“Oh so you’re a kiwi then! I was gonna say Australian but thought I should wait …. ”
The broad smile of the barista took up much of the room on his face. “I once went out with a girl from Timaru” (surprised look on my face); “what a shit-hole” he added. I had told him I lived in Timaru for a while, and it turns out he was there when I was there. He asks me if I know the girl concerned - name announced - ‘nope’. It’s a small world but not that small, although mind you in New Zealand it can be a very small world.
“Well, commiserations” I offered - “on the Timaru thing, but it’s improved a lot in recent years - you may even be able to still buy a house for under $300k there, so that’s saying something”.
Two sausage dogs with hair emerge from the desk behind him and I enquire as to the breed - adding that my only fur-grandchild is a sausage dog mix of some sort (and promptly wonder if it’s PC in the dog world to call them ‘sausages’). I love a backpackers with pets and seemingly this is a thing in many backpackers I have encountered over the years.
Having emerged unscathed from my two pet-sits through trusted house-sitters (no animals died thank goodness), I was hankering for more animal contact. I realised I was missing the street dogs and cats of Cairo - the only dogs you see in the UK are attached to the end of a leash and cats appeared few and far between to me. So here I was about to pitch a tent in the backyard of the backpacker-cafe in Killarney; the gateway to the Killarney National Park and Lakes.
I was itching to get up into the hills and get my legs moving in anticipation of the bigger hills of the Balkans, but so far wind and rain usually taking turns in massive doses, had hampered efforts of getting to Ireland’s tallest peak (a mere 1040m, but that is pretty much from sea level, and I hear it’s a respectable hike, and not to be sniffed at in the best of times let alone in inclement weather).
I decided to go to Muckross Gardens - a fancy posh house set amidst huge grounds, including a nearby large waterfall. Being one to seek out a good drop, I was keen to photograph the waterfall - however the rain was getting worse.
I parked my rental car for free a few km’s away and made the soggy trek in to the cascade, and stood there waiting to use my filters while some dweeb decided to ruin everyone’s photos by climbing up to the base of the hall - slipping on wet slimy rocks several times and generally opening himself up to ridicule from the watching crowd. I managed one quick snap and knew I would be editing away rain drops in post and the performing baboon.
Sigh.
I later tossed the raw image with this performing guy in it. Raindrops spoilt it anyway.
Given the forecast for rain all day, I figured I would take advantage and drive the Ring of Kerry. This drive encircles the biggest land area in county Kerry and covers around 160km of the Wild Atlantic Way - ducking in and out of various headlands via narrow twisty roads, hardly fit for a car let alone camper and and buses - but they do it! This day however, because I had left Killarney late I missed a lot of the traffic and ended up on an amazing adventure being treated to moody skies and a rugged wild ocean thrashing against the coastline. The recommended 3.5 hours to drive this took me 7 hours and I fell into my tent with a full heart at 10.45 pm, excited for what I had captured through my lens - the chance to convey the emotions of being in such a wild windswept place, stored in data within my camera’s SD card.
And it rained all night.
My tent stayed dry and I felt a huge sense of contentment - simplicity is so underrated in this world of collecting more stuff. All I needed in that moment was right there with me in my backpack. I woke with plans to beat the buses by driving the Gap of Dunloe before heading up Carantouill (the high point of Ireland). But in pure Irish form, the wind blew in hard, making me doubt that I would stand on Irelands highest lump. I parked at the top of the Gap; battled to open the car door to get out, and leaned my full body weight into the wind - yep - I could probably almost levitate it was that strong. I wondered about the sense of hiking in such conditions, and thought I would instead hike the valley to the mountain AND half of the Gap so I could take some photos.
Part way back the rain set in again, the wind hammered against my body and I new that it was not to be. I pondered staying another night in Killarney but knew this would make it too pressured at the other end to get back to Dublin to deliver the car back on time. I opted out and instead drove to Cork via the Beara Peninsula - heeding serious advice given to me by a local.
Recalling that conversation I had that morning with the local tour guide, he told me the Beara Peninsula was super rugged and would be quiet compared to the more popular Ring of Kerry and Dingle. Having already driven the other two ‘rings’, I was ready for some more isolated experiences - the Beara peninsula sounded idyllic.
Fore-warned is fore-armed, and I had indeed acquainted myself with the foibles of driving in the Irish countryside, by joining a Facebook group dedicated to tourists tips for Ireland.
I was glad where I had read posts warning about the extremely narrow heavily hedged Irish back-country roads. On more than one occasion I found myself reversing for several hundred metres in search of a driveway or anything really that resembled space - to allow an on-coming car to drive by without inadvertently collecting my wing mirrors. The weather was suitably dismal nearly every day I spent in Ireland, and driving around the Ring of Beara should not be done in any other fashion - the wild weather makes for eye-popping vibrant greens, huge Atlantic waves and an orchestra of drama that alludes to a history of unbridled living conditions. The road wending its way from Inishowen Peninsula in County Donegal to Kinsale in County Cork, a distance of some 2600 km, is known as the Wild Atlantic Way.
And wild it is.
Raw, weathered, hammered, dramatic, moody, untamed and utterly mesmerising; I was in awe of this stretch of road that had me stopping around every corner to capture a scene that took my breath away. It was a slow slow trip to Cork that day and I ended up pulling in to a free camper van park by the port, very late, but having the best sleep ever in the back of the car. .
My final days on the Emerald Isle were spent in Dublin, with a more open mind from when I arrived. I wandered the paved streets, ate ice cream (delicious ice cream in Dublin!), sampled Guinness, wandered through galleries and hiked in the park near the backpackers in search of fallow deer.
I visited Killmonheim Prison - an historic gaol in Dublin and pondered what would lead an adult world to imprison an infant for theft.
Hard times for the Irish; a gritty history that has seen them rise through the muck of hard graft to become synonymous with resilience.
