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Adventures in Ireland Part III: From From Killary Lodge to Limerick
By Anne Thell (guide trixie000)
 This September, I went on a whirlwind trip to Ireland for 9 days of adventure. I began my journey in bustling and colorful Dublin, and from there made my way up the eastern coast to Downpatrick in County Down; next I shot through the midlands to Eniskillen on Lough Erne, subsequently winding down the western coast to Westport, Leenane, and Galway, and finally departing from Shannon. The stops along the way were packed with unexpected adventures and spectacular beauty, each connected by the stream of long, narrow roads and sweeping vistas sliding past my window.
This is my last Irish feature. You can get more details on my escapades by
reading my journal, Ireland—From Dublin to Limerick. You can also read
about the first two parts of my journey, Adventures in Ireland, Part I: From
Dublin to Downpatrick, and Part II: From Enniskillen to Westport, in the
Features Section.
DAY 6
From Westport, Co. Mayo, I saddled my hatchback and rode
south to Leenane, Co. Galway, home of the beautiful Killary Lodge. With
plenty of time to spare, I was able to mosey through the verdant countryside at
leisure, stopping often to take in the multitude of panoramas that the rugged
landscape afforded.
I approached Leenane, a charming hamlet overlooking Ireland's
only fjord, Killary Harbour, before turning onto a long winding lane to the
Killary Lodge, a lovely hospice with a fire in the grate, stunning hillside
and fjord views, and several bright, airy rooms. With Killary Tours, the Killary
Adventure Program, and the Killary Dive Center all clustered nearby, the Lodge is a
mecca for extreme-sports enthusiasts.
I met with Dee, a lively Killary employee, to discuss my next 48
hours in the Connemara region (the western tip of County Galway that's
rich in outdoor opportunities). Soon thereafter, I rode my first zipwire.
I was led to a 60-foot pole and instructed to shimmy up to a
tiny platform where I discovered a small Irishman. He hooked me up and harnessed
me in all the necessary (albeit rather intimate) places, before nonchalantly
announcing, "OK—go ahead."
Go ahead? Go where? Just walk off the edge? "Yup." Jesus
Christmas . . . well, there was really nowhere else to go. After gingerly stepping off
the platform, I was suddenly sailing through the air, the buzzing wire and roaring
wind in my ears as I flew over the trees below—I was sure I was going to
launch off the wire entirely and wind up in the looming fjord until, with a teeth-clattering jolt, my forward momentum was abruptly arrested by an absorption pad,
and I was propelled backwards to a landing platform where I was summarily
unloaded from the wire like cargo from a freighter.
Would I like to give it another go? Absolutely. This time, I took
a bold leap off the tiny platform and sailed effortlessly through the air like Wonder
Woman herself.
After all the fresh air, I was more than ready for one of Killary's
delicious meals—a dinner of orange roughy and prawns. A stoic German couple
was the only other company in the dining room that evening (after all, it was
between seasons at the Lodge), so we contented ourselves to communicate solely by
way of clinking silverware, which made for a rather absurd encounter.
DAY 7
I awoke the next morning all keyed up for my first
underwater dive. After a brief instruction session, I pulled on a wetsuit,
tank, snorkel mask, weights, and flippers, and was assured by my instructor that I
wouldn't get the bends. With that, I made my maiden scuba-diving
journey—backwards into an Irish fjord.
The experience felt strangely claustrophobic at first—I
didn't have my usual range of vision, everything felt bulky, and it was hard to
breathe slowly through the mouthpiece—but I acclimated quickly and was soon
able to observe the scenery below. The underwater world seemed to mimic the
colors of the surrounding region, with plenty of rusty corals and clumps of deep
green kelps home to sand-colored fish and pink-speckled starfish.
After stripping off my wetsuit and flying over the waves to the
Lodge in a jetty, I drove down the road to Killary Cruises, where I sat on
the deck of an enormous passenger boat that motored from one end of the finger-shaped fjord to the other. I vaguely remember a droning voice overhead telling me
the history of the area, but I was more impressed by the churning velvety-blue
water, vistas of mountains descending into the fjord, and my steaming mug of Irish
coffee.
Back at the Lodge I had yet another tasty meal—salmon
and stuffed mushrooms this time. After dinner, I braved the night roads to reach
Hamilton's, a pub in Leenane, where I met up with a gal from Killary
Tours. I had a pint, warmed my feet at the fireplace, and drowsily listened to Irish
families chattering around me. I later wound home and, as with most nights in
Ireland, fell asleep happily exhausted.
DAY 8
I said my goodbyes at Killary, and then drove the aptly named
Sky Road, just outside of Clifden, Co. Galway, a narrow,
asphalt road that rises endlessly towards the horizon, beset with panoramic ocean
views.
When I entered Clifden, perched in the hills of
Connemara, I found a town in the throes of an annual art show, complete with
vendors, food stands, and hordes of people pouring in and out of every shop and
pub. Clifden is also the home base of guide Michael Gibbons, whose top-notch
archaeological hikes take visitors into the surrounding Connemara
region. That day, about 25 of us piled onto a bus and rode a bit west to pick our way
around a series of overgrown ruins—a half-buried city dating from circa 500
B.C. among them. We spent the afternoon poking around dilapidated stone
houses and Celtic graves, captivated by Michael's expertise on the layers of
civilizations that pre-dated our visit here.
Back in Clifden, I quaffed a pint with a couple of Irish girls I'd
met on the hike, and then made towards Galway, Co. Galway, a lively
city with a plethora of pubs and outdoor restaurants in its compact and colorful
center. After landing a bed at the Adria House B&B, I ended my day at The Quays, a
local pub and restaurant, washing down a greasy plate of fish and chips with a fine
spot of Guinness.
Day 9
After a quick breakfast, I did a bit of window-shopping in town
before buckling myself back into my Focus and surmounting the famous Cliffs
of Moher. Despite the crowds of people and the clouds of gnats, the cliffs
were absolutely spectacular. They almost seemed too beautiful—as if they'd
been fashioned as a cinematic backdrop for a film like Waking Ned Devine. Their
jagged edges undulated down the coast and dropped dramatically to the ocean
below.
After the cliffs, I wove through the bucolic County Clare,
stopped briefly in lovely Ennis, and drove on to Shannon, a nondescript
town consisting of little more than a grid of identical streets and a strip
mall—certainly none of the historic architecture and bustling town centers to
which I'd grown accustomed during my Irish wanderings. (I found out later that
Shannon is one of only two Irish cities created by urban planners.) I opted to
continue east and stay in Limerick, Co. Limerick, and found a spot at
the Parkview Guesthouse after only three attempts.
Limerick is an anomalous town in Ireland. Instead of charming
cobblestoned streets, I was surprised to find a gritty and urban atmosphere with
bigger stores and less friendly people than I'd seen elsewhere—it was as close
to a big American city as any I'd seen yet.
That night, however, the son of my B&B proprietors took me
out to see the real Limerick, a city with some of the oldest pubs in
Ireland—many of them have doors so low, I had to stoop to enter—and a
riotous nightlife enlivened by the 30,000-plus students who call it home.
After a quick tour of the historic center, which has beautiful
Georgian architecture and a football-shaped square, we began our libation at
The Bank, a trendy bar housed in an old Bank of Ireland building that still
has original marble floors, Corinthian columns, and ornate molding.
There were many more perfect pints of Guinness that night,
many of which were laced with dainty shamrocks—a good omen for my journey
home.
Day 10
I woke up late, threw my bags into my loyal Ford Focus one last
time, and raced over to the Shannon Airport. Once I left my traveling companion at
the Dan Dooley Rental Agency, it hit me that my adventure was indeed coming to an
end. I stood, dejected, until the man working there asked me to leave, whereupon I
gave the hood one last caress, took a final breath of fresh Irish air, and ran into the
airport.
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