KarenWoo

Alessandra, two of my posts on my Scottish TR were intercepted, too. And the moderator explained about the automated process.

We are getting old, too; 73 and 76. We ALWAYS take a taxi from the airport to hotel and vice versa. At our ages, we aren't going to deal with luggage on public transportation. I wholeheartedly believe in convenience!

AlessandraZoe

Thanks, all for the continued encouragement. And thank you, Fodors moderators for the explanation. My next post will be short and quick, and I shall do my next entry after that tomorrow.

AlessandraZoe

The next day was a "regroup" day. After our hotel breakfast, we trudged up the town hill to a laundry. We had had hot weather in Liverpool, and even though we washed out some of our “hot weather” layers in the bathroom sink in our Liverpool hotel (we carry fold up plastic hangers just for that purpose), we were generally running low in anything what would work in the continuing heat wave.

We did some grocery shopping in the local SuperValu, bought more stuff in a local pharmacy and then…NAPPED.

Overindulgence at our ages is not a good idea.

Monday night is not a big restaurant night in Westport, so after picking up our laundry, we resigned ourselves to eating dinner in the hotel dining room.

Also not a good idea.

We visited several of my mapped-out Trad music pubs in the evening, hearing rather feeble efforts at sessions. Perhaps all those people were suffering as much as we. Home to the hotel sounded better than continuing.

Tomorrow would be a better day, we were sure.

Coming soon: Our Field Trip to Westport House and Beyond

AlessandraZoe

The next day we walked out to Westport House, a local historic stately mansion. Most of the activities on the grounds, including the swan boats, are closed until Wednesdays, and we were visiting on a Tuesday. Our early arrival at the door meant we’d have to wait if we wanted the next guided tour. However, the entry host said we were free to wander all the public areas of the house without a guide if we wanted. We chose not to wait. Good decision. We were more than occupied on our own, taking in 30 rooms and 6 permanent exhibitions over 3 floors.

We were fascinated by the Browne family history, especially because much of it tied into what we had learned in Liverpool’s International Slavery Museum. Our Smithsonian’s African American Museum understandably doesn’t give vast attention to Caribbean and Central American slavery, but British and Irish exhibits are quite graphic as to what was done to both slaves and indentured servants and deported criminals in British colonies. The Westport Browne’s exhibit explained the family’s moral evolution in the roles of the Earls of Altamont and the Marquesses of Sligo from the typical landed gentry’s mentality to “Our family money has come from the selling and suffering of humans, and somehow, we’ve got to put a stop to this” concern.

Other parts of the house include its roots with “The Pirate Queen”, Grace O’Malley. Her name in Irish was Gráinne Ní Mháille, and boy, was she something. In the days when Irish kings were pitted against Irish kings, she led her men, particularly on the sea, into the battle, killing and pillaging her way to power. When the English military thought they found a way to snare her, crafty Grace managed to get an audience in England with Queen Elizabeth I, who must have gotten a charge out of her, because Grace left the meeting with her head.

We learned more about the Browne family’s historic stances on the Irish famines (of course every English family in Ireland proclaims they were the “kind” landlords), the family’s 20th century struggles with keeping the estate (and what all they did to earn revenue, including creating a “glamping” park) and the family’s triumph over male-preference primogeniture, a law decision that allowed the girls in the immediate family to inherit.

Unfortunately, the displays we saw didn’t mention that in 2017, after all their laudable efforts to keep the estate in the family and on solid financial footing, the remaining Browne line had to hand over the keys to the Hughes Group. I only recently found this out online. At least this group of wealthy Westport brothers--Cathal, Harry and Owen Hughes--who own both the neighboring Hotel Westport and the workwear provider Portwest—have a vested interest in keeping the house and grounds economically viable. I’ve seen some changes already on the internet already—their website has been updated since we returned. I wish them well.

We had enjoyed our outing so far, and with no rain in sight, we continued our walk through the very pretty woods towards Westport Quay, where we stopped for a few glasses at The Towers Bar to enjoy the water view. Very nice staff there, and they had a darn good low ABV IPA.

We took the long uphill walk back into town by Quay Rd, a path that brought us to the downhill slope that would take us towards our bridge to our hotel. We decided to check out the almost hidden An file Bar before we began our descent down the hill. I had heard that the food was good at this place, even though the pub looked rather underwhelming when we first entered. Amazingly, the food was quite good. We enjoyed simply prepared, very fresh fish, lovely fresh vegetables, and so on. After the previous night’s “steam table” food, we were restored to life.

We returned to local pubs that evening, and when we entered Matt Malloy’s this time, the back room was empty. There was just a guitarist plucking a few strings and a few old women and men sitting around chatting in the front room. Oh well. We planned to exit after a quick glass when it dawned on me. Ah, it would be a locals night. We grabbed our beers and settled in. Sure enough, that one guitar was slowly passed from person to person around the room until it found a taker. Everyone would continue to sip at their drinks and chat, and out of nowhere the guitar would strum and the next solo or duet would start. The guitar would move around the room again.

We love these types of sessions. One of the guys playing the guitar recognized us from two days before and joked that we would be requesting John Denver’s “Almost Heaven”. We laughed and said, “If you want to sing it, fine. We’re sure you have another song the folks here would like.” This was THEIR night, and we had no intention of spoiling it either with our requests or our own conversation. Fly on the wall be us.

What a lovely way to end our Westport Stay.

Next chapter: Getting to Galway: Bus Éireann Lets Us Down

AlessandraZoe

I would love to know why my italics and apostrophes are showing up as x's inside boxes. Nothing like that shows up in previews, and it didn't happen with yesterday's early posts. It is driving me bonkers.

AlessandraZoe

From our very first trip to Ireland eons ago with two young daughters, Bus Éireann has been a keystone in our Irish travel plans. With routing to even the most obscure destinations in Ireland, this easy transport had always gotten us safely and cheaply almost anywhere on time.

On this day, it failed us. We never expected our Westport-Galway bus to be a no-show. Nor did the students, the little old ladies in town for their shopping, and the young adults trying to get to work.

It was a hot day, and while the bus stop for Bus 456 was not that far from our hotel at all, it did involve cobblestones, strange curbs, and various inclines. Heck, we were breaking a sweat. Nevertheless, we were overall in fine form. We had etickets on our phones, ones that we had just purchased online, and we knew our walk from the Galway bus station to our hotel was easy. We had done it before. No sweat with that one. Our plans that day were to drop off our luggage and meet our private walking tour guide in the hotel lobby. We had time to spare, so when the bus was late, we didn't worry.

And then when the bus was a half-hour late, we found ourselves checking the faces of the 20+ people around us to see if THEY were worried. And they were. Bus after bus stopped going to other routes. One of the little old ladies, a take-charge person, queried every driver, and just seemed to get shrugged shoulders.

Several persons called the phone number listed on the Bus Stop sign. They all got an "out of order" message. A young professional in our queue knew how to game the system, and he finally got through to someone in the know after the bus was 1.5 hours late.

We and the rest of the group casually clustered around him, trying to overhear the conversation.
Him: "And the next bus?"
Garbled response.
Him: "And the next bus?
Garbled response
Him: "Well, do you think the bus after that might run?
Garbled response

It turned out that Bus Éireann had cancelled our bus, the bus after, and perhaps the bus after that because of "staff shortages." We knew we'd be OK--we'd just throw ourselves at the Westport Plaza's front desk in hopes they could help us solve the problem--but we felt so bad for everyone else. Apparently, the clever young man felt the same way. Using his phone, he started creating route combinations in a sort of zigzag path with operating buses that would help them get home. My lame way of helping was to hand out paper from my pocket notepad and a few pens.

This lovely young person walked back with us part of the way--he was going to bum a ride with a friend--and we asked him why none of the other bus drivers could help with more information. He shook his head in disbelief. "They SHOULD be able to do so. Other areas of the country always have online bus trackers; we don't have them here, and that's a problem, too. No one knows where anyone else is. I do think the drivers could have bothered to call into headquarters, though."

Sidenote: A shout-out to Tony2Phones, a Fodors forum poster from eons ago. Even though things did not work out so well on this trip, he was the one who convinced me before our very first trip that Bus Éireann would take care of my connections, and over the years, he was so helpful to everyone on this site. God Bless You and Yours, sir.

We made it back to the hotel and air conditioning. While I had in my backpack's travel file folder an extensive list of alternative transportation, nothing beats on-the-ground knowledge. We'd get the hotel desk input first. The two clerks on duty looked at each other and said, "We should call Mary."

Mary O'Toole is her name. Driving is her game. She is part of O’Toole Taxis, and she is a hoot. She told the desk clerk that she was eating her lunch, and if we were willing to wait for her to have a leisurely swallow, she'd take us on. 30 minutes later we were happily seated in an air-conditioned SVU, headed for Galway.

Mary was quite angry about our bus no-show experience. We assured her we did not feel bad for ourselves; we just felt so bad for everyone else. She shared other "slippages" in institutional standards that were disturbing to her. I got the feeling that NOTHING goes wrong on Mary's watch.

Eventually we asked her more about the company for which she was driving, and she said it involved herself, her husband, and a few others. My husband said, "I'm sure your husband is a fine driver, but I'm placing a bet that you are the better driver." Mary responded with a subtle smile.

Later, my husband emphatically told me, "I was drop-dead serious. That woman's driving skills are AMAZING. We're talking NASCAR skills."

We pulled up to The Park House Hotel, thanked Mary profusely, and promised we'd see her again, not that she would care. But WE sure would.

Next Chapter: Our First Night in Galway

AlessandraZoe

We'd been to Galway twice before, and the first time we stayed at The Park House Hotel.

We chose it again because of its proximity to Eyre Square, its easy walk to bus/train stations, and because of one singular memory. It was the first place we ever ate Banoffee pie, and we spent months afterward perfecting the recipe at home. In other words, our original stay at The Park House was the reason for a per-family-member temporary 10-pound weight gain.

We would not think of eating Banoffee pie again, and darn it, this time I had mistakenly booked the wrong room on the "old" side of the hotel. We had been on the "new" side in prior years. Our current room was the size of a shoebox.

I told you I was slipping. Take note of that.

But at least everything was clean, there was more than enough storage, and we just said to ourselves, “Hey, we’re HERE. It’s GALWAY.” We headed out the door.

Our walking tour would be delayed, so we might as well check out one pub on my Trad music pub list. An Pucan was just across the street from the hotel. It had rave reviews on Google, and it was listed on two Galway Trad pub articles. We walked in and through it, looked at each other with “Should we even try this?” looks. Sigh. We each ordered glasses of some session beer, trying to get a feel for the place.

No, it was not doing it for us. Might as well head for our walking tour.

Our bus no-show meant we were not able to have the private walking tour I booked with Neil through AirNB, Galway's Legendary Walking Tour. We had texted guide Neil from Westport that day to warn, “Looks like we won't make it in time. We know about no refund, so don't worry," he texted back, "I have a group tour meeting at 5pm. If you can make it, join us by the Galway Museum steps." The small tour group was pleasant, the tour itself--a walk around the historical border of Galway--was only 1.5 hrs, relatively inexpensive, and a good introduction to Galway’s past.

At the end, Neil kindly directed us to the pubs we would be most likely to enjoy for early sessions, and those happened to be confirmations of my starred own choices. And that's how we dropped in for an early session at Tig Choili.

We didn’t need to do a test glass here. We recognized the place from years ago when we brought our kids inside during an afternoon session. We didn’t leave until about four pints (halves for me) later. Yes, it was touristy, but there were oodles of locals inside, too, mainly at the bar staying out of the way of the tourist fray.

Decided. We had found our Galway local.

We grabbed fast food, fruit and a few liters of water on the way back to the hotel, and within minutes, we were in snooze world.

KarenWoo

Really enjoying your report! I feel like I am reading a novel. You are a great writer! Mary O’Toole saved the day!

AlessandraZoe

...about Cell Phones.

One of my queries to the Europe forum this year was to ask if had anyone tried the newer Orange eSim. I reported that we had had very good experiences with the Orange Sim (Note-NOT the Orange eSim) when we traveled to the UK and Ireland in 2018 and 2019, and I was trying my best to up my tech game again. Our latest Samsung Android phones had eSim capabilites, and I knew I could add a mobile-data eSim or just a data-only eSim and employ What's App.

After reading, I swear, every response, every travel forum entry, every applicable eSim's website and review, and every darn tech article in the world, I decided just to shell out for the $100 International Plan by Verizon. Verizon's plan now has vastly improved in 2023. Their new one includes unlimited data (high speed for 20GB for the month; unlimited 3GB after that), 250 minutes of call time, and unlimited texts. I can report that on the trip we often got 5G, and when our connections were 4G or 3G, it was more because of the lack of cell tower coverage in the area than our phone plan.

Had we just been away for around 12-14 days, I would have used my 12 free Verizon Travel Pass Days and bought a data eSim for my husband and added per day Verizon Travel Pass option (he'd only be charged if he used the Verizon SIM that day). But with 21 days in two countries, one of which had left the EU, it just was easier not to fool with anything. And in the scheme of things, the choice was not that outrageous: $100 one-and-done per person against the rest of our expenses on our spreadsheet was about 3 drops in the financial bucket. Had I bought any type of eSim for those many days, the minimal cost would have been $50 per person. I showed my financial figures to my husband, and his immediate reaction was, "Why make anything harder than it has to be?"

There were other factors going into my consideration, some of which I posted in another thread, but along with Verizon's plan improvement, the biggest deciding factor was 2-Factor Authorization. It's a stolen identify world we now live in. I believe in two-factor (heck, I believe in three-factor) authorization. I tested quite a few things out, following advice on how to prevent a SIM switch (world's worst nightmare), and while I could arrange to do PUSH or email notifications with certain bank/cc apps, other bank/cc apps wanted to text me and would not accept forwarded info. Yes, I knew I could port my number or use an authentication app, but again, not everything works with those. I wanted to be able to address any financial glitches (and there are ALWAYS financial glitches in travel no matter how many travel alerts one posts before leaving) with immediate contact to the security powers that be from a recognized phone number.

Thank goodness one thing I remembered to do before the trip was to create a "How to Call" cheat sheet for my husband and for me. I listed sample calls for the time period we would be in England calling a) USA numbers and b) UK numbers and c) Irish numbers. I did the same for when we would be in Ireland. By the end of the trip, I had it down, but I swear it took me eight calls before everything became second nature.

Let me end this blurb with this...

Tech changes, and it changes often. I remember days when our family was on the "cutting edge" of tech ability during our first cycling trip in the Dordogne simply because I had purchased French phone cards (do you remember those French Telecom ones with the "new" chips that you just plugged into French corner phones?) for each person in Tabacs, along with a laminated list of emergency numbers, to keep on our persons at all times. Two years later, each family member had a cheapie and tiny GSM phone one could wear about the neck, with the ability to slowly text, "Help, I've fallen in a ditch and I can't get up."

Therefore, if we go overseas next spring, I will research all my options again.

greytop13

My wife and I have great memories of sitting at the bar in Tig Cholli and chatting with locals. We loved the music and the fact that there were no TVs.

AlessandraZoe

greytop13--Yep, no TVs and it isn't dark. Cavern-style pubs just don't appeal to us.
Karen Woo--How kind of you to say so. I know you can write a good TR, so thank you.

AlessandraZoe

I had to think of every possible way to lighten my load. One of the problems with "small" packing is that it can be "heavy" packing per item. I've reduced my tech weight. I can't believe that once, not long ago, I would carry an iPad, a Kindle, and a phone plus so many adaptors and cords. And when I was the communications and data keeper for the high school swim team, I took a laptop, too.

Here is what I take now:

• a Samsung Fold 4--Replaces both my iPad and Kindle
• 2
  3-in-1 multi fast charging cord cables
  3-in-1 multi fast charging cord cables
• 1 Mu Dual USB Internation Travel Charger (No longer available--and we hope ours holds up. It's the greatest ever, takes up no space) with the changeable UK and US adaptors.
• One backup dual USB USA wall charger
• Anker Wall Charger--Dual USB
  Anker Wall Charger--Dual USB

Little goes in my suitcase. My phone slides into my Baggallini tiny cross-shoulder purse (also no longer available). One 3-in-1 retractable cable is in my left pocket; the wall adaptor has been folded flat in two pieces in my right. My battery does go into that front pocket of my daypack. With this arrangement, I can be stranded anywhere and have phone power without being a beast of burden.

My husband is attached at the hip to his iPad. But he takes a similar list of items, only his phone is a Samsung Galaxy of recent vintage (don't get me started on how reluctant he is to update HIS tech). I don't know how he survives. It's a mystery.

AlessandraZoe

I had blocked out the entire day for our ferry trip to Inishmore in the Aran Islands. When the morning sun greeted us, I was so happy. My husband, however, was praying for hurricane winds because the only way he was getting out of this trip was a torrential rain storm.

My husband hates boats. He hates ferries. Heck, he gets sick on roller coasters. But I had decided he HAD to share one of my lovely memories of traveling with our daughters in Ireland years ago.

Backstory: On our first trip to Ireland, our girls and I did a cycling trip, one that started in Ennis, without my husband. As soon as we returned to Shannon, he arrived from the US, and we embarked on a second cycling trip that went from Kenmare to Cork. Part of the first trip involved visiting those fantastic West Coast landmarks like the Cliffs of Moher and The Burren. My husband never got to visit these, even when we returned to the West Coast on an entirely different cycling trip a few years later.

The girls and I had absolutely treasured our day in Inishmore on that first cycling trip, taking an exciting early morning small ferry from Doolin, cycling out and climbing up to Dun Aonghasa, and crawling on our bellies to peer over the cliffs at the crashing waves far below. There were no crowds per se. The quiet ride out cycling past clip-clopping tour pony carts had been sheer pleasure. We had a leisurely lunch right at the base of the Dun Aonghasa with some of our new bike group friends at an outside table with a distant view and a soft breeze.

So I insisted that my husband visit Inishmore on what could be our final trip to Ireland.

This time, our huge passenger ferry would leave from Galway, sail to Inishmore and return via the Cliffs of Moher, another Irish site my husband had never seen. Well…the trip out was OK. We found seats under cover on the crowded top deck alongside a friendly Australian couple who had just toured Scandinavia (on my bucket list), and we all happily chit-chatted the entire way there. The seas were calm. The weather was great, although it was rather warm.

The major problem is that there is nothing quiet anymore on Inishmore during daylight. Instead of just the small ferries, the rebuilt harbor now takes on larger vessels with larger crowds. What I remembered as a peaceful cycle out to Dun Aonghasa has become a maze of tour minivans dodging wobbly cyclists while barely avoiding the pony carts. The Dun Aonghasa base camp now has various vendors, a snack shop, an ice cream kiosk and so on that serve to wipe out that formerly serene, gorgeous view.

We knew we could not cycle this time, so we debated "pony or van" and we plopped ourselves on a minivan. At least the guide was a local who provided us with a view of his life there on the island, one that started decades before my daughters and I set foot on Inishmore. As the guide would explain, church was the highlight of his week as a boy, and all a young boy sought to do when he grew up was to join the men’s conversations along the wall outside of church. He said a lot more, but we couldn't quite hear him due to the "more important" loud conversation in the row behind us. GRRR.

When we got to the Dun Aonghasa trailhead, the guide told us restrooms were available in the visitor center. Great. We walked over and read, "Restrooms are closed. Restrooms on the beach are open." O-kay.

We did the uphill climb and were pretty proud of ourselves for doing a pretty good pace. Dun Aonghasa was still interesting, except we were a little hesitant about looking over the edge with the amount of people ringing it.

But back to our bladders. Somehow, my husband "held it" (although he did look for possible cover up and back from Dun Aonghasa) until we descended, and he held during his further descent to the open restrooms on the beach below. I was determined to hold forever (beach restrooms did not sound inviting) but thank goodness, as the crowds started leaving for the return to the ferry, I was able to sneak into the restaurant café restroom. I quickly bought chips from them in deep gratitude.

On our return sail to Galway, we sought out more comfy seats than we had had on the covered part of the top deck. Big mistake. We were surrounded by unruly and coughing children whose parents all acted as though they had never met them. And folks, we actually LIKE kids. It was a nightmare.

To make matters worse, the Cliffs of Moher return route took ages. I myself ached for it all to be over, and I couldn’t bear to look at my husband’s face. I had booked the trip from Hell for him.

Looking for a way to salvage the day, I scouted via my phone some decent restaurants close to our Galway dock. Fingers crossed, I acted as though I knew the way to The Seafood Bar at Kirwan's. I hadn't a clue. We circled the area for around 15 minutes before I thought to check down an alley. Ta-Duh!

The host greeted us at the front, asking us if we had reservations. No. He said he was afraid that he only had two seats left, and they were at the bar. And he had another party coming in an hour and a half. We would have to eat fast. Well, music to OUR ears. Lead forth, young man.

Our meal was wonderful. I could tell I had redeemed myself with my husband. No divorce this week. The place was both chic and casual—that perfect blend. When asked if everything had been OK, we said in chorus, “Sign us up for these two seats tomorrow night, please.” The host laughed, opened the reservation book, and said, "I only have two bar seats at opening for an hour and a half tomorrow. Early." We chortled and said, "Early Bird Special, it is. We be old, after all."

We wended our way back through the buskers and the crowds, dropping in once again at Tig Couli for what was supposed to be one pint/glass and a taste of the Trad session. An hour or so and two or three pints (well, halves for me…as if halves don't end up making wholes) later, we said goodbye to our latest new best friends and returned through lively Eyre Square back to our room.

Planning Tips:
If I had never put my husband through this agony, I would have gone to one of the smaller islands, leaving from Doolin or Rossaveal. I just wished I had researched those.
I suspect leaving from Doolin is a good idea no matter what. Smaller boats, I think. Doublecheck. Part of my positive first Inishmore experience was that it does not take that long to get there from Doolin, AND because we all were bringing our bikes, we never were held up by trying to rent cycles, etc. That meant we were all well on the road before inexperienced cyclists were even mounted.

Next Chapter: Why Just "Hanging" in Galway Was Great

I_wanna_travel

Enjoying your trip report! We are headed to similar places in September, so it's fun to see other people's thoughts and experiences. Thanks so much!

TDudette

Wonderful, AlexandraZoe. I loved that Grace O'Malley kept her head. And that pie!

AlessandraZoe

Thanks again for the kind remarks. Sorry for the break in the narrative: I was away for the past five days. I shall try to get my report of our last day in Galway online either tonight or tomorrow morning.

AlessandraZoe

We spent the next day drifting hither and thither. It was perfect.

My husband made a Starbucks run and allowed me to finish a good book in bed while he explored all the early action in the city. By the time he came back to report, I was ready to roll. We started, as always, in Eyre Square, where residents of a local home for the mentally challenged were enthusiastically holding a sweet rhythm performance that brought tears to everyone’s eyes. Goodness that made our day. Again, how we love Ireland.

We thought about doing some museums, and then we thought, we just don't feel like confining ourselves. Instead, we headed over to the Galway Cathedral and then over to the University of Galway, two areas we had enjoyed exploring when we were here last. We walked down towards the Claddaugh area and poked around, then crossed back "our" way on Bridge St. By this time, buskers were everywhere, as were shoppers and a lot of hair-braiding girls (who were always being asked to move by either the Garda or shop owners).

We dropped in at Tig Coili around lunchtime for our respective pint/glass and had ourselves an interesting chat with two lovely older women. They wanted to know if the US had taken in Ukrainians. I said, "don't know the national statistics, but I do know our area sure has--we have a lot of people with Ukranian ancestry in the area anyway, and they've been very active in sponsorship. I'm sure other cities with the same ethnic pockets have been able to do the same." But we had no idea of the pressure that the EU has placed on Ireland's population to absorb refugees. The ladies gave us a bit of information of what's happening in Ireland. We would find out more details later in our journey.

My husband now was in heavy conversation with men at the bar area, and four young women joined our table group. Behind me, at the outside tables, a couple and some others were also enjoying the day. They had ringside seats for viewing the buskers who now were on rotation at the corner area. If the busker was really bad--and one in particular was horrendous--they enjoying cheering him on. One of our inside table mates happened to be a professional singer with an indie band, and she was rather disgusted that anyone could so encourage a less-than-decent performance.

We went home to shower and change, checked out more Eyre Square action (competing jugglers now), hit up a local ATM, and passed the Tig Coili again. Our outside couple was STILL there. We smiled at them from the sidewalk and said, "So you folks are the paid professional entertainment judges, are you?" They laughed and said, "Indeed we are!" My husband suggested they needed rating cards to hold up after each performance. They looked at each other and shouted, "Next time." They were fun. We headed on to our meal at Kirwin's, which was just as good as the night before.

When we returned to the Tig Coili, our outside crowd hadn't moved an inch. We all laughed when we saw each other. And low and behold, inside, some of the locals with whom we'd been chatting at lunchtime had returned too, and they kindly offered to sidle over so we could sit. The early evening session was really warming up, and my husband and I just took it all in.

When the early session was over, we knew we had to leave. Tempting as it was to stay for the next session, we were hitting the road early the next day. We thanked our new friends. And we just HAD to stop at the outside group’s table just to ask them if they often spent the entire day there often. They did! They said they had a very busy life running two businesses in an outlying town, and they made it a point to come into Galway one day a month and do NOTHING. They had found just plopping at that table for hours as the world (and those buskers) went by was a great way to relax.

Give us a year, and that might be us.

Goodness, we love Galway.

Next: Galway to Dingle

Paqngo

I just got caught up reading your report. Your report is wonderful.

AlessandraZoe

Thank you, Paqngo! Your comment got me started again this morning.
AZ

AlessandraZoe

Early on in my trip planning, I was both helped by and hemmed in by our three-night stay rule. My biggest planning challenge was finding a sensible location to explore after Galway that would fit into other parts of the itinerary.

I was very sure that I wanted to do Dingle, where we had never been, for three days. In looking for a place between Galway and Dingle, I just didn't see anywhere else where I wanted to spend three days, mainly because we had already been to so many spots on prior trips. We had already stayed in Ennis, a good Trad town, twice, and stayed in Doolin, another good Trad town, for two nights. We'd spent two nights in Adare and had toured both the Limerick and Shannon/Bunratty areas.

Ok, I thought, giving up, it's just going to have to be one long straight shot. I mapped out train/bus combos, bus combinations, etc from Galway to Dingle. Well, I could make the transport work, but it was not very efficient. We're talking around seven hours, even with perfect train/bus timings, and we were back to luggage schlepping again.

I had to find a driver, no question about it.

Throughout late November and December, I contacted every driver/company I could find on any website and forum for pricing. Some never responded. Some were already booked (!) by the first week of December. One was ridiculously expensive, and two or three had similar pricing. With that pricing consistency in mind, I decided to contract with the first person who got back to me at the "going" rate, Dolores of Begley's Dingle Shuttle Bus. She and her husband had received many positive detailed reviews, which is always telling. Thus began my considerable correspondence with Dolores.

She first outlined my basic choices:

• Direct transfer from Galway to Dingle at €420 or
• Transfer with Tour, taking in The Burren, the Cliffs of Moher, etc at €560

I wrote back that I was unsure of what we would have seen by this point on our trip. I explained that for myself, I had already cycled and toured the Burren, done the Cliffs of Moher etc while my husband had not, but that we might be doing those while we were in Galway. She countered, "Totally up to you. If you have other things you want to see, just tell the driver when he picks you up. We're flexible." She and I corresponded back and forth in the following weeks about the following leg of our trip, too. She was amazingly chill about when she would formally charge us for both journeys.

Flash forward to the day of our transport. I was pretty sure by daybreak that dragging my husband to the top of The Cliffs of Moher would be a "no." While we had had a joyful last day in Galway, it had barely made up for the long slog of the Aran ferry day. Just to make sure, I laid out options to my husband who immediately said, "As far as I'm concerned, if we just drove straight to Dingle, that would be a plus."

All good, right?

Wrong.

Unfortunately, Dolores hadn't relayed any context of our email chats to our driver, her husband Diarmuid. He certainly showed up on time at The Park House and he certainly knew we were headed at the tour rate to Dingle. We were whisked to the car in seconds. Diarmuid had just started his tour presentation when I had to interrupt him to explain our altered plans. Our lack of interest in the Cliffs or the Burren dumbfounded him.

Rightly so!

I tried my best to summarize concisely what Dolores wrote about flexibility and why we were currently feeling the way we were and added, "Look, just because we booked the tour rate instead of the transport rate doesn't mean we want our money back. You needn't worry that we won't see enough, either. I think the only thing we're interested in seeing is the Kerry County Museum in Tralee. We've never been to Tralee, and that little museum looked so cute. So if we just do that, we're fine."

Dead silence. A deep breath.

Diurmuid finally said, "Have you seen the Folk Park at Bunratty?"
Meekly, "Yes."

Pause.

"Have you seen the ancient walls of Limerick?"
Very apologetically now, "Yes."

"Well, how about I show you Adare?"

My husband and I looked at each other and sighed. We knew that if we said, "No interest," Diarmuid just might be tempted to drop us at the next corner. I said, again somewhat apologetically, "Well, we've been there, but it makes sense to stop there for a rest room, doesn't it?" Diarmuid inhaled deeply, raised his eyebrows, and drove on.

Adare is a touchy subject for us and for others, and we rarely share our opinion about it. Yes, we know other people love it. Some rave about it.

Good for them. We just aren't fans.

It's hard to explain, but I think my reaction to Adare was based on the week or two before I ever saw it. My girls and I had just spent the prior 10 days in Ireland cycling up and down the Wild Atlantic Way. I had meandered to various Trad sessions in gritty Ennis and Clifton pubs. The girls and we and other cycling trip friends had, at the spur of the moment, piled into a van to attend a local Céilí. We'd visited glorious places of historical and natural wonder, cycled along windswept roads and cliffs by the sea, discovered hole-in-the-wall bakeries and middle-of-nowhere roadside cafes with amazing chowders.

So you could say that in comparison, Adare immediately struck me as some sort of stage set, a sort of Disney World or Hollywood vision of what Ireland was supposed to be.

And I wasn't along in my reaction. By the second day of exploring Adare, one daughter said, "You know, we've decided this doesn't feel like 'real' Ireland, Mom." And by the end of the next 10 days, my husband commented, "You know, Adare now seems to have been an outlier experience for me." Note: My husband tends to classify everything in financial statistical terms. Yes, it's exasperating.

Don't get me wrong. Our hotel in Adare was lovely, the town is lovely, my husband thought the golf course was great, and there is nothing bad I can put my finger on, but...

So when Diarmuid pulled into the Adare's Visitor's Center and asked us how much time was wanted, we were inclined to say, "We're just using the restroom," but we were afraid to hurt his feelings. "45 minutes? 50 minutes?" Diarmuid just sighed in resignation.

My husband and I quickly used the restrooms, speedily circuited the town, looked at each other and said in unison, "We need a beer". We found a nice bar with a good IPA, felt restored, and went back to the parking lot to Diarmuid.

On to Tralee.

And no, our opinion of Adare hadn't changed a lick. It's lovely but...

You can judge us if you like. We can take it.

Some say "toe-may-toe"; my husband for sure says "tuh-muh-tah."

We're all good.

Next: Galway to Dingle Cont'd