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ADVENTURES IN IRELAND
— DESPERATELY SEEKING CHOWDER —
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LAKESIDE COTTAGE, DROMINEER |
By 8AM the early autumn sunshine was already
brilliant outside my lakeside apartment in Dromineer, County
Tipperary. From my second-floor bedroom window, silky, silvery Lough Derg refracted the
low-angle light under baby blue skies. I easily could stay home today and walk or cycle or
cruise or picnic or go to the pub. But I had a full tank of gas in my rented Ford Focus, a
couple of euros in my wallet, and an impulse under my skin. Just yesterday an Irish friend
of mine had been regaling the virtues of a place called Monk’s. "The seafood
chowder at Monk’s Pub on the pier in |
| Ballyvaughan," he stated forthrightly,
"is worth the trip." I consulted my Michelin map of Ireland and found
Ballyvaughan village — a tiny dot at the northwest corner of County Clare on Galway Bay
and the edge of the rocky wastes of the Burren. About three hours away. If I left soon, I
could be at Monk’s for lunch. Perfect! MAKING
IRISH TIME
Map—check. Coat—check. Water
bottle—check. Wallet & keys—check. Down the stairs, throw down a cup of
coffee, and out the door. What a morning! Crisp as a Granny Smith apple. Bright as a
scholar on the first day of school. My Ford is drenched in dew, and I employ the wipers
front and rear.
My Dromineer cottage is the virtual
center point
of Ireland, and about the mid-point along the eastern shore of Lough Derg. County Clare is
maybe three miles due west across the lake. The quickest way to Ballyvaughan is first
north to the top of the lake at Portumna in County Galway, then west to Galway Bay. But
I’ll save this short route for the way home from Monk’s—time in Ireland has
a way of slipping by and I might need the faster drive home after chowder. |
| Isn’t it so? At Ballycommon I turn south
and parallel Lough Derg’s east coast to its southern end at Ballina, County
Tipperary. At Portroe — mid-way to Ballina
— I disappear into a fogbank. Irish time
has already begun. The thick autumn mists of Lough Derg cover the lake’s southern
half, at a cost of my sunny day and maximum speed. At Ballina I cross the old bridge
across the River Shannon just below its exit from the lough, and enter Killaloe town,
County Clare’s pretty eastern gateway. Pretty as pea soup today. I turn right past
the Heritage Centre and Tourist Information Office and follow the yacht canal out of town
and north along the west shore of Lough Derg. After 30 minutes I climb a hill and emerge
from the fog at Tuamgraney about one-hour’s drive from my cottage and maybe eight
linear miles from where I started. |
CASTLETOWN EMERGING
FROM THE MIST |
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CROSSING
CLARE
Just after 9AM and not much in my way now. The
roads are (mostly) straight and empty, and the sun is to my back. It’s a fast cruise
through east Clare farmland with only a few speed zones for villages
— Bodyke and Tulla
and Moymore — before I’m suddenly in the morning traffic conundrums of Ennis.
Despite its unfathomable road system, I love this town. Ennis is old country Irish with a
few modern pretensions that it displays self-consciously like a pretty country girl in a
Parisian dress. Mostly though Ennis ducks its head and knows its place: county seat of
Clare, capital of Irish traditional music, agri-business center, and crossroads of western
Ireland. And, for me, these attributes make Ennis grand as any Irish town.
And oh what grand weather! The satin blue skies
above Ennis show a few cotton ball clouds to the west—towards the sea. Let’s go
west. Yes, Monk’s chowder and Ballyvaughan is due north across the Burren, but
let’s go west. It promises a fine day over the Atlantic.
THE
ATLANTIC
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NO
GALES TODAY
AT SPANISH POINT |
Spanish Point. The name records the foundering
of one or two ships of Spain’s ill-fated Armada in September, 1588. The once great
vessels were battered twice—once by Drake’s English navy in the North Sea, and
then finally by Atlantic gales which the hapless Spaniards encountered when escaping the
English by sailing around northern Scotland and western Ireland. Those Spanish who managed
to come ashore at the point that now bears their name may have preferred
drowning—they were all executed by their Irish and English captors in County Clare. |
| No gales today. This September, Spanish Point
is swept with mild breezes and calm seas. And Spanish Point Golf Club is as benign and
pretty as ever a classic links course can be. And only four couples on the course. Maybe
Monk’s chowder can wait for another day while I rent some clubs and hit the links.
Nope! I’ve already played golf. I’ve never had Monk’s seafood chowder. We
stick with the plan. |
Now up the coast road to Lahinch and more golf! The
old course is a zoo! Foursomes on every fairway and green, and one waiting at each tee. Still,
the old girl looks unfazed by the heavy traffic—and green as Ireland can be. The
coast is a little wilder here than at Spanish Point, as the beaches and coves are being
replaced with headlands leading to the Cliffs of Moher.
Thirty buses and one hundred cars—more
than I’ve seen on the road since Ennis. And still the parking lot at the Cliffs is
only half-full. And the Cliffs of Moher are as unnecessary as fortress ramparts in
peacetime—the Atlantic is a docile lake today. No, the assault is not waterborne
today. Rather, a human wave has washed over the grand cliffs, running, skipping, clicking
shutters, posing inches from perdition, flipping shale into
the abyss. And lots of kissing going on. You'd think it was the |
INCHES FROM PERDITION
AT THE CLIFFS OF MOHER. |
Blarney Stone. Out of here
and straight for Lisdoonvarna, the
colorful, sleepy old spa town halfway from the Cliffs to Ballyvaughan. |
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