For the final leg of my independent travel weekend, I visited
Killarney, which is about two hours outside of Dingle. Having been on my feet
consistently for two days straight, for almost twelve hours each day, I'll
admit that I was very much looking forward to a bus ride where I could lean
back, pull out my headphones, and be transported through the fantastic hills
and valleys that make up this region of Ireland. We had a layover in Tralee,
and then another thirty minute bus ride before I was let off at the Killarney
Outlet Centre and Bus Station. I used the small station's wifi to get
directions to my bed and breakfast, and lugged my duffel down the drizzly road.
Killarney is similar to Galway, Dingle, Doolin,
and Lisdoonvarna, among others, in terms of appearance and atmosphere--to an
extent. Of those cities, Killarney is by far the largest and busiest. The
streets are wider, and they almost invite tourism with shops of Irish wool
sweaters and gift shops, spread between countless bars and restaurants spilling
out with crowds watching the Gaelic football game between Kerry and Dublin. It
was, I immediately decided, a lively place: one, however, that would be more
enjoyable with a group. Part of that is due to the fact that the general age
group there that weekend was over sixty.
And that's not to say that I didn't enjoy myself alone, because I
most certainly did. I would, however, go back to the city only if I were to go
with friends.
I returned to the bus station and waited outside for the shuttle,
stopping to grab a ninety-nine cone at a convenience kiosk in the outlet mall.
Five, ten, fifteen, thirty minutes later and the shuttle still had not arrived.
After asking the woman behind the counter in the station, she remembered that
the shuttle had stopped running at one P.M. because of the game going on.
Thanking her, I left and followed the arrows pointing the way to the Ross
Castle, my backup plan. There weren't any indications of distance, so I assumed
that it wouldn't be too far. I followed the quiet road and eventually saw the
sign welcoming me into the park. It wasn't much longer before a small break in
the trees revealed a car park, and the castle peaked out from above.
 |
| Rainy selfies! |
 |
| The Road Mostly Traveled |
 |
| Ross Castle |
I was standing in the middle of a painting. The way the sun
slanted over the dark water, the swans curled through one another, the castle
standing proudly above.
And for just two euro, I could tour the castle. There isn't any
original furniture of the time, save one chest in the chieftain's bedroom. But
the recreations gave a good idea of how the royal lived five hundred years
ago--something we can't begin to fathom in America. The size of rooms made for
thirty or more guards is almost illegal, and the direction of the winding
stairs was made so that guards could rush down in an enemy invasion with their
right hand free for defense. In all, it was incredibly informative in
intriguing. I didn't grow up learning about the great castles of our country;
the only lessons I got were from Disney, mainly. Now it's Game of Thrones, but
that's another story entirely. Here, the imagination is allowed to run wild
with stories of fortresses, kingdoms, and royalties. It's hard to wrap your
head around the fact that these once were someone's home; but it's exactly how
it was. Talk about a mystical world.
My tour ended around five-thirty P.M., and I ran back to the bed
and breakfast to drop of some things and then went into town for dinner. I
perused my options, took a free ice cream sample, and chose Sceal Eile, a
bakery with restaurant upstairs. Inside, the place is decorated with posters of
Irish writers and vintage magazine covers; candles glowing in wine bottles on
each table; and a quiet backroom with stacks of books behind glass and me and
one other couple. I sat for a while with my Shepherd's Pie, lamb soaked with
red wine gravy and vegetables on the side, and then a slice of apple tart. Talk
about being stuffed--with no regrets, of course.
Sceal Eile doesn't do live music, which I was
really craving, so I headed out and poked my head into a few pubs before
settling on a pub called Corky's... I believe. It was dark, I heard music, and
just jumped in. It was tightly packed with couples and friends celebrating or
cursing the match, but either way with a drink in hand and swaying, buzzed, to
the music. I probably stepped over some rule about entering a pub and not
ordering anything, but I did it and sat at a stool behind a threshold. The
musician busted out American music: "Thinking Out Loud", "Ring
of Fire", and "Someone Like You" with the accompaniment of a
drunk, elderly gentleman from the bar were among the selections. She also
included two traditional Irish songs, and a second person performed the tin
whistle alongside the guitar. I slipped out when the musician's set ended, and
the speakers were turned on for "Last Christmas" to filter through
the speakers. It was chilly when I swung the door open, and was almost waiting
for snowfall. No such luck.
 |
| Found outside a quiet bar. I see you. |
Despite very little sense of Christmas, Killarney is one for all
of the folks at home. The walk home was alive with older couples going home
that night, or younger crowds walking through the streets crying out loudly for
no apparent reason. The life stayed with me that night, and in the morning
crystallized into a sun rising over the hill I hadn't much noticed the previous
day.
I wouldn't go back without a group of my own, where my crowd would
be a little younger, but when in the city I actually forgot that I was alone.
And that, my friends, is yet another beauty of independent travel. You don't
need familiar faces to feel enveloped in a place. You just need to be willing
to see it for yourself.
“To wander is to be alive.” – Roman Payne
No comments:
Post a Comment