Day 3 – Harbortown

Having sorted out the brief temporal disturbance, and realizing that we’d almost missed breakfast, we sat down to a feed of sausages, bacon, black and white pudding, eggs and lashings (yes Enid Blyton is alive and well…) of tea and coffee. Our fry in seems to be lacking in potato bread and soda bread, that which makes for the famed Ulster fry. Though I’m not sure I want to make breakfast into a political statement by asking for some. I did wear my Ireland rugby top, though I admit that of all our sports tops that’s the least likely to be politically offensive, unlike the Man United top, which although politically neutral generates a whole new brand of sectarian hatred in everyone’s hearts.

The drive to Westport was wet and bumpy and almost resulted in a serious car accident when some Muppet pulled out in front of the office.

We kept getting stuck in queues of traffic outside chapels in small towns, as legions of the faithful piled out from mass into the narrow streets to escape the rain.

Just as we approached the doo lough pass the skies began to clear giving us a vista over the hills of Connemara, transporting us from the cloudy damp west coast or Irelandglen.jpg to somewhere just outside Glencoe. If this is somewhere in Ireland you haven’t visited then make a point of visiting it.

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The view did bring about a brief period of giddiness and some minor nudity (note – arses have been [poorly] altered to disguise identity) among the lads but this passed before it was drawn to the attention of the local Gardai (all one of them).

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From there the road followed the river out to where it entered Kilary harbour, the only fjord in Ireland (said in a Father Ted “I hear t’is the largest launduret department in Ireland…” stylee). This is another place you need to see.

At the head of the harbour are the Aasleagh falls. Again worth seeing. In fact it’s all good and I’ll leave the Bord Failte stuff to … Well.. Bord Failte I suppose.

I have this unforgettable places to see before you die book. Which is a bit of morbid and strange title but anyhow… And Kilary harbour is in there, along with the Giant’s Causeway. So I suppose that’s two done. The idea of box-ticking travelling now repels me – even though it didn’t only 2 years ago. Funny how you don’t notice things change in you.

library-5388.jpgWe stopped briefly at Kylemore abbey – a big kick ass 19th century mansion place that was taken over (though not in the military sense) by a bunch of nuns from Ypres who lost their convent (in the military sense) in France during WW2 and were given refuge in Ireland. To be fair they could have done worse, ending up in a mansion running an exclusive boarding school. Vows of poverty eh? Who needs em?

library-5301.jpgAnd so eventually we come to Clifden, a nice wee village that’s seen the benefit of some N6 Euros from Dublin, and now sports a spanking new hotel complex with a mini shopping arcade below.

We get the last room in the place. And while more pricey than a room above a pub in Newport it does give us access to a jacuzzi.

Of note this has been a bit of a soft, southern shandy drinking road trip for Nelly. Yes I do like sleeping in my car, yes I do enjoy not washing for several days in a row and eating cold noodles off a trangia. But I suppose road trip is more about the collective than the individual. And the collective isn’t up for the back of the Volvo (in any sense!!!) or cold noodles or not washing. And well to argue would just be rude wouldn’t it. Yes, rude, wouldn’t dare… Oh yes could you fluff another pillow for my back please… Ahhh…

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