Day 14 / Monday, 24 September 2012
A damp morning and since we were not technically in a B&B, there would be no breakfast on the premises. Jill knocked on the door around 8:30 and said they couldn’t be ready at nine because they’d slept rough … and that was fine. It took me longer to do everything—go up and down stairs, walk across the street, eat breakfast—due to my two pneumonia symptoms (huffing and puffing, and legs that felt like lead), so a little delay took the pressure off me.
Except, as it turns out, we needed every moment of that delay: Margaret and I took a load of bags to the car and discovered a flat tire. Actually, a flat tire on a rental car in Ireland shouldn’t come as a surprise—I read somewhere years ago that it is more common than not having a flat. Certainly Gerry and I had one on the 2003 trip (we did not on the 2006 trip, but we drove two different cars in two different weeks, so that may have had something to do with it).
So we stood there for a moment on the nearly empty Kenmare street (see the photo), wondering what we should do next (OK, OK, we knew what to do next—remove the spare tire from the trunk—we just weren’t in the mood, at 8:35 a.m., to do it). And about that time, a man drove by in a little beat-up Celica (I think it was a Celica).
“Do ye need some help?” he said in that lilting Kerry accent. The Kerry brogue is nearly unintelligible to me, but I had the presence of mind to realize he was offering help, and said, “Yes, yes, oh, God bless you, yes!”
“I’ll go around,” he said, swirling his hand in a circle. Kenmare’s main shopping district is a triangle, and traffic only flows one way; he was already past us. He took off. Margaret and I looked at each other; we may have giggled with relief. 🙂
And then there he was, all business and speed, changing the tire and the whole time keeping up a monologue of advice about what to do about the tire—don’t call the rental car company, just go get the tired fixed—and how much to pay. Most of which I could not understand. 🙂
His beautiful black dog got out of his car with a tennis ball in his mouth and coerced me into playing with him: he’d thrust the ball out along the street with his nose, and I’d kick it back.
“He’ll do that forever,” his owner said. “Never gets tired of it.”
Finally he was done, wouldn’t take money for his efforts, and Margaret and I needed a pot of tea in the worst way. So we ambled on into the Lansdowne Arms Hotel—directly across the street from our lodging and where we’d been headed before we noticed the flat tire—for breakfast. I called Alli quickly and told them to take more time because now we were getting a late start.
The Lansdowne Arms was lovely. Very civilized. We were greeted and seated and had a pot of tea in about two minutes. I’ve just read this is a family-owned hotel, so I suspect the woman who did all three of those things (it’s just not that busy at that hour of the morning in Ireland) was a family member. I explained to her about our tire situation and she got me a name and directions before we left.
Soon Jill and Alli showed up to have some breakfast, and while they were finishing up, I left to get the tire fixed. No sense in taking everyone, so the other three walked around Kenmare and shopped, since now it was around ten o’clock.
The shop was about five miles outside of town. Of course, five miles feels like a hundred when you don’t know exactly where you are going and you’ve left the metropolis (Kenmare is pop. 1,700) behind.
While I stood there, camera in hand, it began to rain. And then it was a regular ol’ cloudburst.
By the time the rain passed, the tire was plugged. The shop owner, Mike, had “essential tremor” and shook a little, but not when he worked. He was very efficient and nice; the tire cost just ten euro to fix.
So—a little delay, but not enough to ruin the day. I drove back to Kenmare, loaded up the gals, and we were back on track. We were on our way to the Dingle Peninsula. Alli had especially requested that our itinerary include Dingle, and I understood: I’d been here in 2003 and had fallen in love with the place. Those gorgeous, velvet-soft hills on the peninsula were like nothing I’d ever seen before.
But first we had to traverse Macgillycuddy’s Reeks. This is the rugged terrain in between Kenmare and Killarney National Park, all along the N71.
It was raining off and on but we stopped all along the way to take photos, finally arriving at Ladies’ View on the southwest end of the park. So-called because Queen Vicki passed through here in 1861, and her ladies-in-waiting thought the view was quite nice. And it is.
Once you’re in Killarney, you grab the N72 for about two miles, and then the R563. So you’re off the fancy road. 🙂 You continue northwest to Milltown (pop. 838), where you pick up the N70 for a couple miles until you get to Castlemaine (pop. 187), where you hang a sharp left onto the R561. This is where things get really interesting. The R561 hugs the southern coast of the Dingle Peninsula, and I do mean hug. Pull up Google Maps and have a look.
I have never had a problem with mountain driving, but them I’m always the driver. These extremely narrow roads with no shoulder, just a sheer drop-off, weren’t as easy for the passengers. When we got to the magnificent strand (beach) at Inch, we stopped for a breather. 🙂
The last ten miles from Inch into Dingle town veer away from the water’s edge, which was a little relief. We stopped several places
And then we were in Dingle (pop. 1,929). Dingle town—after all the tiny villages and hairpin curves you have to traverse to get here, which make you feel like you’re on the edge of the world—is bigger than you think it will be. It was also a lot more touristy than I remembered (and yet it had some of the nicest shops).
We found our B&B easily, but no one was home (it was only noon-ish, though; people have things to do), although there was washing out on the line, so they hadn’t gone far. So we went back into town for lunch.
It’s so hard to decide on a restaurant when you are driving in a crowded town. But—being still short on breath—I didn’t have the energy to walk the whole, hilly town to decide where to eat after the stressful drive, so we ended up in a place that wasn’t all that great … but would do.
The itinerary called for a spin around the Slea Head drive (pronounced SLAY Head)—a tour of the very tip of the peninsula that offers not only spectacular scenery but also some very interesting antiquities. It was, in fact, what we’d come to Dingle for, and I thought the setting sun would be nice. (We were, after all, in the spot at which one could truly say, “Next stop, America” … or at least “Next stop, Newfoundland.”) It was 1:30 and we’d be done by 5:00, with plenty of time to relax. However, Jill and Alli wanted to shop, so it was decided to do the drive in the morning.
We went our separate ways to shop—mostly because I just can’t keep up. And Margaret and I found many nice places to shop! Ha. We learned there is no VAT on books or children’s clothes. (I bought two books: High Shelves & Long Counters, and Ireland Unhinged. Margaret also purchased the former; we were amused to see we’d discovered it independently of one another.) Alli wanted to find the pub at which the movie Leap Year was filmed … but as you might guess, no part of it was actually made here, though the town figures largely in the plot.
Finally we made contact with the B&B, subsequently ran into Jill and Alli, and were off to our lodgings, the lovely Tower View B&B run by the delightful Mary Griffin. Of course, first I had to get lost finding the car, because that’s my way. 🙂 If I don’t have a map I get panicky, and I can get “turned around” easier than anyone you know. And all that walking in the rain. Good grief!
Tower View B&B is quite nice; I’d definitely stay here again. (I think it’s been featured in Rick Steves’s travel books,* so if you are coming during spring or summer, you should reserve way ahead. Like now.) Mary and her husband keep a small “petting zoo” (surely for the Yanks!) and an immaculate home with lovely rooms. Their dog, Benji, begins to herd the sheep the minute he has an audience.
We didn’t go out that night, just spent it quietly reading and getting to bed early for a change. (I worked.) We’d need to get an early start, since the Slea Head drive had been moved into a day that had a very long drive. And a ferry ride!
* It should be noted I have a different preference in guide books.
In Kenmare, the tire-changer’s black dog was exactly the sort of dog I love. He was—in the words of a dog rescue organization I try to support—a Big Fluffy Dog. He wasn’t overly familiar, didn’t feel the need to poke me with his nose; he also wasn’t restless, didn’t need to be called back. He was a dog of good behavior. But then … he spent a lot of time doing what you see here.
He was completely fixated on that tire—head pointed down, standing stock-still. What was it about that tire?
I’ll tell you: he’d dropped his small ball through that hole. None of us saw that. He waited and waited, then lay down next to the tire, never taking his eyes from it. When his master lifted the spare, the source of his anxiety was revealed, rolling toward the curb. (Not for long: the dog snapped it up again, ready to resume his game of catch with me.)
Tags: Kenmare, Dingle, Tower View B&B, Slea Head drive, Iveragh Peninsula, Dingle Peninsula, Macgillycuddy’s Reeks, Ladies’ View