Macgillycuddy Reeks
I pack the car and bid farewell to the lads , leaving them to enjoy their fibre rich pellets.
The drive to Caherciveen is spectacular , every bend revealing a picture postcard landscape of the Atlantic coast .
I grab a badly needed coffee in Caherciveen and carry on through Killorglin , where I turn left for Tralee.
I pass through Castlemaine and Milltown . The road climbs steeply to reveal Tralee below in the distance . Tralee is a busy working town that seems a bit more real than the twee tourist heavy Killarney.
From Tralee I head north to Listowel . Dominated by the huge Kerry Foods factory on the outskirts, Listowel has a rich literary and theatrical heritage . The centre of town is home to a statue of Playwright and novelist John B. Keane , who's huge legacy of work includes The Field and Sive.
15 km north of Listowel I arrive in The village of Tarbert where I wait to board the Shannon Ferry to Killimer. While waiting I finish the last of the Durrus cheese and bread, much to the delight of a pair of crows who sat intimidatingly on the bonnet of my car , staring me out of it until I shared some of my artisan treasure.
www.shannonferries.com
The ferry was very busy , a mix of trucks and delivery vans jockeyed for space with caravans and cars.
The crossing is pleasant, taking only 20 mins and saves a couple of hours driving .
Shannon Ferry
I disembark from the ferry and head north through the seaside towns of Kilrush and Kilkee , both winding down from the summer season. I pass Donald Trumps latest purchase at Doonbeg, a typically understated sign at the entrance leaving no doubt who the boss was!
Trump International Doonbeg
After passing through Milltown Malbay I travel along the coast , arriving in Lahinch.
Lahinch plays host to thousands of surfers every year, drawn by the big waves and lively night life . Lahinch was also the location to one of the greatest comedy deaths ever witnessed. Many years ago I arrived in lahinch with Comedians Jason Coughlan , now RedFM breakfast show host , and J P Quinn , resident D J at Havana Browns in Cork. Three young very inexperienced comedians , determined to take lahinch by storm. The three of us squeezed into the front of my Fiat Scudo van , P.A. System and speakers in the back.
We had been booked to play in one of the bars on the Main Street by a friend of Jason's , lured with promises of a great crowd and a bed in his mothers house. We arrived to find a stage roughly the the size of milk crate , made of what looked remarkably like , well , a milk crate.
Undeterred we set up the Mic and speakers and awaited the adoring crowds to arrive.
The crowd filled up , including the promoters mother , who's house we were going to be staying in. She sat right at the front , and began drinking at a rate normally seen in people found wandering the Sahara desert. By show time she was shouting encouragement , banging the bar for emphasis.
J P did quite well as the opening act , the crowd boisterous but happy.
Then I took to the stage .
I opened with some ground breaking material about the differences between men and women , which our landlady for the night took as personal attack on her and grew visibly angry . Without the experience or skill to deal with the barrage of expletives being showered on me I simply tried to talk over her. This tactic only angered her more , as she loudly withdrew the offer of a bed for the night.
In the space of 10 minutes I had single handedly poisoned the atmosphere in the pub and left us homeless for the night. I quietly left the stage , handing the mic to Jason who had the unenviable task of facing the crowd next. This he did , and with some success , thankfully.
Homeless, dejected and with morale very low we decided the only sensible course of action was to go to the disco and get hammered. Getting hammered proved to be well within our skill set and by the end of the night confidence had been restored. However, there was still the issue of no accommodation . The solution was parked on the Main Street , an so we took our sleeping bags and bedded down for the night in the back of the van amongst the speakers and tool boxes.
We awoke on the Sunday morning , the sight and smell of three hungover comedians in the back of an airless van an attack on all the senses. The bed I'd made out of speakers had shifted during the night , leaving me folded between them , my back twisted in a way never intended by nature. To escape I opened the side door of the van and slid gracefully head first onto the footpath, followed by John and JP , the 3 stooges, ready to fight another day!
I leave lahinch and drive through Ennistymon to my destination for the night, Doolin.
Doolin is a tiny seaside village in the North of Clare, overlooked by the Cliffs of Moher and departure point for Arran Island ferries. The village is very busy with tourists , a mix of young backpackers and families. There are many choices of accommodation , with hostels , b&b's and a hotel, but I choose to camp and pitch my tent in O Connor's Riverside Camping and Caravan Park.
campingdoolin.com
The tent goes up quickly and realising I'm short a guy rope I quickly fashion one from the handle of an Arnotts carrier bag , Bear Grylls eat your heart out.
The campsite is well equipped , with a shop , showers and games room with WiFi.
I make use of the WiFi and shower and make the short trip across the road to Fitzpatrick's Bar in search of nourishment.
Fitzpatrick's is a large bar with a restaurant at the rear , where I get seated immediately . I order the catch of day , fresh cod and open the book I'd brought with me. As I read, an elderly gentleman entered the restaurant and asked if it's okay to sit at my table.
"Of course" I answered .
This initially caused some confusion to the waiting staff, perplexed at the notion of two strangers sitting at the same table . Eventually they accept that I don't mind the gentleman sharing the table and take his order.
I broke the silence with some general chit chat about the weather and our surroundings. It was only when the subject of former Taoiseach , Albert Reynolds , funeral came up that my new companion Noel became animated .
Noel tells me about growing up in Leitrim and remembers Albert Reynolds taking money at the door of the dance hall he ran in Roosky. By the time we'd finished our dinner I'd heard Noel's life story , from growing up in 1940's Leitrim to moving to New York in 1964 where he worked as a butcher in Queens and drove taxis in Manhattan . He spoke of the heavy drinking that claimed his brother , and how he never married and the loneliness that he sometimes felt now at 72. A fascinating man , he thanked me for the chat and wished me luck with my trip .
After dinner I take a seat at the bar amongst the backpackers and holiday makers to enjoy a couple of pints and the trad music session that was in full swing . The session was made up of local musicians and a older couple from America. A young Dublin man with a Guitar was invited to sing a song. Reluctant at first he sang two songs in a surprisingly soulful voice.
It was lovely to watch the trad musicians respectfully watching the young guy as he sang his song , even though it was a different genre a couple of the players eventually joined in with guitar and flute, lifting the guys confidence in doing so.
Pint and a Drop
After a couple of pints and a couple of small ones I waddle back to campsite , where I find the opening of the zip of the tent door has increased in difficulty by a factor of ten. After some cursing and biting of tongue I'm in the tent and zipped into my sleeping bag .
Tomorrow Galway .
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