of the Honda, a nice picnic lunch.

We traveled back to Killarney using the more conventional N routes through Tralee and down back into Killarney where we got ready for dinner at Robertino’s where reservations had been made for us by Bjorn. Robertino’s turned out to be one of the most delightful eating stops for us along the way. The food was delicious, Bjorn made sure that the staff fawned all over us, which we always enjoy, and Andy and Sean even got to flirt with two 16-year-old wait assistants.

We had talked to Bjorn earlier that day about Gaelic football, asking him about when do kids start playing it, and he said fairly young, just like any other sport. And he mentioned that he worked with two young women who were actually playing in a summer league and played in high school as well. I picked them out immediately as they brought our bread and water to the table, and jokingly said to them that they appeared to me to be football players. They responded, in total amazement, how would you ever know that. And I just said that, I don’t know, it was something about the way they carried themselves. For the rest of the night we noticed that the girls were peering out of the kitchen and trying their best not to look too obvious as they walked past the table, staring out of the corners of their eyes at Andy and Sean.

As we finished our meal Bjorn came over and said, boys, do you realize that those two are infatuated with you? They seemed to have already caught on and, although they refused to take any of my great pickup lines, like, “hey, where do kids our age hang out after work?” Sean got to learn from the Master watching Andy subtly communicate, first with looks and then very innocent questions about his food like, as he held up a shrimp he asked one of the two girls, “geez, do you know how to eat one of these things?”

The flirting made for a lot of fun and we realized walking back that that was probably our first real contact with the innocent and fun-loving Irish we had heard so much about.

Monday morning we packed up the clown car, went down and had breakfast, and headed off to Dublin. We had planned our route the night before and had intended on traveling south and east toward Cork so that we could stop and visit the Blarney Castle, but in the morning, after some discussion, opted to go directly to Dublin figuring accurately that it was a minimum of six hours in the car.

We left Killarney at 11:00 in the morning and headed up toward Dublin on N72, which cuts through the north of County Cork and connects to another main road, N7, in the northern portions of County Tipperary. We used the Rick Stevens guide as we traveled along to identify places with historic meaning or general interest. Our best stop was in the town of Cashel, where we stopped and toured the Rock of Cashel, a ruin containing some of the most interesting memos and monuments of early Christianity in Ireland. It is the town where St. Patrick baptized King Aengus (Aongus?) and spent considerable time developing a monastery and abbey which was added on for more than 800 years after St. Patrick.

By the time the tour ended, it was 3:00 and we were famished so we went into the main part of town and found Cantwell’s Pub. We thought it was going to be another typical pub stop, with a pimply faced teenager behind the bar and a couple of locals already slouched over their glasses, headed for another early evening in their lives.

From out of the kitchen came a grand, smiling lady who apologized for a very slim lunch menu, sandwiches and soup were all that would be available, toast or plain bread. We all ordered ham sandwiches on brown bread, some getting exotic adding cheese and tomatoes, Andy even opting for toast. She came back out of the kitchen and, with a tilt of the head, asked one more time about our order and wanted to make sure that we indeed wanted brown bread. We all said we did, and went back to our half-pints of Guinness.

Just a minute or so later we noticed the lady wrapped up in her coat walking out in front of the pub headed for the grocery store next door. She came back in just a few moments with a plastic bag with ham, some cheese, and a loaf of brown bread. The experience was more like the typical pub experience we expected to see our entire trip.

By Monday, Andy had really honed himself as a great navigator, and it helped that he had planned the route the night before on the map and familiarized himself with the routes and the towns along the way. As we got into Dublin navigating got trickier. We connected with a main road, one of the four-lane highways that we experienced in all of Ireland, the blue ones on the map, M50. On M50 we chose to exit on N11, which enters Dublin in from the south and the east. It turned out to be a good choice but it was just sheer luck. We navigated around Dublin, a little confused, and ended up coming through on the main streets. The same confusion that was evident throughout the west was exacerbated in Dublin town with little or no street signage. Compounding that was the fact that streets changed their names several blocks along the way.

We made it to Merrion Park where we stopped to take a breath a get our wits. It helped that we knew the neighborhood that we were staying, Balsbridge, and that the address of our stay, Butlers Townhouse, was on Landsdowne which was across from Landsdowne Stadium.

We finally pulled up to the Butlers Townhouse around 7:00 pm. Our first impressions were mixed. It was a charming place in an obviously convenient location. It is a Georgian townhouse nestled in the Georgian district, famous for the Doors of Dublin posters. There didn’t seem to be any accommodation for car park, although we later found you park in the back service area and leave the keys for the staff to move the car should that be required.

Checking in, we met Olga, a 20-something Ukrainian, and Nelson, a 30-something Chinese man; back to our original tale of never meeting any Irish in Ireland. We carried our overly-packed bags up several narrow flights of stairs to our room which, like rooms in Ballynahinch, were named after regions in Ireland. Joan and Mark’s room as Connemara, and Andy and Sean stayed in Woolford. The rooms were small but quite charming.

On the first level, one up above the street level, Butler Townhouse has a lovely drawing room with a bar in the back. Any time day or night you want a drink or just to relax in the drawing room, you may call the staff and ask them to meet you and they’ll pour you a drink, bring up a glass of wine, or open a bottle of red wine should you require or desire. Joan, Mark and the boys sat in the drawing after unpacking and enjoyed a glass of wine or cold beverage and then strolled off toward a bistro we had seen as we drove to the Townhouse.

The Bistro, Roly’s, was as accommodating on the inside as it appeared to be on the outside. It is typical in the French bistro mold and featured several different concoctions of chicken on the menu which pleased Mark to no end. Their largely Irish staff brought bread to the table, offering several selection, including a tomato, a curry, typical Irish soda bread, brown and white, and a gluten-free option.

Travel Tip #8:

We went back to Butler Townhouse fairly early, preparing for a mega day the next touring Dublin. As we wound down with an after-dinner drink in the drawing room, we concluded that the most important travel tip that we could offer and remember is that 14 days is ideal and even though it seems like a long time, all belongings should be packed in a 21-inch wheeling carryon combined with a backpack. Anything more is simply too much. One can always make use of laundry services in hotels which we found in our three stays all offered same-day service if required. Every town also has same-day laundry and/or self-service laundry if the need arises.

Tuesday morning, we( Mark and Joan) got up early, had breakfast and went on a pre-arranged adventure on Upper Dorset Street. After the mission was accomplished, they walked back down O’Connell Street, past the post office which was the site of the 1916 uprising. O’Connell Street features many statutes, tributes to Irish heroes, including a square for Parnell, a statute to O’Connell, Jim Larkin and others. It also has a new feature, a large aluminum spire that is lit at night and clicks off in increments up to the top ball which is all that is lit at midnight. It is an interesting mix of new and old public art.

We crossed the Liffey River on the O’Connell Bridge and headed toward Trinity College. After picking up the boys, we decided to take the hop-on, hop-off bus tours, choosing the Guinness Storehouse as our first stop. The Guinness Storehouse came with mixed recommendations and again it was a Kathy O’Brien suggestion that this stop is worth it to get to the top, to the Gravity/Sky Bar, where you’re complimentary pint is served, because it offers a spectacular view, 360 degree view, of all of Dublin.

The Storehouse was crowded, however, and their gimmick worked on the Oyaas family. After an early-afternoon pint of Guinness one’s will is down and when you exit the elevator you are right in the gift shop where we spent too much time and too much money. We chose not to get back on the bus tour and instead took a cab directly to the Grafton Street area where the boys searched the traditional sports stores for soccer shirts and shorts. We knew time was drawing nigh for one of our must-sees, Trinity College and the Library and Book of Kells, so we cut our shopping short and headed across the street from Grafton to Trinity College. We did so just in time. They were just closing the entry to the Book of Kells and rather than collect money the kind lady said, we’ve closed out the till. Just run in and have yourself a look. So we were able to take a look at the exhibit and the pages open for the books. We hoped that Andy and Sean got some sense of the importance of the work that the monks, the early Christian monks, in Ireland did to preserve not only their religious documents but many of the great documents of the early civilized world. We also trust that they had some sense of the importance of the art and the discipline that the scribes introduced into their work.

From Trinity we went back to the Townhouse to change clothes and headed off to dinner at O’Shea’s Merchant Pub, having arrived just in the knick of time as the kitchen was closing. From O’Shea’s Merchant we went across to the Brazen Head Pub, Dublin’s oldest pub. There was a lively Irish band playing in one of the small corner rooms. Although it was crowded with locals and tourists, we repaired to the back bar, enjoyed our last bit of Guinness, toasting our trip and Dublin city.

Brazen Heads

We walked back from the Brazen Head toward the Townhouse, through the Temple Bar district, which was quite lively. Above the Temple Bar itself we came upon quite a scene. It was a young Italian man sitting in a second story window playing a guitar, leading a very large crowd of Italians below in what appeared to be well-known folk songs. Mark and Joan had one last drink in the drawing room before bed, preparing for what would be a long Wednesday.

Again we woke up early for us, 8:30, packed the car and ate breakfast. The day staff at the Butler Townhouse proved to be grand. Dublin natives, they were cheerful and accommodating. They provided us a set of written narrative directions to direct us to the airport. Rather than going by street names and signs which are almost useless as we have described along the way, they provided corners and views so that you knew to turn at this pub or that filling station or across the river at this toll bridge. They were easy to follow and we found ourselves out to the airport with plenty of time.

Travel Tip #9:

Our last travel tip for tourists to Ireland: Dublin airport has a bevy of duty free shops located in the gate area. Although their selections of woolens and sweaters aren’t as good as you find in the craft shops or outlet malls along the way, all of the other famous Irish gifts are available duty-free and tax-free in these locations. There’s a substantial Butler’s Chocolate, Guinness souvenir and Waterford stand.

The trip back west is a full hour and a half longer than the trip going east to Dublin, and is perhaps more grueling because it is all during the day hours and you find it hard to sleep. Our connection in Philadelphia, as it was going toward Ireland, was delayed returning to Minneapolis. We were very grateful that the wonderful Ross Alwin was willing to wait up and pick us up a full two and a half hours late, 11:00 Central Daylight Time, but we walked through the doors of Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport and officially ended our Isle of Destiny Oyaas 2004 trip to Ireland.