OLD REPORT -- JUNE 2005 'Round Ireland in A Mini-Bus' -- The Guilty Pleasures Tour!#1

Itallian Chauffeur · Moderator

OLD REPORT -- JUNE 2005 'Round Ireland in A Mini-Bus' -- The Guilty Pleasures Tour!#1

Itallian Chauffeur · Moderator

Day Six: Finally Bridging The Gap

As I have mentioned before, this was my wife's and my seventh visit. All but one of those trips have included Killarney, if for no other reason, because of its proximity to Millstreet and Rathmore. Yet, due to pressing constraints of visits with family and friends, we never have found the time to 'do' many of the Killarney TOURIST STUFF. Most regrettable has always been our failure to 'do' the Gap of Dunloe' Tour, replete with jaunting car and local driver.
This was our day to rectify that omission. Though it started hazy, foggy and dreary, the sun soon burnt through and a day even better that the day before greeted us. Dennis and the horse-allergic Ben set off to explore a bit of the Ivereagh and search out a new and different golf course. The Florida four piled into the Renault, popped in the Alanna CD and set off for Killarney. Along the way, the rear passenger tire had a close encounter with yet another ubiquitous Irish pothole, as discretion being the better part of valor, I opted to yield the centerline to the rapidly approaching Semi that seemed oblivious to the concept of roads having different "sides".
Once the echoing scrieks of my passengers subsided, we finished our drive without further ado. I parked in the carpark beside the Tourist Office and then walked up the hill to the Deros Tours office. After a few minutes, a number of buses, large and small drew up and after a few moments confusion, the gathered throng made their way onto (hopefully) the correct bus. After everyone but us had driven off, our driver hopped aboard, plopped down behind the wheel and pulled away from the curb.
"And are ye all looking forward to yer day in Dingle, are ye?" He asked with a face so innocent that a priest might see no need to offer him absolution. Then, to silence the rising panic, he smiled and "confessed" that he was only kidding. "It's Kate Kierny's and The Gap, I'm takin' ye to see."
Well, eventually, maybe.
After we turned off the main road, he muttered something to himself, slammed on the brakes and turned the bus around. We rode back out to the main road, turned right and drove nearly all the way back to Killarney, before turning off again and driving up a long paved drive to a VERY posh hotel. I don't know its name, but they had a Helipad and it looked well-used. Pulling up to the main enterance, the driver leaped from his seat, dashed into the hotel and returned, after a few minutes, with a very stylish and photogenic German couple. Then he turned us back around. Only THEN, did we finally make our way to Kate Kierny's.

After we off-loaded, the ladies went in search of bathrooms, while John and I secured beverages. The jarveys decended on us like wolves spying sheep that have wandered from the safety of the herd. I don't know why, either, since I am led to believe that the rates charged are pre-set. Maybe they mistook us as some of those hardy types who chose to actually walk through the Gap!
By the time we were actually ready to depart, we ended up with an entire different driver. His name was Sean (Aren't they all?)and his horse was named Tommy. Sean lives in the Black Valley, in an old farmhouse that he had only just finished restoring. He had gone off to Germany as a young man, but as his children approached school age, he decided to return home. When asked about his wife, Sean was quick to point out that he was unmarried, though he thought that his partner loved Ireland even more than he did.

Sean holds his jarvey license by right of birth. A sister and a brother are also jarveys (she passed us by, at one point, going the other way, calling out and waving, as she did). They are each allowed one full trip through the Gap each day. After that, they will take any 'half-trips' as may come their way, in turn with the others. Perhaps the eagerness to 'get the big trip out of the way early' is what prompts the feverish huckstering at Kate's?
When uphills approach, two of us had to exit the cart, but usually, all four of us would, taking the opportunity to stretch our legs, soak up the sun and pose each other for photo ops.
DID I MENTION THAT TOMMY HAD AN UNUSUALLY EXTRE AMOUNT OF FLATULENCE???

It must have hit 75 while we were out. We couldn't have had nicer weather. During the riding portions, Sean pointed out sites of interest, discussed life in a post- 9-11 world, and talked about the changes that Ireland has gone through since he was a boy. I'm guess that he was in his early 30's, but I could be off. I won't try to describe the scenery, as my words couldn't possibly do it justice. Occassionally, a car drove by, enroute to a house or B&B along the way. It IS a public road, though motor traffic is discouraged. All the horsecarts and tourists seem discouragement enough, for me. I don't know how a resident could stand driving that road, as slow as the going needs must be.

Eventually, we ended at Lord Bandon's Cottage (which is LONG gone). I was amused to hear so many of the tourists insisting that the little snackbar/souvineer stand was the Cottage. Many of them never even notice the area where the old Cottage had stood, nor the mini-Round Tower, or even, the servant's house below the walls of the Cottage grounds!

We grabbed a bite to eat (soup and sandwiches and cold drinks) and lolled on the grass awhile, then made our way down to the docks for our boat ride through the Lakes.

The boat ride through the Lakes was cool and refreshing. Our boatman and guide both informative and amusing, leaving in a few personal anecdotes and stories to the 'canned tour' speech to make it all the more interesting. Again, the scenery was phenominal and words can't do it justice. There are a few pictures of the Lakes in my link (first entry)that may give you an idea.

The boats pull in at the dock beside Ross Castle. My wife and I had toured it in 2004 and, luckily for us, the ladies were desperate for a bathroom break, so we passed the castle by. I say luckily, because while John and I were waiting for our wives, I bought another soda and in doing so, dropped a ticket stub on the ground. As I was picking it up, I realized that we were already a few minutes late for the return bus to the Deros Office. Rushing to the parking lot, we found everyone already on the bus, impatiently waiting for us. Seems hard to believe that the Tour would bring people to a major tourist attraction like Ross Castle without allowing time to actually do more than walk past the outside! Ah, well. We didn't keep them too long (5 minutes, tops), so 'No Harm, No Foul', I guess. The bus ride back to Killarney was uneventful, as was the walk down to the car park. My parking 'disc' was long expired, but thankfully, I never did get a parking ticket, either at the time, or in the mail, since.

I DID pick up a little 'souvineer memory' though. The rear passenger tire was displaying a large, nasty bulge in the sidewall, coutesy, no doubt, of the morning's pothole. Reasoning that changing the tire would only precede changing it again (no full-size spare), I drove back to Killorglin cautiously, and without incident.

When I rang up the IrishCarRental's service number on the rental agreement, the woman who answered was sympatetic, but otherwise not much help. It may be my imagination, but I swear that she was working from her home. I am certain that I heard children's voices and the clatter of plates in the back ground. She told me that she personally had lost three or four tires in the last year, much the same way and then reiterated that I was responsible for all tire damage. I assured her that I understood my financial responsibility and that the reason I was calling was for assistance, or referral to an approved shop. She couldn't help me there, she said. She wasn't very familiar with Killorglin.

I drove through town, looking for a sign to indicate a Tire Shop, finally finding one tucked into a small building at the rear of a Gas/Grocery Store, where we had previously purchased our self-catering supplies. As it was actually 5 minutes or so past closing time of 5:00 PM, I expected to be told to return in the morning. Instead, the owner checked out the tire and agreed it needed to be replaced and then swung his shop door back open. He had two different tires of the correct size. One was the same brand and model, for 150 Euro and the other was an 'OFF-Brand", that I could have for 100 Euro.
"It's a Rental car, is it?" He asked.
"It is," I replied.
"Then, 100 Euro it is! They'll not notice, nor care." With that, I was back on the road in 15 minutes, new tire on the Renault and credit card slip(charged in EUROs, without me asking, I might add) in hand.

Back at the house, Dennis and Ben had returned. They had played the nine-hole course at the Gap, then driven around the interior and a bit of the Ring, as well.

We walked into town for dinner at the BENZ Cafe (across the square from DEV'S). Benz has been in business a while, but this was only the second day that they had been staying open for dinners. It's a small place. The wait staff was courteous and personable, though a bit confused by all the new changes. The food was EXCELLENT, however, and very reasonably priced. And, based on Bill's (WOJAZZ3)mention, I finally tasted my first Banofee. WOW! It was quite a hit with my crowd (which is why I say that I TASTED it), the little beggars in my group put a pretty good dent in my serving, 'just trying a little taste'!

After dinner, we strolled down to the Bridge Bar (located just beside the bridge) for a live music session by two local fellows on guitar and fiddle.

A brief stroll over the bridge returned us to our house. Tommorrow, the six of us would do Dingle

Day Seven: Dingle and Slea Head

Another hazy, foggy morning, that quickly dissolved into another marvelously warm, and sunny day. Setting off from Killorglin in two cars (Dennis and Ben chosing isolation over cramped discomfort)we made our first stop at Inch, where we dallied in the sand for a brief while. We made brief stops at various turn offs along the way for photos and just to drink in the views. In Dingle, we parked in the car-park at the Marina and took an early lunch at a Cuban cafe, just across the road. The food was delectable, the wait staff friendly, personable and totally inept. For some reason I was craving a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (go figure)and ordered one from the menu. The young man who waited on us (a non-Irish EU citizen), just couldn't wrap his mind around the concept, I guess, because there was much confusion. When everyone's order arrived but mine, and I reminded him, he nodded, smiled and said, "Yes, yes. I will get.", and then disappeared. About ten minutes later, a young girl (who MAY have been Irish), came to our table to check on us. When I asked her about my PBJ, she went off in search of it. It finally arrived about 5 minutes later, and I must admit that it was well-worth the wait. I'm wondering now, if they had to send someone off, to the market to purchase the ingredients?

After our long lunch, we set off again, driving to the beautiful stone Restraunt (which I have never found open). It sits directly opposite of the Dunbeg Promontary Fort and just below the Famine Cottage (actually, a farnhouse, built in the 1850's, with no real link to the Famine, but it DOES have a nice little history all its own AND a beehive hut, behind the house).

We stopped too, in the carpark below the Three Sisters, where the more energetic of our crew hiked up to the top for photos and viewing. Then we moved on to Loius Mulcahey's to checkout the pottery and pick up a few momentos, before dropping in to the Gallarus Oratory.

After our visit, we headed back into Dingle and then up over Connor Pass, with only a brief stop at the summit. Then we drove into Castlegregory, on through Camp and into Tralee, before finally turning back to Killorglin. That night we ate in, trying to use up our stores and made preparations for our departure in the morning. In the wee hours we were awoken to the news that our second grandchild had arrived (He was twoo weeks early). Now, the guilt would really begin to grow!

Day Eight:

Dennis and Ben set off early for Watergrasshill, so that they could stop by Blarney and do a 'drive-by' of University College Cork (as an alternative to Galway for Ben's semester abroad). The Florida Four headed into Killarney first. We had decided that rather than attempt a two or three day 'whorl-wind tour' that we would 'park' ourselves in Millstreet for two nights and then move up to Bunratty for our last night.
We went by the Internet shop and then John and I went next door to the Tourist Office while the ladies went shopping.

The young girl that waited on us was surprised when we asked her to book us into a B&B in Millstreet. She was from the area and in all her time at the Tourist Office, no one had ever asked to stay in Millstreet. John was looking for the chance to stay on a working farm, so the girl recommended Ballinatona Farm. She seemed amazed that I knew the area so well and truly startled when I started mentioning the names of acquaintances from the area, whom she also knew. I even managed to stump her on a few locations and routes. When she expressed her surprise, John stated that I knew the Millstreet area better than some of its inhabitants. Its not true, but refuting that claim in front of one of my relatives is hardly conducive to maintaining my finely crafted family image, so I said nothing, silently blessing the young ladys inexperience and/or her Irish sense of humor. She rang up Ballinatona, secured our reservations and told us that we might drop off our luggage at 1:00 PM on Sunday, but that we could not check in until 3:00. Some country B&B hostesses are a bit peculiar, the Tourist Office girl told us. She suspected that the hostess might be foreign --German, perhaps -- and that, since Ballinatona was a working farm, 3:00 might be a suitable time, between chores. We agreed, paid our 10% deposit, plus the Tourist Offices small ( 1 or 2 Euro) fee, gathered up our wives and set off for Watergrasshill.

We drove south, into Macroom, then east, through (actually, around) Cork City and took the N8 on to Ashgrove House. After checking in we drove back to Seans house.
Dennis and Ben had already arrived, and once again, we were treated as if the Irish cousins hadnt seen us in years. After a couple hours of lively conversation about our trip so far and updates on what had transpired during our absence, Dennis and Ben bid their farewell to all of us and set out for Bun ratty , so that they might spend the night close to Shannon before flying home the next morning.
The rest of us headed up the road to Seans eldest daughters house for a magnificent meal of salmon, ham and beef, set up buffet style. We sat around her huge kitchen, feeding our faces and spirit. Then, we were off to Midelton to watch the local seniors (over 18 year old) hurling team face off against strong, traditional rivals.

Even with aid of a personal interpreter, Im still not sure EXACTLY how the game is played. Apparently, the slither (a baseball sized, hard leather ball with raised stitching) must be constantly in motion - either hit, thrown, or bounced at the end of vicious looking hurley (looking for all the world like a short hockey stick, with an oversized blade). Also, there are penalties for pushing an opponent down, but whacking him with the hurley is ordinarily acceptable. It was a thoroughly confusing and delightful time, though our local heroes lost the match in the closing moments.
We spent the rest of the evening visiting, then retired to the B&B, after making plans to meet for coffee, tea and home-made scones in the morning.

Day Nine:
Sunday morning broke dull and dreary, but by 10:00 Am, the sky had turned warm and bright. We said our good-byes to Mary Cronin and drove through the village to our cousin's new house for a tour AND the promised home-made scones. Nearly all of Sean's family met us there and it was almost luch time (not that we could have eaten any more!)before we finally said our farewells and got on to the road.
T took the N8 north to Fermoy, and picked up the N72 West, toward Mallow and Killarney. Just a couple of miles west of Mallow there were signs, indicating that the road was closed and advising detours. Being dutiful, unquestioning foreigners, we blindly followed the detour signs that lead us south, and off the marginally wider, National Road onto the tiny, unnamed and unnumbered Regional, and even local roads.

After only a mile or so, all detour signs disappeared entirely and we had to rely upon my vague memories of the area and the occassional, bent and twisted Irish directional signs -- (You see a sign that points, more or less to the RIGHT, that says "Banteer 3", so you turn. Five miles later, you see another sign, pointing back, toward you, but mostly, toward the ground, and IT says: "Banteer 6"). We drove through Rathcoole, Lyre and Banteer and several other towns and townlands (and if ALL the signs were right, some of them we passed SEVERAL times -- AND I PRETTY MUCH KNOW THIS AREA!!! You have got to have a good sense of humor when dealing with rural Irish roads and road signs.

The good part of our meandering is that it only added about 30 minutes or so to our trip and we saw A LOT of gorgeous scenery that otherwise might have been passed by in the rush 'to get there'. Since we were told that we could only drop our luggage off at 1, and couldn't check in until 3:00, we decided to go off exploring a bit. When we finally arrived at the Farm, we thought that we had made a big mistake....

But first, as an aside, I would like to mention a few words about the "considerable town" of Millstreet.

Millstreet sits in northwest Co. Cork at a juncture of roads. From the south, the road up from Macroom passes through a gap between the Boggeragh Mountains to the east and the Derrynasaggart to the west. The River Finnow flows through, on its way to join the mighty Blackwater. It is an area, RICH in history.
When Ireland was first settled in the waning days of the last Ice Age, the area was inhabited by neolitic hunter gatherers, drawn to the mystical high places: the Paps, Clara Mountain, Mushera Mor and Beg. Ordinance Survey maps of the area show relics of that age dotting the landscape. There are raths, and cashels, standing stones, stone circles and rings scattered throughout; the most impressive collection being that at Knocknakilla. An Shrone (The City) is nearby.

During the Celtic Age, the area was home to the OKeefes, McCarthys and the Sullivans and neighbor to the Malloys, Donovans and ODriscolls. King Mahon was murdered atop Mushera while enroute to a peace meeting with Malloy. The foul deed was done by the Desmond clans to remove the upstart from the throne of Munster and replace him with someone more pliable to their schemes. What they reaped, with their treachery instead, was Mahons younger brother -- Brian Boru.

When the Butter Road was built through town in the 1700's, it was a boon to the area. Millstreet bloomed as a convenient resting stop, mid-way between Cork City and Killarney. The 1800's were not so kind. When the railroad was built, the tracks were laid to avoid the village proper. The station sits out of town, to the north, victim to the fears and petty jealousies of the major Landlords in the Big Houses, the Protestant Wallis, the Leaders and the Catholic McCarthy-O'Leary. And so, the tourist trade passed Millstreet by and the town ceased to grow. The major highway (N72) from Mallow to Killarney bypasses Millstreet. A small, Regional Road 'loops down' to pass through town, on its way to reconnect with the N72, in Rathmore, Co. Kerry.

Today, Millstreet functions as a bedroom community for Killarney , Cork City and Mallow; each being nearly equidistant. The Walliss sold out, in the 20s, the Leaders died out, or moved away and the last of the McCarthy-OLearys ( relatives to the OConnors of Caherdaniel) spends her days in Killarney. A local entrepreneur now owns the holdings of both Drishane and Coomlegane. The latterHouse was torn down. In its place stands Green Glen Arena, an equestrian showplace that hosts horse shows, music concerts and other events. In 1003 it was the site of the Eurovision competition, a major international event. Drishane Castle and estate, purchased with the intent to create a luxury hotel and resort, has instead become a haven and housing for an international assortment of refugees.

In short, there is nothing EXCEDINGLY REMARKABLE about Millstreet, but the sum total is greater than the individual parts. The people here are untainted by an overabundance of tourist trade and therefore, neither wear a mask of false greeting, nor display offence or rancor at the presence of outsiders. It is the real Ireland of the 21st century. It is a place of beauty, magic and peaceful reflection; improved by the march of time, yet not polluted by it. It is the land that my wifes ancestors came from, and, in more ways than that, it is a land I would proudly call home. We chose to bring John and Pam here, just as we have brought some of his other brothers and sisters over the years, and his father, before that, so that they could experience that which mere words can not convey.

Itallian Chauffeur · Moderator

Day Nine, Millstreet:

While the main roads MIGHT have had all the signs replaced by new, KM and KPH markings, I can assure all readers that hasn't been universally applied throughout all of rural Ireland, at least as of June. Finally arriving in Millstreet after our circuitous tour, we turned south at the Square, taking the Macroom Road toward our B&B at Ballinatona Farm. The land rises up sharply on both sides of the road, lush and green in a patchwork of stone walled fields. A mile or less from town is a shrine on the left, pointing off toward Knocknakilla. Just south of that, on the right as you continue south is the short, squat stone tower of Kilmedy Castle, and only a few yards farther south is the right hand turn off for the road that winds itself up the hillside to the B&B.
The views are spectacular. The fields are lush and the cows fat and contented. Ballinatona Farm sits about half way up the mountain. It is a modern house, purpose built as a B&B in a large "U" shape, facing West, out over the narrow valley that separates the Darrynasaggarts from the Boggeraghs. Each of the faces of the "U" are walled in glass, built as conservatories to capitalize on the views. The northern one is the dining room, while the southern is two storey, the lower half housing a sitting room, while stairs lead up to the upper half which is a bedroom. Were that we might have stayed in THAT room, but sadly, it was already taken! Still and all, the two rooms we did secure were large,bright and comfortable, so we have no complaints in that regard. All rooms are, of course, en-suite. Just down from the house is a parking area. From there, a moderately steep paved sidewalk leads up to the front door. As we stood about the car, drinking in the views, our hostess emerged from the front door and we got our first inkling that our stay at Ballinatona was not going to be a typical Irish B&B experience. Jetta presented an imposing figure -- lean, athletic and muscular. She is somewhere between her 50s and 60s, as best as I can guess and decidedly Tutonic in appearance and demeanor.

"You are late," she announced. "You have RUINED my day. Down on your knees!"

(I kid you not, folks. Before I started to write this section of the trip report, I double checked with John and Pam and my wife, to make sure that I did not mis-represent, nor misquote). We turned to look at each other, stunned. John quietly reminded us that 'We don't HAVE to stay here' and Pam, speaking more loudly, replied that we had been told that we couldn't occupy our rooms until after 3:00, so had felt no rush to arrive sooner, just to drop off our luggage.
"And you did not even call." She stated.
"No", I repeated. "The girl at the Tourist Board in Killarney said that we could not check in, until AFTER 3:00."
"That was not what they told me. I will have to call them and have words. They are supposed to be professionals! But, come, you are here now. I will show you your rooms."
With that, she turned and went in side, as if inviting (or merely, permitting) us to enter. A brief conference took place there in the parking area as we decided that: a)

It WAS a working farm (high on our list); b) The house appeared to be beautiful and well-maintained; and, c) the views from here were TO DIE FOR! We decided to at least check out the rooms, and see how it went. The house is ideally suited. Within the front door is a mud-room style enclosed entry. Beyond ITS door is a small reception area, replete with a small desk and floor to ceiling bookshelves, filled with a wide assortment of travel related (and socialogical books, magazine and pamphlets covering vast and far flung locales (Southeast Asia, Tibet, Euope, the Middle East). A short set of steps down there is a landing with a small, lighted fountain. From there is the sitting room to the with three or four bedrooms to the rear. Our hostess seemed to have dismissed the issue of our tardiness -- she was all coolly efficient as she showed us the common areas and pointed out the two rooms that were reserved for us. Were we interested in hill walking or hiking, she advised that we could not have chosen a better place to stay. Just be mindful of the bulls when cutting through the fields and we would thoroughly enjoy ourselves, she said. With some small sense of apprehension, we decided to stay. In retrospect, it was a wise decision and I honestly believe that I would stay there again, in spite of our rather unorthodox greeting.

Perhaps it is because of what happened later. My wife thinks so, but I would like to think otherwise.

After a brief pause to unwind, we were back off, upon the road, in order to show off the town and its environs to John and Pam. With just the four of us, the Renault was roomy and comfortable and the large areas of glass and slightly higher stance afforded excellent visibility for viewing the countryside. I drove around, pointing out the townlands where the Great-grandparents had lived and the grandfather had been born, letting everyone soak in the atmosphere and sense of traversing the same ground that he had walked. We stopped in to the Wallis Arms for another dinner that couldn't be beat. Throughout it all, I kept calling and asking for information about a local acquaintance, but was having precious little luck.

I first had the great good fortune of meeting Sean Radley on my second visit to Ireland. My wife and I brought her father and mother for two weeks in June of 2000, on the occassion of the 120th birthday of Jack's father. As part of our visit, I arrainged to meet Sean at the Museum so that Jack could have the opportunity to seek answers to numerous questions raised by our research.

Sean pulled out all the stops, welcoming Jack like a long lost brother and making him an 'honorary citzen' of Millstreet. It doesn't matter that Sean may or may not actually have any authority to do so. Everyone in Millstreet and the surrounding area knows Sean. He is a teacher at the National School, semi-official photo, video and audion recorder of all events, founding member of the LTV2 local access television station, unofficial historian and curator of the local museum. In his spare time, he enjoys travelling, domestically and abroad. He is a remarkably delightfully entertaining and enlightening individual -- a true 'character' in his own right.

I finally received a text message from Sean as we were returning to Ballinatona. He had been at a wedding in Waterford, but would be returning to Millstreet. He arrainged to meet with us the next afternoon. Upon our return to the B&B, John and Pam struck up a pleasant coversation with Tim, our host. From him, we learned that his family had owned this farm for many generations. The current house is at least the third built upon this mountain, each one erected progressively closer to the Macroom Road, 'trying to hasten our escape', as he put it. Tim's sister lives above, in the old house and helps Jetta with the cooking and cleaning. They only farm part-time now and then spend three months of the year traveling. Tim is as lithe, lean and charming as any Irish farmer that I have ever met. Jetta is Danish. They have no children. Tim made us feel very welcome, indeed.

Delighted, we settled into the sitting room at the Farm, looking out down the hillside and watching the long shadows racing over the fields. During that time we compared notes and reviewed our digital pictures. Jetta came in, asking if our afternoon had gone well and what we planned for tommorrow. I can't say that we were rude to her, but we definitely were unfriendly. We told her that we planned to visit Commenatrush Falls along with a few other sites and then meet with 'my friend' in town.
"You have friends here, in Millstreet?" she asked.
"Yes," I replied. We're meeting Sean Radley, in the afternoon."

Now my wife and inlaws claim that from that very moment, our hostess bent over backwards to give us the best of all possible treatment and that it was a direct result of my "name-dropping". I am not so thoroughly convinced, however. I prefer to believe that we had merely misinterpretted her original tone and demeanor and that her true nature was what we experience after the first few minutes.

The next morning we had the best, farm fresh Irish breakfast that I believe that I have ever had. Jetta hovered over us, seeing to it that none of us wanted for anything. She did the same for her other guests, as well, which pretty much seems to bolster MY take on things. They were also Americans, a family of four from the mid-west, with the two children being in their early teens. They left early on, enroute to Shannon, for a flight out the next day.
Jetta offered up lots of interesting information about the Falls, the new Wind Generating Farm (on mountain bog-land leased from her and Tim and numerous other area attractions.

So, I'm thinking, we just got off to a bad start, but given time, everything worked out. My companions say I'm wrong, that it is WHO YOU KNOW.
OPINIONS?

Day 10: More Millstreet, More Babies and More of the cousins:

The day bloomed glorious and sunny. After the aforementioned, ultimate breakfast, we set out to further tour the area. Heading back toward Millstreet on the Macroom Road (the R582, for purists)we turned left onto the road leading past Kilmedy Castle and meandered back onto the mountain. I had a pretty good idea of where we wanted to be from my Discovery Series #79 map and from Jutta's directions and shortly after found us at the Wind Farm. There, in the bowl shaped bog, atop the mountain, they had already erected about a dozen wind turbines, with plans to add 30+ more, eventually. All of the shiny, white turbines were sitting idle, blades tethered and there was no active construction going on (it was a Monday) so I've no real idea how much noise/turbulence/environmental intrusion the giant generating fans might produce when they and their absent companions are all at work, but the idea is certainly intriging in a post-Katrina/Wilma US environment of nearly $3 per gallon gasoline (and who knows how much per gallon, for heating oil and natural gas??).

Just down from the wind farm, I pulled off the road and we walked through the field to the southern ridge, where we discovered that we were actually at the top of the sought after Falls! After enjoying the views and the truely perfect weather for a while, we did a little amature orienteering and realized where we needed to go to access the pool at the bottom of the falls (climbing down a few hundred feet of EXCEDINGLY steep, rocky slope was not a permissible option, said Pam and Patricia!).
What we finally discovered is that we needed to turn off the Macroom Road just as if going to the B&B, save for the last turn off, where the sideroad forks. Ballinatona is the left fork but bearing right, instead took us about a 1/2 mile more to the north, ending at an old farmhouse heavily signposted with FOR SALE and NO TRESSPASSING signs (The farm, complete with approx 44 acres has, in fact, been sold -- it went for about 1/2 Million Euro -- to a local).

We parked there, beside the farmhouse and walk through the drive/ field road running through the property (after an obligatory stop to examine the farm and out-buildings while fantasizing about purchasing the place for ourselves). After an easy walk of about a 1/4 mile, the Falls loomed before us. If you've viewed the pictures link at the beging of this report, I don't have to describe the view and words really can't do it justice. The four of us remained there for a while, lounging on the grass, drinking in the sights and just enjoying the peace and solitude. during the entire time, including the return walk to the car and most of the drive back down off the mountain, we never saw another soul.

We saw our first other human on the drive back out to the road, coming (of course!)in the opposite direction. I squeezed the Renault over into the brush and inched by, listening the whole while as the twigs and sticks tapped and scraped their way down the passenger side of the car. We drove into the Square at Millstreet to grab a quick lunch from the TakeAway and I surveyed the damage -- two long, full length scratches in the clear coat! Ah, well. Guess I shall see just how good that MasterCard MasterRental REALLY is, I thought ...

We ate our lunch in the van, doing a little people watching while we did. Then we drove up to the Museum for our appointment with Sean Radley. I'm never sure how to greet Sean. While he is certainly memorable to us (and often, a true highlight of our trips), we generally only see him for an hour or so, about once a year. Plus, Sean is possessed of the marvelous, 'absent-minded proffessor'that comes from being as incredibly busy as he usually is. So I always preface my greeting with a reminder that we have met before and that I am bringing more of Jack Doody's children to visit Millstreet.

Sean invariably assures me that he remembers us perfectly well, while simultaneously acting for all the world as if he hasn't a clue as to who we are. Then he escorts us into the little museum and proudly shows us the picture that he took of Jack, back in 2000, displayed along with the dozens of other "honored dignitaries" that have visited here. (Brian Dennehey is among those photos. His grandfather used to live in Millstreet, as well.) Sean launches into his wirlwind tour of the place, his talk interrupted by a handful of phone calls and locals that drop in to see him or to pick something up. A County Council member drops by to have Sean take a digital photo of him, to be emailed to some newspaper or other and Sean never misses a beat. Next thing we know, Sean is snapping pictures of Councilman Duggan as he greets "Millstreet's Honored guests"!

Sean leads us down the street to the new coffeshop, where he insists upon buying us beverages and some of the best fresh-baked goods that I have ever eaten. By now, a couple of delightful hours have passed and we reluctantly part company. We are expected in Mallow shortly, to meet the cousins for dinner. I express some aprehension about making it on time due to the circuitous detour and Sean laughs as he tells me to ignore it and 'just drive through'. he detour doesn't apply to locals, he says. There will be a temporary traffic light, at the begining of the one lane stretch. Just wait for it to turn green before proceding, says he. So we take Sean at his word and follow the N72. Damn, if he wasn't right. We make the trip without incident and arrive in Mallow, only a few minutes later than planned.

We met with Sean and several of the cousins at the Hibernian Hotel in the center of Mallow. It is a beautiful, old building that has obviously had some serious renovation work done fairly recently. We ate in one of the bars and the food was quite good AND reasonable. I managed to snatch up the bill while the cousins were distracted and the total for the ten of us came to less than 100 Euro! I was feeling quite pleased with myself, after that uncharachteristic success. We had a great visit, until nearly 11PM before we said our final goodbyes and made our drive back to the B&B in Millstreet. Saying goodbye is never easy for Sean and his wife. It's a bit easier with their children. I suspect it's a generational thing, not wanting to say farewell to people leaving for America, as no doubt, in their day, often times it was goodbye, forever. The mind tells you that you will definitely return, but your heart seems to echo, "Did all the others before, not make that same pledge?"

Day 11:
In the morning, after another terrific, farm-fresh breakfast, we packed up, settled our bill and left the mountain. As we were manuevering the Renault out of the parking area and discussing our stay, we all agreed that, despite our less than hospitable welcome, all of us would stay at Ballinatona again. The setting is that beautiful.

We reluctantly made a slow, final exit from Millstreet. Heading back, toward Killarney, after one more brief stop at the church in Rathmore, we did some last-minute shopping and dropped by the Tourist Office to have them book our rooms in Bunratty, for our final night in Ireland. Then, we dropped back into the Internet Shop next door to peruse the latest baby pictures.

Through this report I have alluded to all the guilt we felt about being in Ireland during the first days of our grandchildren's lives. It was quite genuine, I assure you. Our Granddaughter was 32 days preterm, weighing only 5lbs 8 oz. Because she developed a severe case of jauntice, the hospital would not release her for almost a week. When she finally was able to go home, she weighed only 5 lbs.

Our grandson was only two weeks early, though he weighed in at only 5 lb 9 oz. He was suffering distress and so his labor had been induced. After his birth, his heart rate would drop dramatically and he suffered from apnia, as well. It was over a week before the hospital would release him, and then, it was only after he was fitted with a heart and breathing monitor and both of his parents had undergone Infant CPR training. Every day we phoned both the kids, checking in and getting updates. For our grandson, that included hearing lists of all the test results returned each day (EKG, Cat Scans, spinal taps, etc., etc.) and the growing list of ailments ruled out -- "Good news! The Doctors said that he doesn't have Menningitis!"

Needless to say, it made the whole trip a lot more difficult than I may have expressed thus far. Since then, both babies have thrived, but it was quite unnerving at the time. I spent most evenings reassuring my wife that everything would work out fine. Then, after she had fallen asleep, I would try to convince myself. Even now, I don't know that it would have been any better going through all of that at home, in the States, but there is DEFINITELY something psychologically unnerving about being away from home. It didn't ruin our trip, because the kids were always pretty upbeat and reassurring when we talked to them each day, but it most assurredly damped our enthusiasm a bit!

We left Killarney on the N21, enroute to Bunratty. We stopped into the Tourist Office in Adare for some last minute shopping and then strolled around the town and the park. From the rear parking lot, we walked back into town and dropped into a charming little restraunt. The name escapes me now, but it was only a block or so from the car park and almost directly across the street from one of Adare's hallmark, thatched roof buildings (housing, naturally enough, upscale gift shops), next door to a pharmacy. It was part of one long, interconnected building, although the structure immediately to the left had just recently been demolished, pending some sort of upscale, new construction.

We had some delectable toasted sandwhiches and soup, but the brown bread they served was probably the very best that I have ever tasted. When we complemented the server, she told us that the baker has won several awards for his brown bread. We asked if we could purchase a whole loaf to take with us and our server (who I believe was actually the owner) said that she would see if there was enough to spare. She returned a few moments later with a full loaf, double wrapped in foil and imformed us that it was a complementry GIFT and was adamant about not letting us pay for the bread. (We smuggled it home on the plane and my father-in-law LOVED it!)

Late afternoon found us at our B&B, about a mile or so up the LOW ROAD from the Castle and Folk Park. We drove in to Kathleen's for dinner, then returned to the B&B early to get our packing settled for our departure.
Since the tank on the Renault was nearly empty, I put about four litres worth of gas in and resolved to take advantage of the 'prepaid' tankfull. We had a fine breakfast then headed off to the Airport. I dropped off my companions and the luggage, then looped back around, to the Rental Car Return. When the man came out tocheck me in, he asked how everything had gone. I told him my tale of woe about the rear tire and he walked around to the passenger side to check out the replacement. I just stood there, behind him, my eyes riveted upon the two, long, full-length scratches. The man looked carefully at the new tire, smiled and marked my contract.
"Everything looks fine," says he. "Shall I give ye a lift to the terminal?"

God, do I LOVE Ireland! It is a land, rich in contradictions, where businesses can be so incredibly, frustratingly PIG HEADED about rediculous things, like Insurance Waivers, tire damage caused by bad roads and yet, write off dents and scrapes, as "normal, and customary' wear and tear!

So all ended well, in Ireland and our flights were uneventful until we reached Orlando. There, a tornado had raged through only an hour or so before we arrived, dropping out power in the terminal and backing up numerous flights. We had to cirle the airport for about 45 minutes before there was a gate available, and then, it was so crowded and backed up that it took nearly two hours to get on to the road. John and Pam had ridden down to the airport with us, but they graciously rented a car one-way to home, so that we could instead, make a bee-line to see ouir new Grand-daughter.

It was time to pay the Piper...