Leaving Ennis, it was a very enjoyable 70km of 4 lane motorway driving to Galway, where after a brief stop, we continued on our way to Clifden for a couple of nights.
Galway was only ever intended to be a quick coffee break and then to move on, but as always, a chance meeting with a local kept us better informed and staying longer than intended. Winding our way through the back streets and lanes from the car park, we chanced to stop and look at some ancient ruins. No sooner had we stopped, out of nowhere a guy popped out of his hole and called to us, in what I thought was Irish, but in fact it could have been French. He called out “Are you French?”, we said “No, we are Australian” and he said, “Oh, in that case, I’ll come and talk to you” and talk he did, giving us the whole history of the place from its inception, yes from the Norman invasion in 1230, to date. The ruins were a house/ fortress built by the leader of the Norman invasion force, Richard Mor de Burgh when he captured what was then just a settlement of 14 squabbling Irish tribes which he eventually united by himself becoming more Irish than them. Once De Burg had somewhere to call home, he built the city walls which offered the necessary protection to the locals from the rest of Ireland and Galway became a major manufacturing and farming city and trading port. The history lesson then moved through the next 800 years ending when the Tax Office started to demolish some existing buildings to build its new office when in the excavation process they found these particular ruins. Consequently, the Tax Office had to move somewhere else which our man thought was a victory for the common people.
Moving on and after finding the best coffee since leaving home, it was back in the car and off to Clifden.
After another heart stopping cliff top drive, we reached our hotel. There is no denying that the scenery along the way is spectacular. Of note is the abundance of brightly painted houses. Green, yellow, red, we even saw a church painted bright pink! I guess it makes it easy to find home after a night on the Guinness.
Clifden is considered to be the centre of the district of Connemara which is itself the centre of Irish language speakers and culture. As we travelled thus far, most signage has been in Irish (unpronounceable for anyone with a normal tongue) and English, which does not seem to have any phonetic connection with the particular Irish word being translated. We have learnt a few words of Irish so far, “Go Mall” which means “Slow Down”.
There was no slowing down when it came to eating. First night, Carrot and coriander soup and the rack of lamb. Second night, a crock of local mussels, followed by a bowl of Irish Stew to finish off.
As I write this blog, we are in Westport, 60 or 70 kms north of Clifden, depending on how many missed photo ops that had to be retraced.
On the way, and to settle the nerves after yet another narrow cliff edge scenic drive, we stopped in a little town called Louisburgh for coffee and a cinnamon bun. There we met an English cyclist who was also doing the coastal route like us, only slower. Wearing a red high viz jacket for safety, and only a canvas soft hat to keep the rain off, he explained that bike helmets only serve to encourage car drivers to pass cyclist as close as possible, so they are more of a menace than a safety feature. Promoted by the cycling retailers as something else to sell, he described the helmet as a piece of polystyrene that does nothing other than add to the cost of cycling. There are some people best left to their own opinions.
So now it’s off to il Volcano for a bowl of pasta or maybe a pizza, our first since leaving home.
Footnote: Checking into our room tonight, what a joy it was to see a real walk-in shower cubicle with sliding doors and decent shower head. It makes such a welcome change from “showers” (and I use that term loosely) in a bath!!