Cliffs of Moher. Saturday 23rd May 2009.

We found ourselves at College Bay just a few minutes drive from our cottage and stumbled across an oyster farmer, Jim Lyons, as he tended his babies. “Hi there” I shouted across the sand. “Are you busy?” I asked. “Never too busy for a chat” came his reply; you gotta love the Irish, they love a chin wag that’s for sure. Jim was lovely and more than happy to share his years of knowledge about his much loved oysters. He cut some of his little beauties from their beds and proudly showed them off to us. We bade him goodbye and he yelled after us, “Do ya want a few dozen to take with you?” It was unfortunate our kitchen was in such a state that we have decided that we could not eat at home so we had to decline. I will just have to imagine how divine they would be.

Tiny Carrigaholt led to the seaside village of Kilkee where Mary McGreene was selling winkles and dillisk (sea-grass) fresh from the sea. She pried a winkle from deep within its shell and gave it to me to try. I liked it and it filled my mouth with the taste of the ocean.

The grey morning peeled away and the day transformed to soft, powder blue. We arrived at The Cliffs of Moher early afternoon and stayed for hours. We were transfixed with their beauty and the wildness of Clare’s coastline. We walked to the highest point and then climbed over a low fence (with everyone else), passed a ‘no trespassing’ sign and walked onto a dirt path that lead skyward along the tops of the cliffs. The cliffs plunged into the ocean below whose waves crashed relentlessly against them, the noise they made was hypnotic. AJ and I lay with our heads at the cliff edge, 250 metres between us and the ocean. The sun was balmy and it was a perfect moment.

We drove home via the famous Doonbeg Golf Club; we only stopped a while for a little sticky beak. It was about 8.30pm by the time we drove back to Carrigaholt and we were looking for some live music. We asked a lady by the name of Carol where we could find some and she said to come inside as some people had been singing at the bar. They weren’t by the time we arrived so Carol launched into an impromptu solo, her song was mournful and she sung with sweetness in her voice.

Around the corner form the bar was The Long Dock Restaurant. We ordered just before the 9pm closing of the kitchen. I had a simple prawn cocktail loaded with prawns caught from the bay just outside the restaurants door. It was just what I needed and was served with brown soda and butter – lovely.

County Clare Here We Come. Friday 22nd May 2009.

The drive was only about 300km from Cavan to Cross in County Clare but took us from 9.30am until after 2pm with all the wee villages and Sunday drivers who were out and about. Christina’s directions from Cavan to Clare were spot on and we found the little cottage on the bay without any problems at all. The Cottage is pale lemon with a field of green decorated with bright yellow buttercups out the front and is right on the bay where the Shannon River meets the vast Atlantic Ocean. Michael later tells me that people come to his bay that sparkles a silvery sheen, to collect winkles at low tide; they hide under the rocks and are a big industry here in the summer months. It is paradise and the sun has come out to play and welcome us to our new home whose walls are hung with happy memories of family times and holidays. We are here for the next six nights.

We find the keys hidden exactly where Christina said she would leave them. While we are in their home Christina is on a cruise with her Mum and Sisters in Spain and her hubby, Michael, is staying with his parents only ½ a mile up the road. They have just finished a 9 month home-exchange trip to America and Australia and say they would live in Oz if they could...” maybe one day”, Michael says. It was very good of them to give us a week here at Cross and a week in Cavan as they did not stay in our home on their trip, they kept the 2 weeks up their sleeve just in case they stayed a little longer than expected.

It was such a nice day we headed out to explore our new neighbourhood as soon as we could. We drove the coastal Loop Head Drive and parked the car at the lighthouse at the end. It was so pretty there I couldn’t help but smile. The cliffs dropped off sharply to what seemed like miles below and the water crashed against the rocks at their base. The cliff tops where we stood were as flat as a table top and were covered in the strangest vegetation. Green clumps of spongy, mossy growth had plopped themselves about the place and were interspersed with pale purple wild flowers, gosh it was gorgeous and you all know I am certainly not the botanical type. We stood at the most Western point of County Clare looking out over the vast Atlantic Ocean, America was nowhere in sight. Along a little further the vegetation changed to a thick spongy grass. AJ lay down in it, it was as soft as a mattress. Loop Head is one very special place and I have heard that there is a legend about it, I must ask Christina and Michael to find out for me.

The sun was beginning to hang low in the sky. We stopped at Keating’s Bar at Kilbahar to have dinner. I had an Irish cider, JR a Smithwick’s and AJ a hot chocolate. We sat outside overlooking the tiny fishing harbour; the fishermen were finishing for the day. I met Michael, a local fisherman who runs charters and it was not long before I had organised for him to host the three of us for a day’s fishing the following day. In the end we decided not to go as he was going out from 9am until 5pm and we did not have a full day to spare.

For dinner I had a seafood chowder made with seafood caught from the bay outside. Why they had to add crab sticks I have no idea, it was a shame when the fresh seafood was so plentiful and tasty. The owner lit the fire and chatted to us inside. The whole place joined in, there was a John Howard, a local funeral director, at the next table, some wayward travellers from Miami at the next and of course a bar full of local fishermen including our new friend Michael. We had a lovely night.

Unfortunately when we returned home we had to spend until 2am cleaning and washing sheets, towels etc. It certainly is interesting to see how different people live.

Goodbye Lilly and Rob, Hello Foxy Loxy. Thursday 21st May 2009.

The day had come for Lilly and Rob to return home to Belfast. Tomorrow, we too would leave Cavan behind to travel south to Cross, in County Clare.

Rob, JR and AJ went into town to pick up our hire car, returned home for a cup of tea and we waved Lilly and Rob goodbye. I hope they are leaving with the same wonderful memories as we all have of our time together in the wet and cold Cavan. It has been a great week with lots of chat and belly laughs. Love you Lilly and Rob and we will miss you.

Behind the Radisson Hotel in town is the beginning of quite a few walks around lakes and through green and damp forests. We three headed off to stretch our legs and get out to see a bit more of this pretty area. I left my camera in the car by mistake, a shame, as I saw a timid fox on our walk which would have made a great photo. He stopped on the pathway in front of me; we stared at each other, both not game to move for about 30 seconds, after which he disappeared into the thick growth never to be seen again. It was a lovely sight, his bushy tail the last piece of him I saw as it followed him to safety.

Sligo. Tuesday 19th May 2009.

Hah! Rob and JR were navigating today. Between those two numskulls and the Irish road signs which often pointed in the wrong direction, we had no hope! There were renegade sheep along the way blocking the road. A mother with her black faced lamb were sleeping in the sun – yes, sun! It was only momentary.

We wandered around Sligo and found the historic Hargadon Bros. for lunch where I had a steak sandwich. The warm apple sponge for dessert was gorgeously soft and lay on a moist bed of sweet apple. The heavens opened up outside so we only wandered a while. W.B. Yeats, the Irish Poet is everywhere here, including this rather hideous statue by the Garavogue River.

A few miles out of town is Strandhill overlooking Strandhill Bay and Harbour. I’m sure it is just lovely on a sunny day but that wasn’t to be today. The dreary weather didn’t deter the surfers that were out on their boards. If they think this is surf I would love to see them back in Oz. The waves were piddly. Rob treated and ice-cream (a 99) and we ate them in the warmth of the car and headed to Rosses Point around the bay.

I didn’t want to miss seeing W.B. Yeats grave at Drumcliffe Church. Outside was a memorial to Yeat’s Great Grandfather who was a pastor here. It was a lovely place with old tombstones remembering passed loved ones. Yeats grave was disappointing as it was a new version, I would have preferred an old, weathered tombstone with faded letters and a little moss but that’s just the romantic in me.

JR and Rob were at it again, I could not tell you the roads we travelled to get home to Cavan – late. We did pass the lovely Parke’s Castle and saw a rainbow’s end as it fell into a lake in the rain.

Lilly and I began a puzzle together after dinner. We didn’t get passed the first word. If any of you can help, we need a word of six letters, ending in X, the first letter and the fifth letter are the same but cannot be an A, just email me your answer, thanks.

The Tourist Trail From Hell and More Laughs Than You Can Poke a Stick At. Sunday 17th May 2009.

We often laugh at the Irish for their funny ways – after today I can see why. We began a tourist trail covering the countryside of Cavan and surrounding drumlins for which we had found a glossy, fold out map and directions at the Cavan tourist office. What a disaster it was! The rain fell on and off all day, the heavens seemed to open up when John and Rob decided to climb a stile to go for a pee up a lane way.

Our first stop on the trail was at ‘The Workhouse’ in the tiny village of Bawnboy. The workhouse was barricaded off with no trespassing signs all over it. Why have something on a tourist trail if you are not allowed to see it we wonder? We laugh and continue onto number two attraction, a loch. To this day we are still looking for it. You would think with five intelligent people in a car we would have found our way but we didn’t. We turned this way and that up narrow lanes with hedgerows almost brushing the side of the car, over stone bridges crossing flowing streams, we searched everywhere. So, we had only seen attraction number one, and we really hadn’t seen it at all because we could not enter, we couldn’t find number two – it was already lunch time. Our sides were sore with laughing. The remedy – stop for lunch. We happened across Peter Brady (not the one from the Brady Bunch) and his dog ‘Jock’ as we snooped around the Ballyconnell Lock. We asked him if he could recommend a good place to eat. I found his answer rather amusing. You really must try to imagine his answer as it was given, with a thick Irish accent coming from an elderly man with grey hair and bushy beard to match, cheery eyes punctuating his ruddy face. It went like this:
“Sure tere’s a great meal to be had at The Angler’s Rest. Keep walkin’ down here along the loch and you’ll come to a wee bridge, go over it and go for a while, turn into town and you’ll see it for sure. But tey do a big meal tere now, you wouldn’t be wantin’ tat. So go to Supa Value and you’ll get a good dinner in tere. You take the car and drive through town and out da oter side, you’ll see it on da right for sure, they do a great meal in tere, but tere closed on a Sunday so you won’t be wantin’ tat.” ??? Why give directions to tow places that we won’t be wanting? Sounds Irish to me!

We did go to The Angler’s Rest and had a huge meal as Peter had said. The Carvery was on as it is every Sunday, the dining room was full and the laughter flowed. I had roast lamb with all the trimmings, the boys were happy with their noses in the feed bag.

The tour itself was rather unspectacular but the company and the scenery along the way was delightful, I think the flavour we added with our craic and all our wrong turns made it a wonderful day. The highlight was the ruins of Drumlane Abbey, set high on the rolling drumlins.

While John was taking photos of a blanket of white flowers we had spotted from the road, we found a few donkeys who Rob called over for a pat. They started off so friendly but one became cranky and started to bite its mate, he was nasty and eeeawwwed loudly. If I could speak donkey language I would hate to hear what he was saying.

Lilly and I made chicken and fried rice for dinner. As is the pattern, we sit around the table every night after dinner chatting away.

Ballyjamesduff and yonder. Saturday 16th May 2009.

This morning we left home to go to the farmer’s market held every Saturday at ‘The Backyard’. The rain teamed down yet again. We had picked up a brochure from the tourist office about the markets but when we arrived there was not a vegetable in sight, just the rain. There was no sign saying the markets had been cancelled, nothing, just rain.

We drove in the opposite direction as we came to our little laneway at Cavan. This took us to the village of Ballyjamesduff, it was quiet, deserted, the rain fell as had become the norm. We scuttled inside a little coffee shop called The Bee Hive for refuge; there was nothing else to do. Inside was Breda, the owner, bright and cheery. She had only opened a few weeks ago, “God be willing it will be a success”, she says. Her and husband John have been restoring a Georgian style guesthouse called The Manse so we look out for it as we return to Cavan. Low and behold if it isn’t the gorgeous house with the red door that we admired as we passed it that morning. We stop to take a photo when John, Breda’s husband, came out to the car. Mike the great dane inspected us from the confines of the front garden, he was funny with his long gangly legs and paws the size of a bear’s. “You must be the folks that were in visiting Breda” John says. Breda had been on the phone telling him of our visit to the cafe. “Come inside and I’ll show you around”. The friendliness of the Irish folk is amazing, warm and wonderful. They have been working on the place for 3 years – 'a labour of love' he says. It is so lovely and out the back the old stables and granary have been converted into charming guest houses. We bid John farewell and leave with happy memories.

Exploring Cavan Town and Beyond. Friday 15th May 2009.

There’s not much to Cavan town, we covered it all in about 2 hours at a slow pace. Rob confessed his sins to Father at St. Patrick’s Cathedral – we have pictures Rob! Lilly was caught saying her prayers at the altar but refused to pay 25c for a candle, I’ll shout you one next time Lilly. We notice the absence of white soda bread. It seems they don’t sell it here at all which surprises us as we are only a few hours from Belfast where it is a huge part of the staple diet. There is however a close relation on the shelves, a brown soda which is nice and oaty.


We tootle out of town to Butlers Bridge and settle in at Berragarra Inn for a hearty lunch of Irish home cooking. Hmmm, the baked bacon with mash (served with an ice-cream scoop, hee hee hee) and cabbage was so tasty. It was a bit of a truck smash as JR would say, but the flavour was there that’s for sure.


Further along the road was Belturbet, a gorgeous little town with the Erne River flowing through it. We strolled along the rushing Erne and crossed to Turbet Island. Everything was lush and rainsoaked. Wild hawthorne lined the banks, it was pretty as a picture. The midgies bit Rob almost to death, they just loved his sweet Leprechaun blood.

The Belturbet farmers market was on this afternoon, a rather tiny affair with only seven stalls in total. Rosie from Rosie’s Country Kitchen entertained us with her sometimes foul-mouthed craic. Lilly bought a few of her homemade pies, one beef and Guinness and one chicken, vegetable and ham. Rosie makes her pastry and rests it for 24 hours before baking, it is gorgeous. She offers us all a sausage roll, its filling encased in the same delicious pastry as the pies. A little further along was The Cheesemaker, specialising mostly in matured cheeses of goat, cow and sheeps milk.