The (County) Kerry Way
or, “9-Day England, Ireland, Portugal Tour - $1,011 inc. Air, Transport + Lodging”
(Sorry, years of crafting headlines for Travelzoo ads and now this is second nature.)
With my sister having moved to Ireland last year, the time was nigh to pay a visit to the motherland of my father’s family, so I put together an itinerary including Dublin, Galway, and a weekend in County Kerry. And with traveling all that distance from Los Angeles, certainly two nights in Lisbon before returning to the States made sense. And with Air New Zealand’s New Year’s Sale bringing LA-London flights down to $390 roundtrip, of course we will go visit my old boss in England first! So that’s how we ended up with three countries and five cities in nine days, traveling 3+ hours for all but one day. Which means you see a lot of stuff!
ENGLAND
First up, 24 hours in Great Britain. We touched down at Heathrow and Vanessa was waiting for us at arrivals, not having lost touch of her California days in a hot pink jacket amidst the sea of black and grey. We set off to Salisbury, an hour and twenty minutes southwest of the airport and home to (not only Vanessa but also) the U.K.’s tallest spire, one of the four remaining original copies of the Magna Carta, and the world’s oldest working clock (though it didn’t appear to be working during our cathedral walk-through, so I’m not entirely sure how that claim stands but I’m sure there’s an explanation). Our first sight to see, however, would greet us just before our final destination (it really is the journey, after all!): Fifteen minutes outside of town, Stonehenge sits majestically atop a hill just off the road, and the tiny silhouettes of on-site visitors reveal its impossible scale even from afar. Though there’s talk of building a tunnel (and thereby impeding the view of the World Heritage Site from motorists), for now we enjoyed this free scenic detour.
Upon pulling into Salisbury proper, our first order of business before hitting the historical attractions was, to my great delight, refreshments at Maul’s Wine and Cheese bar in town. Steps down from the street, the four of us tucked into a wine barrel high-top in a cozy room beneath wooden beams and twinkling white lights, empty aside from one French woman dining on a magnificent array of cheeses who highly recommended to us the comte (merci, madame). It was a Wednesday afternoon but apparently the place fills up quickly most nights and weekends, understandably so. Look at this menu!
Not pictured: Baked camembert with thyme and garlic
Even the flowers on the slate were edible. After our divine pairings, we were past closing time for the Magna Carta exhibit but still able to walk through the thirteenth-century Salisbury Cathedral that it’s housed in, as well as the less famous but equally show-stopping fifteenth-century Church of St. Thomas Becket, with its large clear glass windows flooding the interior with natural light. We strolled over stone walkways and bridges that traverse the walkable city (another fun Salisbury fact: it’s the meeting grounds of five rivers). Naturally we made time for a beer in one of Britain’s oldest pubs, the Haunch of Venison, where a lively senior citizen running club in hi-vis vests came in for a pint before their jog. To conclude our unofficial walking tour of Salisbury, we took advantage of Britain’s bounty of Indian food at Cafe Diwali.
The next morning we took an 8:40 train from Salisbury to Bristol, where we’d catch a flight to Dublin from the regional airport. The hour-and-a-half train ride afforded bucolic views of grassy creeks, rivers, stone manors, house boats, and historical aqueducts, as we glided through the likes of Cotswold towns Branford-on-Avon and Bath Spa. On arrival, I was so focused on “minding the gap” with my suitcase that it took me a few paces to look up to see the Harry Potter-worthy Bristol Template Meads railway station. That, combined with the hardwood-floored, wifi-enabled prompt Airport Flyer express bus, made for a seamless morning of British transport done well.
IRELAND
With, once again, 24 hours to explore our next destination, Jake and I dropped our bags at our Dublin hotel and hit the cobblestones. The Book of Kells was temporarily removed from public display for restoration, so we didn’t even have to feel bad about skipping it. Instead, we walked through Temple Bar Square and Trinity College’s campus to Grafton Street, and up and down Harcourt and Camden streets, brimming with shops, bars and restaurants. Along the way, the sight of tropical plants and vibrant wallpaper drew us in to The Ivy, where we occupied two leather stools at the restaurant’s glamorous bar beneath…yes…tumbling ivy. One salted caramel espresso martini for Jake and a lavender-infused gin and tonic for me proved to be the perfect pit stop, and at $11 you’d be hard-pressed to find that price for a handcrafted cocktail at home! Back outside, the sun even made an perfectly timed appearance as we cut through St. Stephen’s Green, encouraging a few moments’ rest on a park bench with a view of children feeding swans fresh cut grass, and spring’s first peek of hyacinth. Casey met us for dinner after work at an adorable little restaurant we stumbled upon while cutting through an alley…okay so it happened to be a chicken tenders place but that was the icing on the cake! A pint here, a pint there, and then with ten miles on the pedometer and work for Casey in the morning (we even declined a bartender’s offer to man an empty speakeasy for us), the three of us crossed the harp-shaped Samuel Beckett Bridge to our triple room.
I’d like to say Jake and I awoke early the next morning to cross off the landmarks we missed, but in truth we slept until noon and barely had time to go see Casey’s offices at Facebook (there really is such thing as a free lunch for us) before the three of us boarded a two-and-a-half-hour train clear across the country to Galway. Pulling in at 6 p.m. Friday evening, we checked in to our basic-but-suitable hotel off Eyre Square and set out for our customary city walking tour, this time down the pedestrian-only Shop Street. After fish and chips at the classic counter-order McDonagh’s that did not disappoint, traditional Irish music in the pubs gave way to a surprisingly busy club scene with more cheetah print than I’ve ever seen at once...and I’ve been on a safari. Scarves, shirts, skirts, headbands, tights…I thought it might perhaps be some “cheetah print prize night” but apparently everyone has been shopping at the same few stores? That, combined with the fact that a large number of men were wearing Jake’s same jacket and women mine, led to a humorous evening of people watching street-side under an awning and heat lamps in the rain.
Casey and me in the “snug”
We had heard of the approaching Storm Jorge on the news, but he showed up in full force the next morning and really “tousled our hair”, as one newscaster put it. Pulling back the curtains, sideways rain and gusts of wind painted a foreboding picture. Nevertheless, we had places to be (four hours south). Apparently Jake and I arrived (read: marched backwards against battering rain and wind for the longest three blocks) at the Galway car rental just in time - the entire city was closing down by noon due to a rarely-implemented “Status Red” severe weather warning. “Remember: your insurance doesn’t cover stupidity,” the agent advised as he handed over the keys, laughing incredulously when we told him we were headed to Kenmare then. Our Airbnb host even thoughtfully offered to reschedule our reservation, suggesting we stay in Galway overnight instead, but flexibility was not in our cards this time around and apparently we’re all up for an adventure. Safe and dry in the shelter of our automobile - a small unfamiliar European model - we swung back to the hotel to retrieve a relieved-looking Casey (clutching my basic jacket like a security blanket) and set out on our brazen road trip. I held my breath (reminding our driver that the speed limit is in fact the maximum allowed in ideal conditions), Casey suffered hydroplaning PTSD every time we hit a puddle (quite often), and Jake did a great job tuning out our concerns while he mastered driving stick shift on the opposite side of the road through squalls. We stopped for lunch and respite at the spectacular Adare Manor, a former 19th-century-residence-turned-hotel on an 800-acre estate bisected by the River Maigue, with historical ruins dating to the 1200s. (Adare Manor is also a rare example of a “Calendar House” - as their website states, the manor is “adorned with 365 leaded windows, 52 ornate chimneys, 7 stone pillars and 4 towers to mark the annual tally of days, weeks, and seasons in a year.”) It took every ounce of courage to get back in that car for the second half of the drive instead of pulling a full Beauty and the Beast moment and seeking lodging for the night.
If ever there was a warm welcome after a harrowing drive, though, it’s the efforts our Airbnb host made for our arrival. We turned the keys to our rental on Kenmare Bay, revealing a glowing fire in the stone fireplace, candles lit, fresh-cut daffodils in each room, and gin and tonic set out on the bar cart. With nerves calmed and spirits lifted by the sight of the clawfoot bathtub, we drove the five minutes into the two-street town of Kenmare for nourishment at O'Donnabhain's - a fireside dinner of deep fried mushrooms, cottage pie, and…fettuccine alfredo (we were curious, it was good!).
Luckily, Storm Jorge had a short lifespan. We awoke on Sunday morning to sunny skies showcasing the grandiose view across Kenmare Bay to Ireland’s tallest mountain, the snowcapped Carrauntoohil. Our day’s mission was to circumnavigate the Ring of Kerry around the Iveragh Peninsula, one of the five great peninsulas that constitute Ireland’s southwest. No sooner were wheels rolling when we slammed on the breaks - newborn lambs nursing beside a tumbling waterfall with their sheepdog keeping a watchful eye! Photos please! A three-hour tour was quickly shaping up to take much longer. We made up our own car games (what’s that in the distance? cow or horse? white rocks or waterfall?) in between sweeping coastal and mountain views. Our lunch plans at O’Carroll’s Cove Beach Bar (!) were foiled on account of it being closed for the season, so we continued on to the aptly-named isthmus town of Waterville, where we were graciously welcomed by the proprietor of The Lobster who shepherded three lost Americans through the bar to her light-filled back dining room. There was a soccer match going on, and since we couldn’t immediately discern who the dozen men glued to the screen were rooting for, we smiled and feigned interest. It didn’t take long for that question to be answered though, and when I inadvertently showed empathy for the goalie of the “wrong team”, luckily the crowd didn’t notice amidst their jeering and we escaped unscathed…but not before consuming the best fish and chips of the trip (the tartar sauce was served in an oyster shell!). We stretched our legs along Waterville’s seaside promenade, past murals and a statue of Charlie Chaplin who apparently favored the town, until we felt we sufficiently walked off our lunch and were ready to fold back into the car.
It wasn’t ten minutes up the road before our next detour presented itself: a sign for…wait for it…Kerry’s Most Spectacular Cliffs! Who knew? Naturally we took a hard left fifteen-minutes west off the Ring of Kerry and onto the Skelling Ring, through the coastal town of Portmagee whose seaside picnic tables looked well-worth a summer wander. We arrived at the ticket booth in the gravel parking lot at the base of the trail just before “closing” and paid the 4-euro-per-person admission charge. The booth was unmanned upon our return; with no gates in sight, we were ten minutes shy of a free attraction but it was money well spent regardless (though Jake maintains that anyone whose name is Kerry should get in for free). Along the 1/2-mile ascent to the cliffs, we walked passed replicas of “beehive huts” - medieval watertight stone houses built in a method of dry stone architecture (using no binding agent). Clochán, by their Irish name, can be found ten miles offshore on Skellig Island at the site of an unfathomable sixth-century monastery, where monks lived, fished, gardened, prayed, and weathered wild Atlantic storms through the thirteenth century. This fascinating history almost drew me in enough to watch the Star Wars movie partially filmed on Skellig Island…almost. Continuing to the very edge of the peninsula, we met the mighty Kerry Cliffs. A curved landscape arched upward and turned gracefully back toward the sea, exposing gradients of vertical rock ledges plunging into the Atlantic, the whole scene evoking the very Guinness harp itself.
White sea birds dove in and out of their cliffside colonies (we kept our eyes peeled for native puffins, but no such luck!), as the cobalt waves broke rather gently (at least from afar) on the rocky bluffs with Skellig Michael in the distance, the island spotlit by a stirring sunbeam through a cloud break. We spotted only four other visitors across the expansive terrain, a perk of visiting in early March no doubt. And considering the Cliffs of Moher were closed on account of Jorge’s 90-mph winds, we were all too grateful for this unexpected gem.
We bypassed Killarney National Park’s mountainous route home due to fading sunlight and wintry conditions (turns out our appetite for adventure has its limits), but stopped for dinner in Killarney town center for another fireside meal before completing the final forty minutes of our day’s drive to our sweet abode.
The next day saw us traveling four hours from Kenmare to Naas (Casey’s town), but as we know, no drive in Ireland is just that. Over mountain passes and riverside drives, we welcomed the at-times peculiar routes our GPS directed (surely we cut through a grassy road on someone’s farm at one point). We stretched our legs in the coastal town of Kinsale for lunch, quiet in the offseason but easy to imagine brimming with activity in warmer months. It was high time we toured a castle, so Casey took us to the town of Cahir to tour the twelfth-century river island fortress. Our imaginations soared walking through the grounds and well-preserved structures of Cahir Castle, brought even more to life by a fantastic miniature replica detailing, in chronological order via a series of push-to-light buttons, a 1599 siege. As freezing rain turned to snow, we took shelter in Morrissey’s Bar across the way at 5 Castle St. Sitting beside a crackling fireplace with a local brew in hand, various armor and medieval memento adorning the shelves, I stared through the frosty windows at the castle profile and soaked in the history so distinct from my stateside home. Our five days in Ireland were drawing to an end - we’d be departing at four the next morning to catch our flight to Lisbon. I thought of all we saw, and all we didn’t have time to see, and the kind Irish folks we met along the way (I forgot to mention the very understanding toll booth operator when we were cashless on the motorway), and knew another trip to Ireland would bring entirely new adventures even following the same roads. Next time though, I’m definitely buying “The Kerry Way” magnet I passed over in the souvenir shop.
Portugal, to be continued…
