Bloggo Buon Viaggio: Ireland in the Spring: II Cork and Dingle Peninsula Day Trip

Dottore Gianni hopes that those of you beginning this post also read his last, on Dublin and the day trip to the Wicklow Mountains etc! Today he/I will discuss briefly his last morning in Dublin and his rail trip to Cork, his impressions of that city and share in more detail his day tour to the beautiful Dingle Peninsula, beginning with

Saturday, 17 May 2014: I did not have to rush this morning, as my train for Cork did not leave until 11 am. Still, an early riser, I got down to breakfast at 7 am, and was greeted by an almost empty room. Compared to the unpleasantness at my first breakfast at Wynn's Hotel I was very happy to see only a few other tables filled, which made the service snappy, and therefore the entire breakfast more palatable. Particularly the rather tasty scones, on which I slathered delicious Irish butter - nothing like it here in the U.S., except of course for Irish butter, thanks to Kerrygold - in fact I bought some just the other day, at double the price of American butter, because it was so wonderful, and I have not been disappointed.

I checked out of the hotel earlier than I needed, but then Dottore Gianni is very impatient to get to places of transport, such as rail stations and airports, earlier rather than later. And of course I live to please Dottore Gianni! I made my way easily to the LUAS stop next to the hotel, caught a tram, and arrived at Heuston Station in a jiffy. Heuston reminds me of British rail stations, naturally, but it is a more intimate affair than any in London or Edinburgh (the two U.K. rail stations I'm most used to - 8 platforms in all, and a light, airy feeling about the place. The station master took his time about announcing the track, but I was one of the first to board and found my seat easily. When ordering on line (or I imagine in person) you can request that instead of a mere "reserved" at your seat, your name be inserted on the automated tiny screen above your seat. Always happy to see my name in print I was rather pleased at this - and I was in First Class, the only time I would travel in style on this trip to Ireland.

We were off right on time and the ride was pleasant, about two and a half hours in length. I had a window seat and snapped a few photos along the way, too distorted by window glare to be useful, but still, one tries, doesn't one? After perhaps five stops we pulled into Cork just about on time, mid-afternoon, and I left the station in search of a taxi, which I found almost immediately. My gruff, tiny driver regaled me with something or other, as he spoke so fast and with an accent so thick I was unable to understand a word! At first I thought he might be angry with me, but I'm fairly certain in hindsight that he was explaining why he was going the long way around what seemed a fairly direct route. Many streets in Cork are one-way only and that is true of MacCurtain Street on which my hotel, the Isaacs, was located. Still it wasn't a long drive and he deposited me directly in front of it.

The courtyard off MacCurtain Street where the Hotel Isaacs is located

I was quickly checked in, and in a very friendly manner, by Blanka, a young woman from the Czech Republic who had recently begun work here. Blanka was as efficient as she was friendly, and she and I struck up pleasant conversations every time I appeared at the front desk. Otherwise the hotel was good enough, I suppose. My room was large and looked out on MacCurtain Street. I found it a bit strange that I was given a room with a bathroom equipped for the handicapped. Were they all like that? Or did the powers that be the Isaacs decide that old man Hrkach may need such accommo-dations? Or were there no other rooms to be had? Doesn't really matter, I suppose. I lost little time in getting out and about, because I wanted to find the place where I was to meet the tour bus early the next morning. That was almost easier said than done, so I strolled across the river and had a look at the busier side of town. 

Cork's River Lee, looking towards the docks

I must confess that Cork left me cold. Also, every time I crossed the river, lost. It's one of the largest cities in Ireland - the big four are Dublin (bigger by far than any of the other three), Limerick, Galway and Cork. I've now been to three of the four, I was warned off the fourth, Limerick, by more than one friend, and the only one I can honestly say I really like is Galway. Cork is like many big cities I suppose - much business is conducted there, a good bit of industry in its large and not very pleasant docks, which two may create the brusqueness I felt as I walked through it. There is a pedestrian zone of sorts in the area across the river, but there's not much to distinguish it or make it interesting for the tourist. One can climb the tower of one of the churches and ring its bells, but that's a fair hike from the center, as is the university area. In fact I found very little in the center appealing - just like many another big city, I fear. 

From the same bridge, other direction, a pretty set of dwellings in Cork

And, as I hinted at above, every time (four) that I crossed over the river I managed to get turned around, confused and lost. I've often said (others have too) that the best way to get to know a city, to FIND it, is to get lost in it. Well, in Cork I kept getting lost but never really got to know it. The last time I crossed over I got so confused I had to stop a businessman who was a tad brusque, but in a not unfriendly manner, and who fortunately showed me the way, I had thought that as I was walking along the river and my hotel was not far from it I'd find it, if not in one direction then surely the other. But the river divides into two channels and somehow I'd got myself to the wrong channel. Ah, well. 

At least the first time I crossed the river I found the one place in the center that seemed quite wonderful - the English Market. This covered affair boasts all sort of very fresh and I 

The English Market

imagine mostly local food. The one problem I saw with it was that there was almost nowhere to eat the food except for standing up, and I was in need of lunch - of course not all is meant to be eaten on the spot, meant instead to be taken home and cooked - but there were a number of sandwich and coffee places that I passed by simply because there was no place to eat it (a guidebook suggests taking a picnic across the street to a park, but it was packed and didn't look all that pleasant. Upstairs there's a large restaurant that looks down, somewhat haughtily I thought, on the the area below. I walked up the stairs and tried to figure out where to go, how to order, as there were two ways one could walk, but not one of the staff offered to point me in a direction. Of course I didn't ask, so I suppose I deserved it.

After getting lost that first day I managed to find my way back to the hotel just as the restaurant attached, Greene's, was ending its luncheon period, about 3 pm. They were accommodating, and I was the last person served. It was a delicious meal of hake, a fish I've had before across the pond, but that I at least don't see much of in the U.S. It's a tasty, light white fish, and was done to a T at Greene's.

Interesting thing about Greene's - it and the hotel are located in a courtyard that is inviting and at first seems charming - and it is in a way, but the most charming spot of it, a cliffside that is natural features a waterfalls that is not. Either that or a very smart waterfalls that knows how to turn itself off at night. But that's not what's interesting about Greene's. There is also a restaurant that fronts on MacCurtain Street and is directly in front of the hotel, called Isaac's, as is the hotel. One might think, and I for one did, that it is Isaac's Restaurant that is part of Isaac's Hotel. But I was advised in a very friendly way by the very friendly Blanka that it is Greene's not Isaac's where I would have breakfast, and where I should eat if I wanted to charge food to my room.

Ha! Hmmm...not really all that interesting, is it? But then that, to me at least, is Cork in a nutshell.

Sidebar on guidebooks and where to stay: I swear by Rough Guides for travel tips. They are not as popular in the U.S. as is Lonely Planet for example, or the Eyewitness Guides that have many photos but almost no information. Rough Guides has few photos and loads of information - I don't need photos if I'm told how (and why) to get to the real thing, so as noted, I rely on Rough Guides. The Rough Guide to Ireland (2011) is not that keen on Cork, though it works hard to let you know what to do and where to go if you stay there. And the other guide I use regularly is Rick Steves - his guide to Ireland (2014) does not even cover Cork. Stay in nearby Kinsale, he notes, as it is charming whereas Cork (he does not say but certainly implies) is not. He also warns to not go to a city simply because it sounds like a poem - read Limerick - or is featured in a popular Christmas song - read Killarney - and he actively poo-poos that place (more on which soon). Alas, Kinsale (more on which in another blog post) is an hour south of Cork by local bus, and was reliant on day tours that originate in big cities - primarily the big four I noted above. So I needed Cork, whether or not Cork needed or even wanted me.

After my large and tasty and very late lunch I walked around a bit more, careful to stay on my side of the river. I thought I'd see about ringing the bells of that church, but had a hard time locating it. In doing so I began to climb a hill a mere block away from the hotel, St Patrick's Hill by name. 

Almost at the top of St Patrick's Hill - house in blue has a nice view, yes?

(I wonder if he might have climbed it, back in the fifth century, and having obtained its summit proclaimed loudly, "I dub thee St Patrick's Hill!" probably not, right? Right, says Dottore Gianni, and then adds, "tsk, tsk!")

 The map I was using seemed to indicate that to get to the church I should go partway up the hill and turn left. Except that there was nowhere to turn left, not even at the hilltop, which I will confess was a bit of a buffer and puffer to get to. But there were some fairly nice views of the city, if not terribly exciting ones (but again, that to me is Cork), and to the left I saw in the distance - and I mean DISTANT distance, over a deep valley and then up again - two churches, one of which I bet was the church in question. But by now I was tired, needed a nap, and so decided against the one tourist attraction - one, I point out, that would have taken a good climb to really appreciate - after one good climb and after a long walk another good climb simply to arrive at...and then...climb again. 

One of those two towers over there is the church at which I might climb and ring "the bells of Shandon" - or not!

So I returned to the hotel and headed to the room for a rest. But immediately flew into a panic - my bag (day bag, "man"-bag - ugh! - call it what you will) with my camera and other essentials, had disappeared! I realized that the only place I could have left it was at the restaurant, so I bolted down to see if anyone had found it - of course no one had. Most of the staff looked at me confused - I must have looked really panicked - but one, a tall, lovely blonde (who was the more efficient of two young women who served me at lunch) stopped me, took me by the arm and said a short prayer to St Anthony so that I'd recover my bag. I nearly swooned, she was so kind (and pretty), I thanked her and headed back upstairs - unconvinced that St Anthony would be of help. But it turned out he was! I had put my bag in a corner that I didn't notice - I want the blonde put up for sainthood immediately! 

Sidebar: Alas I never saw her again, to thank her properly ("or to ogle her?" asks Dottore Gianni, and adds tsk,tsk!) as she went on vacation for a week later that same day. I did tell the woman (another Eastern European) who seemed to manage the restaurant, to thank the blonde for me. No, I'm not at all sure about the power of  St Anthony, but I do believe in the power of pretty blondes!

To which Dottore Gianni responds, "Tsk, tsk!" 

Back in my room, at about 7:30 pm I felt the need for not another meal but for a snack. I'd seen a small grocery just a short distance from the hotel, had them make me a tuna sandwich with cucumber - the tuna was vile, but the cucumber was nice - bought a pint of Harp and a small packet of crisps to go with - and finally had my picnic, in the silence of my lonely room. 

And then I slept, dreaming on the tour I'd booked for the next morning, to the Dingle Peninsula!

Sunday 18 March: After a very quick breakfast of coffee and not especially distinguished mini-croissants and other pastries I hotfooted it to the place appointed to join the bus tour to Dingle. In this case I'll let a photo speak a thousand words:

The view from my bus window as we left Cork...not a promising start, eh? It continued less than promising for a few hours - and then it became wonderful! 

For those of you who read my first post, you'll remember that I very much enjoyed my day tour, run by Paddywagon Tours. Before the trip I had pre-booked two more tours, today's to Dingle and tomorrow's to Blarney and Cobh. I must say that the difference between Friday's tour to the Wicklow Mountains and today's to Dingle reads like a Tale of Two Paddywagons. Same company, but the organization seemed much less organized in Cork than it had been in Dublin. Somewhere along the line I think the Cork organizers realized that they needed more passengers per tour to make it profitable. So they combined tourists from Cork, Limerick and Dublin, even a few from Killarney itself on tours to Dingle, the Ring of Kerry and the Cliffs of Moher. This was fine for Paddywagon, but less so for those of us on the tour. 

Killarney's rather dreary High Street

I remembered what Rick Steves had written about Killarney: "Don't go to a city just because it's in the title of a Christmas 

Gaelic Gelato??? Would you trust a place like this?
Not Dottore Gianni!

song!" To me Killarney (and I'm handing you no Blarney) was tourist hell, nothing of interest save a church out of the center - I wondered why we would be spending an hour there before heading onward. Turns out Killarney (for Paddywagon at least) is not so much a tourist destination (though so it is advertised in their tour brochure) as a transfer point. The reason for an hour there is to allow time for buses to arrive from different locations and disgorge tourists onto the High Street, which at 9:30 on a drizzly Sunday morning is closed up except for a few cafes and numerous shops, all of which featured exactly the same merchandise - Guinness  caps and t-shirts, stuffed leprechauns, I-Heart-Ireland sweatshirts on the low end and very expensive sweaters and such at the top end. 

He likes the look of this place, though

Thus it was not until about 11 am that we were all situated in our proper buses - three different ones depending on the destination. Those of us from Cork who were heading to Dingle were somewhat lucky in that we didn't have to trade buses, merely driver/guides. That trade was a relief for me as the fellow who'd brought us from Cork to Killarney was a bit of a pill, whereas our new driver, Paul, while a bit dull was extremely accommodating and friendly.

Once on our way with Paul, the weather began to brighten, the scenery to become...scenic...and the trip proper had finally begun! 

Pardon the bus window glare on the left, and the blur on the gorse at bottom,
but...pretty, right?

Sidebar: Two weeks after my return to the U.S. I'm still debating which was the most beautiful place I saw in Ireland. I'm coming to the conclusion that so much of what I saw was so wonderful that there may be no answer forthcoming re that debate - but the Dingle Peninsula was certainly one of the prettiest!

The rugged coast line of the Dingle Peninsula, and in the distance the Iveragh Peninsula,
known for its famous "Ring of Kerry"

We drove toward the Peninsula, aiming at two beaches, Coumeenole and Inch, as well as Dingle Town. The scenery became more and more verdant, and began to get more dramatic as well, as we were climbing gradually. We had a few short stops for photos. The Dingle Peninsula is so lovely that I found myself taking photos from the bus window, regardless of glare, and when out of the bus, snapping almost the same photo over and over again, as I was dazzled by much of what I saw. 

Sheep on the hillsides of the Dingle Peninsula - in the distance, the Blasket Islands

I confess to a little disappointment because I knew we were by-passing much of the ancient history of the area, ring forts and standing stones and portal tombs and early Christian landmarks such as the Gallarus Oratory. and much as I liked our driver he did not seem to know all that much about the early history of Dingle. In any case he did not discuss it with us if he did.

If you look in the right hand side of the photo, just in front of the ruined farmhouse, you have what I think is a beehive hut

I missed one opportunity at a photo stop to take a good photo of the so-called beehive huts, in which those ancient Irish monks who as the book title has it "Saved Civilization" lived beginning around the sixth century, though Paul did note that they were there. His lack of emphasis on the huts, and detail about them, is partly to blame, but my own curiosity was leaning in other directions - for some reason Dottore Gianni took him literally and thought they must have actually been beehives, and very little about bees interests him. Too bad! I DO have a photo or two of what I am fairly sure are beehive huts, and of course I'll share them with you (see above).

The Blasket Islands

As we drove into the peninsula steep hillsides plunge down to the sea, and while there are no cliffs the size of those at

Cliffs on the Peninsula

Moher, those are to be seen as well. The coastal road really hugs the rocky coast, and as we moved closer to its Atlantic edge, the Blasket Islands come into view. These are beautiful to observe from a distance, but became increasingly difficult for their few hardy inhabitants to live on, and the last of them left the isles in the early 1950s. With a day or so more in the area I could have taken a boat tour to visit the islands - I keep wishing I'd booked more time in this area.

Close to the edge on the coast road

Coumeenole Beach

Our first major stop was the breathtaking Coumeenole Beach, so photogenic that many scenes from David Lean's underrated film Ryan's Daughter were shot there, and more recently a few scenes from Ron Howard's Far and Away (in case you don't know that film, Tom Cruise and Nicole 

The descent to Coumeenole Beach

Kidman played the young lovers). We saw the beach at nearly high tide - when it's out one can walk much farther along its craggy cliffsides contrasting with its fine white sandy shore. It is a dramatic descent to the beach proper, but a path has been constructed that makes getting down relatively easy - getting up again? A bit more of a struggle, but not terribly difficult aside from a little huffing and puffing. I feely confess that this beach was one of my very favorite spots on my trip to Ireland. I think you can see why.

On the beach

Shortly we left the beach we had another look at the Blaskets - the Island at center in the distance does not look from this side like it did from the other - our driver Paul calls it Finn McCool - I saw no evidence of that in my research, but it is often called the Sleeping Giant or the Dead Man - on the right a face, a bit of a pot belly...below that, dare I say it? Private parts?

From Coumeenole Beach we traveled to the central town on the Peninsula, aptly named Dingle! This charming place, with its brightly colored buildings and a marina set in a gorgeous 

First view of Dingle

harbor, is worth more time than the two hours we had for it, particularly as the better part of our time there was spent eating lunch. One young couple on our bus left us here to spend the night - that's a good note for any of you charmed enough to visit - and you should, insists Dottore Gianni! One way to extend your stay is exactly as this couple did - make arrangements in advance and re-join the tour in Dingle Town the next day! Why hadn't I thought of that???

Colorful Dingle

There were all sorts of possibilities for lunch in Dingle, but the offer of VERY fresh fish 'n' chips and 10% off the bill took many of us to a place called Harrington's. There were 

several fresh fish to choose from - I chose cod, and I chose well. All too often fish 'n' chips is more about the batter than the fish itself - first there's so much of it you can barely find or taste the fish, second the batter is bad for you, it's what fattens people up - ugh! But not so here! I've only had one other similar meal as good, and that was on another coastal town, in western Scotland - Oban (also known for a very tasty single malt). A place very much like this one, simple, but with at least 5 kinds of fish to choose. I was very pleased at Harrington's particularly as they had Guinness on tap. If I have anything negative to say about Irish fish 'n' chips, it has to do with the latter part of that comfort food. The Irish seems to like their chips soft, mushy, compared to other places where I've had the dish. They're good potatoes (and if the Irish know anything they know potatoes) but I'd rather have mine a tad crunchier. Still, I'm not complaining - at least they don't serve mashed peas - and I so loved the cod.

Dingle's Harbor

A clever way to advertise in Dingle - note the aquarium in the upper right

After lunch I had an all too quick stroll through the center of town, and really didn't want to get back on the bus. I still miss Dingle Town.

Bye, bye Dingle!

Hello, Inch Beach! on a gorgeous afternoon

But we were off to another beach, a very different one from the craggy, enclosed Coomeenole. This was Inch Beach, not well named as it's one of the broadest and longest beaches I've seen. It's apparently the best place in Ireland to surf, and windsurfing is said to be especially fine here. It was a beautiful afternoon and I took in the lovely beach itself, and the view across the water of the next peninsula, The Iveragh (the one you'd drive through if you wanted to see what's called the Ring of Kerry). Even better, when I turned my back on the beach and looked inland I saw still another stunning environment, this one ruggedly beautiful.

Surf's up at Inch Beach

And here's what you see when you look away from Inch beach

After Inch Beach we headed back to Killarney, where in order to get all the people who'd come from three or four locations in the morning back to them in the evening, we had to wait, strolling around this dull, dull place:

"I'm handing you no Blarney, 
in case you care to roam, 
a morning in Killarney,
has none of the charms of home!"

- particularly after experiencing the wonderful Dingle Peninsula. But gradually, when the drivers finally had everyone properly sorted, we returned to Cork.

Despite the tedious aspect of the tour - Killarney as transfer point, coming and going - this was one wonderful way to spend a day in southern Ireland.

That evening, after another late and filling lunch and feeling too tired to go out on the town, I returned to the little grocery near my hotel, ordered another sandwich, beer and crisps, and after working on the photos of this lovely day, I fell into a deep and satisfying sleep.

Another day trip, not so sweet as this one, in the next blog post!