County Cork
Around the Caha Pass, we came into County Cork. The Caha Mountains have one of the last remaining natural wildernesses in all of Europe. In the Glengariff Ancient Oak Forest, where twisted and gnarled, massive oaks line the banks of the Glengariff River, it reminds one of the times, when Celtic chiefs roamed the land.
Descending from the mountains, we rode into Glengariff. We were hoping to make Bantry but my TC (Travel Companion) just couldn’t drive any further. At Bantry Bay, we turned right on the road out to the Beara Peninsula. Not far down it, we came upon the most charming accommodations of our journey. Called the “Old Farmhouse” (tel. 027 63336), it was hosted by Luc and Louise Onclin from Holland. They were so warm and congenial, like the kind of hosts we had encountered throughout the country. We told them of our experiences of the last two days. They assured us we could take our time, come to breakfast and leave any time we wanted to.
Our lodging was in a separate building, the old barn, over two hundred years old. It was full of wondrous objects – soaps, perfumes, books, pillows, roses, and a tea ball – everything to make us feel the comforts of home. Lithographs, worked in vibrant, earth tones, all done by the same Dutch artist, adorned the walls. A lovely garden surrounded the house and barn, with a finger of Bantry Bay off in the distance.
Setting out to explore the town of Glengariff, we found there was nothing there except a huge woolen mill shop and the old Eccles Hotel. Built right at the head of this part of Bantry Bay, the hotel dates from 1745. In its prime, this hostelry extended hospitality to Royalty, artists and writers such as Thackeray, Synge, Yeats and Shaw.
We decided to have dinner in its spacious dining room. Several tour groups, full of elderly people, were spending the night here and dining as well. We consumed another fabulous meal. My choice was lobster bisque, sea trout, and peach Melba. Our waitress informed us that there was Irish dancing going on in the ballroom upstairs. After dinner, we headed up there. We assumed a local group had been hired to entertain the tour groups. We were feeling so fortunate to be allowed to go.
What a disappointment! A three-piece band was playing American music from the 40′s. The members of the tour group were dancing. We didn’t stay long. Did stop to have my picture taken on the terrace, amidst a sea of blooming calla lilies, which I adore. Came back to our delightful accommodation, where I looked through the guest book and added a note of our own.
We awoke to another gorgeous day! Breakfast was taken in the glass-enclosed room at the front of the house. From inside, we had a beautiful view of the royal blue waters of Bantry Bay. A very elegant spread was laid out for us with a fancy, white tablecloth and all the trimmings. Fresh orange juice, poppy seed rolls, good fried eggs, fresh butter were some of the items that made the meal so enjoyable.
Bidding adieu, reluctantly, to our agreeable hosts, we were sorry we had had such a brief sojourn with them. Back on N71, we headed for Bantry. My TC says driving in Ireland is like being in a road rally with many obstacles – tractors, peat trucks, cows, sheep, and always the curving road. Trees, ferns and foxgloves mingled in dappled sunlight as we quickly came to Bantry. A large anchor was perched along the quay with nicely groomed, orderly buildings, painted in deep colors, forming a row behind it.
At Bantry House, we just stopped to take a photo from the carpark. Unfortunately, we didn’t even go in the grounds. We realized our mistake when we viewed a video of the movie Moll Flanders back home. The last scene was filmed on the front lawn of Bantry House with Whiddy Island in the distance. What a gorgeous, flower-filled scene it displayed!
Bantry Bay is where Wolfe Tone and the French fleet were prevented from landing in 1796 by fierce winds and storms. They had to return to France. Richard White, an Englishman, had alerted the English forces in Cork about the impending invasion. For this, he was awarded a peerage. He built Bantry House, which still stands in “fading gentilly” facing the sea.
Skipping over Sheep’s Head and Mizen Peninsulas, we traveled on through Skibbereen and Leap, where we turned right. An overhead arbor of trees was part of our beautiful drive to Glandore, an upscale fishing village. Many sailboats were anchored in this quiet cove, with water as green as the trees.
Drombeg Stone Circle was the reason for the detour. A smaller version of Stonehenge, it is similar in its setting, although here it is surrounded by the stone-petitioned, undulating patches of green countryside. Seventeen standing stones of various heights make up the circle. A horizontal, reclining stone is aligned with two standing stones directly opposite it to the midwinter sunset. Over to the side are two wells possibly used for rituals. Lonely Planet Guidebook says that hot stones can heat these waters and keep it hot for hours.
Back on N71, we stopped at Clonakilty, the birthplace of the national hero, Michael Collins. Lisnagum Ring Fort is “re-constructed to give some impression of life in a 10th century defended farmstead.” But it was closed and we couldn’t see anything through the tall, wooden fence. Just before Innishannon, we turned right onto Route 805 to go to Kinsale, another highly-touted place. Today was Saturday and the traffic was horrendous so we didn’t even stop. Boasting many narrow alleyways and a large harbor full of all manner of expensive boats, it would have been an interesting place to explore, when it had fewer people. We just rode down the long estuary, crossed a bridge and traveled back to the harbor, seeing a castle in ruins along the way.
Taking Route 600 into Cork, we encountered even more traffic and confusion, as Cork is the second largest city in Ireland. Coming in on Anglesea Street, we saw the City Hall in front of the River Lee. A massive crowd had gathered here in 1963, to hear President John F Kennedy deliver a speech. This was his finest hour, a son of Ireland returning to his grandfather’s home country. Crossing the river here, we went only a few blocks when we came to another river. We decided to consult our map in our guidebook and found out that most of the city center of Cork is on an island between two forks of the River Lee.
Turning on St. Patrick Street, we curved around to the Grande Parade, a wide boulevard with the Nationalist Monument at its southern end. Dedicated to those heroes, who fought for independence from 1798 to 1867, it must have been erected in the latter year. We seemed to go around in circles to South Main Street and back, passing the Beamish & Crawford brewery, built in a neo-Tudor style.
Crossing South Gate Bridge, we passed by St. Fin Barr’s Cathedral, the site of the founding of Cork, where the saint established his monastery in 650. Owing to the prestige of this place of learning, Celtic chiefs and later Norman knights chose to be buried there. The structure today is the third building on the site, the Protestant bishopric of the Church of England. A competition was held for the design of this edifice and the Victorian architect, William Burges won. His plan for a neo-Gothic structure with three spires was completed in 1879.
On the other arm of the river at Levitt’s Quay, we saw the Cork Opera House and the Crawford Art Gallery behind it. Finally, we gave up on the maze of one-way streets and narrow lanes, the traffic and commotion, and crossed the second branch of the Lee River on St. Patrick’s Bridge.
The steep hills took us to St. Ann’s Church, sometimes referred to as Shandon, in a much calmer area. A favorite among the locals, it is known for its “pepperpot,” two-toned belltower, made of red and gray sandstone. It houses the famous bells, which ring out with that beloved song “The Bells of St. Mary.” A panoramic view of Cork can be seen from here.
Taking Upper John Street out of Cork, just a few miles northwest of the city, is the small town of Blarney with its castle and famous stone. We were very hungry by now so decided to have a late lunch before touring the castle. Had a tuna fish sandwich and apple pie at Mackie’s on the main street. The tour buses and tourists were just about all gone, as we made our way into the grounds of Blarney Castle.
What a pleasant surprise this large area of green space was! Filled with many grand trees, I especially liked the purple-leafed maples. The castle was similar in design to Bunratty, but it had a lovely balcony on one side, just waiting for a Juliet! Massive circular towers were all that were left of its enclosing walls.
The Blarney Stone is what makes this place famous. However, it’s one of the loveliest castle and gardens to visit without the notoriety of the stone. The word “blarney” was introduced to the English language by no less a personage than Queen Elizabeth I. She became exasperated at the way Cormac MacCarthy, an Irish Chieftain who was then Lord Blarney, could talk for hours, smiling and flattering, without ever actually agreeing with her demands. Frommer’s Guide states that this “may be the first recorded instance of that lovely Irish talent for concealing a wily mind behind inoffensive words.”
“The Stone has the traditional power of conferring eloquence on all who kiss it” is how the brochure describes it. But it goes on to say that “Blarney is pleasant talk, intended to deceive without offending.” Since I already possess the “gift of gab” and I like to be different, I did not kiss the Blarney Stone. But my TC went through the slightly treacherous procedure of doing it.
From atop the castle, we had gorgeous views of the nearby, 19th century manor house, open only in the summer, the town of Blarney and the stunning countryside. Back on the ground, we just had enough time to walk around the Rock Close. To quote the brochure again, this is “a curious place of ancient stones, by legend a garden of druidic origin and a center of worship in pre-Christian days. The place has an aura of magic and mystique with Wishing Steps, Witch’s Kitchen, Druid’s Cave and many other delights, telling a story of centuries past.”
Wanting to find another B&B as delightful as the one we stayed in the previous night, we drove out into the rural area. We weren’t as fortunate today so we settled for a place in Waterloo. It wasn’t classified as a farm accommodation but the smell of cow manure was horrendous. I’ll take the sheep anyday.
After resting for awhile, we went back to Blarney for a rousing Saturday night at the spacious, yellow with green trim, Mulberry Arms. It was crowded with revelers. We went in the back where the band was supposed to play. Traditional Irish music was what the sign proclaimed but the name of the band was “Wild Rovers.” It sounded more like the term for a rock band, but it wasn’t. The by-now-familiar strains of Irish music greeted our ears, as we drank our brews amidst the Irish people. I like to people-watch and try to guess the adventures in the lives of those around us.
I thought we were the only tourists in the place. My TC didn’t think so. But after the Wild Rovers played for two hours, only taking one break, they performed a piece, which brought everyone in the place to their feet. It was the national anthem of Ireland, with which we were unfamiliar, and, also, their closeout piece. The bar stayed open, but with no more music, so we decided to call it a night.
We awoke early for a change, had our breakfast and were back on the road. Bypassing Cork, we headed east on N25. Viewing a lake full of swans, we paused for a moment to appreciate these graceful creatures. Right outside Youghal, we saw a sign for one of a saint’s wells. Having passed up several of these along the way, we decided we had to make one of these. A smooth, stone cross and marker were on one side, with the well, a one-foot square hole in the ground, was on the other. A white stone structure, in the form of a miniature chapel, was over the site. White lilacs and a red-flowered bush added color to the scene.
Youghal-Eochal means yew wood or tree and is pronounced “Yawl”. Sir Walter Raleigh lived here for awhile. Tradition has it that he had the first potatoes planted here in Ireland, which he brought back from his voyage to the New World. Also, he “took his first puff on a pipe of American tobacco.”
A six or seven storey, attractively designed, clocktower gateway, dating to 1777, is located in the center of one of the two streets of this quaint, old town. St. Mary’s Church, which has parts dating back to 1220, is one of the oldest churches in Ireland, still in use. But when we pulled into the carpark, a kindly, elderly lady informed us that the service had just ended, and the church was closed. Myrtle Grove, Raleigh’s home in the 16th century, was privately owned and not open to visitors. So we just drove by the pretty waterfront and left. The Blackwater River opens into a sea lough, which forms Youghal Harbor. The movie Moby Dick was filmed here in 1954.
