Fourth in a series......
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| Our Little Fiat and My Happy Chauffeur |
By: Jacqueline E. Hughes
Seaside dreaming today with warm breezes and beautiful people and heading back to Orlando just isn't on the itinerary.
Driving on the left side of the road while correctly observing any and all laws of the road in Ireland is a highly appealing endeavor for my husband. Notice I did not say challenge....no, because he absolutely feels right at home traversing Irish roads whether they be within a city or country setting.
Personally, just sitting on the left side of the front seat and not having the steering wheel right in front of me makes me nervous. Watching him shift gears with his left hand while on the right side of the vehicle is very strange. Having all of this come together seamlessly is absolutely amazing! My saving grace is that I willfully become the navigator for the duration with the power to direct us, most of the time, in the proper direction and down the right roads.
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After recently settling into our comfortable cottage and conquering mountain heights, we decided to seek out the extreme beauty of the Connemara coastline and capture the distant sights, as seen from the summit of Diamond Hill, and preserve them in pictures. From up high the coastline resembled long, narrow fingers of land and rock reaching out into the chilly blue waters of the Atlantic as if pointing the way to America. All aboard.....next stop America, the land of opportunity! I could literally imagine its extreme magnetic pull on the starving Irish population in search of a better life.
Rushing down the N59 towards Clifden felt comfortable to us by now and much like traveling the familiar roads that lead to and from Grandma's house when you are young. Clifden is a stunning city nestled ideally between the mouth of Clifden Bay and the cloud shadowed and rounded peaks of Na Beanna Beola or The Twelve Pins. Even though Clifden was on our radar, we made the decision to approach it via the narrow, scenic roads that hugged various bays that ultimately made their way out into the Atlantic Ocean. Clinging to these roads like small, semi-precious gemstones adorning a landscape so filled with color and texture that even the most perfect female neckline would not do them justice, were small villages named Derryrush, Carna, Bunnahown and Cashel. To this day, as we pour over our pictures, the vegetative saltiness of the sea is awakened in us by these images and our sensory perceptions return us to their rocky shorelines.
Walking down to the artist's village just south of town was sadly disappointing, as well. A once thriving commune set gently beside the sea had at one time boasted many studios but had dwindled down to two, a pottery maker and a music shop, and had the ravaged appearance of a defeated community replete with untamed vegetation and chipping paint. We decided to walk back into town for a light lunch and then continue on to Dog's Bay.
Dog's Bay was amazing as we walked the picturesque beach leaving our footprints in the sand to be washed out to sea by the incoming waves. The artistic impressions made by the water at high tide resembled the paths of worms or random tree branches embedded in the wet sand. Each was unique and very beautiful. We walked the beach line hand-in-hand while skirting wayward rock formations dripping in neon green vegetation and looking like turtles sporting bright toupees. The sea water was chilling as it snuck up on us and despite this, several young families bravely romped waist deep in the late September surf as they screamed in playful shock and sun-streaked delight.
Having walked to the terraced stone wall that flanked the southwestern end of the beach and separated it from the open sea, we retraced our steps and then headed up the grassy slopes that literally divided Dog's Bay down the center creating a mirrored beach on the east side. Within this fertile grazing area lived scattered cows and sheep and we gingerly followed along the fence line separating the beaches before making our way back to the parking lot. Looking back over our shoulder one final time, our eyes were bedazzled by the myriad of diamonds sparkling brightly as the afternoon sun kissed the azure sea.Soon we slipped back on the R341 rounding a host of small lakes to our right and Ballyconneely Bay on our left. Not noted for remaining on the beaten track for very long, we made a left turn onto a small road that we knew would dead end at the sea but might offer us another adventure. We were not disappointed as we passed the ruins of a rather large country estate and wondered about its history and its missing roof! As we rounded a large mound that had been beaten senselessly by rain, wind and time, we followed a sweeping curve lined with old stone houses, as well as modern two-story condominiums, all framed by large hydrangea bushes still wearing their magnificent pink blooms.
Parking our car by the wharf, we walked to the end of the pier facing out to the open sea. Looking over to our left, we were now across the water from the beaten mound and the forgotten estate. Another couple, quite well dressed and who looked to be in their mid-70's, had followed behind us. Somehow I felt that even if they weren't locals, they surly knew a bit about the history of this area, and they certainly did!!Still living in Dublin but having vacationed here for over ten years, they purchased one of the modern condo units and drive between Dublin and this small village every weekend. The four of us braced ourselves against the strong sea breezes and turned-up the volume of our voices for the next twenty minutes or more.
What an interesting life they had led with five children, now grown adults, scattered from Ireland to Great Britain and down to New Zealand. The gentleman gave us the estate's history saying that the owners, told to pay soaring taxes on the estate by the Irish government, allowed the roof to be removed and the weather to claim it rather than pay more taxes on a property they could barely maintain in the first place. Unfortunately, this has been the case throughout Ireland for many decades thus robbing the country of its rich and valuable history. And, by the way, our weathered mound turned out to be a sixty million year old dormant volcano!
With the sun dipping low in the sky, we finally reached the outskirts of Clifden and followed the narrow road out to the yacht club and bay, one of the narrow, stony fingers pointing out to the sea. Turning around and heading east, back towards the city, the setting sun majestically pulled its golden cloak over the land and by the time we reached a hilltop, the richness and beauty of Clifden lay before us in all its glory. The spires of two churches pierced the evening sky and towered like mighty sentinels standing between the mountains and the bay as they silently protected the inhabitants below.
Slipping into Malone's Pub located on Market Street in downtown Clifden, we enjoyed a delicious steak dinner while being entertained by local musicians playing traditional Irish music. It was Art Festival Week in Clifden. What beautiful timing for us!
Our late evening drive home on the N59 wrapped all of the scenic charm of this drive within a blanket of darkness. Eliminating this pleasurable distraction afforded us the luxury of talking about our amazing adventures that day. Arriving back in Oughterard later, we already had an idea as to where we might be heading out to tomorrow........but, no earthly idea about what new and exciting adventures might be waiting for us. Until then........!
Beach At Dog's Bay
Land Between The Sea At Dog's Bay
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