(this is the bit AFTER the "Dingle Dangle Scaredycats" but a music rant got in the way...)In what was to become time-honoured fashion during our trip, we indulged in a trip to the “Super Valu”(no thanks, we don’t need any of those new-fangled letter e’s) to stock up for the next few days, where we were delighted to discover that the craze for hot-deli counters had hit the south west. Roast chicken for dinner it was to be then!
Clutching the hot fowl tightly – just to add to that uncomfortable, way too hot situation I was encountering in general – we found our way back to the van and promptly held up the traffic by attempting to reverse out of our parking space. Two somewhat longer vehicles had pulled in either side of us during our stay in the town and I was in the unenviable position of having to try to come out blind onto the busiest bit of road on the peninsula. Eventually a kindly soul slowed to let me out. At least I hope they did – by this time I’d moved graduated to the “ach, bugger it – it’s too hot to hang about” school of driving etiquette and just floored it. Unscathed we pootled off in search of accommodation, not daring to switch on the radio lest we heard the phrase, “…and in Dingle a thirteen car pile-up is causing congestion near the roundabout, Gardai are keen to speak to the driver of a yellow Volkswagen camper…”
The
Gallarus Oratory is, according to the RAF Guide, “the single most impressive early Christian monument on the Dingle Peninsula.” I’m hard pressed to argue but, having visited it on our previous trip too, I’m still struggling to think why the guidebook limits the impressiveness solely to the Dingle Peninsula. Can there really be a better monument – early Christian or otherwise – anywhere else on the island? Answers to the usual address… The oratory was apparently built between the ninth and twelfth centuries, those early builders certainly knew how to stretch out a job, that’s for sure. The structure looks like an upturned boat and is said to be the transitional stage between the early monastic beehive huts (which, says the book, “litter” the area – how careless) and the later rectangular churches. It truly is a staggering piece of architecture, yet so seemingly simple. Perhaps that’s where the beauty lies? It’s rare, I would suppose, for something so understated to have such a huge – and I just know I’m going to hate using this expression – “wow factor” (yep, hated it) but site at Gallarus is really something special.
So, too, the campsite. Segue or what? Did you like that?
The Campail Teach an Aragail is – says the blurb – Europe’s most westerly campsite and, aside from excellent facilities and lovely pitches (bordered by hedges and almost lit up by fuschia), has a fantastic entry in the C&C guide which assures weary travellers that the site is “300m from oratory.” I love the idea of places being located by their proximity to ancient monastic sites. Edinburgh – only 7 miles from Rosslyn Chapel, home of the Knights Templar; Camp Bethlehem – no room at the inn? Try one of our serviced pitches…
I digress. Finding a lovely pitch we had a bit of a lie down and a rest – it really is amazing how tiring being on holiday in soaring temperatures can be. Schedulelessness (is that a word?) can, I suppose, be a problem. If you let it. In no rush to do anything much, we did nothing much. The campsite grassy areas and old motorboat-cum-climbing frame provided plenty of entertainment for Ben and we felt no compulsion to do anything much other than go for a quick pint in the nearby village of Ballyferriter. Writing this (far too) many months later, the exact order of things is a bit of a blur but we supped a Guinness on the terrace outside “Tigh TP’s” in the early evening sunshine before chugging back along to the lovely golden sands here…
http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2795/374/320/scan0005.jpg…for a bit of a paddle. We were getting quite into this whole Atlantic thing.
Next day, our burgeoning passion for sunbathing sated, normality was restored as we set off in search of a tea-room. You weren’t expecting that were you? Unpredictability, that’s the key…Anyway, we weren’t just looking for any old tea room, this was (according to the Rough As…) “the best place for daytime eating, The Dunquin Pottery Café.” Always a winner – the old pottery/cake/tea combo. We’d been a bit disappointed, to be truthful, on our last visit to Ireland when we’d visited the wonderful
Stephen Pearce’s outlet at Shanagarry to discover that there was no café in which to enjoy a cuppa in one of the lovely Pearce mugs. Digression again…
Back at Dunquin, we pulled into what looked like a recently laid car park next to what looked pretty far from the slightly careworn and ramshackle pottery/café building I’d been expecting. This was impressive, outbuilding upon gloriously restored outbuilding and, what was more, no obvious sign of a café. This simply wouldn’t do. Investigation proved what I’d begun to suspect – we’d been duped! This wasn’t the rustic potting operation we were after, this was none other than
Louis Mulcahy’s, much beloved of the Dublin coffee table set. Fully glazed and high up on the arsey nonsense scale, who really needs a glazed blue urn in the middle of the Dingle peninsula?
URNSTo top it all, the refreshments on offer were limited to (albeit complimentary) overbrewed filter coffee in tiny (glazed and jaggy) mugs. You’ll admire my restraint as I stomped out unrefreshed…
