Travel

Did you think that I wouldn’t finish my holiday post? Are you crazy?

Sunday, August 8, 2021

We drove to Sligo via the midlands. Can I tell you that there is nowhere, absolutely nowhere to get a cup of tea in Edgesworthstown (ancestral homeland of Maria Edgeworth whose family owned the local big house) on a Sunday afternoon? We were luckier in Longford and managed to get an outdoor lunch at 4 in the afternoon for which relief much thanks.

We arrived in Sligo in the evening. We had rented an Airbnb in the town just opposite the Catholic and Protestant cathedrals which were situated next door to each other on a bend in the road. It was a busy road and, as herself pointed out, with the faithful now being neither nimble nor sprightly, having to cross a busy road on a blind corner to get to church was likely to be fatal to many of the congregation.

Anyway, the house had four lovely double bedrooms. Sadly the kitchen was tiny and we could just all sit down there and there was a total of 6 knives, forks, spoons and plates. Clearly it was designed as a couples’ getaway but not, I think for a family group who were hoping to eat in occasionally. The front room was tiny also but we could all sit there, so fine. The children scattered to their bedrooms once they were clear on the wifi codes.

Here’s Michael looking like he’s 102 and has lived in the Airbnb all his life.

Monday, August 9, 2021

Mr. Waffle and I went out early to try to find a walking tour of the town. The tourist office was closed for Covid reasons and there didn’t seem to be enough tourists to justify any walking tours so we took ourselves off and had a good look around the town. It has a French gothic style court house which showed that the 19th century Office of Public Works architects were given their heads more than you might think.

A lot of law firms near the court house, naturally. This one is famous in certain circles.

Bram Stoker’s mother was born in Sligo.

It’s quite a big town with it’s own independent existence and clearly not largely dependent on tourism. Lots of old fashioned department stores which I very much liked. However, overall, there are two big ticket items the Sligo tourist people plug: WB Yeats and surfing. Honestly, a strong interest in one or the other, or, ideally, both, is recommended.

In the afternoon we went out to Standhill to have a swim. You are not allowed to swim in Strandhill. It’s basically reserved for surfers. Too dangerous for swimmers. Allegedly. So, onwards to Rosses Point where everybody swam except Michael. Quite chilly.

Herself got her second vaccine appointment for a couple of days before the end of the holiday. She decided that she would rather go home a bit early than try to change it for Cork. Alas. Still, great that she is to be vaccinated.

Tuesday August 10, 2021

Herself and myself drove out to Strandhill to this cafe which is much beloved by the Irish Times and surfing hipsters alike. I thought it was ok – avocado eggs end of things – but pretty pricey. Also run by very young women one of whom used a sweeping brush to clear off an outside table which I found sub-optimal. Great view though.

We took ourselves back to the town and had a wander. Lunch was a bit unsatisfactory. Outdoor dining was chilly, the food wasn’t great and the table umbrella was poorly placed.

You see here herself and Michael channelling the energy of the group.

We went to the Model which is the local gallery – lots of Jack Yeats (brother of the more famous WB), quite good but small. We dropped in to the local library. This is something I like to do everywhere I go. I would say that of all the libraries I have visited, Sligo is safest from Covid. There was no browsing at all and people had to ask at a plastic encased counter for the books they wanted. It seemed excessive.

Footsore (I developed a sore heel which was only getting worse, so much more of this anon), we returned to the house where saintly Michael made dinner, the other children disappeared to their rooms and Mr. Waffle and I began work on the obligatory holiday jigsaw.

Wednesday, August 11, 2021

Mr. Waffle and I had a lovely breakfast in Lyon’s, an old fashioned department store.

Later, herself and myself hit the town and bought her a range of lovely dresses in the old fashioned shops which are quite a feature of Sligo.

Also, a lot of banks and former bank buildings converted to other uses.

It reminded me of Cork in the 1980s and I quite enjoyed my trip down memory lane except my heel was sore.

We went for a family surfing lesson in Strandhill in the afternoon. Michael was the only one among us who managed to stand up on his board. I mostly felt like Wally the Walrus as I heaved myself up onto the board and failed to catch any waves. Surfing is a lot harder than it looks but we did have a good time.

We had failed to book anywhere for dinner which was a huge mistake and we ended up having the vilest pizza known to man in a bar by the river. I have to say the town was heaving for a Wednesday night in August.

I limped home afterwards, the combination of my sore heel and the surfing rendered me almost entirely immobile for the remainder of the evening.

I noticed herself was a bit freckly despite constant reapplications of suncream. “I know,” she sighed “but as [the physics genius in her class] pointed out to me, the light is still hitting my face as otherwise I would be invisible.” Good point, physics genius.

Thursday, August 12, 2021

I woke up stiff all over. Herself, Mr. Waffle and I went out for breakfast. We had no real plans for the day but after the previous day’s surfing, I offered to buy wetsuits for any child who wanted one. Herself and Michael expressed an interest and we went to a wetsuit superstore around the corner from the Airbnb. We got one for Michael but notwithstanding the startling array of choices there was nothing to fit herself. The owner commented gloomily that there was a world wide wet suit shortage due to the Corona virus and he couldn’t get the stock. Apparently, in the absence of anything else to do, the world is now buying wetsuits and swimming in the sea all year round.

I attempted to take my book back to the library and arrived at 4.50 to discover that it closed at 4.45. I mean, why?

Mr. Waffle and Daniel watched a soccer match and then all of us, bar Michael who resolutely refused to come, drove out to Rosses Point to lie on our backs in the sand dunes in the dark in the hopes of seeing the Perseid shower which had been promised. It is very dark in Sligo which is good, obviously, but it was also very cloudy which was less good. Still it was atmospheric lying on our backs, listening to the sea, and trying to spot the odd star through the cloud cover.

We finished the jigsaw. A triumph.

Friday, August 13, 2021

We were all rudely awoken by hammering and drilling in the house next door at 6 in the morning. I leapt from the bed (no mean feat given that I was still recovering from the surfing extravaganza) in the mistaken belief that one of the children was pounding urgently on the bedroom door. Very bravely, Mr. Waffle went next door and pointed out that it was a bit early for works. They agreed it was and said that they thought the house next door was empty. We all went back to bed.

Later, Mr. Waffle and I went back to Lyons to again sample their delightful breakfast, but, alas, it was closed due to a Covid outbreak. We went instead to a trendier though less satisfactory venue. We had a look around Mullaney’s Drapery which is bigger on the inside than it looks on the outside.

As well as meeting all your tweed needs, it boasts a travel agent and general drapery. I bought a tweed throw. I couldn’t help myself, I’ve reached the age when all my furniture is artfully draped with throws, so it won’t go to waste. Grand old chat with the salesman who told us that the Borneo teak doors dated from 1910: lovely curving art nouveau door handles remain in situ as well.

I dropped into the Yeats museum and there was this absolutely wonderful description of the cholera epidemic of 1832 in Sligo by Bram Stoker’s mother. It seems to have been terrifying. Well worth clicking and enlarging the image below for a read.

Also pretty amused by this description of the entertainment available on the Dublin stage in the late 1920s. I am more surprised than I can say, that it went over well with audiences.

That afternoon, herself and I drove to Lissadell but, alas, it was closed due to Covid. We pushed on to Mullaghmore which has a beautiful beach.

I had a lovely swim notwithstanding the slightly unusual warning notice on the approach to the beach. Sligo is full of surprises. And only 12km from Donegal. Who knew?

Mr. Waffle and I went out for our deferred 20th anniversary dinner that evening. The restaurant was nice and the food was nice. I mean, fine, nice, pleasant but not exceptional. I had the cheese board instead of dessert and I was served three pieces of small, slightly dull cheese for which we were charged €15 which struck me as excessive. In fact in general, I thought Ireland was an expensive place to holiday this year. Eating out, in particular, was expensive but the food was generally only alright. That said it was really difficulty to get in anywhere so I guess the restaurant and pub owners of Ireland know what they are doing.

Saturday August 14, 2021

We went back to Mullaney’s to get a tweed jacket for herself. Something that would last a lifetime. Sadly, they had nothing in her size. Sales have apparently been slow in the absence of Americans. However, the enterprising salesman was quick to pull out a picture of Taylor Swift in an Aran jumper as an inducement to the purchase of same (although he could not quite recall her name). We bought her an Aran jumper.

Mr. Waffle had been keen to climb up to a local landmark: an enormous neolithic tomb. I was a bit reluctant because of my sore heel but said I would give it a go. I was really glad I did. Firstly, it turns out that uphill is fine for my heel. Secondly, the views were magnificent and the tomb pretty impressive (and I speak as someone who as a child was dragged to every megalithic tomb in Munster and can identify a wedge shaped gallery grave from three fields away).

We parked in the fantastically named “Queen Maeve’s Grave Car Park”. Locally the tomb is associated with Queen Maeve. If you have been paying attention (look, I know you have), you will recall that we had been in Carlingford the previous week. This is on the Cooley peninsula where Queen Maeve undertook her famous cattle raid which is an integral part of her legend, so we were basically following her around.

Your correspondent enjoys an ancient monument:

After this early success, we went to Strandhill for lunch. Disastrous, the food was dear and mediocre and the weather was miserable for outdoor dining. We were not living the dream.

We hopped into the car and headed on to Galway which turned out to be a two hour drive away. Who knew that Sligo was so far from everywhere else? I would definitely go back though, it’s a very beautiful part of the world and quite underrated, I think.

Still glad to get to our hotel in Galway where we had booked a swim in the pool and then had the unmitigated thrill of indoor dining for the five of us for the first time on the holidays. The rules are elaborate but here’s a summary: fully vaccinated adults can eat indoors on production of a cert; children under 18 can eat indoors whether vaccinated or not; anyone staying in a hotel regardless of age or vaccination status can eat indoors. A complex compromise but a very welcome one as it was lashing and we did not fancy going around trying to find an outdoor dining venue.

Sunday August 15, 2021

Herself had a friend who was in Galway so she went off with him and his Galway friends for the day. Mr. Waffle, the boys and I wandered the quaint streets of the old town. Galway is lovely and very atmospheric but, I’ve noticed this before, there’s relatively little to do in the town unless you want to meet friends in a pub and listen to traditional music. We went to Spanish Arch, Galway’s most famous landmark, and the boys said, “Is this it?” This is fair, it’s a bit underwhelming. Galway is much more about strolling around and enjoying the general ambience but that is useless if you’re a 15 year old boy. On the plus side, as herself was off with friends, we were able to go indoors to Milano’s for lunch which the boys loved.

I booked us in to an escape room for the afternoon. It was a bit hard for us – generally we do reasonably well but we were pretty stumped and had to ask for a number of clues and I found it a bit dull as we waited around for enlightenment. On the plus side, we got good value for our money, as we stayed for ages and herself was pleased as she identified herself as the secret sauce which had helped us to triumph in the past.

We took ourselves back to the hotel for a swim and dinner mentally exhausted.

Stay tuned for the next installment where we go South.

Sunday, August 9, 2020 – continued

We drove over the Donegal county bounds into Sligo and I discovered that we would be going really close to W.B. Yeats’s grave, so we stopped for a look despite some consumer resistance. It’s a very beautiful graveyard with a lovely view over Benbulbin. The children were, nonetheless, broadly underwhelmed. “Those dying generations at their song” eh?

Our airbnb host in Mayo messaged to ask whether we needed a cot. Herself suggested that I reply “No, as I am the shortest member of the family and I am 51.” Oh very funny.

Eventually after our very long drive, we arrived in our accommodation about 6. I was attracted to the place when I saw it because the view was so beautiful but Mr. Waffle was a bit reluctant as it was spartan inside. We compromised by deciding to stay for a few days only before going further west.

The view was entirely as advertised.

It was in the Gaeltacht (Irish speaking part of Ireland) and our hosts spoke to us in Irish which was rather nice. I could tell that the mother was a teacher as when I said that we were staying after in Galway and forgot the séimhiú (alas) she said patiently, “I n…”. The house itself was very old fashioned. It had belonged to the grandparents of the current owners – a brother and sister in college – and they decided to let it out on airbnb. Their mother, in Irish mother fashion was the person most on top of the logistics though. Herself and the daughter let us in with masks on. She soon took over from the daughter in explaining the house’s quirks. It was a bit old fashioned but it was clean and fine really. As I unpacked in the bedroom, the smell and the atmosphere reminded me of older country relatives’ houses that I had visited growing up and I thought all that’s missing really is the sacred heart on the wall and I turned around and there he was looking benignly down on the bed.

My saintly first born agreed to make dinner as her father and I were exhausted. After dinner we sat out for a bit looking up at the stars and catching glimpses of the bats swooping about.

Monday, August 10, 2020

After our epic trek from Derry the previous day, we didn’t feel up to much. I spent a good while looking at the view. The weather was beautiful. I settled myself down and finished off Queen Mary. After 622 pages it was like saying farewell to an old friend.

We carried out a raid on the Centra in Clonbur which left a bit to be desired but better than nothing. Herself came with me as she, yet again, had agreed to cook dinner. She made burritos, possibly the most successful dinner of the holiday.

In the afternoon I persuaded Mr. Waffle and Daniel to come swimming with me in Loch na Fooey.

It was cold but I’ve had colder. I pointed out to Dan that we were actually swimming in “Les lacs du Connemara” but he remained unmoved. “Only one lac,” says he.

Afterwards we drove in to Leenane a small town on Killary Fjord. Ireland’s only fjord. The thrills keep coming.

Tuesday, August 11, 2020

I thought after my investigations the previous day, that Leenane might provide a satisfactory breakfast so Mr. Waffle, herself and myself went to explore. Not entirely satisfactory but not bad either.

The roads were full of sheep which treated cars with complete indifference. My city child was keen to get up close with a mountain sheep but as soon as she hopped out of the car, they scattered to the four winds in alarm.

In the afternoon I persuaded everyone out to Loch na Fooey for a swim. Everyone swam except Michael who sat on the beach reading his book with his coat on so not a 100% success rate but look, you can’t have everything. He was resigned to his fate in going to the lake and being forced to look at scenery but wild horses weren’t going to drag him into the boggy lake water.

Leaving the children back to the house, Mr. Waffle and I went into Cong to inspect the former abbey and sample the delights of the town. Fine, you know, but seen one ruined abbey, you’ve seen them all; this was certainly the strong view of the children.

The film “The Quiet Man” was filmed there in the 50s and the town is still very proud of this. There was, inter alia, a plaque on a bar unveiled by Des McHale sometime UCC prof of maths; author of the Kerryman joke books; father of the Guard in “The Young Offenders”; and, it transpires, author of a book on “The Quiet Man”. His daughter is a friend of my sister’s and she confirmed that he is originally from Mayo which possibly explains his interest.

We ran into a former colleague of mine. She was with her husband and children. She explained that only two of the three were hers. We chatted about Corona virus. Wouldn’t you hate to be from Kildare, Laois or Offaly gone back into lockdown? One of the children piped up, “Hey, I’m from Kildare!” “Shh,” we said as one and my mortified former colleague hastened to assure me that the child had left Kildare before lock down was announced.

We came home and watched the sun go down from the front door.

Wednesday, August 12, 2020

It was probably the hottest day of the year. Mr. Waffle expressed a desire to walk up the mountain and see the deserted village. I insisted that we all go. Daniel, however, had a sore foot so was invalided out and I decided to stay with him. The other three had a wonderful walk which two of them very much enjoyed and one tolerated. Apparently there were spectacular views. Still Daniel and I sat in the garden in the shade of the hedge, reading our books and looking out over the lake and, I have to say, that wasn’t bad either.

We tried to go and see a sheepdog demonstration (herself became fascinated by sheep) but the farmer said that unfortunately, he had to take his wife to hospital; I contacted our accommodation in Clifden where we were going that evening and the owner said someone would meet me but she had to take her newborn to hospital; finally I contacted our hosts about checking out of our accommodation in Mayo and the owner was in hospital getting eye surgery. I felt like I was some kind of disaster maelstrom. Probably not though. Anyway, the owner’s Mammy came across the field to check us out and said he was fine really – it was only laser eye surgery – and not to worry about him.

On this cheering note, we took ourselves to Clifden about an hour away, on the coast where we would be staying until the following Monday.

When we were booking accommodation for this holiday, it was a bit thin on the ground and we ended up renting this apartment in Clifden that was much too big for us. It had, 6 bedrooms, 7 bathrooms, two reception rooms, a kitchen and a dining room. Though no dishwasher regrettably. The children each had a television and they were thrilled. I had hoped that perhaps my sister might be able to join us for the weekend and use up some of the space but, alas, it was not to be.

Leaving the children to bond with the excitement that was the enormous flat, Mr. Waffle and I walked into town. Clifden reminded me a bit of Dingle. It was clearly a tourist town heaving with people from Dublin (including ourselves, I suppose) and prices were quite Dublin like as well. It was not what I would call undiscovered.

We went out for dinner and when we came home it was to discover that the extended family group from downstairs were having a party. Good voices, in fairness, but unappealing at 3 in the morning.

Thursday, August 13, 2020

Herself spent the morning watching the Covid committee on Oireachtas TV. Unclear what to say to this; my child has unusual tastes. Mr. Waffle and myself went into town and visited the library: not bad at all. Opened at a time when there were many French tourists in the area, I assume.

We picked up some shopping in the excellent supermarket (a bit notiony but dammit, I like notiony) and had a wander around town and all in all did very little all day. I saw a copy of a biography of Queen Adelaide in a second-hand book shop and picked it up as my new area of specialised interest appears to be lesser-known British queens consort (or queen consorts? Inquiring minds want to know, advice in the comments please).

Friday, August 14, 2020

Distressed by the indolent nature of the previous day, I forced them all out of the house and we went to Roundstone, stopping off on the way to have a look at the site where Alcock and Brown crash landed on the bog after the first non-stop crossing of the Atlantic by air. I am forced to concede that it is, well, a bit of bog. I thought Roundstone would be a bit bigger and different from how it actually was. I was worried when we got there that we would have nowhere to lunch at all but happily we were able to get sandwiches from a shop and eat them by the sea so not too bad.

We went to the beach afterwards. Gurteen beach and Dog’s Bay just outside Roundstone are the most spectacular beaches on a tombola (back to back on a peninsula). Only Daniel and I swam but it was probably my nicest swim of the summer. The water wasn’t too cold, the sun shone, the beach was breathtakingly beautiful and we had it pretty much to ourselves.

I don’t have a good photo so you’ll just have to take my word for it; on the other hand, I do have this photo of me doing a handstand in the sea so it’s not all bad.

We then had a successful, though early, dinner in Guy’s bar in Clifden (latest booking I could get was 5.30) getting us home in plenty of time for some of the party to watch Barcelona v Bayern Munich. I was fascinated and delighted by this extraordinary story of two local girls rescued from their paddle boards after 15 hours at sea.

We went to bed relatively early and I was not delighted to be woken by the carousers downstairs at 4 in the morning. We moved to a bedroom on the opposite side of the corridor and that was fine until at 8 someone downstairs started playing the guitar. Why, I mean, why? So we moved back to our original room, the 4 am crowd, understandably, showing no sign of life at 8 in the morning.

Saturday, August 15, 2020

In my ongoing attempt not to miss anything, I took those who were willing – Mr. Waffle, Daniel and myself – to Mannin beach and very nice it was too though you would want to keep your wits about you in the effort to find it. That may explain why there was almost nobody there except ourselves. That and the light drizzle.

Still, notwithstanding the rain, the water was shallow and warm and we went for a nice cup of tea and a bun in a cafe afterwards and the sun came out. The cafe was lovely and…vegan. The west of Ireland is full of vegan/vegetarian outlets. I am surprised. Herself confessed to me recently that she has gone vegan outside the home but is still only vegetarian inside because she knows if she went vegan it would tip me over the edge. She is correct. I was sorry she missed the vegan cafe though.

Proving how thoroughly middle-aged I now am, I insisted on going on a nice drive. The Sky Road loop gets a mention in the tourist books and it is well worth the trip in my view – the whole drive was only about half an hour and the views are spectacular.

Herself made dinner again. Interested parties discovered that between eating out and herself and Mr. Waffle cooking dinner, I hadn’t made dinner since leaving Dublin. Not even sorry. We played cards after dinner but it was so warm that we went outside to the courtyard. Sadly, we were then eaten alive by midges. These are not typical Irish holiday problems.

All our neighbours having left, I enjoyed my best night’s sleep since arriving in Clifden.

Sunday, August 16, 2020

I was awoken at 11 by a grass strimmer which sounded like a loud and angry mosquito but this was an acceptable improvement on being awoken at 4 in the morning. We mooched around and after lunch I announced that we would go to Kylemore Abbey. This was greeted with no great enthusiasm but we gathered ourselves up slowly. So slowly that I realised that there was a risk we would not get there before last entries at 4. On the drive there we were stuck behind a slow campervan (inappropriately named, the Rapido) and we pulled into the car park at 3.56. Mr. Waffle and the children ran to get tickets. We made it. I have to say, I wasn’t particularly keen to go in the first instance but having committed to it, I would have been bitter to have missed it.

The house is a bit of a Victorian monstrosity but the site makes it look amazing. It used to be a girls’ boarding school for years but now it’s open to the public and quite nicely done. The President and his wife turned up at the same time as us and, to be fair, aside from their own personal guide showing them around, they had no special attention and didn’t cause any disruption to other tourists – all of whom were Irish and, as such, obeyed our code that no one should ever, under any circumstances, indicate that they have recognised a well-known figure – so he was left in peace also.

We had a cup of tea in Letterfrack afterwards. “Does that name mean anything to you?” I asked the children. It did not. To me, it was nortorious, as it contained an industrial school – a sort of juvenile detention centre – which even by the standards of the time was considered harsh. I was surprised to see that it had closed as long ago as 1974.

After we had dropped the others home, herself agreed to come to the Sky Road at sunset with me if I took her to see a Marian shrine on the road which she had found intriguing. We were both quite pleased with our deal.

We then had a quiet evening in, trying to finish off all the food we had bought. Mr. Waffle found a book on Marconi (also active here where a big station was built as the first landing point for messages from America) written by another UCC academic – Mick Sexton, former elec eng prof. They were following me around along with Marconi.

Monday, August 17, 2020

We left Clifden and headed east towards Leinster. “Stay with us” as they say on my favourite podcast.