Ireland VIII

Part I
Part II
Part III
Part IV
Part V
Part VI
Part VII

Kenmare, June 9, 1999
We took the earliest bus to Kenmare (10 AM) and rattled our way back across the mountains. (Kenmare is between Glengarriff and Killarney.) The bus ride was making Jo sick, but the scenery was awesome of course. I couldn't look at the road while the bus was moving, it was scarier than watching the steep drop-offs.

The most memorable feature of the hostel in Kenmare was its hideous 70's decor. It was clean though. The lady that ran the hostel seemed unfriendly at first, but later she warmed up a little. She still needed to finish cleaning the kitchen so we took our lunch to a park. Afterward, we climbed a mountain.

It was not a very high mountain, probably not even as high as the one we had started climbing in Glengarriff, but it still qualified as an actual mountain and even had a name, though I forgot to note the name in my journal. The summit was reached via a portion of the Kerry Way, one of Ireland's many long, rough walks. The view from the top was lovely and Jo and I spent a little while sitting there discussing life, the universe and everything. On our way down, we saw a young fox. I had never seen a real fox before and was very excited. It skittered away to a clump of bushes and then paused to watch us leave.

Kenmare did not have any major spots for tourists to visit but they made the most of what they had. We saw a little tower named Hutchin's Folly and Cromwell's Bridge, which he never set foot on because he had not come that far south. We also paid a visit to the local holy well, which had been a Celtic holy spot until the conversion to Catholicism. Now it played host to a tacky shrine dedicated to Mary. The crowning glory of Kenmare's tourist industry, however, was a 'druid's circle' that we had visited earlier in the day before climbing the mountain.

The druid's circle was one large stone set in the middle of several large stones, campfire-style. It was supposedly 3,000 years old, but frankly it looked like something the locals had assembled in order to milk gullible tourists for the one pound price of admission, paid into a lockbox on the honor system, as there was no one in attendance at the actual site.

At this time in our lives, Jo and I were afflicted with almost terminal shyness, so we had not managed to work up the courage to visit a pub since our first attempt in Belfast. Jo had noticed a place that advertised live music, so we decided we would check it out. Well, when we walked in the door of the establishment we noticed a few things: it was really more like an American bar & grill than an Irish pub, it was packed full and there appeared to be no one under 40 years of age. They ALL turned to stare at us, like vampires sensing fresh blood. Our spirits quailed and we fled the premises.

Ack, just a little over the two week mark and I've already used like two-thirds of this journal. I shall probably have to get a new one before we're finished here.