Camec Valley Camping, South Dublin, Leinster

The last two days have been spent away from the frantic crowds of tourists and the hustle and bustle of city life, a respite most appreciated. Each day we set off after breakfast with the eski packed with lunch and a general plan which in each case, was amended along the way.

Yesterday’s theme was all about the Wicklow Mountains, the main geographic feature of County Wicklow immediately to the south of Dublin. We had several futile attempts reaching our start point just south of the city ring roads, and finally when we did locate the R115, we set off in the wrong direction. The Sorrento has a compass indicator above the windscreen which is not completely accurate but enough to make it clear we would end up in the middle of Dublin Port if we continued much further. Once remedied, we headed south up into the mountains, very soon clear of the urban sprawl and into the low clouds, obscuring much of the countryside about us. 

We crossed high mountain peat bogs, populated with strung out mobs of sheep suddenly appearing out of the dense fog on the road ahead. Even through the pea-soup fog, the purple of the heather was evident near the road as was the devastation caused by the gorse fires at the end of June through to early July which newspaper reports later confirmed. The scorched areas were already sprouting new shoots and no doubt a traveller through here in another two months or so will not even be aware of the summer conflagration. At Sally Gap, here at 503 metres ASL, we turned eastward on the R759 and came on over more peat country, passing between peaks of 650 to 750 metres ASL, then down steeply past Lough Tay, where we stopped for a photo opportunity. Imagine my surprise as I leant over the jagged stone wall to take a photo of the lake far below to discover a film set and beyond, a rather grand residence. We did find out soon after that this was the set of the television series The Vikings, but it was not until later in the day I discovered so much more.

The Luggala Estate, named for the mountain which provides the great scree slopes which fall directly into the lake, belongs to Garech Brown, 77 year old founder of Chaddagh Records and the great-great-great grandson of Arthur Guinness who set up Guinness Breweries.  Arthur Guinness bought Luggala in 1937 as a wedding gift for his daughter Oonagh on her marriage to Lord Oranmore aka Mr Browne, and she in turn gifted the property to her son Garech in 1970; now it is very cannily owned by a family trust. 

Garrech lived in the property for many years, entertaining the rich and famous, including every musician, poet and artist in Ireland as well as Mick Jagger, Michael Jackson and the Beatles. No doubt there are even greater names that could be added to the list but you get the picture.

The hunting lodge, a rather modest name for the grand design, was built in 1787 with castellated battlements, and underwent a 6 million euro overhaul in the late 1990s. Then just last year the property was placed on the market for a mere US$30 million; I am not sure whether it has since sold, however I imagine there aren’t too many rich folk wandering about wanting a property like this deep within the Wicklow Mountains.

And of further interest, if not greater, is the fact that the property has been used as a location for several films, including  Zardoz, Excalibur and The Nephew, and more recently as I already said, The Vikings. In the summer of 2013, the production company built the extensive set on the shores of the lake, including several Viking houses and a long boat skeleton. A wooden jetty protrudes out into the lake and several longboats can regularly be seen there during shooting. 70% of the first season was shot outdoors, much here on or around Lough Tay while the finishing and indoor shots are dealt with in Wicklow’s Ashford Studios.

Needless to say I was absolutely fascinated to learn all this and now just need to watch an episode when we next have television and when the programme is next showing to find out what it’s all about.

As we continued on from our observation post from where we could hear loudhailers summoning various folk to do this or that, and see smoke being cleverly distributed here and there, we stopped to speak to the bored looking guard at the estate’s entrance where we learned a rough outline of all that detailed above. Nearby there was a great car park, a clearing of the forest, where staff cars were parked. Presumably there is a shuttle arrangement to take them down to the bottom of the valley.

A little further on we stopped at Roundwood, a small village which has surely benefitted from all of these carryings on, and to which we contributed a few pennies purchasing stamps, a newspaper and pastries for lunch.

Not only does the film industry boost the coffers of the inhabitants hereabouts but also the walkers who pass through as they walk the 130 kilometre Wicklow Way. This is the Republic’s oldest designated walk and takes four to six days to complete, although I suggest I might require four to six weeks given the contour of the land.

We continued on south to Annamoe then turned east again to Wicklow, and headed to this small coastal county town. The town is not hugely remarkable although seems a confortable sort of place to cater to the needs of its 11,000 or so inhabitants. There is a fair bit of new housing being built about which will suit those who wish to commute into Dublin. The M11 runs up the coast to the capital and would take people a fraction of the time it took us to travel across yesterday.

At Wicklow we parked up on the beachfront to eat our lunch and watched ships make their way up the Irish Sea, probably headed for Dublin or maybe further on to Belfast, before we headed back into the town to shop at the Tesco we had spotted on our way in. There we found that bottles of wine are massively expensive, here as they were in Aldi the other day. Wiser folk than us would give away drinking while in the Republic to save their pennies, reduce their weight and improve their health.  Needless to say my suggestion went down like a ton of lead balloons.

Leaving Wicklow, we headed back onto the south eastern edge of the mountains, passing through Rathdrum, an attractive village strung out along the Avonmore River, its grey stone church sitting high on the banks. This was our original turning spot for heading on our way home, but a reference in my guide book suggested we should do otherwise. 

We headed south along that same river, passing a couple of horse drawn gypsy wagons, one going north, the other south, which all seemed to be a rather contrary coincidence, but then we are in Ireland where such things occur. We pulled in beside the confluence of the Avonmore and the Avonberg, a spot marked with a star on our maps, notated “Meeting of the Waters”. It’s a pretty spot to pause no matter what the reason, however it is here that Ireland’s National Bard, Thomas Moore (1779 – 1852) is reputed to have composed his lyric “The Meeting of the Waters”. The final verses give credence to the fact he was at least thinking of this valley when the words spilled out onto the paper, if not actually here:

There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet

As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet;

Oh! The last rays of feeling and life must depart

‘Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

Sweet vale of Avoca! How calm could I rest

In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best;

Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease,

And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace.

To be honest I had not previously heard of Thomas Moore, even though he is apparently as revered here as Robert Burns is in Scotland. Obviously my education has been lacking.

We learned here that the Red Kite has recently been spotted in the region after an absence of two hundred years. This is principally because of active reintroduction, but always good news when a species manages to reclaim its territory.

Here too is the site of 250 years of copper and sulphur production, with mining continuing right up until 1982. We spotted the odd tower or ruin amongst the forested surrounds, but most of it has disappeared amongst the re-vegetation.  Despite the pollution caused by mine run off, nature is winning in leaps and bounds, evidenced by the brown trout returning to the river.

Further downriver we found evidence of yet another enterprise, this in the town of Avoca, better known back in the late 1990s as Ballykisangel. How I loved that series! Although nothing I saw in the village took me back to those scenes. According to the girl in the Heritage Centre, who would have barely been out of diapers in those days, interiors of the shop, the pub and the church were used as set locations. The buildings along the main street are quite picturesque, especially viewed from the bridge over the Avonmore River, so perhaps they too were used; I do not remember. 

Up in the church we learned that the Pope was soon to visit Ireland, in a matter of just weeks, and later as we read the newspaper, we learned that there would be many road closures to deal with security issues around the papal person and his millions of followers who would no doubt flock for a glimpse of his white robes. In fact it is being reported that those wanting to be part of the papal mass may have to walk ten kilometres for the privilege and then the same back to their cars. I just hope we don’t get caught up in the inconvenience of it all.

From here we returned to Rathdrum, across to Laragh through a heavily wooded route, then back up into the mountains and across the Wicklow Gap, where we paused to understand a pile of ruins on the barren hillside.

Here was once the Hero Mine, opened in 1827 to extract and process lead ore from the waste rock, ready for smelting. The company which ran the enterprise, the Mining Company of Ireland did not operate beyond 1890, which is probably when these physical operations ended here. Today there are only the remains of the dressing floors and a few other bits and pieces, ghosts of past industry.

On we went up across the Mountains, eventually turning north again and into County Kildare, crossing the Pollphuca Reservoir, also known as the Blessington Lakes, created by damming the River Liffey, that which flows on through Dublin.  Not only does it provide water for Dublin, but it is also part of a hydro-electric scheme, opened in 1940, after seventy six houses were demolished and several bridges blown up in readiness for flooding the valley.

From here it was a clear run back to the edge of the city and our camp, arriving at about 4 pm, a pleasant change from the past few days. Later after dinner we acquainted ourselves with a New Zealand couple whose caravan was set up in the hedged site behind ours. They have been travelling about Great Britain and Europe much longer than us, although have yet to explore Australia; they reckoned that would next be on their list especially after chatting with us. They were due to sail this morning and we can only assume all went well for them and will for the rest of their able travelling lives.

Today was no less enjoyable, although the weather was much brighter and as the evening has progressed, the temperatures have risen and we are looking forward to a return of the warm weather of Britain’s July.

This morning we set off in an easterly direction along the N4/M4 , then heading north up the R158 to Trim, to a little town in County Meath that sounded promising in our guide book. Here at Trim there are the remains of two castles and a priory, a cathedral and bridges over the River Boyne that warranted mention. We parked up in one of the several car parks available to shoppers and tourists alike and set off on foot around the town, firstly heading for the river. The River Boyne, 112 kilometres long is best known for the Battle of the Boyne which took place on its banks further downstream. Here it is full of reeds and brown trout, swift flowing and inviting for would be canoeists which we are, or at least in our dreams.

There is little left of the priory, just one tower which stands high enough as a landmark and the Sheep’s Gate which stands low nearer the river wide open to man or livestock should any happen to come by. A large structure which was apparently part of the priory does still function as a private home but this is only evident when one scrutinises the plans of the Priory of St John the Baptist tucked away on a rather obscure interpretative panel.

The Sheep’s Gate is the last remaining gate of the ruined section of the town walls which were built by Geoffrey de Grenville, who occupied Trim Castle during its heyday in the second half of the 13^th century.

Both the cathedral (which we did not visit today) and the priory were founded by Simon de Rochfort in the early 13^th century. It was used as a hospital and guesthouse by the Cross Bearing Friars, Augustinian monks who had attended the Crusades. The bridge that links this side of the town to the other, St Peter’s Bridge, is supposed to be the second oldest bridge in the country.

This we crossed over, pausing to look for fish, which you invariably find if you wait long enough, before heading up to Trim Castle. This was built in the 1170s and is the largest Anglo-Norman castle in Ireland. The curtain wall encloses an area of over 1.5 hectares and it was this that we wandered about today for the fee of just one euro each. Had we wished to explore the keep on a guided tour, it would have cost somewhat more but we were quite satisfied with our abbreviated visit. There are excellent explanatory panels throughout the area so one does come away with a decent understanding of what actually happened here.

Hugh de Lacey was granted the Liberty of Meath in 1172, and promptly occupied the site bounded by the River Boyne to the north and marshy ground to the south. By 1175 his original wooden fortification had been replaced with the unique cruciform shaped keep, later surrounded by the curtain walls. The castle evolved over the following fifty years and during a period of prosperity in the second half of the 13^th century, the great hall and solar were constructed on the north side.

In the summer of 1367, Edward III ordered the custodians of the castle to make significant changes in readiness for its handover to Edmund Mortimer and his wife Philippa who was the King’s granddaughter.

Over the centuries Trim Castle has been adapted to suit the domestic needs of its owners and the changing political climate, however much of its fabric has remained unchanged since the height of Anglo-Norman power in Ireland.

Much more recently the castle was subjected to temporary changes when it served as a castle double for York Castle in Mel Gibson’s 1996 Oscar winning movie “Braveheart”; another example of Ireland’s Bollywood status right up there with New Zealand!

Leaving the Castle, we wandered for a while about the town, delighting in the “trimness” of the streets and the quaint naming of many business; puns and nonsensical play of the town’s name just as the citizens of Bulls do back in New Zealand.

Back on the road we headed about eight kilometres north east of Trim to find Bective Abbey which these days is a solid lump of stone giving evidence to a once fine institution. The Cistercian abbey was founded in 1147 as a “daughter house” to Mellifont Abbey further to the east near Drogheda. The community here were Anglo-Norman; men of Irish birth were effectively barred from entering the monastery. A large defensive tower was added to the abbey in the 15^th century; a reflection of troubled times in the English pale. After Bective was “dissolved” in 1536, as part of Henry VIII’s campaign to control the wealth and power of the church, the complex was converted into a great mansion with the insertion of new fireplaces, chimneys and large stone windows. As we made our way about the abbey, we could see evidence of the alterations in the stone work skeleton.

The abbey ruins sit near the banks of the Boyne, so it seemed mandatory that we walk down to the bridge, look for fish and take a few more photos.

After eating our lunch with rural views of the cows and grey stonework, we proceeded to Tara, where the famous Hills of Tara are to be found. I was first aware of these when I read a novel about fifty years ago about a property named Tara, after the mythical home of Irish Kings. (Perhaps the book was Gone with the Wind?) Of course there is much more to this place than legend and folklore, archaeological excavation has turned up evidence that this was indeed a place of meeting and symbolism. It is Ireland’s most revered ancient landscape, a place where monuments, myths and memories combine to create an icon of national identity.

Twenty five monuments are visible as earthworks on the Hill of Tara today, and a further fifty have been detected beneath the soil. The five principal roads of ancient Ireland converged on this place and Tara’s influence radiated out into the surrounding countryside, where many related monuments have been found.

The earliest finds date back to the late 4^th century BC; a communal burial place constructed on the hill. This custom continued for the next three thousand years. Funerary barrows dating from the Bronze and Iron Ages have also been uncovered, all given special Irish names, none of which I could possible pronounce. These are derived from an 11^th century document named “The Remarkable Places of Tara” which forms part of a series of medieval texts.

Tara is one of the “royal sites” of Ireland, which served as the seats of the Gaelic kings. Historical sources associate these sites with various medieval Irish kingdoms, and archaeological investigations have shown that many of them were culturally significant. Each Irish kingdom is thought to have had its own royal site but six such sites are considered to be most important. Four of these are associated with the four major provinces of Ireland: Cashel for Munster, Navan Fort for Ulster, Dun Ailinne for Leinster and Rathcroghan for Connacht. The Hill of Tara served as the seat of the kings of Meath and as the seat of the high king of Ireland.

We were surprised to find so many other folk had also decided to check this spot out, including coachloads of foreigners, in a place that is ill prepared for more than a dozen cars. The Information Centre is located in a church, now disused and apparently has an excellent film about the site, its stories, both historical and mythical . Obviously there is a fee for this, but none for the privilege of simply wandering about the area after bidding good day to a rather forbidding Saint Patrick. 

Standing on the elevated mounds, one cannot fail to be impressed with the amount of earth that was shifted about when bulldozers and dump trucks were not even a bubble in a dreamer’s head. And one cannot fail to be impressed with the 360 degree views all around over a huge expanse of the countryside, all lush, fertile and beckoning for further exploration.

It was only mid-afternoon when we returned to the car park; we were at least an hour from home. We plotted a route that zigzagged through County Meath, Kildare and finally to South Dublin, pulling into the camp to find it even busier with Bank Holiday campers, mostly families with large tribes of kids, all whizzing about on their bikes and all having a ball.

Camec Valley Camp Ground, South Dublin, Leinster

This evening we have taken back control of what seemed a very out of control situation: too many places and things to see with no real plan of attack. We have now set a schedule of our time in Ireland and booked two weeks forward. This is still bound to cause problems and I am sure when we arrive home to friends and family who have themselves travelled parts of this country, they will point out our omissions; so be it.

This morning we headed back into Dublin by the same mode of transport as the previous day, this time having a clear plan as to where we were heading. Stepping down from the bus on the North Side of the city we checked out two spots called at the day before but then mostly ignored because of the pouring rain.

We wandered about the Moore Street market brought to our attention recently whilst reading about comedian Brendan O’Carroll, aka Mrs Brown, and gazed up the length of the Spire, a curious structure in the middle of O’Connell Street. This 120 metre stainless steel needle, known locally as the “Spike”, was designed by Ian Ritchie and is easily the tallest structure in the city centre. Its base if three metres wide while it tapers to a mere 15 cm at the top.  Our guide book raises the question as to what James Joyce whose statue stands across the street would think of such a bizarre structure.

We set off for the parliament, the Oireachtas, in Leister House in Kildare Street to see if we could join a free tour. After providing our passports for identification purposes we were added to a list and asked to return in time for the 11.30 am tour.

We popped in next door to the National Library, and after divesting ourselves of backpacks were allowed to make our way upstairs to the Reading Room. What a beautiful room this is, with its ornate ceilings and hushed atmosphere. We wandered about careful not to disturb those intent on their research, in awe of the space.

Next door we joined a group of less than twenty like-minded tourists to be led through the halls of Ireland’s government decision makers. The lower house  or House of Representatives, here the Dail Eireann, is not nearly as impressive as those in other countries we have visited, but still has a sense of formality, pomp and purpose as such a place should. The upper house, the Senate, or here the Seanad Eireann, is currently located in a spare room while their correct location undergoes major renovation.

In fact the Dail Eireann was being attacked by cleaning and technical staff today because the TDs, or members of parliament, are currently on recess until the middle of September, so it’s an opportunity for a spring-clean. Our guide was a delightful young chap, who took over the job of guide and chamber dog’s body from his father, obviously a case of who you know when it comes to employment in the Oireachtas.

Given the mirror like status of the buildings next to each other, we should have twigged that there was a tie-up. And this was soon revealed to us by Iain, our guide, in his very Irish accent.

Since 1924, Leinster House has been the seat of the two houses of the Oireachtas, Dail and Seanad who meet here a total of ninety days a year. Designed in 1745 by the architect Richard Cassels, (who was incorrectly given credit today for having designed Washington’s White House), it was built as a town residence for the Duke of Leinster on what was then known as Molesworth Fields, adding character to the area that has remained to this day. In 1814, the building was sold by the Duke to the Dublin Society and for the next hundred years it was used as their headquarters. In 1877 the National Museum and the National Library were built on the North and South sides of the forecourt. The two Houses of the Oireachtas first occupied the building in 1924.

After returning to the Library and lunching on the porch, we took in the one exhibition available to the general public on a lower ground floor of the building: that all about the poet W.B.Yeats to whom I alluded yesterday. It would be so much better if there were more light, but peering into display cases to read the small writing in the dim darkness soon takes one’s enthusiasm for the subject away.

Keen to find out more about the more modern history of Dublin and Eire in general, and unable to identify any of the national museums holding the appropriate material, we decided to head to the Dublin Museum, named the Little Museum of Dublin. Arriving at the door, we were met by two charmingly dressed leprechaun-types who explained that we would have to wait for the next tour, and then it would cost us €8 or some such amount. We decided against it and headed back to the Museum of Archaeology where we had noticed a poster in the window which suggested we might find out more there. Certainly this museum, housed in the opposite building to the Library, is full of history dug up from the bogs of Ireland, and we did learn much about the two hundred year Viking occupation and the Battle of Brian Boru in 1014 which was more of an internal battle for power between family, albeit connected by marriage,  than a Vikings versus Irish that it has become in legend. 

The general consensus regarding the Viking “invasion” and subsequent occupation was that a new society emerged from that time, neither Viking nor Irish, but a melding of the two, the term Hiberno-Norse often used to describe the culture of the inhabitants of the Viking towns in the 11^th and early 12^th centuries and that the impact on trade and art had generally been positive.

But apart from a little about the coming of the Normans and the immediate years that followed, we were left in the air.

We had also seen something about an exhibition in the General Post Office that might fill in the gaps of the strife of the early 1900s, but when we arrived there, we found we would need at least three quarters of an hour to do the tour which again would cost us in the vicinity of €8 each, and besides we had a bus to catch.

Inside the post office itself there were several interpretative panels, the first explaining how over the next year there were to be major changes, from the traditional art deco interior to something looking more like a space ship. Both Chris and I thought these changes and the loss of this heritage fit-out would be criminal however the matter is fait accompli and our opinions are of no consequence.

We did learn a little about the history of the post office, and its role in the troubles we were keen to understand more about. On Easter Monday 1916, the GPO became the headquarters of men and women who sought, through armed rebellion, to win Irish independence from Britain. The Post Office controlled communications at the time and GPO staff played a prominent part in both sabotaging and restoring the telegraph and telephone lines which helped determine the outcome of the insurrection. Here independence was declared in the words of a Proclamation read by the leader of the rising, P H Pearse. Of course this is the subject of the exhibition which we did not visit today.

The General Post Office was constructed between 1814 and 1818 under the supervision of Armagh born architect, Francis Johnston, and is one of the oldest working chief post offices in the world. Severely classical in style, its fine façade and portico are all that remain of the original building which was much smaller than the GPO which emerged after the destruction of 1916. 

We also spent about an hour wandering about the Temple Bar area, the streets mid-afternoon on a Thursday packed out and so very vibrant. Buskers of all kinds entertained the passers-by and today with the rain having stayed away, I was so much more impressed with Dublin than I had been the previous day. As we sat in McDonalds with our paper cups of coffee, we examined our city map and pondered over the plethora of attractions on offer to visitors of this capital city. One could fill a fortnight of days with things to see and do and then probably not see everything, but where do you draw the line? We have decided we will come in again one day before we leave but not try to see everything else that might have been included on the two day Hop-on-Hop-off Bus tour we had been contemplating.

Camec Valley Camping , South Dublin, Leinster

It seems that days of anticipated stress and real frustration are the order of the week; although that statement on its own could be misconstrued. I am a person who can work themselves into a tizzy about an event that is not likely to even happen, such is my nature. On the other hand my husband is a steady rock who waits until the disaster strikes then works his way calmly through the crisis; an excellent counter balance making for a good marriage.

I had been anxious about a myriad of possibilities regarding the transfer to Ireland; the exit through the narrow gateway at Tan-y-Bryn, the possibility of meeting any traffic on our way out through the steep and narrow lanes down to Mochdre, being too late or too early at Holyhead Port, or not finding a suitable place to hang out if we were too early which we surely would be, being sick on the boat, dealing with border immigration and customs and agriculture, then finding our way to the camp; you can see that sometimes it is quite exhausting being me and of course more exhausting for my ever suffering husband.

Of course everything went swimmingly; our host David guided us through the narrow gateway, I stood on the road to stop any traffic that might come but did not, and the rubbish truck was late up into Bryn Pydew. The road back across the north coast of Wales was seamless, passing under the River Conwy and through the sheer rugged edges that fall to the sea. We left the A55 soon after crossing the Britannia Bridge, continuing across Anglesea on the A5 and easily able to find a relatively quiet spot to hang out till lunchtime and read the newspaper. 

We arrived at the port at a suitable time, or it would have been suitable if the ferry had been running on time. I had our documentation all in hand, however as we approached the check in booth, the woman asked “Mr & Mrs Clarke?” On the affirmative she ripped off a ticket cum boarding pass with all our details and indicated we proceed; all so very easy.

When we did eventually sail, we found Stena Line’s Explorer a most comfortable ship with a full range of lounges, albeit full of rowdy children who became irritable as the afternoon wore on. Three and a quarter hours later when we disembarked, there were no custom’s checks at all; so incredibly different to arriving in New Zealand or Australia or even across one of the latter’s state borders!

We followed the directions on the camping ground’s website, toward the M50 but should have elected not to take the Toll Tunnel. We had already ascertained on board that we would be up for a toll fee as we made our way to the camp, and uploaded the app which facilitates payment but did not realise that the Dublin Tunnel was a separately tolled facility. This four and a half kilometre twin tunnelled dual carriageway was opened to all traffic in 2007 for a final cost of €752 million, which rather explains the toll demanded by the officers in the manned booths:€10. “What!?”  I exclaimed, which the woman ignored; I guess she gets that all the time from ignorant tourists.

Even with the tunnel shortcut, it still took us the best of half an hour to reach our camp, and we were not set up until about 8 pm when I sat down and Whatsapped my father to wish him a happy 89^th birthday, before preparing a rather scant dinner of canned soup, bread and cheese.

It was about that time we discovered two very disturbing facts about being in Eire: the television would not be tuned and the O2 data on my hotspot, which I use for my blogging, Facebooking and all our administration requirements was not working.

When the morning arrived, I spent some time on the phone to England and learned from the lovely Indian girl in the call centre that my O2 data plan did not include roaming outside the UK, unlike the Vodafone prepay arrangements both Chris and I have on our cellphones. Moreover, our Vodafone roaming will not allow our phones to be used as hotspots. The camp does have free Wi-Fi which might be connectable if one is up by the office but is certainly not where we are situated. And then a little host Wi-Fi is not really suitable for the amount of internet I need. Needless to say I was not happy! And at the point of writing, Chris has not attempted any cunning plan with the demise of the television; from my perspective this is not all bad. We will get some reading done, although he will be more aware of the time I sit with my head in the computer.

Apart from the weak and evasive Wi-Fi, the camp is very nice, with large sites, each with its U of hedge providing a sense of privacy. Showers do cost a ridiculous €2 and the daily tariff is

€30, which at near NZ$60 per day is extremely steep. But here we are a captive market with few alternatives. The camp is well situated adjacent to major roads, which of course then has its downside; there is the steady whooshing noise which does not seem to change regardless of the hour.

This morning we were able to catch a shuttle bus into the centre of Dublin; one of the Hop On & Hop Off services offer this free for those who buy a ticket to the tour or for €2.50 for a one way fare in. Already the cost of public transport is proving high, and while we were initially very loose about the amount of time we might wander on through the country, we are now considering a more abbreviated tour; it would be a shame to run out of money!

In the city we spent the better part of the morning, or what was left of it chasing down information from the tourist information centre, sourcing a decent road map and checking out why we couldn’t use our cellphones as hotspots.

Rain set in almost immediately after our chores were complete, so our walk across the River Liffey and up to the Art Gallery was a hurried one, more intent on seeking shelter than enjoying the ambiance. We did detour to see the Molly Malone statue, a special request by Chris; he has warbled the ballad about this Dublin soul to the two oldest grandchildren over their more junior years and it was only right that we should pay homage. To his credit, when asked by a tourist from Luxembourg if he knew who Molly Malone had been, he recited a verse, rather than sing it, although I have to confess, he does have quite a good voice.  

The National Art Gallery was popular today; rain drives allsorts into such places and this one was worthy of a visit. I think we saw most of the galleries and enjoyed most of what we saw. Early European art can be a bit dreary but there was much to counter the negative.

I enjoyed the very small gallery of Irish Stained Glass, this associated with the Celtic Revival of the early twentieth century. All of it had religious overtones, all of it very pleasing to the eye and some absolutely breathtakingly beautiful.

Another galley and collection of work that interested me greatly was that by the Yeats family; the relationships and familial talent reminded me of the Australian Boyd family although those DownUnder were all a bit doolally-tap and their work was often totally off the wall.

Painter John Butler Yeats (1839 – 1922) married an Irish woman from Sligo in 1863, and they had four creative children, each at the forefront of their respective fields. Son William Butler Yeats (1865 – 1939), the eldest became a celebrated poet, winning the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1923. Susan Mary Yeats (1866 – 1949) and Elizabeth Corbet Yeats (1868 – 1940), with Evelyn Gleeson, founded an arts and crafts cooperative, the Dun Emer Guild, in Dublin in 1902. In 1908 they went on to found the celebrated Cuala Press. Jack B Yeats (1871 – 1957) made his name as an illustrator. And there is quite a collection of his later work in oils in one of the galleries, this later work not really to my taste.

Anne Yeats (1919 – 2001), daughter of William Butler Yeats, trained at the Royal Hibernian Academy, worked as a stage designer, eventually becoming chief designer at the Abbey Theatre. During the 1940s she returned to painting and participated in the first Irish Exhibition of Living Art in 1943. Yes a very talented family indeed.

As I was making my way around the gallery, reading all the blurbs beside each piece of work, it occurred to me that I was peering through windows of history, especially when exploring the Portrait galleries. All very tantalising; my interest in Dublin and Irish history is keen, as it always is when I arrive at a new place, and I was eager to find out more in the museums. We have been reading a little over the past few days, and history gathered as one travels about Great Britain inevitably touches on Ireland, as have films and novels over the years. 

We both felt quite worn out on leaving the art gallery and made our way to the bus stop for the No 69 we had been told about at the camp office. Alas exact coinage is required and having just arrived in the country with fresh notes, sundry change is not easily had. We searched hopelessly for a bank and in the end walked into a couple of convenience stores where the obliging shopkeepers helped out.

After a three quarter of an hour journey up through the suburbs we arrived home, immediately jumping into the car and heading back down to the local Aldi about a mile away to buy milk and a few other bits. I put a load of laundry on and managed to peg it out before another rain front crossed over. It may be sitting out in the rain on our hedged site for some days.

Discussion after dinner tonight has led us to realise that we are only going to touch on some of Ireland’s attractions. There is not enough time for us to travel as we have in England, however I am anxious that we do not rush about as an Irish traveller might in New Zealand if he only allows himself a few weeks. (There I go again being anxious!)