Tour of Ireland

Time for a proper holiday, I decided to go for something I had partially planned with John over a year ago, seeing as much of the work was already done. At first I was panicking, because technically this is 'abroad' and 'foreign'! I needed euros, but actually NOT my passport. I also needed to book ferry tickets, accommodation and a tour of Skellig Michael plus check my phone network provider would let me have some roaming data. The booking process was stressful and I felt a bit fluttery at the thought of driving unknown roads with no co-pilot, navigating the whole ferry check in and making sure I found places to eat at sensible times. Once all was confirmed I breathed a sigh of relief and could even look forward to it.

The night before was a restless night. First a tawny owl decided to perch on the telegraph pole outside my bedroom window, hooting loudly for a while. Then there was the mother of all storms in the glen. Torrential rain, lightning every 5-10 seconds and thunder that reverberated on and on up the glen as if it was all around you. When the alarm went off at 5.45am I decided I could, and needed to, risk another 15 minutes. I was so tired and the thought of leaving the glen was not something I relished. But I forced myself up and out and off, although once on the road the melancholy returned - another trip, alone and lonely. It would have been so easy to stay in bed and spend the week at home. I was going to miss the cats!

So, Sunday at 6.45am I set off for the ferry from Cairnryan to Belfast. To add excitement, as I set off, the ad-blu warning came on, so I had 500 miles to find a bottle to top the car up. The ferry journey drove me a bit mad - it was so noisy with people playing games and watching videos on their phones, talking at the top of their voices, milling round. Eventually I went and sat in the stairwell and listened to the recorded message warning of moving cars on the parking deck over and over instead!

First stop was Mount Stewart Gardens, which I spent two hours wandering through. There were a lot of cars but it rained on and off, which I think must have sent people scurrying for the cafe or home. I managed to get round the lake and rose garden and wild flower meadow before the first drops fell, and then found a bench and lay looking up through the branches and listening to the rain on the leaves until it eased off a bit. I felt like I had the place to myself. The stone steps up to the private burial garden and upper lawn were enclosed in trees and flowers and felt like a secret spot. I saved the best for last - the formal gardens were out of this world and the sun came back out too.

Dinner was fish and chips from The Galley, chosen because I think it had been voted best in the country a few years ago - it was alright. The accommodation was cheap and when I arrived I could see why. Whilst I couldn't fault the host, the place had been done up badly and the noise from neighbourhood dogs and boy racers was ridiculous, and someone down the hall sounded like they had whooping cough. On the plus side I was reminded how nice super-fast broadband is!

Monday morning my alarm didn't go off at 8am as planned - never trust a funky looking charging mat built into a bedside lamp in a less-than-amazing b'n'b! Nevertheless, the shower was good, the breakfast was plentiful and I had slept well. Sadly, when I checked in online for the Skellig Michael tour the following day it said the weather report was bad and the trip might be cancelled - which would be extremely disappointing as that was the whole reason for coming to Ireland...

First stop was Kilnasaggart Pillar stone. A five minute walk from roadside parking, over three stiles and across two beautiful meadows with only the birds and the wind in the trees around me. The bright colours of the buttercups and clover in the sunshine were wonderful and the peace of that spot was quite magical. Standing at 2.8 metres high the pillar stone is probably the oldest dateable stone monument in Ireland. It stands in a small enclosure at the edge of a graveyard that was excavated in the later part of the sixties. The south east face of the pillar bears an inscription in old Irish that reads, 'In loc so Taninmarni Ternoc mac Cernan Bic er cul Peter Apstel'. This means that Ternohc the son of Ceran Bic put the place under the protection of Peter the Apostle. As Ternohc's death is recorded in either 714 or 716 this dates the stone to the early 700s. Above and below the inscriptions are Latin crosses. The north west face of the pillar is decorated with at least ten crosses.

Then I crossed over into Europe, and suddenly the diesel was 30% more expensive and I was having to deduct 30% from my speedometer to convert from kilometres per hour to mph. The roadsides were beautiful - hedgerows for mile after mile of fuchsia in bright red, wild roses and hydrangeas in deep magenta, baby blues, delicate mauves and pure white.

Next was a three in one, like the Holy Trinity! St Manchan's church is in a tiny hamlet, surrounded by a large churchyard. It is a ruin now. A holy well is within a stone's throw and was the reason for planning to bring John to Ireland as it was reported to have cured people of cancer. This pilgrimage was no longer needed, of course, but, as I was driving right past I thought it was a good spot for lunch anyway. Legend says that one day the saint was thirsty and there was no water at the monastery. He struck a rock and a spring well bubbled up. However, St. Manchan's well was more than likely a sacred well since pagan times. Tradition has it that when you are sick you should pray here, walk three times round the well, and then leave a votive offering in gratitude to the saint in the window of the church. The well has, as usual, been turned into a slightly tacky shrine, and it wasn't deep enough for a dip. So, I settled for washing my face and saying a quick prayer instead. Finally, following a short walk along a grassy hedge-lined path I found St Mella's cell. While tradition believes that St Manchan built a house for his mother, St Mella, on this land, recent reports suggests that the existing structure is of 10th /11th century origin.

Dinner was chicken curry at The Moorings, and very nice it was too. Accommodation was much nicer at Seagull Cottage, but was also double the price of last night's accommodation. Portmagee was full of beautifully coloured houses which really brightened up the dark and rainy evening.

I woke up early the next morning to another text saying that today’s island tour might go ahead and they would have a firm answer when we all met at the harbour at 8.15am. I grabbed breakfast and set off with fingers crossed that the Skellig Michael landing tour would be possible. The company owner and boat's captain gave us a pep talk - it would be very wet and very choppy, and he offered a full refund for anyone who decided not to go. How bad could it be? Surely they were just exagerating to cover themselves? The water in the habour was flat calm. We (less three dropouts) boarded the tiny boat, were offered ponchos, which some people accepted, and life jackets, which no one wanted, and set off. I had bagged a backwards facing seat underneath the small hardtop canopy in hopes of staying dry. Turned out it was the wrong seat for a nervous passenger. By the time we were a mile out the swell was crazy and erratic because we were battling both the waves coming inland and the ones that were coming back off the land. We were tossed around like a cork by the mighty power of the sea. Every time the boat went up followed by the captain backing off the engine the boat would pause for a moment, feeling suspended, and then slam down into the water. My bum would lift off the seat and the seat top would come with me. My hands ached from gripping the seat and door frame of the cabin and I had to apologize for my initial squeal of fright. I was exhausted by the end of the 45 minute ride. But we were treated to two common dolphins breaking the surface about six feet from the boat, and a flock of gannets flying by low and close. John would have loved it.

The island was incredible. There were so many puffins that seemed relatively tame, as we were within just inches of them. There are 608 steps up the monastery at the top - the one which featured in Star Wars VII. It was tiring and the steps were slippery in the drizzle, but the views were spectacular. The top was in the mist and we explored the tiny complex of beehive huts and graveyard once inhabited by a small band of monks. It was beautiful and extreme. The walk back down was just as precarious and my knees hurt and my legs were shaky by the time I reached the bottom. The journey back was so much better as we surfed the waves all the way back.

Because the island tour had gone to schedule it meant that I had enough time left over to do all the things that I had put down as optional extras just in case I'd found I had the day free. First a quick stop at the roadside Holy Well, Tobar Fhionáin, dedicated to St Finián. His mother was apparently a virgin who conceived whilst swimming in Lake Killarney. It was a beautiful spot overlooking the coast. Many locals believe that the waters of Tobar Fionáin possess healing properties, making it a popular pilgrimage site for those in search of solace and rejuvenation.

Just opposite is the Ráth Ciaráin Ringfort. I got wet trainers walking through knee high grass to get to it as it's clearly not a much visited monument. It is a circular, grassy mound in a field.

The Glen church ruin and cemetery was a run down affair of ramshackle and overgrown grave stones. Only one was obviously regularly visited as a path had been created leading to that one plot.

Skellig Chocolate Co was nice, although the range was small. I sat and enjoyed a hot chocolate and one of those new-ish social media crazes - the Dubai chocolate. It was delicious, and so it should have been fro £2! I bought a few gifts to take home and a little box of Dubai chocolates for me, which still worked out at £2 each.

Fermoyle pottery was a lovely little random addition - marked on Gogle maps but completely unsigned until you almost drive right past. Little signs pointed the way through the garden to their little workshop full to the brim with beautiful plates and cups and little vases. So pretty. I bought one bowl as it was expensive and, hey, I only need one really. Very happy with the find.

Dinner was at Fenton's of Dingle - a posh restaurant tonight, the kind which has lobsters in a tank for selection. I had calamari and steak and pavlova - the proper gooey kind of meringue with fresh straberries and whipped cream. It was all lovely.

I then drove round the Dingle peninsula, noting the signs to 'pet a lamb' along the way. I continued on to the stunning Dunquin pier, just as a few rays of sun broke through the cloud as the sun was sinking towards the horizon. Being a glutton for punishment I decided to walk down to the bottom and back up, just to see what it looked like from below. I didn't find the spot for the classic shot from above showing all the twists and turns of the tiny winding path down the cliff, mostly because I seemed to have alarmed a passing doctor with all my gasping as I climbed the slope back up. He insisted that I walk with he and his wife back to the top to make sure I wasn't going to keel over with an asthma attack or something. He told me he had come over from India to work at Dublin hospital and was staying nearby to pass his citizenship test, which had gone well. What a nice, kind chap! After that I got straight in the car feeling embarrassed.

A few miles back down the road I had spied a beautiful beach, and as the weather had perked up I knew a swim was on the cards. I returned the way I had come and got my costume on and spent half an hour alternating breaststroke with floating on my back staring up at the clouds - heaven.

Returning again the way I had come it turned out my accommodation was at the pet a lamb place and I arrived just in time for feeding! The farmer just said 'are ye comin'?' as if I was looking for something to do, and I spent the next few minutes bottle feeding half a dozen gorgeous lambs - what a treat. The room was spotless, lovely and even had underfloor heating in the bathroom. Breakfast was a plentiful help-yourself so I had yoghurt, cereal, juice, plunger coffee and also made a cheese sandwich for lunch.

I set off on the long drive to Dog’s Bay in Galway - five hours. I stopped at a little bridge to take a photo of the river and mountains, and then went into the church there for a few minutes of silence in the peaceful space. On the way out I was amused to see a tea urn labelled holy water. When I reached the bay and got my first view of the beach it took my breath away. It was a beautiful crescent of white sand, gently lapped by clear green sea. I grabbed my constume and headed down to the shore line to find it covered in the corpses of dried out compass jellyfish. I still couldn't resist the pull of the water so I decided to take my chances and floated around for ten minutes, regularly standing up to inspect the water for jellies. They were all around and in the end I nervously gave in to them and got dressed.

Along the way to my stop for the night in Westport I passed a very hopeful looking figure in a huge fluorescent orange coat, hood up, massive rucksack and other miscellaneous camping gear, holding out a thumb to the traffic. I pulled over when I realized it was a female, but I had already passed her and there was another car coming up fast and I told myself it was a silly thing to do. I drove another mile before decideding I couldn't just leave her there in the drizzle in the middle of nowhere. Turned out Hannah was lovely, chatty and kind of jubilant. She hopped out ten miles along the road in the next town, having walked 40km in two days and just running out of steam.

I checked into my accommodation, but even before I was through the door my heart sank - it was rundown and grubby and smelled unpleasant. Still, I had been promised the loan of a bike to cycle the nearby Great Western Greenway. I was shown the bike, hopped on and ... flat tyre. By this time the host had disappeared off, leaving me alone in the house. No obvious sign of a tyre pump so I gave up and walked the greenway as far as the Quay instead. I passed a pub that promised wood-fired pizza and BnB rooms - I would be back later to enquire! I walked back to the house, got changed out of my leggings and drove to the pub. There was, sadly, no room at the inn, but the pepperoni pizza was incredible.

The next morning I couldn't get out of the BnB fast enough! I drove to Lough Eske for the view and see the famine pot. The pot was restored and placed here in 1998 to commemorate the people of the area who died during The Great Famine (An Gorta Mór) of 1845-1851. It was donated by The Quakers who had them made and distributed throughout Ireland. They were used to feed the starving masses during this period due to the complete failure of the potato crop. The food was called Brachán, which was mainly a vegetable or grain porridge, and was donated by subscriptions from around the world including donations from as far away peoples as The Sultan of Turkey, The Donegal Association of Philadelphia, and the Choctaw Indian Nation of North America.

I then went in search of the Bluestack mountain drive, but when I reached what I thought was the starting point the sign was pointing back the way I had come. I had failed to review my itinerary last night, and I gave up.

Next was the Pilgrim path, and about 10 minutes into it I was asking myself why I was doing it. It was an uphill struggle, I was breathless, my ankles hurt and it wasn't the most beautiful trail either. But I had time to kill, and it's good for me in the long run... I walked uphill for and hour and a quarter until I reached a sign that said 'experienced walkers only past this point' and then I turned round and walked down. My knees were really painful all the way.

Thankfully Glencoulbmkille megalithic remains and standing stones were by the roadside! Gleann Cholm Cille is a broad and secluded glen with one of the finest collections of pillar stones anywhere in Ireland. These are spread over a wide area of the valley floor and make up the fourteen stations on a 3.4 mile pilgrim route called Turas Colm Cille. An Turas is conducted annually on St Colm Cille’s day, June 9th. An Turas is performed barefoot around 15 standing stones and cairns including the saint’s own church as well as the large cairn at his well. It takes around three hours to complete and the first Turas is usually performed at midnight of ‘Lá an Turais’ (Day of the Journey). Participation on the day is an uplifting experience, bringing one back into the atmosphere of the old Irish pilgrimage as practiced a thousand years ago. Not only are prayers recited in beautiful Donegal Irish, but each station has its own dignified and time-honoured ritual. For example, the pilgrim must lie down on St. Colm Cille’s bed and turn over three times in a recumbent position before taking some earth from under the bed, while still lying down, as a protection against fire and a cure for other ailments. The pilgrimage traditionally starts at the nineteenth-century St. Columba’s Church in Gleann Cholm Cille. The route proceeds to Beefan, from where the pilgrim begins the return journey down Mullach na Cainte, ‘the slope of conversation’, traditionally the only place along the route where pilgrims are allowed to talk. The route then leads through a marsh – where exposed pavement stones may have formed part of the ancient pilgrimage road – and returns to the starting point via Drumroe. It sounds so wonderful that I might join the pilgrimage some time, and the best thing is for most of it you aren't even allowed to talk.

In the same area is Farranmacbride Court Tomb AKA Mainnear na Mortlaidh (The enclosure of the Dead). The cairn was originally 60 metres in length, with a large central court over 20 metres in length by at least 10 metres in width. It is believed to be the biggest court in Ireland. The tomb consisted of two galleries at either end of the court facing each other. There were four symmetrical set burial chambers placed around the court. It looks in remarkably good condition for something so ancient.

Next I headed for the Glengesh pass, which was a beautiful drive through a valley between two imposing hills. Even better, there was a coffee cart at the top who made me a mean chai latte.

I intended to grab dinner and then go back to my accommodation but my lovely host told me about a local waterfall and nice beach, so I went to check those out first. The waterfall was right by the roadside and pretty impressive. The beach was stunning! I was stung €4 for the carpark, but who cares. The sand dunes were white and the beach was empty. I checked out the cave and then eyed up the water. I'd left my costume and towel in the car but I was alone. I stripped off and waded in - it was lovely. Too rough to swim, and too far to go out to calm water considering the warnings, I settled for standing in the waves as they crashed over me. Then I got carried away and started waving my arms in the air and dancing about. It started to spit so I came out and when I looked up there were two small figures up on the sand dunes. I got my clothes back on and headed back to the car. As I passed the man on the dune he asked if I'd enjoyed my swim. I thought he would do the gentlemanly British thing and pretend he hadn't seen anything! I didn't care - for a few minutes I had felt light, carefree and joyous.

Dinner at Nancy's was an enormous bowl of chilli loaded fries and a slice of apple pie - hot and hearty, and I even got complemented on my dress by a chap at the bar!

Friday was my final day and I made my way to the Poisoned Glen. But first I had to look round Dunlewey church. Jane Smith Russell had the church built as a memorial to her husband, James Russell, landlord of the Dunlewey Estate, who died in 1848. James Russell was laid to rest in a vault under the church floor. Even in death she wanted to remember her husband and her grave in the Catholic graveyard faces across the valley to her husband's resting place. How romantic...sigh. It is a pretty ruin. Then I turned my back on the church and set off along the Poisoned Glen, which being a glen should have been flat....silly me, of course it isn't! I walked up hill for half an hour before deciding I'd had enough and heading back down and on to the next thing.

The shuggling stone was harder to find as, like many things in Ireland, there was no signage. So after one failed attempt I then pushed through ferns and brambles to this obviously not-oft visited, un-signed tourist treasure. The Shuggling Stone or "Clochnabogaddy" is a 13-ton boulder called the Shuggling Stone because it "shuggles" very easily, referring to an Irish word meaning to rattle, shake or jiggle something. With the aid of a short stick, the boulder can be rocked or "shuggled" backwards and forwards. The stone is a lump of glacial granite and was first recorded in 1834 by Lieutenant Lancey during the first Ordnance Survey of Ireland; he noted then that it could be rocked back and forth with one finger. Unfortunately that's a load of codswallop - I gave it my all with the use of the 5 foot fence post left there and...nothing, at all - it did not budge.

A mile down the road is the Donegal Boardwalk Resort which has a beautiful boardwalk, through wild flowers and grasses, as far as a stunning sandy bay. I had remembered to take my costume and towel this time but there were signs saying no swimming (which I'd usually ignore) and one for quicksand, which terrifies me (thanks to watching Krull as a kid). So I was good, and didn't swim; just stared longingly at the water for a few minutes before setting off back for lunch at the clubhouse. I was becoming weary, my legs were so tired, and I was missing John terribly so my soul felt weary too! By the time I sat down for lunch I swore I couldn't walk another step. I spent my last €10 on roasted vegetable soup and a pot of tea, which was lovely, before hobbling back out to the car. I had also run out of free roaming data so I'd used the internet at the clubhouse to slightly alter my plans for the afternoon. I cancelled a drive-by of Mamore gap and roadside shrine in favour of the Sword in the Stone, which was along a shorter route to my night's accommodation and right by the roadside. Interestingly I have google the sword and no-one seems to know anything about it!

Beaghmore stone circles was the last item of the day and is the coolest set of stone circles I've ever seen. Multiple early bronze age stone circles and burial cairns, all connecting. The name is probably from Irish an Bheitheach Mhór, meaning "big place of birch trees", a name that reflects the fact that the area was a woodland before being cleared by Neolithic farmers. The site was discovered by George Barnett in the late 1930s during peat cutting when 1,269 stones were uncovered. Some of them are aligned roughly with summer solstice sun rising and moon setting.

Is it just me, or has the standard of AirBnBs gone downhill? I've kind of lost my faith in it this week, whereas I used to think it was brilliant. Last night's accommodation left a lot to be desired. Anyway, the only thing on the itinerary this morning was the holestone. An ancient standing stone on top of an unusual rocky outcrop with a perfectly circular hole carved through it. No one knows for sure what its original purpose was. It could have been aligned with a trail, to mark a burial, or a place where lovers came to make a sacred bond by connecting hands through the hole. I don't think my hand would have fitted through the tiny hole but I love the idea of this.

So, with everything ticked off, I headed to the ferry where I found a quiet coffee lounge where I read my book. Before home I picked up some Morrison’s shopping, which was interrupted several times by fire alarms, and then a take away so I didn’t have to cook late, and I couldn't wait to get back to see my cats and sleep in my own bed again.