We’ve made it as far as Galway (Gaillimh) and we’re at the end of a two day stay here.
The drive from just outside of Donegal Town to Roundstone (Cloch na Rón) took us past some fantastic scenery and into the heart of Connemara (Conamara).
It also took us past the majestic Kylemore Abbey, where we certainly would have liked to stop if we’d had more time. That remains for a return trip.
Roundstone is a lovely little town with a picturesque harbour. We stayed at the equally lovely St. Joseph’s B & B and had dinner at O’Dowd’s Restaurant, who served up some very tasty fish.
Roundstone and the surrounding area turned out to have problems with their water quality. This has apparently been the situation since at least March, which is when residents were first informed.
The problem is that there are trace quantities of cryptosporidium in the water. Other than diarrhoea, this stuff’s not going to do you much harm, but the advice was to boil water before use, even for brushing teeth. Thankfully, the landlady of our B & B had laid on bottles of boiled water on each landing.
Roundstone is on the edge of an Irish-speaking region and, sure enough, when we left the next day, it was only a few minutes before we passed the unmistakeable An Gaeltacht sign at the side of the road, denoting that we were entering an area where Irish is the primary language.
It was another beautiful drive. As usual, we went out of our way to take a scenic route along the coast.
Galway is a breath of fresh air after Dublin, the only other large city we’ve been to in the republic. It hasn’t yet sold its soul to commercialism, although one has to wonder whether Galway isn’t also destined for chronic dilution by the tsunami of globalisation (or the voracious appetite of the Celtic Tiger, if you prefer). The city has already swollen past its borders and partially subsumed the adjacent Gaeltacht area, which means that house prices are rising and native Irish speakers are having to leave the area and settle in other, invariably English-speaking areas. This is obviously bad for the indigenous language.
Cities all over the world are afflicted by the same plight. It seems that anywhere worth living is, sooner or later, destined to become a victim of its own success, as people and commerce flock to it. Galway is very strongly affected, though, and is Ireland’s fastest growing city. It’s not hard to see why.
Anno 2008, Galway is still a lovely place, full of charming little cafés with terraces from which to bask in the sun (assuming you see any), and pubs galore, most of which play host to traditional Irish music most days of the week.
It’s really busy here this week, because the Galway Races are taking place. It’s the busiest week of the year for the city and finding a hotel was quite hard.
The weather remains hit or miss. We’ve had a couple of good soakings over the last couple of days, but we don’t let it dampen our spirits.
Tomorrow, we leave for Ennistymon (Inis Diomáin) in Co. Clare (Contae an Chláir).
We now have the rest of our trip mapped out and hotels reserved for all but one night of our stay. We’ve also booked our return ferry crossing from Rosslare to Fishguard and our tunnel crossing from Folkestone to Calais.
This aspect is, without a doubt, the single biggest pain in the arse of determining one’s route on a day by day basis, as opposed to planning and booking the whole trip at home before one’s bags are even packed. It can take a lot of research and many phone calls to book just a single night’s accommodation. That’s what you get for wanting a dynamic holiday, smack bang in the middle of high season.
I suspect we won’t have Internet access again until 3rd August, but we may get lucky in the interim.
We’ve been on the road for a month now, but to me, it feels like much less. I definitely don’t feel as if I’ve been away from home for some 30 days. Another dozen or so and then we’ll be back in Amsterdam, the school summer holiday behind us.
Like the weather, Lucas continues to be hit or miss on this trip. Sometimes, we can drive 300 km with nary a peep out of him. Other days, 75 km is a painful, drawn-out activity.
Eloïse has taken to calling Lucas the grunt-rabbit. We have no idea why. Similarly, she has started calling herself the toverschaap (magic sheep), me the hippopotamus (but since today, the elephant), and Sarah the froggie. We have no idea which, if any, associations these names have for her.