The people of Ireland’s hearts are as warm as this country’s weather is cold. The thermometer rarely rose over 13 degrees the whole time, and we saw plenty of rain, but the green beauty of the countryside and the genuine kindness of everyone we have met, kept us smiling the whole way around the Emerald Isle.
If you pull a map out when lost in the streets of Dublin, you don’t actually need to read it. Someone will see you’re lost and ask ‘watchyalookinfor?’ and tell you how to get there. This happened to us more than once. It’s like they are leprechauns hiding in the cracks between the cobbled streets, just waiting to help a lost traveller.
Dublin itself is kind of like a more populated version of Ballarat in Victoria, with a lot more history. A big highlight (at least for me), was visiting the Irish Writer’s Museum and seeing a 1st Edition copy of Bram Stoker’s ‘Dracula.’
After a couple of days in Dublin we moved on to pick up our van, Snowflake. A good friend of ours, Brooke Grayling and her Irish partner Connor, had kept our van in their shed for 6 months waiting for us to arrive. True to the Irish spirit, Connor took Snowflake to be serviced and have a few things fixed without us even asking him! He then welcomed us into his home with open arms and a warm glass of whiskey.
In the morning, we cleaned Snowflake of 6 months worth of dust and a touch of winter mould. Deciding to break free we took her for a test drive up to the North West coast of Ireland in search of waves. After three and a half hours of meandering through the rugged countryside full of stone walls, hedges and black-faced sheep, we pulled into what is known as the surf capital of Ireland, a small town called Bundoran.
We walked into the local surf shop, Surfworld to say hello to the owner, Richie, whom a friend had recommended we go and see. We were greeted with the same warm charm we’d experienced already in Dublin and Galway. Richie happily filled us in on the best place to camp, the best places to surf and the best places to eat. His exact words before we walked out the door were: “If you need any help with anything at all, just give me or my wife Brihony a call.” And he meant it. They took us for dinner, where we spoke about Irish politics, history, religion, fairies, goblins, and his ridiculously amazing Starwars collection (Richie has every original issue Starwars action figure, plus the re-issues and more. The life-size Storm Trooper suit is a highlight.) He took me surfing out at ‘The Peak’ and introduced me to the locals, including a character called Handsome Frank, who Richie told me to ‘watch’. Handsome Frank’s response was “you can watch me all you like, as long as you recognise me.” Classic.
Just outside of Bundoran there is a little known heritage site called Creeveykeel. It’s a rock cairn, which is around five thousand years old. Five thousand years old! That’s older than Christ, older than the druids, older than the pyramids. It’s quite an eerie place, an ancient burial sight, set amongst the cow paddocks. Richie tells me that it has thankfully been preserved over the years because of the intense superstitious beliefs of the Irish people, that the fairy’s and goblins lived there. In fact, the locals call this kind of place, a Fairy Hole.
Another highlight of Bundoran is a small bar on the main strip, called Brennan’s. They are renowned for serving the best pint of Guinness in Ireland (which pretty much means in the world), and have won the prestigious honour officially 5 times in the 111 years they’ve been open. It is currently run by two sisters, named Mary and Anne, who both are in their 70s. The best part about Brennan’s is that it’s a truly traditional ‘conversation bar’. This means no music, no TV, no pool table. You are literally forced to actually speak to the people you are there with. In this day and age of laptops, iPhones, iPads and iBeers, it was pretty incredible just sitting down, drinking a pint and having a chat.
Snowflake loved Bundoran so much she didn’t want us to leave. In fact, she decided to blow a fuel-line and start leaking diesel everywhere we went. However, to the rescue came a sham (that’s Irish for mate) of Richies, a mechanic named Pat. Not only did he fix the problem on the spot, he did it for free! What a bloody legend!
'Us with our good friend Paige who came along for some of the ride.'
With our wheels once more mobile we headed south down the coast. Ireland is called the Emerald Isle for good reason. Thousands of shades of green thrive across the land. Hills, cliffs, shamrocks, the turgid Atlantic waters, all emanate a green glow. We stopped along the way at some incredible places. Kylemore Abbey and Gardens, The Dingle Peninsula and Knock were all points of interest.
Knock is the most religious town in Ireland. Pope John Paul II visited this tiny place in the late 70s and said mass to a stunning 450,000 pilgrims. It was hard to imagine so many people fitting into one small area. Put it this way, we camped on the main street and no-one said boo to us.
Finally the lashing whips of the Arctic wind started to seep into our bones, and we made the decision to move on, by catching a Ferry from Belfast to Scotland. But Ireland wouldn’t let us leave without one last peek at her people’s charity. Snowflake threw another hissy fit and conked out at a service station near a sorry excuse for a town called Moira. It was the Sunday of a long weekend, which meant despite multiple phone calls to mechanics, the RAC roadside assist and other vehicle recovery centres no-one would help us. Enter a short man with a shaved head and jail tatts on his hands named Kevin. Kevin saw we were having some trouble, I asked if he knew anything about Transit Vans. His eyes lit up with joy. ‘I been driving Transits since I was a wee one.’ He told me. ‘Let me have a look.’ I told him that we’d had no luck getting any help from the professionals, and he shook his head in disgust, popped the bonnet and then started laughing. He walked over to his van, pulled out a pocketknife and some duct tape MacGyver style (no shit), and fixed the rod, which connected our air-intake to the accelerator. Kevin then gave us his mobile number in case we were to run into any other troubles while in Ireland. It doesn’t get any better than that. I tried to buy him a six-pack, but he’d have none of it. ‘Just enjoy the rest of your weekend’ he said and went back to his car, whistling.
So with that, our trip in Ireland was done. We putted off in The White Badger and boarded a late afternoon ferry to the land of Castles, Kilts and the Loch Ness Monster; Scotland. We are happy to be moving out of the cold and wind, but have never felt such gratitude at the kindness and love an island of strangers had to offer us. If you ever get to Ireland, make sure you go to Bundoran, it’s an epic town. Just watch out for that Handsome Frank bloke.
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