Irish rain

Last time I was in Ireland (2005) it didn’t rain much. In fact I remember the landlady of the B&B in Waterford telling us how it had been an unprecedentedly dry week. Well, today made up for that unprecedented dry spell.

I was up at 6:30 and went for a walk up the promenade when the rain started and, basically, it didn’t stop all day. I tell a lie. There was a short period when we were driving along in the car when we saw a bit of blue sky and JJ turned the windscreen wipers off but it lasted about two minutes and could be discarded as an aberration.

We discovered the indispensable plastic poncho which should be the essential bit of Irish travelling kit. JJ spotted someone wearing a branded poncho at Kylemore Abbey. We instantly purchased one each (an absolute bargain at €4.50) and remained dryish for the rest of the day. Of course, anyone of normal height will still get wet jeans from the knees down but those fortunate enough to be short are, basically, wearing a tent. The cars heater was used to dry our shoes.

Kylemore Abbey is in a gorgeous spot. It sits on the edge of a massive lake with wonderful views all around. Or so we’ve been led to believe. We didn’t see very much of any view through the constantly driving rain. Thank goodness for our plastic ponchos!

Still, we persevered and went into the Abbey. A few of the rooms are open to visitors while the vast majority of it is closed because of the Benedictine nuns who are still wandering around somewhere deep inside. Not that it mattered, the rooms that are open are still quite fascinating.

A lovely little house in the country

The Abbey, before it was an Abbey, was built for the doctor and industry tycoon, Mitchell Henry after his wife (Margaret, the raven haired beauty) fell in love with the spot while they honeymooned in the Connemara. Mitchell, who was very much in love with Margaret, built her a massive house that looked a lot like a castle. They called it Kylemore.

Tragically, Margaret died quite unexpectedly while in Egypt having contracted dysentery. Heart broken, Mitchell had a small Gothic church built in her memory. The church, known locally as the cathedral in miniature, is beautiful. The normally harsh Gothic features were softened into a more feminine style. Even with a horde of people in it, the peace and softness was still apparent.

The Abbey, was also quite lovely. After the Henrys, it was almost purchased by King Edward VII as a royal residence but he decided it was too expensive for a king and didn’t bother. It was purchased, instead by an inveterate gambler and his incredibly wealthy wife – never a good combination. It then passed to a banker who never lived there.

Eventually the Benedictine nuns managed to get enough spare cash to buy it. This was in 1920 and they’ve been there ever since. They make soap and chocolate, hopefully not confusing them, and pass their lives in quiet contemplation of the non existent. And Kylemore is the perfect place to do it. Mind you, ignore their sign that asks if you’ve tried there great coffee because it’s not, as JJ will avow.

I seriously can’t help adding this photo, although JJ just might complain about it. We found this strange bear and couldn’t resist.

Yogi Bear

We were sorely tempted to visit the walled Victorian Garden but, while standing at the junction looking at the weather, our shoes soaking up the rain, we decided to head back to the car and look for some lunch.

We ended up in Clifden, which has a very popular one way system. It is also very generous in that you get to see the entire town as you slowly move with the traffic. The best thing about the Clifden one way system is when a car pulls out in front of you and you get the only empty car space. Genius. We didn’t need an invitation.

A great pub with wonderful food

Lunch at EJ Kings was delicious (some vegetable soupy thing for JJ, bacon and blue cheese salad for unfussy me) and rinsed down with beer and a mesmerising game of badminton on the telly. And here is the power of the Olympics. We knew nothing about badminton when we entered the pub; we were experts by the time we left, the Irish woman leading the match by one set.

We were driving the whole circle around the Connemara and had been advised by Sean at the B&B (actually we both instantly forgot his name the moment he introduced himself, which is just awful, but we are sure it was something Irish so we called him Sean) to check out the Dog Beach. The only reason I could see for it to be called the Dog Beach was because there’s dog poo bags on posts and one, used one, on the ground. There was also quite a lot of wind and rain.

An Irish beach

We walked up the hill and rapidly returned with the ferocious wind giving us a helping hand. Fortunately we were wearing our wonderful plastic ponchos so we remained dry. We then drove back to the B&B, almost getting hopelessly lost under my, as usual, expert navigation. (I have no idea why I didn’t think to bring Linda as she would have made things a lot easier.)

A delightful vegetarian dinner was had at an Indian restaurant. Leaving the over heated eatery, we decided to go for a bit of a wander in the cool air…and drizzly rain. We walked all the way up to Eyre Park before coming back down Quay Street, shunning the people trying to sell us unbeatable entrance to various night spots. Arriving at Jurys Inn, we decided a quick beer would be the best thing to set us up for the walk back to the B&B.

About four hours later we emerged having thoroughly enjoyed ourselves with beer, song and watching the Perfect Family.

The songs were provided by a couple of guys with guitars who managed to play for a very long time without a break, getting the small bar singing along and, eventually, having a bit of a jig. They played a variety of old popular songs and standards including On Raglin Road, a personal favourite.

Sitting just a table away from us was the Perfect Family. Mum (who looked remarkably like Delia Smith), Dad, two daughters, a son and an uncle. They were amazing. They knew all the songs and sang along with increasing gusto. They were determined to have a good time and had one together.

One of the most memorable songs was Galway Girl (Cause her hair was black and her eyes were blue) which we quickly learned and ended up singing twice – they finished their marathon set with an encore of it to the great joy of the bar.

The place was having a fine old time, even the old bloke sitting directly opposite who JJ wasn’t keen on talking to, who managed to sleep through most of it while nursing his glass of brandy. It seemed odd but the Less Than Perfect Family sitting next to JJ (sour faced mum, oddly over dressed daughter and bored looking dad) enjoyed it all as well.

The whole atmosphere of the place was one of joy unconfined with copious amounts of beer flowing (though JJ couldn’t get a glass of water because they have a strange rule about not serving women water after midnight) and an increasing number of men grabbing women to dance with. One of them tried to grab JJ but she repelled him, shattering his confidence for a bit. His confidence quickly returned when he twirled a rather grim woman off a bar stool for a spin around the very crowded and terribly makeshift dance floor.

All in all, we had a fabulous time, ostensibly waiting for the rain to stop, which did when the guys eventually stopped singing. We staggered back to the B&B (giving a violinist on the bridge the remains of our dinner which JJ had been carrying around in a paper bag), getting to bed after 2am. It’s tiring being Irish.