Chapter 11, In which we have a change of plans, and I scare a ram.

One of the nicest aspects of our trip was not have a set agenda. After our first night, we had no rooms booked and no place we Had to be at any point in time, so we could basically drive around to anywhere we wanted. The only thing we needed to do, from which I learned from some of the tour books we used, was to make sure we had a B&B booked before we got to where we were going, just to make sure we would have a roof over our heads every evening.

The down side of this travel approach, we found, was changing our minds at midday, and then, all of a sudden, having to determine the new course of action in rather quick fashion.

The Aran Islands rest off the west coast of Ireland about 15 kilometers or so. From what we read, they sound beautiful; very isolated places with populations barely breaking a couple hundred people and landscapes of pure stone. At first, I thought this would be a fun place to spend a night, but then talked myself out of it. Then, Nicole started thinking it would be a fun place to spend an evening, so we left Killevna House and headed west to the town of Rossaveel, where we would catch a ferry to the Aran Islands for an evening.

Driving from Galway to Rossaveel occurred on a road that practically followed the coastline for nearly 30 miles. The sights and views were stunning; the occasional houses that rested on the shore of the Galway Bay had some of the most amazing views a homeowner could ever wish for, I thought. However, the further west and north we traveled along this road, the more barren things became. By time we reached Rossaveel, civilization was eerily spread very thin amongst a more harsh landscape than what we had been familiar with thus far on the trip.

We had a good 2 hours before the next ferry, we knew, but we drove to the dock just to see if there was any information we could gather before driving around a bit more. Not unlike the area we had just driven through, the docks appeared to be completely deserted. There were a good handful of parked cars, no people to be seen, and a few road signs indicating that if you drove off the dock, you would eventually land in the water. We decided to leave the dock with a number of things to think about: 1. why was everything so deserted? 2. why were so many cars parked there? 3. did we really want to make this trip after all? What would be at the Aran Islands once we arrived there?

We drove another 15 minutes as the land became more unpopulated and barren looking. Becoming frustrated, we pulled off the side of the road and started looking through books and maps. In a perhaps ignorant way, I learned that the "ferry" didn't, in fact, take cars to the Aran Islands, just people (still can't say I understand why they call it a 'ferry' and not a 'boat'). This would explain the parked cars at the docks; apparently you leave your car, carry whatever luggage you wish to take, and go from there. Sure, we could have read this information days ago and perhaps saved the next question: did we really want to leave our rental car - the ONLY and I mean ONLY apparent way of getting out of this area we drove ourselves into, including probably half the luggage we wouldn't want to carry with us on a boat in the trunk. Luggage, I should say, that would have to keep us clothed for the next 6 days or so? And to go to where? A place that, while sounding beautiful, would probably have little more than a few pubs and a B&B where we would sleep?

Call us city folk, but we decided that the type of isolation the Aran Islands were offering was a little too much for us. We did hear people talk about how wonderful the islands were, and I certainly wouldn't pass judgment on them without visiting. Our decision was made on wanting a more lively place to spend the evening.

Which brought up the next question: where do we go from here? After much map and book searching, we decided to head southeast to Kilkenny, from where we would head to Dublin the next day.

We needed to head back towards Galway, but this time we were more north of the coast on our travels. The lushness we were used to driving through was now completely replaced by large, barren looking, rock covered sheep and ram fields. For all the driving we did earlier in the week, this was certainly the most isolated I had felt since arriving in Ireland. To confirm the general lack of traffic and population, the sheep and rams on the fields we were passing were sitting very nonchalantly on the sides of the small roads I was working very hard to keep my car on. Now, often I've heard my dad say, "why do these animals run across the roads? They have the whole world," in reference to critters that tend to populate Pennsylvania routes. But let me tell you, if there are any animals on earth that "have the whole world," it was these sheep and rams. Yet, without caring much, there they were, sitting on the road.

What happened next was probably more a result of being a bit punchy from the somewhat stressful immediate changing of plans we had just endured. It is something I would generally never think of doing in normal circumstances, and I'll probably seem generally mean for even admitting to it here. But as we were driving miles and miles along these desolate fields of seemingly dumb animals, I started tooting at them with my horn, just to see what type of reaction I would get.

Irritatingly, they just sat there, not even looking at the automobile that was honking by them. So now, what started out as a dumb-kid type thing to be doing on the road, I started becoming a little offended that the animals weren't even acknowledging my existance, so I began to honk more and more and just about every sheep and ram we would pass by. And, as Yukon Cornelius would say..."nothing."

We reached a small town and took a more direct path to back to Galway. Things seemed a little more populated now and I expected our ram and sheep sightings were about over. However, just outside the town of Oughterard was one last ram, sitting defiantly at the side of the road. Determined, I gave one last tiny honk. Let me tell you, if there was a world competition for ram jumping, this fellow would be the gold medal winner. Straight up in the air the poor guy went, giving us a terrified look much like our cats give when we accidentally make a sudden, crashing sound around the apartment. As cruel as it was, the moment kept us laughing for miles and miles, and even days and days later when one of us would spontaneously say, "we scared a ram."

Poor ram. Maybe he'll get even with us someday...

Chapter 12, In which we find hidden treasures along the trail to Kilkenny.

Although our trip was full of highlights (consequently causing this verbose account that I am currently in the middle of writing), one of the things I'll remember most about Ireland were the things we surprisingly found around the corners and turns of the small, countryside roads. I've previously mentioned the giant limestone formations and the cow-guarded ruins past the Cliffs of Moher, and on the way down to Kilkenny we found a few more interesting tidbits.

The first of these was a cemetery. In perspective to many things we saw in the country, this cemetary, didn't appear to be very old. Many of the graves were marked early 20th century at the oldest (though there was a path that was somewhat reminiscent of the route to Stephen King's Pet Sematary that we didn't follow...who knows what was back there), but the large Gaelic Crosses that constituted as headstones were exceptional. Also, in the middle of the cemetary, was a small, moss covered ruin, so I suspect the place may have been older than I'm giving it credit for being.

Achaboe Abbey surprised us around a turn more south in the country. Restored recently, the church looked to be a beautiful structure that somebody forgot to put a roof on. Perhaps more impressive were the date markers obviously placed during the restoration; the abbey apparently was built around the 6th century. Nicole and I both stood there trying to comprehend the sixth century, when it was, the hands involved with building something that would be standing over 1300 years later. I had little success establishing these thoughts; it was definitely a state of awe that will, I believe, not be replicated for me in quite some time.

We weren't 20 seconds removed from Achaboe Abbey when we were shocked to see a road full of cows. Just as a general statement, an Ireland cow could kick an American cow's ass any day of the week. These things are HUGE. Maybe it's the fresh air, maybe it is the constant supply of lush, green grass, but something about Ireland cows has them towering and beefing a good foot in any geometrical direction you can think of over an American cow.

And there they were, coming down the road at us at a pretty good rate of speed. I stopped the car completely, but basically there was nowhere to go. These animals towered a good foot or so over our car, and I suspected before the next minute of time passed we were going to be no more attractive than a gob of tuna crushed in a can by the wheels of a giant truck. A little relief came when we saw a farmer directing the cows past our car. They passed, looking in our windows without a glimmer of fear in their eyes. Before long we were driving again, but safe to say the bad karma for scaring that ram pretty much set itself even.

We had lunch in a larger-sized small town called Loughrea. I had a pretty wonderful plowman's lunch with cheese and salad. One thing is for certain, if there is anything I'll miss about Ireland, it's the cheese. It is so rich and creamy compared to the American counterpart that I think I could have eaten it for half my meals. And actually, to some extent, I did.

Click on the photo to see some pictures of our day.

Chapter 13, In which we arrive in Kilkenny, and learn Ireland isn't quite as isolated as we may have once thought.

We decided to spend a night in a hotel at Kilkenny, abandoning the B&B's for one evening just to have a little more breathing room. Consider this: if you were going to any city on a saturday night, knowing you would arrive around 6pm, do you think you could just stop in anywhere and get a room? No, maybe you would make reservations?

Since changing plans, we didn't make any reservations for Kilkenny, and in retrospect, thinking we could waltz into the city and find a room was probably pretty stupid. In fact, very stupid, because not only were there no hotel rooms to be found, but we weren't even able to find any places at the B&B's in the area. It was distressing; there were cars everywhere and we kept missing turnoffs and Kilkenny, like many populated places we were finding in Ireland, was very compact, so even pulling in and out of driveways at B&B's was an excruciating ordeal. It was also at this point I gave our rental car a really cool black racing stripe down the left side by scraping with a black, metal gate while (with a sound rivaling any fingernails-on-blackboard screech) trying to make a tight turn into a parking lot. Whoops, i figured that was coming out of the insurance deductible.

We pulled into a B&B/pub called Brannigans. Even though they had no rooms, the proprietor insisted we sit down while he called various B&B's in the area until he found us a place to stay. It was by far the nicest gesture anyone had made to us since starting our trip, and it couldn't have come at a better time.

Brookfield B&B, only a mile up the road from Brannigans, is where we spent the night. The owner here was a sweet lady who, perhaps recognizing our exhaustion, catered to us profusely, offering for us to rest in the sitting room while she brought us tea and little cupcakes. For all the hassle we had been through the last hour or so, I couldn't have dreamed a better ending than meeting the two friendly B&B owners and having received their hospitality.

Rested, we headed to downtown Kilkenny for dinner. To borrow a Tom Waits line, Kilkenny seems to reside on the corner of friendly and snooty. We ate at a Chinese restaurant called Ming House, where we were greeted by a hostess who told us, "we can't let you in without a reservation." Normally I wouldn't argue, but the place was EMPTY. Two couples eating in the entire dining room empty. All I did was look disapproving, to which she said she could seat us but we would have to be out in two hours because she was giving us a reserved table. I assured her I could eat that fast. After she seated us, the waitress made a quiet comment about how she didn't know what the hostess was talking about, and we ate over the course of an hour and left to what was a still half empty restaurant. (BTW, I had a wonderful dish there, clay pot vegetables, so despite the weird service, I would really recommend the food).

Kilkenny, like Galway, was littered with young, college aged patrons, mixed with a number of smartly dressed young-professional-looking people wandering to their late dinners. We found a pub that would rival any northern virginia-suburban establishment for it's personality-lacking yuppie decor. We did talk to a nice person at the bar for a while, but overall were pretty happy to get our of there once we finished our drinks.

On the way home, we returned to Brannigan's pub for a nightcap. Part of me wanted to thank the gentleman who set us up with our room, but he was nowhere to be found. In any event, the uncrowded pub was a nice place to relax for the evening before heading to the B&B, where we immediately fell asleep.