Who needs more blarney?

I should have kissed the Blarney Stone.  I know now I should have.  But at the time I confused eloquence with verbosity and thought the world would be a better place without me yapping away even more than I do now.  

To be honest, I didn't think I'd make it to the top of the castle to do the kiss and I didn't like the look of the queue of people climbing the steep and probably slippery spiral steps to the top of the wall!  Then I heard that once you start the climb, the people climbing behind you mean you can't change your mind, turn around and go back.  60 acres of parklands which include gardens, avenues, arboretums and waterways sounded a lot more attractive. 

The grounds are a delight to explore with a poison garden where everything that grows can kill you if ingested in sufficient quantities. Some of the plants are so toxic that they are covered in metal cages to deter people from trying to touch them or, in the case of cannabis, pick a few leaves.   The gardeners have kept up with the times and included Mandrake and Wolfbane, used by Hogwarts students in the Harry Potter books. 

Unfortunately we didn't have half a day to spend here.  I would have liked to see a lot more.  I think I found the main attractions, the Fern Garden, the Bog Garden and the riverside walk near Badger's Cave.

 the Fern Garden

 

Badgers Cave. Legend has it that it connects three underground passages: One to Cork, one to the lake and one all the way to Kerry.

It was at Badgers Cave that I was told off by a Swiss tourist for my unsuitable footwear - "I know, I am Swiss! You must not go further."  Idiot!  My footwear was very suitable for walking and I wasn't planning on battering down the grill at the entrance to the cave proper to see if it went to Cork or Kerry. And I wasn't expecting the footwear police!

I like the quirky touches:

 a tree house

 

added colour to the plants

Just one more ruin to see in Ireland - Cashel Rock also known as Cashel of the Kings and St. Patrick's Rock.  It sits high above the town on a limestone outcrop with commanding views over the surrounding grassy plains.  This was the seat of power of the Munster kings prior to the Norman invasion, and the 12th to 15th century ruins are well worth seeing. The round tower dates from around 1100 and it's in excellent condition.

But the largest structure, the cathedral, is a shell, and the only a portion of the still intact chapel was open due to renovations. 

 The guided tour took about an hour. then there was time to wander in the graveyard for one last touch of ancient celtic crosses and admire the view.   

Hore Abbey sits a little distance away and, had I been on my own, I wouldn't have missed seeing it up close.

A few hours drive up an excellent dual lane highway and we were back in Dublin - crowds, traffic, noise - saying goodbye to fellow travellers.

One more night of sitting with a beer listening to Irish music and my Irish experience would be over.  Tomorrow I would board a plane to Scotland.  But I'd leave a piece of my heart here in Ireland.  I think this little fellow knows how I feel.  He's found a treasure and doesn't want to let go of it.  

Gougane Barra

I nearly forgot our last stop before reaching Gougane Barra.  Carriganass means Rock of the Waterfall and seems a very appropriate name for this little castle which perches over 12 metres (about forty feet) over a river.  It was built in 1540.

The stone used came from a local quarry about two miles away from the castle site and the stone was transported hand-to-hand by labourers for the distance of the two miles.   The Chieftain responsible for the building became known as Dermot of the Powder as he accidentally blew himself up with gunpowder in 1549, just nine years after the building of the castle.  Another interesting fact - the mortar used to hold the stones of the castle together was made up of a paste consisting of bulls blood! 

 

Fifteen minutes further along this road we turned off and reached Gougane Barra. 

I know I don't have the words to describe a place of such outstanding natural beauty.  It's picture postcard Ireland.  It was high on my Irish Bucket List because of St Finbarr's on the lake but I'd now have it as top of the list of most beautiful Irish places.  

It's not just the beauty.  It's the peace and tranquility of the place.  Magical.

The minute we turned the last corner and I saw the lake I was in a hurry to check in to the hotel and get outside to explore. The name Gougane Barra comes from Saint Finbarr, who is said to have built a monastery on an island in the lake nearby during the 6th century. The present ruins  (adjoining the little church) date from around 1700 when a priest, Denis O'Mahony retreated to the island.  His tomb sits at the side of the road more or less opposite the causeway to the island on which the church stands.

Father O'Mahony's tomb

 

Causeway to the island

It's unusual for me to only take one photo inside a church.  To be honest I felt quite overcome after being inside for a few minutes, touched by a reverence I rarely feel.  I was so sure God was there I felt compelled to kneel and be still.  I'm glad I took this one photo as I wasn't able to remember what it looked like, I was so impressed by how it felt.

In a courtyard to the left of the church entry are eight small circular cells and in these cells are plaster casts of the Stations of the Cross:

In the centre of the court is a wooden cross raised on a platform:

 

There's a bell inscribed 1026 on the outer wall of the courtyard.

I headed up the road to the left of the hotel for a quick walk before dinner.  It was only the realisation that it was getting cold that reminded me to turn back.   Once I entered the forest I just wanted to keep on walking, listening to the wind rustling in the trees, water flowing off in the distance.  It is the kind of forest I imagined you would find in Ireland, very little grass, velvet moss covered floor and a great deal of fern.  A few wildflowers... purple, yellow, buttery yellow and white.  I could almost see the leprechauns.

 

 It was the tour's last night and a group dinner was planned.   And what a terrific dinner it was.  We were staying at the 5th generation family run hotel beside the lake.  First class service by all the staff and Chef Katie's menu recommendations were delicious.  A wonderful place to stay.

Next morning I was up bright and early, eager for more photos of the lake.  This time I ventured up the road to the right of the hotel.  The lake was still and there was a light mist hanging over the Derrynasaggart Mountains. 

 The only movement on the lake were the little ripples created by fish jumping.

The locals watched me with interest. 

I would have loved to walk further but I was proud of the fact that I'd never kept the other passengers waiting at any of our stops and didn't intend to change that on my last morning.  As I turned back to the hotel I noticed two of my fellow tour members out on the lake for a little exercise.

Even the public toilet near the causeway to the church has its own special place in these spectacular surroundings, winning the prize of top toilet in Ireland in 2002!   I have another photo taken of a prizewinning toilet in Scotland, too.  It's nothing compared to this one.  Sorry, Scotland. 

A pass, old boats and a copper mine

We'd now reached the most southerly points of our tour of Ireland and we'd travelled on some of the most dangerous roads in the land.  I think of them all the Healy Pass would be the most impressive.  It was easy going for us, the passengers, sitting back in comfort while Henry guided us up and over the pass, across the Ring of Beara.  With stops along the way to take in the scenery, of course.

Road side grotto at the top of the pass with the road we had travelled snaking its way to the top.

Healy Pass, also named Bealach Scairt in Irish meaning “the way of the sheltered caves”, was built during the famine times in 1847 as a way to give work to those who would otherwise have starved.  I’d have wanted to be fed pretty well to have carved out that road.

Henry had to park on the road while we hopped out to look around.  The valley we had come through was rather barren and featureless.  Take a few steps at the top of the pass and look the other way, the scenery is entirely different.  Two different worlds.

On the way up the valley we had stopped to look at some recently dug peat. Everywhere else when we had spotted it, the road of the traffic hadn't allowed us to stop. No such problem here, there was a little side road and, once the van couldn't go any further, we walked the rest of the way up the hillside.

Luckily for us, a local man who has rights to this bog was there turning his peat rows over to let them dry.   He signalled to us to join him and happily explained the process.  He was happy to have an audience - a chubby, jovial little man. 

We thought Henry had arranged for the peat digger to be there but it turned out to be a happy co-incidence.  In my imagination our little teacher could be the last of the little people.

Back at the van we noticed a great little bridge and were told its history (which I've totally forgotten).  Too good a spot for a group photo to let pass.

 

To the right, all the Americans, then the two Australians, the grim Belgian and me.

Along the road to our next stop Henry decided to take a little back road to see if he could find a standing stone he'd heard about. We came to the spot where the road met the sea, a delightful little bay, but no standing stone was seen. Incidents like this was what made the tour so wonderful as far as I was concerned. I've always had a thing for the road less travelled. We got out of the bus to stretch our legs while Henry found somewhere to turn the bus around, no tourist spot could be more charming. 

I'd been wanting to get a close up of that orange flower that was everywhere in roadside hedges. Is it montbretia? It was growing so thickly at the side of road, I couldn't get any closer.

On the other side of the road tiny little fuschias were just as prolific.

It seems we really were in Ireland at festival time.  In Allihies, at the western end of the Beara Peninsula, it was festival time, too.  But all the action was the racecourse which was some distance from the pub where we had our lunch.  We found a few tables inside, didn't have to sit at the tables out on the road.

We were here to see the remains of copper mining in the area.  No mining has taken place for over a hundred years but the buildings still stand, grim and gaunt looking on a rocky hillside softened by the heather and gorse managing to survive on what little soil is trapped in crevices.

Look down from the path up the hill, though, and there is still a copper seam to be seen.

From up on the hillside we had a great view over the town and its colourful houses with the Atlantic in the background. 

There's a pretty, rural view away from the sea, too.

There were no more stops before we reached our destination for the night at Gougane Barra.  Of all the places we saw, this was my favourite.  I would have happily stayed for days.  I took many, many photos and will share some of them tomorrow.  

Kenmare

We leave one town where the annual festival has just finished and arrive at the next where their annual festival is in full swing.

Along the way we had a little (mis)adventure.  We were travelling along the Ring of Kerry, a major tourist attraction.  Narrow roads and lots of big buses.   Our driver/guide Henry explained that our van was not technically a bus and he thought it would be OK for us to go into the flow of traffic (against the bus drivers' agreement of one way traffic on these picturesque peninsulas with lots of traffic).  We were only going 5 kms up the road and with a bit of luck wouldn't meet a big bus.  Wrong!  Those buses were on every corner which made for slow travel as we gave way to the bigger vehicles.  And then on a very tight corner over a tiny bridge we met a monster bus.  After much backing up and inching backwards and forwards, and waiting while the traffic behind us also backed up as much as possible, the bus passed on its way.  I can still see Henry ruffling his hair in agitation, I suspect he was majorly embarrassed and praying the other bus drivers would not report him to his boss.  I don't think he will be taking that short-cut again in a hurry!

We had a brief stop to enjoy the view at Ladies View where one of group spotted another little visitor amongst the ferns at the side of the road.  

  

The air was heavy up here and the wind very chilly, so we weren't tempted to stay too long.  The dry rain was at work again.

Normally the tour spends a night in Kenmare but Henry had found us alternative accommodation at the next town along the way, Glengarriff.  Kenmare was teaming with traffic (including many tractors angle parked like regular vehicles in the main street),  Irish travellers (gypsies) had set up a market selling mostly farm equipment, dodgy looking chain saws and the like.  The Annual Mountain Man Music Festival was in full swing.  The "boys" were in town, it was party time and, with a bit of luck, find a lady time.  There were a number of travellers parked up just out of town, just a few of the 200,000 in Ireland.  We had already had an experience whereby we had found an access to a car-park at a beach but there was a height restriction at the exit and no room to turn around and go out the entrance.  It took a heated argument with an Irishman who was in a bad mood (I'm being charitable he may just not have like tourist buses), before a couple of motorists helped us manoeuvre out of there.  These height restrictions are to keep out the gypsies so they can't set up camp.  Trust the Irish to install the exit before completing the entrance.

Anyway, we had time for a quick walk around the block to take in the festival sights before continuing on to find our beds for the night.  

We had just one more stop at a high point along the road.

 American Doug and our driver/guide Henry

 Carol, Doug and Sue