Ireland: Day 4 – Driving along the Western Coast

In the morning, I drove the short distance from my accommodation to Dunguaire Castle, which rises above the sea by the village of Kinvarra. Learning from yesterday’s experience, I left the car by the side of the road rather than in the parking lot (though I am still not sure whether the latter charges a fee). I did not spend much time at the castle though. Since it was still closed, I walked along the road taking pictures before I decided to leave again.

Yesterday’s drive left my gas running quite low, so I made sure to search for a gas station where I could stop by in the morning. Luckily, there was one right in Kinvarra. Once I had refuelled, I continued westward to Corcomroe Abbey – another ruined structure whose community had disbanded by the time Henry VIII dissolved the monasteries. I found the last section of the drive quite interesting. Once I left the main road, the paths I followed were very rural, and I even had to stop for farmers herding cows from one opened gate to another.

Rising steadily from the abbey, the landscape around me changed from green valleys to rocky cliffs that stretched as far as the eye could see. At the top of one such rocky cliff I found my next destination: the Poulnabrone Dolmen. Built on a karst field some six thousand years ago, the dolmen predates even the ancient structures of Brú na Bóinne in the east. It was the site of several burials, which occurred between the years 3800 and 1400 BCE. The weather was showing signs of clearing up, and the sun occasionally illuminated the ancient stones to great effect.

I reached the westernmost point of today’s journey at the Cliffs of Moher, which tower as high as a hundred and fifty metres above the sea. I knew that the cliffs are among Ireland’s most visited sites, but I was still quite shocked when I was ushered into a massive and quickly filling parking lot, and when, walking towards the cliffs, I found numerous spiffy stores flanking the path. The entire area was swarmed by tourists. I would add the qualification “from all over the world,” but despite the presence of a few Mandarin-speakers, the vast majority of the accents I heard had a distinctively nasal American tinge.

From the Cliffs of Moher, I turned the car southeast and drove to Limerick. After walking along the river and eating lunch, I visited King John’s Castle, named after the infamous King John, who subjugated Ireland and forced its population to accept English Law. However, a significant portion of the exhibition was dedicated to the two sieges of Limerick, which seem to be a focal point of Irish national pride. During the first, the vastly outnumbered Jacobite troops were able to defend themselves against the Englis Williamites, even accepting the aid of women in pummelling their opponents from the castle walls. The resistance did not last, however, and the city was allowed to surrender on favourable terms in 1691 when confronted with a second, much more destructive siege. 10,000 men and 4,000 women and children were subsequently allowed to emigrate to France, which has since been termed “the Flight of the Wild Geese.” The aftermath of the siege was an even tighter English control over political and public life in Ireland.

My trip from Limerick to my accommodation in Portmagee was to take three hours, so I decided to break it up with a stop at a supermarket two thirds of the way. After I left with my provisions of bread, cheese, and bananas, I turned on the radio to find that my favourite presenter on RTE Lyric, Lorcan Murray, has gone on holiday. I have become quite a fan of the station, which has a good balance of mainstream content to relatively obscure finds. I am glad, for example, that it introduced me to the works of Florence Price and the Irish composer Bill Whelan. Perhaps this is why I have developed a practically Pavlovian response to hearing the voice of Murray and his colleague Liz Nolan.

As I drove on, I started thinking about the Irish sceneries I had seen so far. Visitors often rhapsodise on the beauty of the Emerald Isle, but I could not help thinking that they must have never visited Great Britain properly. It was then that the sun burst through the clouds and beautiful mountains emerged to the southwest. I soon found a place to pull over from which I could photograph a particularly scenic river under their peaks.

The landscape only became more beautiful from there. Driving along the coast, I saw hills rising above the sea in several layers, with their blue-green palette warmed by a profuse helping of yellow beaches. Impulsively, I decided to hang a right towards Rossbeigh, hoping that I might get closer to the sea and be able to properly view the mountains. What I found exceeded my expectations. I arrived at a long peninsula flanked by sandy beaches on both sides and holding huge grass-covered dunes in the middle. Numerous groups of people were relaxing and bathing against the shadow of the western mountains on the sun-facing beach. The eastern beach was calmer and offered less dramatic views.

Unable to decide between the two, I decided to explore the middle, and spent a good half an hour clambering up and down the towering dunes along little paths made by previous visitors. Oftentimes, the paths would transform into trails in the sand, which began to slide under my feet as soon as I stepped on them. I found out that the best way to climb down a dune is to simply make a mad run for it while hoping that sand and shoe do not end up in fateful union.

I later learned that the beach I saw to the north was another peninsula: the two face off across the bay, Rossbeigh Strand from the south, and Inch Beach from the north. Meanwhile, the hills I had found so beautiful belonged to the Dingle Peninsula, from which Inch Beach protrudes into the sea. As I rode off, I ascended steeper mountains towards the west and watched the beautiful Rossbeigh Strand shrink in my rearview mirror.

Only with today’s drive have I begun to fully appreciate Ireland’s beautiful and diverse scenery. Making my way up the hill, I saw the long grass make room for huge ferns, which both subsided in favour of teeming, jungle-like forests. Occasionally, a pine grove would spring up, while at other times the road was lined with shrubs of orange flowers or tall bushes speckled with red. A little farther inland, a ray of sunshine spilled onto the side of a mountain, illuminating its vast purple expanse of heather.