apathtosomewhere

We heard the patter of rain on the roof of the van as we stirred.

Peering out with bleary eyes, yes it was raining. Actually stair rodding. It wasn’t a surprise to be honest, checking the weather apps had shown a long line of black cloud icons with double raindrops for today. It wasn’t going to be a nice day.

We packed up and headed to Ballina to check that out, hoping to have a wander around. It was a pleasant enough town, but not a tourist town and with the rain becoming heavier, we changed our minds. On reading the guide book last night, it mentioned a cafe in the coastal community of Easky so fancying a coffee and most likely a cake, we toddled off there, though we had an inkling that it might be closed after giving it a quick Google. Their website stated it was temporarily closed, though some site owners don’t keep their information up to date. Unfortunately this one did and as we pulled up, it looked very closed with its windows covered up. Back to the drawing board.

It was really quite misty and miserable with low cloud hanging low, erasing any scenery to be had. We didn’t have a clue what was out there – it could be flat as a pancake or have magnificent mountains. Occasionally the cloud lifted ever so lightly and you would get a hint of a silhouette – we were level with the Ox Mountains, was that a whiff of their foothills and they went even higher? We would never find out.

We arrived at Ballysadare, south of Sligo and found a coffee shop and a SuperValu opposite each other. We parked down a side road as there didn’t seem to be any public car parks and I nipped out to do a quick shop (another supermarket that was higgley piggley) before getting coffees to go and a couple of cakes. Hubby took The Pup for a wander. We met up again and headed off on the WAW, but didn’t go far when we came across a little parking area overlooking Ballysadare’s little estuary and had lunch. As we ate, the rain eased off and we could see a little further – Knocknarea, a local prominence standing at 327m and overlooking Strandhill appeared from the mist, which we weren’t expecting and looked back to see if the Ox mountains would make an appearance. Unfortunately no. Saving one the cafe’s cakes for later, we headed towards Knocknarea, looking for The Glen. The scenery as usual, was constantly and subtly changing from bare coastal fields to roads lined with hedgerows.

So we kept an eye out for The Glen, a hidden 1km walk along a narrow canyon. It’s not easy to find said the guide book, so we followed the written instructions, driving up the side of Knocknarea looking for a scenic lay-by some 600m from the junction. We pulled into a lay-by and hoping it was the right one, walked back down some 200m looking for a well on the right side. Sure enough, a little stone trough hugged the hedgerow and opposite was a little opening.

A propped opened metal gate with a severe sign that said “keep out, danger, falling rocks and trees“ had been evidently ignored as there was a narrow, but well worn path diving into the undergrowth. Foliage overhung the path, making a little green tunnel with a fair drop on one side. It was really quite pretty. Branches had fallen across the path, so we picked away across them and ducked under low branches until the path opened up with two walls of rock on either side. In the middle, several trees had been uprooted, their rootballs at 90 degree angles while their trunks blocked our way. We tried to see if we could find a way through and walk further along, but it was impossible. What a shame as it was really wonderful. Moss clung to everything, the flora and fauna dripping with moisture. You half expected a little fairy to appear – it was quite magical and had a serenity about it. Unable to go any further, we retraced our steps through the bushes and picked up the van.

The weather had closed in again (it was spitting while we investigated The Glen). We climbed higher around Knocknarea, still unable to see very far – we kept getting tantalising glimpses of the local area, but nothing more. It wasn’t a day for taking photos at all, though it was beautifully green and lush.

We decided to head to Glencar Waterfall which was just north east of Sligo and with all this rain, it should be reasonably spectacular. We neatly navigated our way through the city’s outer limits, getting held up slightly for some roadworks and where we had a little chuckle. We had come across a few roadworks on our little Irish trip and out, deep in the rural backwaters, the stopping of traffic was overseen by a man on each end of the works, with his-vis jacket, hard hat, walkie talkie and a stop/go sign which they twisted after consulting each other. We had commented that surely traffic lights would be easier, but maybe a bit of manpower was quicker to arrange than a traffic light permit out in the country. So imagine our surprise to find the manual traffic management in operation on a busy road in Sligo except these guys sported a large golfing umbrella to keep the deluge at bay!

We carried on following the route to Glencar – the misty rain obscuring this beautiful valley – it’s suppose to remind visitors of a Swiss valley apparently, but we could only see the bottoms of the trees. There was a parking area, cafe and toilets at Glencar and as we parked in a bay, we commented that we hadn’t been charged for parking at all at any of the tourist spots we had visited and all the public toilets were free too (and spotless as well). It was so refreshing. In the Lake District, you might as well just hand over your credit card to the National Park and let them drain it for you – there’s a hefty payment for almost everything which is a bit off putting, but here, it’s free. We tried to work out how they did it.

The waterfall notice board said it was a quick ten minute walk away and that no dogs were allowed. So we left The Pup in the van for that short time and did a quick dash – it was actually less than five minutes and the waterfall was impressive. A family were reading the board by the waterfall, but there was no one else – the rain was obviously putting people off, so it was lovely and quiet (must get fairly busy on a warm summer’s day) and we could look at the waterfall at our own pace. The rain started to fall heavy again and we retreated back to the Van.

The Pup had curled up on my seat and refused to move. I jumped in via the side door, peeled off my coat and between us, shoved The Pup off – she went to the back seat, gave us a withering look and sulked for the rest of the afternoon.

Not wanting to visit anywhere else that involved getting out of the van whilst it was raining, we settled on the idea of having a drive round, in the hope that the weather would lift – it was apparently quite spectacular around here – and we would be rewarded with a magnificent view. We plotted a route to Manorhamilton, then up the valley on the R280 up to Kinlough. It was on this road that the heavens really opened up and the rain lashed down. Somewhere out there was the 1,726ft Benbulben Mountain with its flat topped summit – we managed to get a hazy picture of it as 50mph when the cloud lifted slightly. At Kinlough, we did a right and headed down the side of Lough Melvin with the plan to go northwards to Ballyshannon, doing a big loop.

Just before Garrison at the end of the lough, we stopped for a cuppa, looking back over the Lough, and to devour the other cake left from this morning. The sky and water were the same grey colour and so melded together – there was no horizon. We packed away and carried on passing through Garrison, keeping to the 40 speed limit when a couple of impatient drivers overtook us and sped off. We snorted in disgust at them until it suddenly dawned on us, that all the road signage had changed abruptly – we had unknowingly just crossed back into Northern Ireland and therefore Britain (there’s no border signs or anything to declare that you’ve just left Europe) and we were back into good old British miles and familiar road signs. Even the satnav reverted back! Suddenly we felt very much at home – this could easily be England! Then we realised that we had been poodling at 25mph through the village instead of 40mph – no wonder those motorists overtook us!

We were still babbling over the weirdness of it all when within a few miles (or was it kilometres) at the village of Belleek, we parted company with Northern Ireland and the brief comfort of familiarity, and found ourselves back in Eire with the sudden change of road signage! It was like visiting another dimension – did that just happen?

By this time, it was nearly 5pm and we needed a place to rest our weary heads. As we were coming up to Ballyshannon, we decided to check out a campsite there. As we approached the entrance on the main road, we noticed that it was right next door to a huge electrical sub station – perhaps we just plugged our van straight into there. It wasn’t floating our boat so we decided to head to Bundoran just down the road as that boasted at least three options. However as we entered the town and through its main thoroughfare, it felt a little rundown and a bit too “kiss me quick”. The campsite was down a side road, next door to a cinema complex and a Lidl – we were starting to prefer the hum of 40,000 volts.

We resorted to Google and found a possible site in a place called Rossnowlough, north of Ballyshannon. The rain was relentless, wiping out everything as we followed the signs which took us again through Ballyshannon, this time through its handsome and attractive High Street and we were quietly impressed. Quite a lovely town. We were now in County Donegal and we weaved our way down little lanes, catching glimpses of the sea until we arrived at Rossnowlagh and the Boortree campsite, a small tidy little place near the beach and the cheapest site so far. We quickly set up and sat in the van as the rain continued to fall, making little sorties to the toilet or giving The Pup a quick walk – poor thing had been cooped up all day.

About 7.30pm and after a sophisticated tea of fajitas, the rain finally gave up and stopped. Hurrah. But with the skies remaining heavy and broody and everything was feeling a touch damp, we had no enthusiasm to go anywhere so curled up, quietly steaming up the van until darkness fell. Let’s hope for better weather tomorrow.

We decided that we would have an proper breakfast this morning.

So we got our act together, sorted out the van and drove the short distance up the hill to An Dun cafe – sounds really lazy, but we had to be off the site and also we could head straight off – well that’s our excuse.

The cafe opened at 10am and was already busy when we arrived. Our lovely couple from Leicestershire joined us (they had walked up as they were staying overnight again) and we enjoyed a hearty breakfast and coffee together. Finally we said our goodbyes and headed off in our different directions – we might bump into each other again, who knows.

We came off Achill Island, back on the mainland and headed northwards towards Bangor – the mountains giving way to miles of blanket bog and piles of peat bricks. We assumed that the peat was being cut for local and private use as we had not seen any large commercial peat operations. As peat is a great carbon store, its cutting releases carbon dioxide into the atmosphere and impacts greatly on the landscape. Its harvesting has been scaled back significantly over the last few years, but there was still miles and miles of presumed small scale domestic cutting.

At Bangor we lopped a corner off and drove up the side of Carrowmore Lake before turning right and joining the R314. This was again mainly moorland and peat fields. In the distance we could some dramatic cliffs, so we decided to dive down a small road towards the coastal village of Portacloy. We discovered a lovely little bay surrounded by a smattering of houses, with a beautiful sandy beach, totally deserted with a little sail boat bobbing out to sea. We had a stretch of the legs and was having a cuppa, when the owners of the parked camper in front of us returned. They had a gorgeous collie dog who instantly made friends with The Pup and they had a good ten minutes of chasing and playing together. There was a cool wind despite the van saying it was 19 degrees and there was a great deal of cloud cover.

We said goodbye to the collie and his family and followed the back roads, running roughly parallel with the coastal road. The only significant trees to grow here were spruces and other fir trees in seemingly small commercial plots, though a lot of the trees had self seeded – it didn’t seem to have been managed for some time. We popped back on the R314 at Belderg and came across the Ceide Fields Visitor Centre – where a local schoolteacher cutting turf back in 1930’s discovered an extensive Stone Age settlement and is the oldest in the world at 6,000 years old. We pulled into the car park and as the guide book we were following, declared “that the remains may be a little underwhelming, but it’s worth a stop to admire the 100m tall cliffs from the viewing platform opposite”. With that dampener about the remains and the fact that The Pup couldn’t go in anyway, we voted for the platform and got a stunning view of a little inlet and the stunning cliffs. We spent few minutes scanning for wildlife which remained elusive and headed back to the Van.

The countryside had dropped down and now there were trees, hedges and gentle rolling countryside. We stopped in the lovely little village of Ballycastle opposite the little village store which was surprisingly still open – just before 4pm on a Sunday afternoon, we thought everything would be shut tight. So we hurried in – it was small and compact but seemed to have an excessive amount of disinfectants, toothpaste and other non perishable products, but hardly any food unless it was tinned. We didn’t have many options at this point – there was literally just cheese and biscuits in the Van, unless we fancied granola for tea. Somehow we scrapped together some ham, two pots of trifle, some carbonara sauce (we had seen some fresh pasta lurking somewhere in the fridge) and a packet of biscuits and feeling triumphant, hopped back in the van. We had muted the thought of heading to Downpatrick Head, just north of Ballycastle where there was a spectacular sea stack, but you could only go so far and then walk to it. The guide book’s warning of the exposed headland and cliff edge, especially on windy days didn’t sell it to us plus the fact we had seen it quite clearly in the distance on our way in to Ballycastle, also helped our decision to carry on.

We kept on the R314 – with our late morning, we were a bit behind on time and now realising it was late afternoon, need to tracked down a place to stay.

We had spotted a campsite on the map in Ballina and headed in that direction past the little community of Killala and its little tidal bay which was quaint. Just before the town, we turned off into the Belleek Park caravan site which looked quite smart, so we checked in. We have rocked up to every one of our campsites so far and managed to get a pitch. A lot of them we have seen in a little Irish caravan, camping and motorhome guide that we picked up in Mullingar when we first arrived in Ireland (seems ages ago) and it’s been a little godsend. They have all been different, some very modern, some a bit dated, some quite quirky, but they have all ticked a box and we haven’t been disappointed or really disliked one.

As usual we were left to cruise the site and pick our own pitch, finding one in front of a hedge (the weather was due to deteriorate again so we wanted some shelter) and we quickly nested and went off for a walk around the site. The Pup wanted her tea (she can be quite insistent) so we cooked the sausages we bought from Ballina’s village shop and just chilled. Hubby managed to concoct a lovely meal from our meagre pantry and with the sun shining (of course, we were in the shade again) we relaxed. Though we are only touring around, it’s strangely quite tiring. We seem to sleep well despite a Labrador sharing our tiny bed. We had an early night after planning our itinerary for tomorrow and after a brief struggle to claim our rightful bits of the duvet, fell asleep.

We’ve got a mountain!!!

Woke up to blustery wind, but it looked a lot brighter. We stumbled out of the van to breaking cloud, a sun peeking out and a tall peak overlooking our campsite that turns out to be Slievemore mountain standing at a lofty 672m and dips its toes into the ocean. From our own lofty position we could see distant coastlines too – those weather apps were right for once.

The whole van felt damp, so I did some laundry, dried the towels in the dryer and we just hung other stuff out. We weren’t particularly quick, but we would be off to investigate Achill Island. With ten minutes left on the dryer, we parked the van by the site’s shop and rewarded ourselves with icecream while we waited for it to finish – then we were off! Our first port of call was the Deserted Village on the foothills of Slievemore mountain next door to a rather large cemetery. We parked up and above us was a long row of abandoned stone cottages, all roofless and in somewhat state of dereliction. It is thought that there has been some form of habitation here throughout history, the last known being in the 20th century – the cottages were inhabited again as booleys but only during the summer with islanders looking after their animals. It was quite startling how quickly the cottages had deteriorated, but with the howling winds and lashing rain, it probably didn’t take much. We sat there quietly – it was very thought provoking and atmospheric, what a tough life these people endured – until a noisy family came along, dad with phone in hand videoing everything. We wandered off muttering. In the distance, several tall towers stood on top of Minaum mountain (466m) and we realised that was what we briefly visited in the fog yesterday. Oh blimey. What were we doing, though we would have got fabulous views up there!

http://www.visitachill.com/en/desertedvillage.html

We drove down the road to Keel Beach, just to have a look. It was busy with cars and people, with a large flat campsite across the way. It looked a lovely beach with waves crashing onto the sand – kite surfers and windsurfers were in the water making the most of the strong steady wind. Dogs weren’t allowed on this Blue Flag beach so it was a bit rotten of us to take The Pup with us while we checked it out. She was itching and wasn’t impressed when we trotted back to the Van.

The hubby had read that Keem Beach, right down in the southwest of the island was quieter and off we set, diverting only to find the Achill Henge on the way. Apparently it’s a large brutalist concrete monument built in the middle of nowhere in 2011 . We turned down a tiny little lane, did another right turn and raised eyebrows as the tarmac turned into a rough stony track. We crept down this until we reached a sort of isolated farm building and a wasteland of quarried stone. We felt that we were trespassing. Hubby went out to see if he could see it while I tried to find it on Google maps – it was all very vague. He came back after unsuccessfully scanning the moorland and we abandoned the quest. What a weird place to build a monument and make it so hard to visit.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Achill-henge

We rejoined the main road to Keem – I finally found the concrete monument on Apple Maps and we had been in the right place after all, but we just didn’t fancy returning back to that track – we were lucky not to scrape the underneath of the van as it was.

The road started to climb as we skirted the Croaghaun mountain which plunged into the sea below – sheep happily munched on grass on death defying slopes. We were quite a way up, though this time I could see where the void on my left went today. As the road turned, way down below, the little Keem beach sheltered in a delightful curving cove, appeared. We dropped down to the parking area which was on various levels – we ended parking on the top level as campervans were banned from the bottom, though two or three had carried on, their drivers apparently unable to read. We walked down the hill to the beach – there were many people milling around and two food vans were doing a good trade. It was quite a lovely little place despite all the people and cars and had great views of distant cliffs and islands. The beach, as usual, was golden soft sand and gentle crashing waves. We broke the bad news to The Pup that she wasn’t allowed on the beach either (well not between the hours of 12 noon and 6.30pm, June to September apparently). We had lunch here, perched on a rock overlooking the bay while The Pup whimpered. So close yet so far. We felt quite bad, tormenting our dog by showing her a beach and then dragging her away. So we told her that we find a dog friendly beach and waddled back up the hill.

There were sheep everywhere on this island, free to amble wherever, trotting across the roads and even into gardens. The Pup wanted to play with them especially when they ran so we kept her on a short lead. If they stood still, she ignored them. Back at the van, we looked to see where else we could visit and discovered a wide sandy curve on Apple maps in the north west. Perfect. We could go there on the way back to base.

I plotted Dooniver Strand in the satnav and after a lot of twists and turns down country lanes came across a small jetty and a cul de sac . There was no obvious way of dropping down to the beach, so after a lot of backwards and forwards to get the van turned around, we headed for Dooniver Beach instead, just a little further up, again going down the tiniest of roads. The lane ended overlooking the sea with a couple of wooden picnic tables perched by the entrance – another car was already parked so we happily switched off the engine as we saw a long empty sandy beach.

The Pup was so happy. Chasing her ball and running into the sea, we were finally back in her good books. The beach was practically empty apart from a family of four half way along and as we approached, they seemed happily playing in the water of an outflow pipe. This whole gorgeous beach of soft beautiful sand and they were by a large pipe spewing water – we hoped that it was just freshwater being piped to the sea and not something else. It just seemed rather odd with the shallow sea just metres away. Anyway we left them to it and walked quite a way until we kept spotting stranded jellyfish and turned around. The sun was out and it was gorgeous – we sat on the large stones on the edge of the beach and enjoyed the fabulous view. It couldn’t get much better than this.

We strolled back to the van – three more cars had pulled up and their occupants had gone for a walk, we thought we had exclusive rights to this bit of the coast! We were about 3 miles from our base and had a leisurely cruise back along the coast with Slievemore mountain stood majestically in the background. We stopped briefly at a recommended cafe to see if they did breakfasts and if dogs were allowed in – yes was the answer, so that’s breakfast sorted. We headed back in the sunshine and set the van up before sunning ourselves in our camping chairs. Unfortunately, the trees that shielded us from the worst of the wind last night were now starting to blot out the evening sun! We got chatting to a lovely couple and their dog from Leicestershire and later, after tea and The Pup booping for a walk, we all got together for a dog walk on the beach where the dogs had a good run chasing balls. We then wandered over to the pub (more like a working men’s club tbh) for a Guinness or two and had a good chat before meandering back to our respective campers and shutting down for the night. It’s been quite a lovely day.

Well, we survived the night.

It was a touch windy overnight, to say the least. By the morning, the weather remained unchanged – low cloud, drizzle that got you really damp, stiff breeze and basically claggy. Ironically this was probably the best site so far and would have been an amazing spot if only the sun came out, but today that definitely wasn’t going to happen!

We gave The Pup another run on the lovely golden beach and I had a quick shower. The ablution block was basically breeze blocks painted white and cobbled together, but had nice little touches like hairdryers, lots of hooks in the shower cubicle and a nice space to get dried. It was better than yesterday’s which I found dark and a little creepy (I seemed to be the only one who used it) – can’t explain why, but it was my least favourite.

Anyway, we packed up and headed off. We reached the exit barrier before realising that we hadn’t retrieved the fifty euro deposit for The Pup! Yikes. We quickly went back and got the cash – that’s a lot of money! Today’s destination was Achill Island, west of Westport in County Mayo and our route took us back into the Connemara mountains – not that we could see them much with the thick mist enveloping everything. We followed the N59 towards Leenane, with trees and bushes lining the valley before opening up at loughs – it was all very pretty as we steadily climbed – the cloud lifted slightly and we could just make out a vague outline of a mountain. We were so pleased we managed to see them in all their glory yesterday. We passed through Letterfrack and dropped down into Leenane again, where we parked up and had a coffee and cake in The Purple Door cafe – it was busier than yesterday, probably because of the rain! We galloped back to the van as the rain started to get heavier, but as we drove out on the R335, the weather seemed to be clearing, revealing the surrounding mountains. Our spirits rose! We hugged the edge of the Killary Fjord through wooded valleys, past gushing waterfalls and rivers, swollen by all this rain. The scenery got a little more craggy as the mountains joined the fjord and as we went further west, the sky looked brighter – but a quick look back in the mirrors and it was black as your hat! Maybe the sun would join us some time. The sheep who make this country their home, snuggled behind rocks and ledges waiting for this weather to pass – they’re not daft! The road turned inland and the landscape changed to bog land, peat fields, rough pasture and gentle countryside as we headed to Louisburgh, a pretty little town with the mountains in the distance and picked up the coastal road towards Westport. We pulled off to visit Bertra Beach for a bit of a break and to let The Pup have a walk around. There was a height barrier of 1.9 metres which was far too low for the van, so we were unable to get right up to the beach. We parked on a little gravel layby next to another thwarted campervan, facing the sea and looked for sea life through the binoculars. There seemed to be quite a few people walking on the curving beach, considering the weather, so we studied them too through the binoculars – we weren’t too sure if it was a litter pick, or some organised event as there were some workmen with a digger erecting fencing in the sand dunes as a way to protect them. As we watched a pocket of sunshine shone on the nearby islands which glowed a vivid green against the grey sky and sea. It was quite stunning. We piled back into the van and as we made our way back up to the main road, a nearby mountain loomed over us, its summit covered in a stream of low cloud giving it a dark purple hue and a definite broodiness.

We came up to the gorgeous town of Westport and dropped into the centre. A large stone monument dominated the main high street, with buildings circling around it with roads leading off. It was quite handsome. We had crawled in a long line of traffic to get to this point with cars seemingly coming at us at all angles. It was so gnarled up which was a shame as we were tempted to stop for a wander but that soon vapourised with the daunting prospective of finding a parking space. Every town seems to have this traffic chaos for some reason. So we continued on the N59 towards Newport, with a slight nagging feeling of maybe we should of stopped, but then a huge black cloud appeared on the horizon and gleefully emptied its contents on us – maybe the traffic in Westport did us a favour.

As the weather continued to close in and get worse, the N59 bent to the west and towards Mulranny. Here the WAW route signs took us down a side road and the view point of Dumhach Bheag – a perfect place for lunch. The drizzle blotted out distant islands and far below was the exposed beach site of Mulranny Glamping. We felt for them. It was very windy – enough for us to hang on to the van doors – and as we ate our lunch, we peered through the binoculars and the mist – we thought we saw a whale – while the weather gave us brief glimpses of islands dotted out to sea before shutting them out again. We finished lunch and followed the headland round, through craggy countryside and isolated communities overlooking the Atlantic. As one person had said to us early on in this trip “this is our parish and the next parish is New York City” It was certainly true.

We carried on driving, the drizzle horizontal, the wind teasing the long grass – even the hardy sheep had hunkered down. Past Currane and along the coastal road towards Achill Sound – one end being bog land with peat being harvested turning gradually into very rough pasture and grassland. Nothing seemed to grow here and if it did, it was stumpy and leaned at forty five degree angles. But there was a beauty about it, almost romantic and very atmospheric.

A impressive white bridge took us across the water on to the island of Achill and after a brief stop at the SuperValu to stock on food, followed the satnav’s intructions. We weren’t very far off our campsite and a cuppa according to the satnav as we turned down an isolated side road and a little further, another right turn onto a narrow unfenced road and started to climb. At this point, the mist turned into thick fog making us crawl along. Looking left on my side, with a slight hint of alarm, was nothing but a white void – the little grass verge just seemed to plunge downwards. Sheep, sodden and grubby, ambled across the tiny strip of tarmac and stared at us incredulously as we crept higher and higher. I must admit at this point that I hadn’t really given my full attention to where we were going today, so though a bit uneasy, assumed that we would soon summit and cruise down to the coast and our campsite. Except we didn’t. We just kept on rising with the fog getting denser. I grabbed my phone, tapped in the campsite’s postcode and with a great deal of dismay, discovered that we were nowhere near the campsite and currently heading, well it was anyone’s guess.

With no way of turning around, we carried on until we came up to a wide gravelly area where the road ended abruptly. There was a large wire fence surrounding something in the murk, maybe telecommunications at a guess, and then we noticed a massive concrete base nearby with thick nuts and bolts anchoring a chunky cable which disappeared at a steep angle, into the cloud with surprising swiftness. It must be part of a tower, but there was no way of knowing which added to the eeriness of the whole place. We didn’t linger, descending slowly, hoping fervently we wouldn’t meet anyone coming up – deep ditches one side and the unknown precipice the other made it impossible for any passing. The sheep watched us, following our van and almost whispering amongst themselves “stupid humans” – I’m sure one even shook its head – as we slid past and finally the fog thinned and we were saved.

Heaving a sigh of relief from our brief, but exciting diversion, we typed in the postcode for Seals Cave campsite, it was less than ten minutes away and we arrived at a scattered beach community facing a wide grassy frontage with the beach beyond under heavy cloud. The campsite looked bright, fresh and cheerful and we checked in. It was on four different levels as the land rose behind the reception and we ended up on level three with six other campervans, sheltered by a row of trees. The wind still whipped up here but it wasn’t too bad and after waiting for a lady who claimed we had parked in her pitch (campsite’s fault) we set up home and tried to figure out how to dry stuff. Everything was feeling damp, but towels and coats were wet from being used. We gerryrigged a washing line under the awning and took The Pup for a quick walk down to the beach (she was bored and kept booping us). It was still claggy with fog and a fine drizzle hung in the air. We sauntered back, checked the facilities and made some tea. The wind seemed to pick up and rocked the van gently with its gusts. This was pretty rotten weather and hoped that the weather apps, forecasting a sunny day tomorrow, were true to their word.

Sorry for the lack of photos today, but there just wasn’t a view! 📷

The sun was out! Time to make the most of Connemara!

We made a plan. We had found an eco camping site on a headland, west of Clifden which was only half an hour away, but you had to make an advance booking. We decided to book it so we were assured that we had somewhere to sleep tonight and as we couldn’t get in until 2pm, we would go off and enjoy the mountains while the weather was good. It was due to deteriorate again this afternoon.

And what a difference from yesterday’s dank and misty afternoon – with the sun out, the greens showed off their true colours against the crags and granite of the mountains. It was great to see them – we were a bit disorientated yesterday, not being able to figure out the landscape. We drove from the coast towards the mountains that rose majestically in the not so far distance. The road was tree lined and you could catch glimpses of them until the foliage gave way to open moorland – we passed loughs and lagoons as the land got a little wilder. We headed to Maam Cross along N59, before turning left onto theR336 to Maum. We were now in the valleys, with the mountains rearing on either side, tall and steep. With the broken sunshine, it was just perfect for a drive and admiring their magnificent beauty with a backdrop of lofty clouds. It was stunning. The R336 turned another left at Maum and we headed to the little village of Leenaun at the head of the Killary Fjord. Houses were few and far between along the valley and every so often, a little church would appear, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. We dropped down into Leenaun, nestling idyllically between the mountains and parked up – we had seen signs for the Purple Door Cafe and we were ready for a coffee and cake. There were probably half a dozen shops – a little grocer’s, the cafe, two pubs, and tourist shop, the post office and a large wool shop. We found the cafe – with a sticker on its door “Dogs are welcome” – and we went in to get refreshed. Afterwards we had a little wander (the wind was keen) and peered into the shops before continuing our mountain tour.

This was a refreshing change to be in and amongst the mountains – so different from the coast and peninsulas we had been following. This was our kind of landscape with peaks and ridges, some of them looking impossible to scale with their craggy sides and faces. We headed west, before turning down to Lough Inagh – this was wilderness, no houses, just miles and miles of sheep country. This valley was wider and not so dramatic, but still beautiful. As we passed a roadside fence, we noticed a large sheep with the most spectacular curly horns snared in the stockproof fencing. We needed to stop and help it, but we had travelled a little too far down the road, so we ended up doing a 1,000 point turn, managing to hold up traffic on this isolated road that had suddenly appeared from nowhere (how does that happen?) retracing our steps to the stricken sheep. As we pulled up and opened the door to leap out to rescue it, it must of really yanked as suddenly it was free and looking a bit stunned, wandered off. Oh for goodness sake.

We did a 500 point turn and continued, dodging sheep who sauntered casually across the road without a care in the world. We rejoined the N59 and headed to Clifden along the valley. Clumps of trees, shrubs and rhododendrons signified a house sheltered from the westerlies that obviously swept up the valley. A rain shower swept through and obliterated the view , though not as much as yesterday. The land softened with craggy outcrops and we dropped into Clifden. We stopped for fuel on its outskirts, which were a bit scruffy but the town centre was lovely with two streets of shops – we parked down a side road, the High Street chocker with cars both moving and parked and wandered back to enjoy Clifden. Again we admired all the independent shops (well there were no Marks and Sparks, Boots or Costa Coffees) in town. Exhausting Clifden we decided to head out onto the Sky Road headland for another little tour and followed little lanes overlooking little bays and inlets and craggy lowlands. We found a viewpoint and parked up, making sandwiches and a cuppa to watch the incoming bad weather approaching from the west. Far below was our eco campsite and it looked very exposed…….

So we let the satnav guide us further out to the headland with the wind picking up. We keep noticing donkeys everywhere – two or three in little fields, they seem to be the animal to keep around here. We turned off down a track that twisted and turned until we came across a barrier. We pressed the button and a disembodied voice let us in. Again, more twisty track through the campsite until we came to a circular house thinking it was the reception. It was a private house and we retraced our steps to a point where, if we had read the notices should of parked. By now it was raining horizontally, so we scampered past a coffee hut to an aging caravan and introduced ourselves. A quick tour of the site for loos, rubbish and water and we found ourselves on a little patch of grass looking out to sea with a curving sandy beach just metres away. Much to the amusement of the lady in the caravan next door, we messed around with the van’s position – high winds were due so we had to consider our pop top, but then we would get rain in our side door. Finally, we found the optimum angle and set up home.

The rain stopped and I took The Pup for a walk around the site. It was essentially a very large field, so campers were scattered which was nice. The Pup dragged me briefly onto the sandy beach but there was another dog on a lead (we’ve got a 50 euro refundable deposit on The Pup – she must be on lead, we must pick up her poop and she mustn’t dig the site – if we abide to these rules, we get our money back). I checked with the site owners – was The Pup allowed off lead on the beach. Yes, she was. So we both took her down and she rejoiced by running in the surf and shaking clumps of seaweed to bits. With the rain starting to spit on us and an ominous dark sheet of cloud on the horizon, we headed back to the van and stayed there. The wind picked up and rocked the van, the scenery disappeared and the rain lashed. This was the worst weather we had had so far, but it was nice to curl up, open a beer and chill. The Pup curled up on the back seat and slept, occasionally dreaming and we put the heating on in the van to knock off the chill. It was quite cosy especially watching the long grass being whipped, waves crashing on the rocks, rain lashing on the windows and the coast disappearing in murk. It’s only June after all………..

This morning’s weather – sunshine with rain. But hey, it’s warm.

We sorted out the Van and left Doolin, following the coastal road towards The Burren, an area of natural beauty, on our way to the Galway coast. We had tapped in a postcode of a possible campsite into the satnav, but as usual, it chose the quickest/shortest route – it still hadn’t read the memo about our road trip. So we kept punching in names of little villages along the WAW so we could admire the scenery and not worry about where we were going.

It started off as gentle rolling countryside, but gradually, the unique limestone landscape of the Burren took over and it’s just stunning. Mile upon mile of limestone pavements running from tops of hills and mountains down into the sea. It’s almost moonlike, surreal and nature at its best. Then the limestone gives way to green fields and little cottages before it takes over again. It’s just an amazing sight with hill upon hill covered in grey stone. It is quite majestic.

The country roads of the Burren seem to be popular with scenic coach tours and the drivers of these mammoth behemoths are a bit mad. The coaches – huge 54 seater plus – are so wide that they actually take part of your side of the road, but the drivers ignore that trifling fact and bear down on oncoming vehicles regardless, showing no signs of slowing down, let alone stopping. The times we pulled over to let them whizz through. At one point, we had one behind us and it was like a re-enactment of the film “The Duel”.

We hugged the limestone coast, passing pretty cottages and villages. There’s lots of thatched dwellings dotted around and Ballyvaughan was particularly attractive. It’s a lovely coastal drive overlooking Galway Bay. We turned left off the main road to find Traught Beach for The Pup – the van had to limbo under a height barrier again – and The Pup had a good 20 minute stretch of the legs as we noticed that the dark rain clouds were starting to gather.

We passed through Kinvara, a pleasant little town and onto Galway city. The countryside had flattened out again as we took the main road and entered Galway’s outer suburbs. We took the ring road, missing out the city centre, just as the heavens opened which wasn’t great timing – now we were in the midst of multiple lanes, traffic lights, retail parks, all sorts of road signs pointing everywhere, other road users who knew what they were doing while trying to figure out how to get out of it all. It was a bit of a culture shock to be thrown into that melee after two weeks of gentle motoring.

We got burped out on the other side, relatively unscathed, but we were now hungry and needed sustenance. A Tesco supermarket appeared in the distance and I offered to shop as our cupboards were bare. I haven’t shopped in a big supermarket for ages (I forgot to take an euro for the trolley to start with and had to go back to the van) so I spent many minutes wandering around lost and disorientated. Its layout was weird with products tucked in little corners and there were two prices on display. I thought I was getting bargains but it was the lower price if you were a loyalty card holder, which I’m not. I was glad to escape, but I got food for a couple of days which would keep us going.

We were now on the southern Galway coastline heading to a place called Spiddal/Spiddle, depending on what map you looked at. The Pup has taken to lying across me and sticking her head out of the window for short periods (she is secured in btw) which is great for her, but I freeze. We pulled up in a quayside car park overlooking the bay and scoffed the recently bought sarnies, feeling much better for it. A quick cuppa to wash it down and we continued our journey.

The scenery was changing yet again. Now it was craggy countryside with stone walls separating the land into tiny overgrown plots of fields. The road signs were all Gaelic rather than the dual signs – there was hardly any English. We followed the coast as it got even more prettier. We had decided to travel further and were now heading to a place called Gurteen Bay, but along the way, we got sidetracked and headed to the Lettermore and Dog Islands as we had read they were worth visiting. And they were. We only went so far as we realised we were pushing for time for our final destination, but they were very pretty. Little bays, coves, inlets interspersed little fields and lagoons. Bridges took you over the water to the next island. It was still craggy with large boulders poking out between the grass and thatched cottages. We ended up with an impromptu little tour trying to get back on the main road (the satnav does have its uses) and we got lovely long distance views over to the mountains – it just had a feel of wildness about it, a remoteness despite cottages dotted everywhere. It was so beautiful.

The weather closed in big style, blotting out the mountains with rain – it was like being in a plastic box. We just knew there were stunning views out there, but we just couldn’t see them which was rather disappointing. We were gradually rising and headed out into moorland and total wilderness. There was nothing out here, not even hardy animals apart from heaps of peat bricks being harvested with plastic bags everywhere. Even the trees couldn’t be bothered to grow here – it was a windswept and wild landscape, atmospheric in the low cloud. And then we were back to the chocolate box crofter cottages, some of them sporting a thatched roof, little bays and inlets and hugging the coast again – just stunning scenery. This was amazing despite the grey weather – what would it be like if the sun was out?

We arrived at Gurteen Bay campsite on spit of land near the pretty little village of Roundstone. It overlooked a little cove of sand. We quickly checked in as the rain had stopped and the cloud lifted so we had a window. Again, we faffed around a bit, mainly as there was a stiff breeze and we needed to get the van at the right angle. Finally satisfied, we took The Pup to the beach and was only there for a few minutes when it started to rain again. We retreated and decided to make tea for us and The Pup while the rain washed the van. It did stop later and we took the opportunity to go back onto the beach and investigate further – there were two or three other sweeping beaches on Gurteen Bay side as well as at least another over the narrow fields and dunes into Dog’s Bay. We reached a high point next door to the unexpected graveyard and tried to figure out if we could reach Dog’s Bay from Gurteen (there was only a sliver of land separating the two) – it would need a further beach walk to find out.

We turned around as it was chilly and walked along the sand, The Pup was running in and out of the water, scooping up seaweed and giving it a good shake, doing zoomies and digging in the sand. Basically living life to the full, she was so happy. It was a lovely spot. We turned around again when we spotted numerous jellyfish stranded on the beach and headed back to the campsite. It was here when we realised each and every static caravan on site was tied down, literally anchored so they didn’t topple in the winds. We had noticed on our walk a noticeboard explaining the ongoing recovery of the conservation area due to concurrent storm damage. No wonder the caravans were nailed down – think it gets a bit windy here. We sauntered back to our van, nestled in a little dip and sheltered from the wind and settled down for the evening. Tomorrow we had a plan of moving a little further up the coast, staying a couple of nights and checking this area out thoroughly.

Footnote: apologies for my wonky photos with the horizon not straight. My iPhone won’t let me straighten them up at the moment, despite various attempts to sort the problem. But I’m working on it – just bear with me!

It was raining and we had run out of gas.

The gas stopped just as the kettle whistled for our first cuppa of the day – phew, but now we would have to source another bottle. The trouble is, there is no way of way of knowing when it’s running out – no gauge or anything, so it’s a bit of a guessing game. As we were staying another night, there was no rush – we got up slowly, had a leisurely shower, tidied the van and got coffee from the campsite’s own little coffee hut.

The weather apps on the phones were proving useless as they were saying sunshine and we still had horizontal drizzle.

Finally we decided to go and find a nearby beach for The Pup as it looked like the rain was easing up. However as we left for our walk (the big plan was to not drive the van at all today), the heavy drizzle reappeared so we ended up walking slightly hunched and with heads down. Doolin is split into two parts – our end where we staying had a couple of pubs, a hotel, a couple of little shops and is relatively quiet. Walk five minutes or so down the road and there’s another huddle of shops, but a lot more touristy – jumpers and icecream and gifts with roadside parking. It’s a bit narrow here, so with people milling around and trying to park their cars, it seems all slightly chaotic. We carried on, but started to think we had missed the path to the beach. We stopped by a pitch and putt course and studied the route – it seemed there wasn’t a path at all. We could carry on down to Doolin pier or have a game of golf and it didn’t take long for us to make a decision.

We skipped over the cattle grid, checked if The Pup could join us, gathered a driver and putter each, four balls and a handful of tees and set off in the drizzle to the first tee. The Pup thought it was a great game – she wanted to chase every ball taken at the tee, so we had to hang onto her lead, hubby’s shots were great but had a tendency to veer right or left and I just scudded my ball along the grass though I did manage to get them airborne later in the game. The Pup kept nicking our balls and then dropping them – usually in a better position than where they landed. The rain stopped and the stiff breeze dried us off as we finished 18 holes minus two balls (one had disappeared over the wall, narrowly missing two passing walkers and a Skoda) and thought it was the funniest thing we had done for ages.

We wandered back to our end of Doolin with the plan to catch the normal service bus to the Cliffs of Moher, hoping they would take dogs onboard. With 30 minutes to kill before it arrived, we found a coffee shop. Hubby lingered outside with Pup while I went in to suss it out, but the young lad behind the counter told us that we could bring the Pup in! We’re so confused with the dog policy here – the pub won’t let you in, but the coffee shop does! The Pup made friends with a chap by the door who proffered chips to her, before she worked on the other people in the cafe and hoovered up all the dropped bits on the floor. We sat outside and drank our coffee before joining the queue for the bus. It rolled up on time and Hubby boarded to check if Pup was allowed and guess what? The answer was no. Even the bus driver thought it was nuts too.

We watched the bus disappear round the corner, cursing. Ireland is a lovely place, full of friendly, happy and very helpful people, but seemed to be very dog unfriendly and thinking about it, we hadn’t seen many dogs at all on this trip (no wonder Pup gets all the attention – she’s the only hound around). Now, we are not the type of owner who thinks we’ve got a right to take our dog everywhere we go, there has to be restrictions of course, but in England, dogs are allowed on public transport and certain retail outlets (in the Lake District, you are a pariah if you don’t allow dogs in your shop). We had heard that it was due to health and safety reasons in Ireland which we totally understand – some dogs can be snappy, but it’s more the owners than the dogs to be honest – but it can be quite restrictive on what you could do with your pet.

We wandered back to the van despondently. We had booked tickets for the Cliffs of Moher last night and now wished we hadn’t. We had only one option now – pack the van down and drive to the cliffs, putting paid to our van free day. We put everything away, leaving out a plastic sheet and our water container, so nobody pinched our pitch and headed off. On the way we stopped at a small petrol station cum village shop to see if we could get our hands on a new gas canister, but alas they didn’t have one.

The Cliffs were only about 15 minutes away and we pulled into the large car park, showed our tickets at the kiosk and parked up. Across the road, we joined the rest of the tourists wandering around up a tarmac path, with half a dozen shops buried into the hill like something out of The Hobbit. The Visitor Centre was similarly embedded which was kind of attractive. The path snaked up a hill towards the cliffs where we found ourselves engulfed by a Japanese coach party – we paused to let them go. At the edge of the cliffs, the path went either left or right (it’s part of a long coastal path) and we peered over the wall with several other people to look at the towering cliffs disappearing into the distance. They were fairly dramatic and impressively tall – we decided to take the right hand path and wandered along, pausing to take a photo, watch the seabirds and just to admire the cliffs, but with so many people around with their holiday heads on, it was becoming mildly irritating. Think our patience finally wore thin when two Japanese women barged us out of the way for a photo opportunity and we realised that this just wasn’t our thing. We wandered a bit more in case the scenery changed, but at the end of the day, cliffs are cliffs. We walked back to the visitor centre to use the facilities (no dogs allowed inside the buildings – here we go again) and went to find the van. We had been here about an hour which was enough – perhaps the no dog policy on the bus had done us a favour, it was a 2 hour wait for the bus home.

So we drove back to Doolin on the lofty main road, looking down on Doolin and the surrounding area. In the distance was another campsite and they sold gas bottles. We already had a contingency plan if that went belly up too. Our campsite had a kitchen for those camping in tents so we could make cups of tea in there if need be. So we wheedled our way through the chaotic end of Doolin, down to the pier and went to the campsite’s little shop. Hubby emerged triumphant, clutching a brand new bottle and we were saved. We headed back for a cuppa.

The weather had brightened up considerably by now and the sun was attempting to make an appearance. We returned back to our pitch and reset the van, chilling and trying to dry our damp clothes from this morning.

Around 7pm with the sun finally out, we waddled back down to Russell’s, the little place where we got coffee and The Pup hoovered up for them. In the evenings, they have a restaurant and got a reputation for the best fish and chips in Ireland amongst other things. Inside, it was decked in wood and dark colours, but was very trendy – it was already busy. As we had The Pup we sat in a large room under a huge sail for a ceiling. It was really lovely. The Pup crashed and slept on our feet under the table while we enjoyed a lovely meal including a fabulous pecan and walnut pie. The fish and chips were fabulous. The staff were lovely and a small band of three musicians played a guitar, fiddle and squeeze box at a table, so we got live Irish music again. It was so pleasant and relaxing. Fabulous place. We sauntered back to the van and planned a vague route for tomorrow – we were heading to Galway and Connemara and it looked like it was going to be fabulous.

We woke up to overcast skies and a keen wind.

After tea and biccies in bed, we decided to head to the nearby village of Carrigaholt for breakfast as recommended by Neil, our campsite host. To Amelia’s cafe to be precise – Neil’s builder friend had renovated it, alongside numerous other buildings in the village and Neil was happily promoting the fact. So we eagerly packed up and headed that way, (checking out a nearby bay for a beach – it was tiny and not very inspiring), parking in a little square where the Post Office was playing music through an outdoor speaker. Amelia’s was on a corner and we stuck our heads in to check if The Pup could come in. Unfortunately no. Ireland is apparently very strict about dogs in shops (retailers need to get a special licence) so The Pup had to stay in the Van.

Our dream of a bacon butty vapourised as we sat down – it was cakes, toast and croissants, so instead of a full Irish breakfast we went continental. The lady who ran it was lovely, very chatty and apologetic about The Pup. The cafe was beautifully decorated with exposed beams, stone walls and painted in a pale green. It was a credit to the builder and his foresight (they had only been opened 4 weeks – the building had stood neglected for nearly 20 years before that. Imagine a derelict building slap bang in the middle of the village?). A Dutch couple approached us and recognised us from the campsite – they are following the Wild Atlantic Way northwards just like us – we joked about bumping into each other for the rest of our trip.

The sun had come out and despite the wind, we wandered down a country lane with The Pup to the Carrigaholt Tower about 1km away. Information boards gave us an insight to its history, but now it stood as a tall ruin, overlooking the mouth of the Shannon. Looking into the bay, we spotted about 5 dolphins swimming in the water – apparently there are quite a few that hang out around here and it was great to watch them. We have seen very little wildlife so far.

We met an English couple who started chatting until she realised that she was losing credit and other important cards out of her phone case. They walked back with us until she spotted them lying on the ground. They too were doing exactly our route too! We sauntered back and jumped back into the van to continue our journey. With the mountains gone and the countryside relatively flat, we decided to spend more time visiting places rather than being scenery junkies, keen to see the next amazing view. So we followed coastal roads (not necessarily the WAW – I’m fed up typing the name so I’m going to use the initials from now on – and just before the village of Kilbaha, we came across a spectacular outcrop of rock, almost horizontally poking out into the sea. Nature is so beautiful.

We carried on towards the Loop House Lighthouse, noting that there seemed to be more crofter style cottages, albeit rendered and painted. They hunkered down in dips in the land, protected from the onslaught of wind straight off the Atlantic. Some looked quite old, others relatively modern, but they looked comfortable in their surroundings.

Loop House Lighthouse appeared in the distance and we went to park in the little car park. Three euros got us a ticket for a general wander – dogs weren’t allowed in the lighthouse for the guided tour – so we checked out the little visitor centre, poked our noses in the little cafe and had a wander around the grassy grounds. The sun had disappeared and the wind dragged in cloud off the ocean. Studying Neil’s hieroglyphics on the map he gave us, the Bridge of Ross seemed to be our next destination – on the way out we bumped into our Dutch couple and spotted the Credit Card couple’s van too.

We meandered up to the Bridge of Ross through wild, windswept and remote countryside, with stubby trees and hedges. It was a different kind of beauty, a beauty of hardships and struggles. The land was relatively flat and to our right, we could see the River Shannon again. The Bridge of Ross again had a small car park and we followed a fenced gravelly path alongside plummeting cliffs and a collapsed sinkhole. There was a stiff breeze here and despite the temperature supposedly being 17 degrees, the wind chill factor brought it down considerably. Everybody was wrapped up in jackets and woolly hats. The path finally brought us to the “bridge” where the sea had burrowed its way under our feet and left a parcel of land to cross over to the rocks beyond. One day, it would collapse and an island would be created. Waves crashed against the rock and sprayed up – amazing as it was, this was quite tempered. What would it be like during a winter storm?

Feeling chilly, we went back to the van, spotting our new found friends yet again. Just beyond the Bridge of Ross, we passed the 1,000 mile mark on the van. We were now heading towards Kilkee, further up the coast, following Neil’s arrows. There were the usual scattering of houses, but there were so many in this remote corner. What did people do here? We guessed that some were smallholdings, others morphed into larger farms. There must be a few second homes too. It just seemed so very far away from civilisation. The little village of Cross only offered a small shop, so where did people got for shopping? We had seen no supermarket delivery vans either. We were intrigued.

We did a sharp left as Neil said there was a great, but little known viewpoint along the road and yes, we steadily climbed and as we summited, a 360 degree panorama opened up. With us high up and the land flat, we could see where we had been yesterday – the power station, the River Shannon, County Kerry in the distance, Carrigaholt from this morning, ships out to sea on our left and in front of us, our future adventures. You could just see for miles and miles even in the low cloud. We dropped down and followed the coastal road, with incredible cliffs dropping down into the sea and stacks protruding from the surf, left stranded as the rocks given way and crashed into the sea below.

We dropped into Kilkee, a town hugging a sweeping sandy bay. We found the High Street, looking for a place to have lunch. We pulled into a parking bay, while I went to check out a possible eaterie – they had an outside area so we could bring The Pup – but on my return, hubby was ready to go. Two men were busy jet washing the front of a building opposite and there was a heck of a noise vibrating along the street. Not conducive for a nice lunch. So we abandoned the plan to eat there and went looking for somewhere else, which didn’t happen. We parked the van on the front and decided to pick up some takeaway food in the cafe/deli I’d found and eat it in the van. It was a lovely little cafe called The Pantry and I loitered outside with The Pup when a staff member said “oh you can bring the dog inside”. I sighed deeply. Back home, there are stickers on shops doors saying “Dogs welcome” or similar so you instantly know where you stand. Here, there doesn’t seem to be a such a scheme and working on the fact that its deemed illegal to take your dog into a retail unit, one of us has to stay outside, sometime unnecessarily! We hadn’t seen many dogs on this trip at all.

We left Kilkee behind and continued northwards, the countryside softening a little. Just past Doonbeg , was a Trump Golf Course which we had a quick nose at – as we approached, a helicopter flew in. We took a quick photo and retreated back to the road. We had also seen a few new housing estates – a cluster of new homes, full of charm and character, slipping into the countryside as if they had been there for years. We were really impressed with the effort the builders and architects had made – back in England, it seems to be norm to build massive estates of identical square boxes with no chimneys and totally lacking in any imagination . Makes me despair – it’s an almost sling them up and make a big profit type mentality.

I digress. With the weather closing in, we decided to head to Doolin for the night, peeling off at Lahinch (or Lehinch, depending on what road sign you looked – it wasn’t sure to be either masculine or feminine as someone had gone around gouging out the first vowel for some unknown reason)and picked up the road that took us past the Cliffs of Moher, an UNESCO site and a world famous attraction. We drove past and made the decision to return in the morning – it was nearly 5pm and we were getting tired. The actual cliffs (all 9 miles of them) were set back from the road but the bit in between had been filled with a car park, tarmac paths, a visitor centre and other touristy paraphernalia. It was a bit disheartening that a open natural space had been hijacked in such a way, but apparently the cliffs were well worth it.

So we dropped down into the little village of Doolin and checked into the Doolin campsite for 2 nights. We spent many minutes circling the campsite, in a state of flux of where to set up. The wind had got up and was whistling across the site, so we needed protection. Eventually, we parked next to a fellow VW camper in a little walled field and put the kettle on.

With the plan to return to the Cliffs of Moher in the morning, we discovered there was a free shuttle bus from Doolin to the cliffs. We wanted a day away from the van and so that would be perfect. It was recommended that you booked seats online for the bus as it could get busy, so I excitedly found the website. There was no box for dogs travelling, but after a bit of digging found that only assistance or support dogs were allowed onboard. Well, that scuppered the Van Free Day until I found out that there was also a regular bus service – that could possibly work. I then went onto the Cliffs of Moher website and checked their dog policy – yep, The Pup was very welcome, but I also found I could get cheap entrance tickets. If you turn up unannounced, the entrance fee was 15 euros each. Ouch. However, by booking online there were two pricing options: off peak (9-11am and 4pm – 9pm) was 8 euros each while the busiest time between 11am and 4pm was charged at 12 euros each. This was a no brainer – we would have a quiet morning lurking around Doolin, maybe lunch in a nearby pub, a game of pitch and putt at nearby La/Lehinch in the afternoon and then to the Cliffs for after 4pm. All we needed was better weather!

The mist had descended as the evening wore on and rained a couple of times. We sat in the van with the awning up and the side door open. We raided the fridge for cheese and other nibbles and made a cuppa. About half nine, we decided to walk into the village (all two minutes) and to a recommended pub called McGanns on the corner, for a Guinness. It was drizzling, so we did a bit of a trot only to find that McGanns wasn’t on the corner and a quick recce failed to locate it. We ended up in Fitz’s on the aforementioned corner, but alas The Pup wasn’t allowed in. So as a concession, we sat by the entrance door (otherwise it was the smoker’s covered area outside), supping our pints and listening to a group of guys playing Irish music on guitars and violins in the other room which was fabulous. Meanwhile, The Pup charmed any passing punter (she was good at suckering up to the Americans and Canadians). We braved the weather again and galloped back to the van – it’s amazing how wet you can get in drizzle and got ready for bed. The wind whipped at the awning and after a quick Google, discovered McGanns was a 7 minute walk further up the road……….ah well!

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………..

Today we woke ridiculously early. Typical.

The weather was overcast, but warm, the sun trying to come out – towards the coast, the clouds were low and dark. Glad we weren’t doing Skelligs today. Later as we broke camp, it started to rain.

The toilet lights at this place are motion sensored, which I can totally understand to save electricity, but they keep going out after 20 seconds and you have to keep jiggling in the cubicle. Glad I don’t have to visit during the hours of darkness!

So we decided to head to a beach today – Inch Beach to be precise on the Dingle Peninsula. We drove to Killorglin which was very quiet for a Saturday morning, before turning towards Dingle. Again, beautiful scenery – mountains and wide bays. We stopped for coffee at a rather posh looking shop, standing in the middle of nowhere, on the main road. Downstairs was clothing – all tweeds and woollens, scarves and mugs and upstairs a rather large cafe with a sweeping curved window that looked down onto a lovely bay for below. We took a window seat and drank coffee – we were the only customers and I wondered who they catered for. Perhaps they relied on the hordes of tourist coach passengers spending their hard earned cash – it seemed that kind of place.

We also started noticing old abandoned stone buildings – the traditional crofter type houses – scattered here and there, every one roofless but with all the walls and the apexes at each end still standing sturdily with tufts of grass growing out of them. Some stood alone, others next to a new building. It seemed a shame that they hadn’t been maintained, but maybe that was too expensive. Later, we noticed more modern houses that had been abandoned as well. They still had their roofs, but windows were broken and rotten, net curtains grey and shredded. It was as if an elderly person had passed and the house left to rot.

Now we were back into mountain country, after the wide coastal plains around Cahersiveen. They seemed to roll down, turning into fields before hitting the sea. It’s so lush and green, trees and bushes everywhere. I was on the lookout for a postbox as I needed to post some cards, but the green postboxes aren’t easy to spot and they’re usually embedded into a wall. Helped by Google maps, I tracked one down, pleased to see that collection was at 1.30pm, a more civilised time than my home village of 7am and my cards wouldn’t be loitering the box for too long.

We finally arrived at Inch Beach, a 6 km long sliver of flat soft sand and dunes poking out into Dingle Bay. You can park directly on the beach, which we did and let The Pup out for a run and a swim. She was a very happy hound. It was a fabulous panorama of both the Kerry and Dingle peninsulas, with dark brooding clouds hanging over them, the sun peering out in the gaps and lighting up the greens on the hills. You could watch the weather here – you could even see rain showers in the valleys. After a good run and with our eyes on the tide, we headed back for a cuppa and piece of cake in the Van and watched with dismay as the Van slowly filled with sand from The Pup and our shoes! The downside of beaches – sand everywhere. We would be sweeping it out all day. As we drove out, we noted how everyone literally drives on the beach and stops, ending up parking on top of one another – there’s 6km of beach here for goodness sake. Is it the eagerness to get out onto the sand or to be near the toilets and food vendors or just sheer laziness? Weird.

We got back onto the main road to Dingle before taking an abrupt left down a tiny country back lane which took us down to a little cove. There was a little parking area, but it was full. We followed another car, but kept our distance as the driver kept stopping to take photos. We arrived in Dingle, a busy and attractive little town, but it’s main street clogged with cars. We drove through it, contemplating whether to stop, but we had no need to wander aimlessly around shops. But it had a lovely feel and was full of character. We decided to drive around the headland to Dunquin, into a land of mountains, low heavy cloud, cliffs and dry stone walls. It was quite atmospheric. The local landowners with ancient crofter cottages and beehive huts on their land, had spotted a lucrative market opportunity and were encouraging tourists to visit them “only a two minute walk!”. I’m sure they were charging for the privilege. You could see most of them from the road anyway, but good for the farmers trying to make a living from this difficult terrain.

The coastline was breath taking, but everyone else thought so too. There was a lot more traffic and humans. We went down to a parking area overlooking the coast at Coumeenoole Beach and wished we hadn’t – we ended up squeezing past cars in an already full car park, doing a 12,000 point turn and had to wait for less confident drivers. It was a nightmare and we escaped quickly, avoiding other crowded areas elsewhere. We did stop at Dunquin Pier, one of three ferry points for the Blasket Islands and had a walk around – there was a little coffee hut and two ferry ticketing sheds literally tied down with ropes. Gets a touch windy here then? We walked down a steep narrow concreted path with many others, which ended on the dockside far below. It’s here that you can catch a ferry to the Islands as a foot passenger and if you’re prepared to lug a tent over, you can camp there too. As we had no tent, we passed on that opportunity and let The Pup have a quick paddle before we climbed up again. There seemed to be many South Asians and Middle Eastern people here in big groups – whether they were on a big guided tour, we weren’t sure. We didn’t linger here and headed off again and came up to a fabulous view point overlooking a beautiful bay and the wider valley jostling with other people for the photo op. Fed up with this sudden busyness and crowds, we spied from our lofty position, Clogher Beach and headed down. The tiny car park was nearly full, but we got a space and wandered down to this lovely little sandy cove – there were a few people, but we went into a secluded corner and let The Pup in the water, though it dropped away and we were careful that she didn’t get into trouble as swimming was prohibited here. We ended up having lunch here, cobbling together bits that we found in the fridge – cheese, tomatoes, crisps sort of thing and sat in the sun by the Van and chilled.

The afternoon was wearing on. We did a big loop back to Dingle as we wanted to go over the Conner Pass. We drove past fields that veered up to the coastline and ended on the edge of a series of cliffs that just dropped dramatically away down to the sea and then around a corner another fabulous bay.

We both mentioned that we hadn’t seen any electricity pylons or towers marching across the countryside or on top of hills in south west Ireland at all – there just seemed to be miles of wooden telegraph poles, some of them seriously leaning, with heavy duty cable dangling – sometimes quite low – either by the roadside or across the fields delivering power to all these scattered and isolated homes. They just melted into the background and were unobtrusive which it should be.

We entered Dingle again and ended up on a rather modern, trendy sea front, all very smart, but teeming with people. The painted houses were back and there were a few built out of stone which were very attractive – they reminded us of the Lake District. We were tempted to stop, but it was so busy that we continued on and negotiated our way out to Conner Pass, climbing steadily into the mountains whose tops were devoured by cloud. There were various warning signs including one telling cyclists how steep it was and how far to the summit (information as a cyclist myself, I would prefer not to know about, thank you very much). We arrived at the summit parking area and managed to get views and photos both sides despite the lowering cloud. It was quite spectacular. With a caravan site to find for the night, we pulled out of the car park and started to descend. With a stone wall stopping us from plunging down the mountainside on one side and the sheer rock face on the other, the road weaved itself down the side of the mountain, but suddenly went into a bendy single carriageway and as we couldn’t see who was coming up, we stopped. A white car behind us (probably assuming we were taking photos) overtook us and proceeded down the narrowing road, only to be confronted by a long line of cars coming up. Fascinated, we watched him having to reverse all the way back up (nearly into the rock face) and let them through. Such was his impatience, he was off again and ended up squeezing past people which took many minutes. We just clocked the last car we saw before it disappeared from view and then waited for him to come through. Simples and less stressy, though we had a long queue of cars behind us……..

We dropped off the mountain and drove along the coast, turning left off the main road to the Anchor Caravan Park, some 2 miles from Castlegregory and managed to get in. Found a lovely sunny pitch and relaxed for a while before deciding to walk to Castlegregory for tea. It was a pleasant walk along a track and then onto a very straight road to the village that seemed endless. The mountains in the distance were dark and brooding under the cloud, but where the clouds broke and let the sunlight through, made it very beautiful.

Castlegregory is a small town with about five eateries so we had plenty of options. Our first two choices were either full or didn’t allow dogs, we didn’t fancy pizza so the Pizza Shed was discounted, though if we got stuck we would go back there. The local pub was closed for a wedding reception, so we waddled around to Pisces, a nice looking fish restaurant with a tasty menu. Dogs weren’t allowed inside so we sat under the covered outside area (a bit like pariahs – everybody going in and out were all dressed smartly and we were in shorts, hoodies and still a bit sandy – personally I would of put us round the back). The Pup got lots of adulation and fuss from everyone who passed which she accepted gracefully while we ordered mussels, scampi and prawns and halibut. It was really delicious all washed down with a very nice Pinot. Just perfect. As we were finishing, we noticed that the sun had disappeared as well as the mountains behind a sheet of misty rain. Not good. And guess who didn’t have their rain gear? Clutching our half bottle of wine, we retraced our steps, hoping that it wouldn’t catch up with us. We hadn’t gone far when we felt the first drizzly drops – can cope with that – but as we got to the most exposed bit, it got heavier. We stopped looking back too as all we could see was rain. Thankfully, the heavy rain was only a couple of minutes and it finally stopped. We were just a touch damp in the end and glad to get back to the Van. We did our ablutions and shut down for the night, just as the heavens truly opened and lashed it down. Snuggling under the duvet, we thanked our lucky stars – we would have got drowned.