Kilrush – Westport
(Originally published at http://www.troysgonewalkabout.com)
Another grey and rainy morning beckoned, but it hardly dampened our mood as we drove by the dramatic cliffs and beach-side town of Kilkee, and kept on going north until a little later in the morning we stopped at the incredibly popular Cliffs of Moher. Along the lookouts there we were buffeted around in the wind almost as much as we were buffeted around by coach-loads of old people in the adjacent visitor centre. Just what is it with old people these days? Back when I was young they were seen and not heard, always polite to their juniors and never much in a hurry to get anywhere. Now they were noisy, boisterous and pushed me out of the way with elbows or handbags when, heaven forbid, I stood in the way of that must-have leprechaun tea towel or pretty picture placemat set without so much as an ‘excuse me’ or ‘sorry, dear’ coming from their lips. Once I’d been shoulder-charged back outside by a running maul of old ducks, I was going to take issue with Nanna about the disgrace of her generation but I just couldn’t keep up with her - the wind was pushing her along so fiercely she was power walking like an Olympian.
After another vain attempt to find a park to eat our lunch, this time in Galway, we continued on northwards through the Connemarra Mountains. Of all the Irish landscapes we had taken in on this road-trip, the coastline of County Mayo was to me at once the most dramatic and pathetic. In parts the countryside solely comprised of fields of grey rocks, each one fenced by dry walls built from same kind of rock, running right down from the top of the hills on our right to the waterline on our left. There was next to no greenery in sight, no way for the barren and windswept terrain to be used to grow crops or for grazing livestock. That people were desperate enough to even try to farm here was real proof to me of the reality of the struggles and desperation to survive on the land during the potato famine.
We stopped for the night in Westport, the Georgian era town centre of which looked incredibly charming with the narrow River Carrowbeg passing though its handsome leafy streets. Any chance of further exploration was dashed when we spent a considerable period of time searching for a vacant B&B, and then once we had, as soon as we unpacked my energy level plummeted, and what I thought would be a quick little evening nap turned into a comatose night’s sleep.
