The Ring of Kerry

Our hotel in Killarney was on Plunkett Street in the heart of the Town, with cobblestones and overhead pennants and interesting little shops and cafes.  I went outside to do my Tai Chi in the semi-darkness; workmen were unloading produce from a delivery truck, but otherwise there was no activity.  A sudden rain materialized out of nowhere, and I ducked under the cover of a near by roof.

We were also only one street away from the 25,000-acre Killarney National Park, Killarney Golf Course, and Ross Castle.  It was a wonderful recreational amenity for this city, filled with runners and walkers and also home to the rare red deer; the sharp-eyed Martha spotted one flitting away silently through the woods.  The weather had miraculously  cleared and it felt like a fall day.  We were scheduled for another activity, a ride in a traditional horse-drawn "Jaunting Car."  The cars were lined up one block away, and we all boarded several of them and headed west toward the park.

Our driver - called a "jarvey" - was full of local knowledge and that unique brand of Irish wit; he had lived here his entire life.  He told us when we asked that his horse's name was Seldom Fed and he was Seldom Sober (actually, they were Sally and Michael).

We passed what Michael said was an abandoned lime kiln as Sally pulled us slowly down quiet gravel roads and along the shore of the lake.  Picturesque Ross Castle stood out on a little point in the lake, called Lough Leane; the 15th century castle was the fortress of the local Chieftain O'Donoghhe Mor.  In the background stood the McGillicuddy Mountains, the tallest in County Kerry.

Killarney National Golf course was off to the west, and Michael told us that it was the only golf course in Ireland where the players are required to wear two pairs of socks.  "Why is that?" one of the innocent passengers asked.  "It's in case they get a hole in one."  Of course.

We returned to the hotel and boarded the coach for our next adventure of the day, a drive around the Ring of Kerry, an 111-mile long scenic road that winds along the coast of the Iveragh peninsula.  We stopped at a little shop and cafe on the outskirts of Killarney for samples of Irish coffee, and then we were on our way.

We drove through the village of Killorgllin and Steve pointed out a statue of a goat called "King Puck."  Legend has it that when the army of Oliver Cromwell was conquering Ireland in the 17th century, a goat broke away from its herd while the rest of its flock escaped to the mountains; this unusual behavior alerted the inhabitants that Cromwell's "Roundheads" were on the way and they fled and hid away.  Each year, the Puck Fair is held here, and a goat is crowned king.

We stopped at the Red Fox for lunch and heard an impromptu barbershop-quartet song performed by some travelers on another coach who had also stopped; they sounded like Germans and I imagine they would have been swinging foaming pints of beer in their hands in rhythm to this song in their own country.

The rugged landscape was absolutely stunning here, the hills so green that one could understand while Ireland is called The Emerald Isle.

We stopped again and again to take photos of the coast and the steep hills that descended to the North Atlantic Ocean.

In Waterville, the road dropped down to sea level and we took a little break, walking out onto the rocky shore.  Here I picked up another little stone (its size dictated by luggage weight restrictions), worn round by the ocean, joining the one I had gathered in Scotland.

We spotted a statue of a familiar figure along the shore; it turned out that Charlie Chaplin stayed in this area, and there is an annual festival here showing his films.

We continued on, and Steve pointed out the ruins of several stone cottages in this area, abandoned during the Famine and never re-occupied.

The road passed miles of stone walls, many of them topped with distinctive vertical stones along their tops.

We passed several cyclists making the long climb to the top and then enjoying the winding, exhilarating descent; the views were "jaw-dropping," as we like to say, and I am afraid these tiny photos may not capture them.

At one overlook, a very tame deer was calmly munching on the grass; one of our travelers came closer and closer, and was finally able to stroke his neck.

There were other animals here and there, and at one point the coach had to pause while a black-faced sheep tried to decide if it wanted to get off the roadway.

Another herd was swiftly led down a side lane.  I don't think I have ever driven a road in American where herds of sheep are a problem!

Above Killarney, to which we eventually returned toward the end of our long circular journey, we stopped at a place called Ladies View, looking down on the city's three lakes.

A rainbow arced faintly across the valley above the lakes as we descended to the city and our second night at the Killarney Towers.