WE’D BEEN WARNED against Killarney: a tourist town, they said, where you’ll just get ripped off.
Well, we were tourists, and tend to avoid the kind of pleasures that get you ripped off in any big way. We’d done a lot of driving over four days so far, and the weather continued distinctly sub-standard—wet and (for early August) cool. So a lazy day around Killarney seemed just right.
Having got to bed after midnight, we had a long-overdue lie-in and got up very late, had brunch, and downloaded all 114 of yesterday’s photos from the camera and labelled each one on the laptop.
We went into Killarney about 15:30, hoping to get an up-to-date Guide Killarney visitor
magazine. They’re published quarterly, and the copy we’d got from the timeshare ran out at the end of June. A July-September issue ought to be available in August, surely, and the Visitors’ Centre seemed an obvious place to look for one.
Coming in south-eastward along Rock Road, top centre (past an amazing Marian artificial grotto, which we never photographed, more’s the pity), we were quickly herded east and then southward by the one-way system, and wound up coming in westward along College St. Despite signposts to it on every street corner, it seemed, the Visitor’s Centre had previously steadfastly eluded our efforts to find it via the self-same one-way system. But this time we fooled it by parking off College St (north of location (22) on the map), walking round to where it was hiding, and, well, visiting.
In the end, the Visitors’ Centre only afforded a fascinating booklet on local folklore, and the nearby address of where the Guide is actually published: Frank Lewis Public Relations in his art gallery in Bridewell Lane. Sadly, we’re not crows, and though the gallery was very close as the crow flies (location (17)), Margaret had to walk round the long way while Don went shopping (in New St, pictured) for some camera batteries.
We met up again, by arrangement, at the intersection of New St, High St, and Main St. Neither
of us had met with success (Guide Killarney wouldn’t be available until Thursday, nearly halfway through the second month of the current quarter!), but Don had spotted a good shop very nearby which promised to make up for it a little. So we had a delicious “afternoon tea” of locally-made ice creams in Dessert House, before wandering along High St and investigating other souvenir shops.
In view of the effect of the previous night’s latish dinner—we missed about an hour of a good
session—we decided to have an early dinner, and picked a High St business named Bricin to have it in.
Bricin is next door to Gaby’s, where we dined the previous evening. Downstairs is a craft shop with actually quite good-quality pottery, woollens, and so on. Upstairs there’s a restaurant, which among other things features traditional Irish boxty on its menu. Boxty is a sort of potato pancake:
Well, we were tourists, and tend to avoid the kind of pleasures that get you ripped off in any big way. We’d done a lot of driving over four days so far, and the weather continued distinctly sub-standard—wet and (for early August) cool. So a lazy day around Killarney seemed just right.
Having got to bed after midnight, we had a long-overdue lie-in and got up very late, had brunch, and downloaded all 114 of yesterday’s photos from the camera and labelled each one on the laptop.
We went into Killarney about 15:30, hoping to get an up-to-date Guide Killarney visitor
magazine. They’re published quarterly, and the copy we’d got from the timeshare ran out at the end of June. A July-September issue ought to be available in August, surely, and the Visitors’ Centre seemed an obvious place to look for one.Coming in south-eastward along Rock Road, top centre (past an amazing Marian artificial grotto, which we never photographed, more’s the pity), we were quickly herded east and then southward by the one-way system, and wound up coming in westward along College St. Despite signposts to it on every street corner, it seemed, the Visitor’s Centre had previously steadfastly eluded our efforts to find it via the self-same one-way system. But this time we fooled it by parking off College St (north of location (22) on the map), walking round to where it was hiding, and, well, visiting.
In the end, the Visitors’ Centre only afforded a fascinating booklet on local folklore, and the nearby address of where the Guide is actually published: Frank Lewis Public Relations in his art gallery in Bridewell Lane. Sadly, we’re not crows, and though the gallery was very close as the crow flies (location (17)), Margaret had to walk round the long way while Don went shopping (in New St, pictured) for some camera batteries.We met up again, by arrangement, at the intersection of New St, High St, and Main St. Neither
of us had met with success (Guide Killarney wouldn’t be available until Thursday, nearly halfway through the second month of the current quarter!), but Don had spotted a good shop very nearby which promised to make up for it a little. So we had a delicious “afternoon tea” of locally-made ice creams in Dessert House, before wandering along High St and investigating other souvenir shops.In view of the effect of the previous night’s latish dinner—we missed about an hour of a good
session—we decided to have an early dinner, and picked a High St business named Bricin to have it in.Bricin is next door to Gaby’s, where we dined the previous evening. Downstairs is a craft shop with actually quite good-quality pottery, woollens, and so on. Upstairs there’s a restaurant, which among other things features traditional Irish boxty on its menu. Boxty is a sort of potato pancake:
Boxty on the griddle,
boxty in the pan,
If you can't make boxty,
you'll never get your man.
boxty in the pan,
If you can't make boxty,
you'll never get your man.
You serve it folded round, say, bacon, black pudding, and mustard cream (or many other fillings and sauces). We’d tried it, and enjoyed it, at Gallagher’s Boxty House in Dublin, a couple of years ago.
The restaurant had lots of highly decorative, Vixtorian Romantic-style, stained glass windows depicting local scenery (“Killarney’s Lakes and Fells”). Among them were pictures of the little mediaeval Bricin Bridge (the pointed-arched “bridge of the wee trout”) at the “Meeting of the Waters,” where the Lough Leane and Mucross Lake flow together. Sadly, the food didn’t match the décor: once again we had far, far too much of a greasy “salad”, as at the Old Killarney Inn, and the food itself wasn’t even as good (and nor was the service). But it did have for entrée the deep-fried camembert we hadn’t been able to get at Gaby’s!
When we’d finished the meal, we went back up the High St and (because it was still too early for Mags and Pete’s seisíun at Farrell’s Town House / Crock o’ Gold) found a couple of quiet seats in another pub and read over a Guinness and rum-and-coke. Then it was session-time!—but Farrell’s was still full of diners, and for a while we had to sit out front (still inside the pub) and, frustratingly, listen without being able to join in.
Around 10:15, we found seats at the table next to Mags (banjo and vocals) and Peter (accordion), and were able to join in on choruses and with Don’s (new) whistles. Before long, Mags and Peter (on their own this time) invited us to join them at their table, and Don ventured some wooden “spoons” accompaniment.
After a while, Mags invited Don to perform a solo, so he picked a well-known Irish anti-war song, Johnny I Hardly Knew Ye, which the others—and several of the bar patrons—were able to join in with each time the choruses came round. A little later still, he plucked up courage for a whistle solo, and picked the lovely and haunting rebel song, Women of Ireland (usually identified as “trad” but actually by Seán Ó Riada).
There was a young Irish (surprise!) couple in the bar, and at one point the girl approached our table and said she could do an Irish dance, if we’d play some music. And dance she did, three times! On top of that, she said that her boyfriend was a singer, and with a little persuasion, he sang Jimmy McCarthy’s beautiful, mystical song, Bright Blue Rose.
Altogether, we both had an excellent, most enjoyable evening. Oh yes, we love Ireland!
(And everywhere else …)
The restaurant had lots of highly decorative, Vixtorian Romantic-style, stained glass windows depicting local scenery (“Killarney’s Lakes and Fells”). Among them were pictures of the little mediaeval Bricin Bridge (the pointed-arched “bridge of the wee trout”) at the “Meeting of the Waters,” where the Lough Leane and Mucross Lake flow together. Sadly, the food didn’t match the décor: once again we had far, far too much of a greasy “salad”, as at the Old Killarney Inn, and the food itself wasn’t even as good (and nor was the service). But it did have for entrée the deep-fried camembert we hadn’t been able to get at Gaby’s!
When we’d finished the meal, we went back up the High St and (because it was still too early for Mags and Pete’s seisíun at Farrell’s Town House / Crock o’ Gold) found a couple of quiet seats in another pub and read over a Guinness and rum-and-coke. Then it was session-time!—but Farrell’s was still full of diners, and for a while we had to sit out front (still inside the pub) and, frustratingly, listen without being able to join in.
Around 10:15, we found seats at the table next to Mags (banjo and vocals) and Peter (accordion), and were able to join in on choruses and with Don’s (new) whistles. Before long, Mags and Peter (on their own this time) invited us to join them at their table, and Don ventured some wooden “spoons” accompaniment.
After a while, Mags invited Don to perform a solo, so he picked a well-known Irish anti-war song, Johnny I Hardly Knew Ye, which the others—and several of the bar patrons—were able to join in with each time the choruses came round. A little later still, he plucked up courage for a whistle solo, and picked the lovely and haunting rebel song, Women of Ireland (usually identified as “trad” but actually by Seán Ó Riada).
There was a young Irish (surprise!) couple in the bar, and at one point the girl approached our table and said she could do an Irish dance, if we’d play some music. And dance she did, three times! On top of that, she said that her boyfriend was a singer, and with a little persuasion, he sang Jimmy McCarthy’s beautiful, mystical song, Bright Blue Rose.
Altogether, we both had an excellent, most enjoyable evening. Oh yes, we love Ireland!
(And everywhere else …)
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