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| Inch Beach Motorhome Park |
year we were finally able to resume the ritual. And this year, we went in the motorhome.
Siobhán, the tv weather lady, stood by her previous forecast that the weather in southwest Ireland was going to be “cat”. Her competence has been affirmed! We arrived Thursday evening to a cold, bitter mist blizzard. We drove straight to Ballyferriter rather than stopping in Dingle.
With every trip, I am becoming more fond of the moho. In fact, I’m developing a level of comfort with its idiosyncrasies and enigmatic behaviors. When the fridge starting chirping like a bird, Dixie, in his Irishness, said “no worries, ’twill be grand”. And he was right, apparently it was nothing. He had a motorhome long ago and just doesn’t get rattled by vehicle rattles. When the water tap stopped working, I was sure it was broken beyond repair. Turns out, our water tank had gone empty. Pretty easy fix.
We (okay, I) have decided to name it. That’s what people do. They animate objects in their lives that evoke emotions so they can develop relationships with them and interact with them on an emotional level, positive and negative. Am I right? My classical guitar was called “The Baby”. I loved that guitar. When I sold the baby I felt shame and self-loathing. Who would sell their baby?
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| Ballyferriter |
The model of our motorhome is Avantgarde. It’s written in big letters across the side. So I’m naming it the AvantBard. May it be a source of music and merriment and bring smiles to many faces for years to come. From now on I’ll just refer to it as the Bard. And I’m proclaiming it a boy Bard so it is a he. Now back to my story.
I had actually never paid much attention to the road between Dingle and Ballyferriter even though I had driven it more than once as a designated driver. It was always dark or I was lost in conversation. Now, driving in the afternoon with Dixie, I noticed that we were on Slea Head Drive.
When we bought the Bard, I read a lot of advice from the Facebook Motorhome Group. One thing I noted was the warning to NEVER take a motorhome on Slea Head Drive. I was puzzled because I couldn’t remember anything particularly treacherous about the drive and didn’t notice anything now. Maybe someone had just had a mishap there or something. I’ll circle back to this story later but you know something’s coming, right?
For now, I’ll say we arrived without incident and found that we could park overnight at the Ceann Sibéal Hotel. Like many other large hotels in Ireland, it has been closed to the public and is now open as temporary housing for Ukrainian refugees. Little Ireland (about the size of Indiana) has taken in around 75,000 Ukrainians this past year. There is understandable controversy about how and where to put them, but mostly agreement that turning them away is not an option.
So the large car park was all but empty. There would have been a beautiful view as it overlooks Smerwick Harbor. But alas, the mist and fog were growing ever thicker and messier, like my porridge when it cools too long in the bowl.
We freshened up then moseyed over to the pubs to get a feel for the crowds and see what was going on. In the first one, some teens from the “schoil” were having their own little session. We had a coffee and listened to their accordions, whistles and singing.
We had not been there ten minutes when an attractive woman about our age with long gray/blond hair sheepishly approached us. “Are you Dixie?” She remembered him from over 40 years ago when he used to play his music in Dublin. I was gobsmacked once more! She was joined by her sister who also remembered him and his brother Paul as well. The Irish have astounding memories.
We soon walked back to the Bard and heated some soup and made sandwiches. Then it was back to the pubs with fiddle and guitar in hand to try to catch some action.
The first two pubs we tried were very noisy and crowded. But in the third, Tigh an tSaorsaigh, there was a handful of musicians playing a few tunes and taking turns singing. They welcomed us to join them. Another friend of ours from out of town came in later with his accordion and completed our band. We stayed there sharing songs til after midnight then slept well.
There are three lovely pubs on the main street of Ballyferriter. Their names are all beautifully written in cló Gaelach (old Irish script). All signs are in Irish (but mostly Roman script) here because this is a Gaeltacht (Irish speaking) area. It isn’t unusual to hear Irish spoken on the street or in the shops.
The next morning we wanted to drive back to Dingle to buy some groceries and have a nice restaurant lunch. Instead of retracing our path, we decided to continue straight because on the map the road forms a loop that we thought might be scenic and land us back in Dingle. It was still overcast and hazy but not too bad.
As we rode along, I could tell we were climbing but couldn’t really see anything. The fog seemed to thicken with the elevation and squeeze the road narrower and narrower. It soon became one winding, curving single lane going both ways.
Before we knew it, giant jutting boulders were taking swipes at our left while the invisible sea raged below the cliffs on our right. We met a few cars blowing toward us but miraculously managed to dodge each one. I thought we should have slowed to a snail’s pace, but Dixie didn’t seem to have a care in the world.
We were on Slea Head Drive for sure and it was really fun in a scary kind of way. We were glad the Bard was just a small lad compared to some. He maneuvered well and brought us safely back down to town. We’ll have to take him back on a clear day because I have a feeling the views would be stunning.
We met the lads back in Ballyferriter late that afternoon and found a perfect niche again in Tigh an tSarsaigh. We played and sang for hours with other musicians and singers joining in. Heaven!
Saturday morning was still cold and rainy. We slept late then took our time getting ready for the day. Since there was no electric hookup I had to use the heat vent by the floor to train my bangs down. A girl does what a girl has to do, right?
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| Tigh Bhric |
The three main pubs were awfully crowded by the time we made our way into them. So we all decided to drive back toward Dingle and stop by Tigh Bhric and West Kerry Brewery on the way. I’m glad we did. It was practically empty so we had it all to ourselves. It’s a gorgeous old stone pub and I loved the craft beer!
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| OFlaherty's |
That night in Dingle, we went to O’Flahertys and joined in another amazing session. There’s a lad there who plays Irish trad music on a cello. I remembered him from last time. Fergus, the owner, remembered the song I sang last time I was there. I sang it again.
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| Dingle Harbor |
We spent Saturday night in the car park on the harbor… the one that says no overnight parking! The lads left the next morning but we weren’t quite ready to roll home. We made our way about 30 minutes down the road to Inch Beach where we knew there was a moho park with electric hookups. Like Cobh Aire in Cork, we were the only ones there. It felt great to rev up the heat and use a hair dryer... and the microwave.
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| Inch Beach |
We walked on the beach where I stuffed two fist-size rocks in my pocket. It seems every beach has a different geological history and has a distinctive menagerie of stones. It was really windy so I found a sheltered spot in the dunes where I stretched out, relaxed and watched the various fiddle, accordion and banjo formations in the clouds. Dixie opted for a brisk walk.
We ate our fill at a quirky Italian restaurant at a nearby hotel. The next day we drove home and into the glorious sunshine that Siobhán had kindly forecast for the east.
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