Woke up to rain on the windscreen.
There was drizzle in the air and the clouds were low as we opened the side door, after a rather leisurely morning – even The Pup squeezed in between us and resumed her snooze, lying on her back with her feet up in the air. We were in no great rush. With the campsite close to the beach, Hubby and The Pup (once they got up) sauntered down to check it out while I tidied the Van and reported back that it was a nice beach, though a little rocky. It seemed to get better the further down you went. They didn’t linger with the rain.
We didn’t leave until gone 11 with a plan to hit a campsite near Loop Head on the County Clare coast. The weather seemed to be lifting (well, it wasn’t raining) so maybe it would brighten up later. We are still sweeping sand out of the van.
We drove towards Tralee. We plugged in the postcode for the campsite into the Satnav which offered an immediate shortcut – cross country straight over to Limerick and cutting out most of the Wild Atlantic Way, so we sacked her straightaway and I was promoted to navigational duties. We had done 906 miles on this trip up to this point. The hills and mountains in the distance were dark blue and purple in colour with the brooding low clouds and the fields were a dark green. I’m running out of superlatives to describe this amazing island and it is still surprising us.
Just before Tralee, is Blennerville, a small community with a big white windmill sitting on the edge of an inlet. There’s a visitor centre which we pulled into briefly, but really wanted to see more of the windmill, so we drove down an adjacent side road and saw it in all its glory. A member of staff was setting up the sails by unfurling some form of material across each one (to catch the wind, we presumed) and they actually started to rotate which was fabulous to see. We sat there for quite a while, just watching, before continuing onwards. We skirted Tralee’s town centre, but the town seemed to have a good vibe. Stopped by traffic lights, the houses on one particular street seemed to have a positive Dutch influence about them with steps leading up to decorative front doors. We followed the R551 road out to Ballyheige, the Satnav (reinstated as back up only) was desperate to turn us around down little country lanes and pick up the quicker route, but I overrode it, following the Wild Atlantic Way signs.
The R551 ran along quite flat countryside, the mountains and hills suddenly gone. We were not far from the coast and a long sandy beach behind tall dunes, with many static home parks in front of them. The weather was closing in – we had just endured a big downpour and now it was steadily drizzling – so we were not eager to go out in it. We couldn’t really admire the countryside either with the wet weather obscuring any long distance views – it just wasn’t very pleasant. We came up to Ballyheige and then tapped in Ballybunnion to stop the satnav slicing off yet another corner off the Wild Atlantic Way. We have noticed with most of the towns, big and small, that they have an inordinate number of pubs (often within close proximity of each other) and independent chemists, the reason we haven’t quite fathomed. Also, there are regular roadside signs declaring a local Lotto with the amount to be won displayed underneath – it’s usually for only a few thousand euros, but still a good win. We’ve also come across numerous roadside shrines, some in quite remote areas, mainly dedicated to the Virgin Mary, all well tended and looked after.
We soon came up to Ballybunion, a seaside resort and a holiday haven with amusement arcades and shops selling buckets and spades. Just not our cup of tea, so we continued in the mist and murk and started to follow the brown Wild Atlantic Way signposts rather than the main R551. The countryside is now more rolling, but not particularly hilly. On researching our route this morning, we had discovered that there was a ferry across the River Shannon at Tarbert, saving us a huge and pointless trip up to Limerick and back – this was one of the reasons why we had been battling our satnav for most of the morning – and after Ballybanion, we punched in Tarbet as our next destination and our satnav finally complied.
The River Shannon came into view on the next bend, a wide expanse of water with several tankers traversing its channels. On our right, it seemed to be wind turbine central with numerous turbines turning in the wind. With the rain coming down hard, a lot of them were obscured in the murk. Across the water in County Clare there was lot of opposition to the turbines with several “No to wind farms” signs dotted along the road, so they seemed to be a bit of a sore point in this part of Ireland.
We carried on along the back roads of the Wild Atlantic Way and finally as we approached Tarbert, the rain gave way to sunshine – we dropped towards the dock, it turned out very pleasant. We turned the final corner before the ferry and was met by huge power station dominating the view, which was a bit of a shock. We had come so accustomed to gentle countryside and rural communities that we had forgotten that brutal industry existed, though weirdly this monstrous building was surrounded green fields. There were no other warehouses or industrial units in sight apart from pylons emanating from a nearby substation.
The Tarbert ferry “terminal” itself consisted of a toilet block and a slipway with a few cars queuing patiently. The ferry appeared after 20 minutes and quickly docked, disgorging vehicles before inviting us on. It was a “roll on, roll off” boat and we ended up right at the front with just the raised ramp to look at. The ferry set off while a staff member came around to take your fare as you sat in your car though you could get out if you didn’t mind being a bit wind swept. It was a crossing of about 20 minutes and to our alarm, the ramp in front of us was lowered before we were anywhere near the slipway on the other side! We slid into dock and we safely disembarked into County Clare.
We made it back onto terra firma to warm broken sunshine, taking an immediate left and a few miles later, we dropped right down to the edge of the river and alongside Ballymacrinan Bay. It was all very pretty. We came up to the town of Kilrush, passing the islands of Hog and Scattery in the bay along the way, bright summery green surrounded by glistening water.
We were getting peckish despite quickly gorging on cake and ginger biscuits while we waited for the ferry at Tarbert. We parked up outside a rather splendid building in Kilrush and spotted the Jellyfish cafe, so we quickly walked The Pup to stretch her legs and let her a wee before checking to see if they were open and if they allowed dogs. With answer to both questions being a yes, we ordered coffees, a sandwich, a jacket potato, and a sausage for The Pup and sat down. The food was fabulous – the jacket potato had aubergines, mint chutney, mustard seed yoghurt and crispy shallots which was a totally different and refreshing option to the usual cheese, baked beans or tuna mayo that’s heaped onto a baked spud. The decor of the cafe was fab too, from the octopus wallpaper in the loo and the jellyfish lights over the counter. Halfway through our meal, we realised the staff were clearing up and it dawned on us that it was Sunday and they shut at 3pm (we had even read the sign on the door) and now it was 3.15pm. We were horrified and apologised profusely, but as the way with the lovely Irish people, they waved it aside and said it was nice to have company. In England, we would of been most likely shooed away as we stepped through the door with a “sorry, we’re closing!” Honestly our brains have completely melted as we have lost track of time and even days which is actually a lovely position to be in.
We wandered up the wide, broad High Street looking for a bank with an ATM and liked this little town on the River Shannon, but it was time to hunt down our night’s accommodation and went off to find the Green Acres Caravan site, somewhere off the beaten track near Doonaha. We found it easily, but couldn’t find the reception area, so resorted to calling a mobile number to track someone down. A happy voice answered and told us “I’ll be down in a minute” and true to his word, he appeared and told us to find a pitch down the far end on the concrete stands. So we did and found three spots – one right next door to an existing caravan, one that had a plastic bottle full of water with “reserved” written on it and the third, on a lofty pitch which we took. We reversed up on it and then realised how windy it was – the campsite overlooked the Shannon River and there was nothing to stop the wind until it reached our van. Fearful of damaging our pop top, we turned the van around around and faced inland, losing our river view. The wind was quite cool too and didn’t really encourage you to sit out in it either so we wandered around the site and on our return, sat inside with the side door open and had a cuppa.
Three large ships were anchored in the middle of the river and over the course of the evening, we watched them swing around as the tide ebbed and flowed. The lovely chap who seemed to be in charge came up to our van, and spent many minutes highlighting all the places to see and visit on a paper tourist map which he then gave to us. Finally he asked if we could pay for the night, made a fuss of The Pup and chatted for a while. So laid back and easy going. We chilled, played ball with The Pup and made another cuppa before deciding it was getting chillier and shut the side door. After tea, we put the bed up and relaxed listening to the wind as it gently rocked the van. The ships out in the estuary twisted around again and rain began to spit against the back window. It could be a rocky night………..
apathtosomewhere 