Antarctic Explorations

By my third trip to Cork, the airport and flight process was becoming a bit of a breeze (despite the looming threat of a full body scan – yikes). My only complaint about the airport was the lack of anywhere to get fast food! When I am travelling and need a quick meal I don’t want caviar and champagne, or a fancy Panini, I want a cheap and cheerful cheeseburger. Sort it out Heathrow Terminal 1! For the flight, had worked out that if I picked up a copy of The Metro on the tube, and read it cover to cover from the moment my ass hit the plane seat, I would be skim reading the sports pages just as we touched down in Cork International (killing the entirety of the flight and sparing me from reading about football – bonus).

We headed into Cork that evening to go to the theatre and see a one-man stage show called ‘Tom Crean – Antarctic Explorer’. The show was on at the Everyman Palace Theatre which is fairly central in the city – this was my first trip into the city itself, but I didn’t really see much of it as we dashed to it from the car in the rain. The inside of the theatre is quite small and cosy and it seems to be one of many theatres in Cork. We were down in the stalls without much time to spare, so I didn’t get much chance to snoop about, but it seemed to be quite an old-fashioned and pretty building.

The play is a narrative in which the actor (Aidan Dooley) – who is also the writer – takes on the role of Tom Crean, an Irish explorer who took part in expeditions aiming to reach the South Pole in the early 20th century. He tells real stories about the trips with both Ernest Shackleton and Scott – he survived three very famous expeditions to the pole during which several other men died. The play was really good as you feel as though Tom Crean is just sitting on the stage in front of you, showing you the Burberry designed gear he wore (yes, ‘the’ Burberry – not a beige tartan in sight though) and telling fascinating stories from his travels. Most of it is focused on two of the expeditions – Terra Nova, resulting in the infamous death of Captain Scott, who was found the following year still in his tent which was buried in snow (at the time of Scott’s death, Tom Crean was going to amazing lengths to save the lives of two other men in on the way back to base camp), and Endurance with Shackleton, where the expedition crew were stranded for years without ever reaching Antarctica and were saved by the actions of Crean a few other men. To put it lightly, Tom Crean was a bit of a dude. (Just look at him with his big old pipe! Unfortunatly the puppies didn't make it though...) Some interesting things I learned from Mr Crean: if you pour a kettle of boiling water out at the South Pole in winter, it will freeze before it hits the ground; if you remove your mitt in those conditions, you will have frost bitten fingers within 9 minutes; an elephant seal or a penguin makes for a tasty meal; scurvy makes your eyes bleed – eat your oranges; when you cry in Antarctica, everyone will know because your face will steam; best not go to the South Pole, to be quite frank, it sounds like it sucks… but do read about it and go see this play…

So after our trip to the theatre on Friday, we headed out on Saturday for a little expedition of our own. We took a walk along a lovely coastal path, starting at Ardmore and looping round on ourselves to finish back at the car. The path took us past some crumbled old stone buildings, and along the cliff top. It looks down on some rugged coastline, with waves crashing into small bays and really is lovely. The path takes you past the wreck of the Samson, a crane barge that was driven ashore in 1987 while being towed. I was told that apparently the rescue failed, as the tow boat was also driven ashore! The crew were lifted off and the ship is still there, with its big crane all rusted and half submerged in the waves. Apparently at the time of the wreckage, a local guy climbed on board and lived there for 40 days to claim salvage – not sure what he would have got out of a crane ship!?

A bit further along the coast there is an abandoned coast guard look out tower from World War II, and just back from it is a much older lookout and signal tower from the late 19th century, which is more of a little castle. We had a little nosey through the window, but the floors are gone and there is only a big fire place inside, but it is a pretty cool little building up there on the hill.

Next we came to an unusual shaped well with a small seat on it that looks out to sea. It is made of stone with water running through it, and I was told it was part of a route on a pilgrim walk along the coast (which I then saw was sign posted with little hobbity characters...). I have since seen that the place is known locally as Father O’Donnell’s Well, apparently after a priest who went there frequently. It was constructed after someone claimed the water had health benefits for the eyes. Quite a specific health benefit that, isn’t it? I should imagine it would be a bit of a precarious walk for someone who can’t see very well to get to the water …

Ardmore was originally a 5th century monastic settlement founded by St Declan (apparently the oldest Christian settlement in Ireland, from before St Patrick got there), and we finished the cliff walk at the monastic ruins and round tower (from the 8th and 13th centuries). The tower would have been used as a refuge for the people living in the settlement, and to safely store their loot. The remains of the cathedral have some stone carving depicting scenes from the Bible, and inside there are two Ogham stones – I think these were to do with very early Irish written language, and have lines and grooves cut out of them. The cathedral and the tower are surrounded by a cemetery full of beautiful old gothic looking grave stones, as well as some much newer ones. In London, cemeteries become full and the older ones are closed and newer ones opened. In Cork, I have seen several with a mix of very old historic grave stones and very recent ones for members of the local community. Much as I love the old London cemeteries, I really like it this way as it shows a true history of the people who have lived and died in the area, and at this cemetery, also a record of a ship wreck off the coast. By this time, it was a warm sunny day with clear blue skies – I still haven’t seen any of this terrible Irish weather I was promised…

We headed out to a local town that evening for a lovely Thai meal with friends, and then on for a drink at a local bar. Having had a smoking ban in place for a bit longer, the pubs in Ireland have all become a lot more accommodating to the smokers. This particular bar, like many others, has an ‘outdoor’ area that is basically a court yard with a roof and one opening to the air. With the seats and the crowd out there, even in winter we stayed out there all night and it felt like we were inside the pub. I am not a smoker, but it meant that we could all stay together all evening and nobody had to freeze to have a smoke!

The next day we just pottered about the local town and had a quite afternoon in, then back to the airport for the evening flight home…

Aodh Rua

My second trip to Cork was in November, once again arriving on Friday and leaving on Sunday evening. I was better prepared this time for the epic slog to the Aer Lingus departure gate at Heathrow, and the dash across the runway at Cork International. I contemplated showing the passport guy in Cork a colouring book to see if he would notice, but I decided against it in the end – it would be just my luck that he would be paying attention that day!

On Friday we had a quiet night in front of a movie and a fire. I wanted to make a mention of the latter, as this really is a novelty for a Londoner. I can honestly say that I do not know one single person here with an open fire, but it seems it is common place in Cork to have at least one in the house. Lots of town-dwellers here have real-effect gas fires, but it just isn’t the same. The heat off them isn’t as strong, there is no lovely smell of coal or cut turf (which I have seen sold door-to-door here), and importantly, you can’t throw your rubbish in there.., It is something that I won’t be tiring of anyway. Well, maybe in the summer. Maybe.

On Saturday we headed out into the cold for a drive,

stopping first at the Charles Fort in Kinsale. The fort was built in the late 17th century on the site of Ringcurran Castle, which apparently featured prominently in the Seige of Kinsale – a big old battle between the Irish and English, involving Irish support from the Spanish Armada! Yikes. Whilst looking up the details of this, I spotted that one of the home team leaders was an Irish King called Aodh Rua Ó Domhnaill (also known as Aodh Rua II ), which anglicised is Hugh Roe Ó Donnell (or Red Hugh II) – one of my ancestors perhaps?! He sounds like a bit of a dude, so clearly he is. (Always knew I had blue blood. Or would it be green…?)

The Charles Fort is at the entrance to Kinsale Harbour, which it overlooks, and was designed to defend attacks. It is at a very scenic location and we had a quick walk around the outside rather than paying the small charge to go in (not because we are cheap of course, but because it was freezing cold and the fort is mostly gone, so it is all outside! Brr… ). We did go for a short walk up the coastal path from the fort to look back at it and through to Kinsale harbour – a nice walk with a great view, giving a better idea of the size and shape of the fort. James’s Fort was a similar shape and size across the harbour from this one, and there are some ruins there that I would be interested to see sometime (I read that they used to have an underwater chain between the two that could be used to clothes-line invading ships!). I think the Charles Fort might be a place to go back to in the summer to enjoy a guided tour and explore properly when it isn’t quite so chilly.

We continued on to Kinsale from the fort to have some lunch and a wander about the town. Kinsale is a place that I have associated with rugby, as I often hear about the infamous Kinsale 7s tournament. I was therefore surprised to see that it is actually a pretty little town with a harbour full of sailing boats – not somewhere I can imagine masses of stumbling rugby teams on tour… they must play elsewhere surely!? I am told that in the summer the population of Kinsale swells substantially with the sailing set and other tourists (including a lot of Brits!), but at that time of year the streets and shops were all nice and quiet. We had a coffee in a harbour café and then strolled around the streets and shops. All the buildings are brightly coloured, and there are lovely little gift shops everywhere, some with work from local artists. Again, I think I would like to go back to Kinsale when it is a bit warmer – it may even be improved by a little bustle. I’ve heard that they have an annual gourmet food festival so I may be investigating those dates for a return trip! I did get to watch some rugby though – an Ireland game was on the TV in the pub we stopped at for lunch!

Saturday evening was spent in a nearby town at a friend’s birthday party. In the absence of regular public transport, going out to another town gives the options of: getting a lift, driving and not drinking, getting a taxi to go out, or driving there and leaving the car, getting a cab home (and lift back the following day to collect the car!). We took the last option. We were just out in some local bars, but I enjoyed the evening – especially the fact that I could still understand everyone (it wasn’t just beginners luck! Awesome!), and my discovery the toilet door in one of the pubs was a double wardrobe door. It opened outwards and had wardrobe handles on … it was like going to Narnia to spend a penny. Amazing.

So, after a relaxing lazy Sunday, my second trip was a little less eventful than my first due to the weather, but the good impression I had of Cork was continuing. Even the drives between these places are enjoyable, and I left looking forward to my next visit, which would not be until January…

Car and Two Hills

My first trip to Corcaigh (also known as ‘Corwk’ in my accent, ‘Cark’ in my bad Irish accent, and ‘Cork’ in Ireland) was straight from work on a Friday in September, until the Sunday evening. I flew with Irish budget airline Aer Lingus, mainly for the convenience of flying in and out of Heathrow airport. I am not a fan of flying so I was pleased there were no delays to stress me out, and the hour between check-in and departure was easily killed with the brisk walk from security to the Aer Lingus departure gate, located several miles away, out the back of Terminal 1, by the bins. Nice. Aer Lingus gives all the perks of a budget airline, such as no checked luggage or seat selection unless you are willing to pay, without the cheap price tag. You are almost guaranteed a lovely cramped aisle seat over the wings, so you can eagerly watch them over the head of another passenger and anticipating them bursting into flames. I really do recommend the airline (to people too poor to fly with BA who, therefore, have no choice).

Cork International Airport is small, and passengers need to do a short death-dash across the runway from the plane (with a fairly minimal actual death risk, but I am sure it is still there…). The border control man then efficiently processes EU arrivals, concentrating hard on the middle distance whilst giving each passport a nod and a wave. I am told that this shiny new airport recently replaced an old one, which now stands abandoned just down the road. Poor old airport! Maybe they’ll find another use – suggestions here. I was obviously a little nervous arriving, but it was unnecessary. I was met off the flight for a drive back to the village where I would be staying at for all my visits to Cork, located about 25 minutes from the airport. The scenic drive was a nice change from the traffic in the big smoke. The village consists of a pub, a greengrocer-come-post office, a small super market and a Chinese take-away…. and that’s about it. Bizarrely though, the main road from Cork city runs right through the middle of it, so it also has one set of traffic lights. Ok, so it’s a little smaller than my home town, but its nice and I like it!

My first outing in Cork was a walk along some lovely cliff tops and into a fishing village called Ballycotton – all in sunshine that I had been assured did not exist in these parts. The coastline is very rugged and pretty and we admired the view from the little fishing harbour in Ballycotton. It was a perfect place for me to get a good first impression of this place. That evening we went for a meal at a restaurant called The Barn, where the waiters take your order from a set menu in the bar before you’re seated – great not to be interrupted or have to catch anyone’s attention! The dining area is like an oversized kitsch front room with a grand piano (just like at home then...), and the waiters are all relatively old. I don’t mean we were served by grey-haired shufflers in slippers pushing trolleys of food ... they were just an older generation than us, and it gave a nice family business feel to the place. I had a duck confi starter and ostrich for a main, both delicious. I have since learned, incidentally, that the largest ostrich farm in Europe is located in Ireland. I was unaware I was enjoying local Irish game at the time – maybe that’s why it was so tasty? Not something I expect to see running about the Irish countryside anyway… The dessert was brought around on a trolley – ok, so the waiters did push around one trolley – busting with far too much choice. Yum.

On Saturday morning we donned our walking boots and headed west to Co. Kerry. We were aiming to take on the biggest mountain in Ireland – which, after being told repeatedly all morning, I eventually grasped is called ‘Car and Two Hill’... well, that or thereabouts ... it is spelt ‘Carrantuohill’ (see, Carr-an-tuo-hill. I was exactly right!). The weather was cloudy but very warm and we had a nice walk-in along a craggy valley. About half way up the mountain we walked into mist which quickly disappeared, and looked back to see that we had passed right through the clouds. So, we sat down to enjoy a rest by a mountain lake in clear beautiful sunshine, looking back at a blanket of inverted cloud that reached as far as we could see. The white fluffy clouds were only broken by the odd high peak poking through. At the top of Carrantuohill there is no ‘trig-point’ as I would expect to find on any British mountain I’ve trundled up – instead, there is a huge cross. It’s massive … and I have to say, it made me laugh out loud to see it there. Seemed like a bit of countryside stereo-typing from Ireland! The view really was stunning, and we sat enjoying it with several other groups of walkers for a while. There was very little wind so a few pesky migdies had made it up with us, and I found out later that they also accompanied us back down inside my new camera! (Evil little beasties.) I was informed that the lady with the clipped accent in the very short skirt (seriously, like a tennis skirt… to climb a mountain in September?) was from Kerry, as were her moustachioed companions in skimpy shorts. Apparently these are called ‘O’Neills’ shorts and fetching... they are not. Yikes. We descended the mountain down the worn tourist route, passing back through the clouds to the overcast day back in the real world. It was a long walk back to the car, and long drive back home, but worth every minute for the view!










That evening we went out with friends to a nice little place called Rosie’s, where I tried local cod from Ballycotton, the village we had wandered into the previous evening. By a mile, it was the nicest fish I have ever eaten – it was amazing. So far in my view Cork was definitely living up to its reputation as the culinary capital of Ireland! I was also very pleased to find that, even after a few drinks, I could still understand everything being said to me in racing Irish accents. Hurrah!

Sunday was another lovely sunny day, and we headed to Cobh (pronounced ‘Cove’). Cobh is an old seaport town on a hill, located on the Great Island in Cork Harbour, which is connected by bridges and another island (Fota) to the mainland. I am told (jokingly of course...) that if you are from there, you will never leave… is this a good or a bad thing? Well, it makes me think of the League of Gentlemen, but we ventured there nevertheless. It is worth pointing out that historically a lot of people left from here (ok, so not people 'from' Cobh necessarily…), as it was one of the main sailing ports to America in the Famine Years; it was also the last port of call for the Titanic before she sailed off into an iceberg.

I have to say, I really liked Cobh. It has a beautiful cathedral up on the hill called St Coleman’s, and as we walked up to it at about 4pm, the bells began to play a lovely tune. This turned out to be from a 49-bell carillon, which is played a bit like an organ by someone called a carillonneur using hand and foot pedals, who sits half way up the bell tower. This means the bells ring in quick sequence and sound fantastic. After a walk around the cathedral, we wandered back down through the town, via a town monument to those lost at sea on the Lusitania – a passenger ship on its way to New York that was sunk by a German submarine off the coast of Kinsale in 1915. The promenade is quite small, with a little band stand and a few sculptures, and there were several people enjoying the sun like us. Amongst the old couples and families, this included a few
characters enjoying a midday can of special brew, and a policeman wandering about eating an ice cream – busy day then? It was a lovely, peaceful afternoon, but soon it was time to head back to the village to collect my belongings and get to the airport. Boo!





(Please excuse this clip of the cathedral carillion/view being sideways - it was taken on a new phone and got wrong! Ooops!)



I had a great impression of Cork from this first visit. I was sorry to leave, and went away looking forward to my next visit, collecting some Clonakilty black pudding and some Butlers chocolates from duty free on my way... omnomnomnom...