Pt3 - 21: DUBLIN The suburbs of Ireland’s capital felt like home. Mysterious forces led me to the B&B on Avondale Road in Killiney just following my nose. I’d chosen the southern side of the city deliberately for its proximity to the ferry terminal at Dun Laoghaire ( pr Dun Leery), where I’ll board the Sealink for Wales, and to Sandycove, where I’ll pay homage to James Joyce. Avondale was right on a bus route too, so I could park the bullet up for a few days and avail myself of the DART (Dublin Area Rapid Transport). And a happy bonus - Bailey’s pub was an easy stroll away. * Day 1 : I rode the 25 minutes into the city on the DART and emerged from Pearse Station into bright, warm sunshine. I strode out for Trinity College, alma mater of some of Ireland’s finest writers and repository of the Book of Kells. I entered through a rear gate and crossed the green playing fields to the Berkley Library, a modern addition to the campus and inconsistent with the fine Georgian archi...
Posts
Pt3 - 20: I woke up with a hangover measuring 10.4 on the Richter Scale. If I weren’t feeling so righteous for helping Paddy last night I’d have stayed in bed. Timewise I can’t afford the luxury of lying around for a day either, there’s still too much to see before Paris. I loaded up with a full English and levered myself into the bullet for the drive out to Dunmore Head, which at 52 o 11’N and 10 o 48’W is the westernmost point on the Irish mainland and the westernmost point of the Awfully Big Adventure. The short loop on the R559 has to be one of the most beautiful little drives in the world and I felt the mushroom cloud lifting as I stepped out to inspect Dunbeg Fort and the ancient beehive huts in the shadow of Mount Eagle. These dry-stone Iron Age igloos are perched on the edge of the cliff overlooking the mouth of Dingle Bay and the vast sweep of the Atlantic Ocean. It must have been a bit breezy in poor weather, but the stones are so forensically laid there’s nary a slive...
Pt3 - 19: I’d love to have hung around Derry for another few days, but time is beginning to be an issue again. The race through Greece and Italy was to make the date to pick up the bullet, now the gathering pressure is to be back in Paris for the flight home on November 1 st . Today is the 24 th of September, day 214, and the maths says there’s less than six weeks to cover the rest of Ireland, Wales and the south of England back to London, cross the channel again to Antogny then drive up to Paris in time to return the mighty bullet before exxing Charles De Gaulle, barring the unforseen. It’s forced a bit of corner cutting, which I’m literally doing right now. Instead of sticking to the coast as I’d originally planned, I’ve taken the most direct route to Sligo via Donegal and sliced off the northwest corner of Ireland. By way of consolation, I’ve already decided we’ll be back one day to see it all. * Random factoid : After Spanish Armada was routed in the Battle of Gra...
Pt3- 18: Glenariffe is one of the nine glens of Antrim, or niyan gleeanns as the locals would say. Apart from the Giant’s Causeway they are Northern Ireland’s premier natural landmarks. I stationed myself here because it’s within easy reach of Belfast and it offers a handy base to explore inland. And it’s bloody beautiful in the classic meaning of the word. While Scotland’s immense, rugged, desolate and imposing landscapes are spectacular, they are beautiful only in the sense they inspire awe; great places to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there. In contrast, if I won Lotto tomorrow I’d add a holiday retreat in Glenariffe to the shopping list, right after the private jet, the Mediterranean island and my very own Guinness brewery. The scenic trail through the scenic glen is extremely scenic, with lots of fetching scenery. I worked up a thirst with a brisk hike around the ten kilometre circuit, which at first followed a forest path down to the confluence of the Inver and Gle...
Pt3-17: THE EMERALD ISLE 15th September - 4th October The Stena Voyager pulled out of Stranraer at 2:45, precisely on time. It’s more small cruise ship than ferry and, judging by the bright decor and spotless facilities, relatively new. She pitched and rolled a bit on the southerly swell but the passage across the Irish Sea was pretty smooth all things considered. From my warm nest in one of the lounges I watched the smokers huddling on the exposed afterdeck, their hair boogying in what was clearly a stiff breeze. It was hilarious seeing them go through the ritual against all the odds; rotating through 360⁰ with lighters in cupped hands, taking minutes to get a flame to light the fag which then disappeared in seconds as the wind burned it off. They were lucky to get three drags. The Voyager tied off on Belfast dock at 4:35, precisely on time. I nosed the bullet out of the bowels of car deck number 2 into bright sunshine and slipped seamlessly through Belfast on the M2, bound for ...