A Yanks Opinion of The Emerald Isle

Feb 2, 2014 by Wayne Zurl

We had been to Scotland and England thirteen times when I decided living another year without seeing Ireland might be impossible.

I don’t like organized tours. In fact, I don’t like anything organized unless I make the rules. So, booking a trip and sharing a coach with a bunch of sixty-year-old Americans looking for their Celtic roots was out of the question. When we travel, I drive and it doesn’t matter on which side of the road I do it.

After landing at Shannon Airport and picking up a rental car, we left Limerick and headed toward Cork. An organization I belonged to (for reasons that will soon become obvious, it shall remain nameless and be spared unspeakable embarrassment) offered accommodations at a price that attracted the Scottish side of me. They described their place as, “A Quaint and lovely townhouse nestled back in a private mews.” Photos in the brochure they sent made the duplex apartment look like one of the more desirable properties in the country. But when we walked in, I assumed the pictures in the brochure had been taken in 1925, not 2005. I had seen more appealing tenement flophouses. We left, of course.

Our next stop was the closest national police station where I found the duty detective sergeant and threw myself at his mercy. Local cops always have connections and he led us to a B&B operated by a retired policeman’s wife. The old guesthouse was glorious and breakfast the next morning was our first introduction to good Irish food.

For years now I’ve been saying I have never been to a country where we found better meals. No, Wayne doesn’t eat junk food, especially while traveling. I tell New Yorkers to forget the misconception that Irish cuisine is limited to corned beef and cabbage. During a time when English pub grub was strictly fried fish and mushy peas, Irish chefs were attending schools, learning how to best prepare locally obtained seafood and veggies.

So, Cork was a success. We toured the Jameson distillery and learned lots about Irish whiskey. A short trip down to Kinsale gave us a good look at the south coast. And of course, I needed to see Blarney Castle, but refused to kiss the stone because of what that helpful Sergeant told me naughty teenagers do after hours.

Our next stop was a farmhouse B&B just outside Killarney. A week in the southwest corner of the country took us again through beautiful coastal villages like Bantry, Kenmare, and Derrymore, And of course more seafood. Then to the famous jaunting carts of the Killarney National Park, the Dingle Peninsula, and my introduction to Smithwick’s Ale.

From Killarney, we drove north through Tralee and Ennis, to the Cliffs of Maher, to Limerick and Bunratty Castle and Folk Park, then into Galway—just in time for the annual oyster festival.
Driving in Ireland is fun—especially for an aging sports car fan. It’s different than Great Britain and the reason becomes apparent as you’re twisting your way over the countless country lanes that connect all those picturesque villages. The Romans never conquered Ireland and never introduced straight roads. Of course there are modern roadways, but nothing like the US Interstate highways or British M roads where speed is the object and there’s little opportunity to enjoy the ride and get your share of banging the gearbox.

Two thousand photos later, we sat on a plane flying back to the US.
Next time: The northwest and north, and after that Dublin and th