What a wonderful two days we’ve just had, like being on a short holiday but getting to come back to your own bed in between outings. We just capped it all off with a night on the deck, tea lights flickering, few beers, watching the sun set and the swans grazing on the river.
We started day one a little later than planned, our favourite musician was playing in the local the night before and we held out until he played ‘The Lonesome Boatman’, his version is just magical. So, the next morning, with surprisingly little in the way of a hangover we packed up our tuna salad sarnies, a flask of coffee, some juice and an indecent pile of crisp packets and drove to Achill via Westport and Newport, taking a little detour by a section of Clew bay.
The weather has been unseasonably, and un-Irishly fabulous this past two days. T-Shirt weather is always a celebration in Ireland, and you could genuinely feel the mood on the roads. There were reams of motorcyclists out, happy to wave as they went by, couples, families, people in classic cars, the whole shebang, and everyone smiling and happy to move over or let you pass with a smile and a wave on a tight country road.
I got a ‘Wibbly Wobbly Wonder’ in Newport, Benny had pulled over to check the map and I spotted a real ye-olde-worlde newsagents across the road from us and said ‘oh, you’ve stopped to get Nolly an icecream!’ in that happy, innocent tone that invites no argument. I haven’t had one of those particular ice creams in a long time, and if you have occasion to get your hands on one, go for it, memory does not do these things justice.
Achill is, is, Christ, it would take me several hours to really find the words to convey how beautiful it is. I mean, I’m from Ireland, I’m used to the beautiful scenery on offer in this country, I’ve lived in Sligo, with all it’s majestic natural beauty for this past year, but Achill, it’s mythical.
Up on the cliffs to the south of the island, looking out onto the Atlantic, the horizon was so much further away than usual, the sea seemingly bowed and so full, so much of it, because you could see so far. And the sun glittering on it, glittering is not even the word - every tiny point in the water was a star, a crystal with it’s own sun spinning within it. I told Benny it looked like tinfoil, digital tinfoil, a vast vibrating twinkling exploding sheet of metallic sparks. It was mesmerising, the heat on my face, the menthol cool of the ocean air currents whipping up and into the car, my hands and legs hot in windscreen filtered sunbeams and the sky so high and so blue it felt infinite. To the right of us was barren tweedy pink-and-browns land, curving around hills and broken ridges of bog land, to the left, sea, sky and magical little islands, further north the cliffs and hills we were yet to drive over.
One of the most spectacular moments of the drive was climbing the 400 meter mountain on the south coast of the island which looks out over, well, everything. We were beside clouds, not under them, and the views were like those you see on holiday aeroplanes, sun drenched fields, towns, ocean, rivers, roads - the whole island spread out underneath us. We picked a nice spot on the road facing back down the slope, with almost 365 degree views and ate our sandwiches in a state of awe and snuggly-comfort - comfort because the air outside up there was significantly cooler at that height than in our sun heated car.
We discovered on the way back, with some slight corrections to our route, that we are only actually two hours away from Achill, something we’re both pretty pleased with. We decided on the way home, before we’d even left that we have to come back and explore the rest of it and stay the night in one of the numerous little B&Bs we passed by.
We had no such high hopes for today’s outing, we just thought, ah sure, we’ll go for a walk on the beach, make the most of the amazing weather. We reached Rossnowlagh after a detour out to Creevy Peir, and Kildoney Point, the first of which has a beautiful little hotel with the nicest smelling food wafting from it’s outdoor benches. It was a day for chips in the sunshine outside a nice little hotel with amazing sea views, but we pressed on, coolbag full of goodies, in search of Rossnowlagh beach.
Rossnowlagh was a revelation for me. I’ve never been on a beach full of cars. Apparently if you’re from Meath, which Benny is, and have been to Bettystown, which Benny has, this is nothing new. A whole, flat, golden sanded beach jammed full of people, and cars. Now, that probably sounds awful, and in a way, it is, but, if you choose to embrace the zaniness and the noise, it’s quite a cheerful sight. Groups of lads playing football in various states of undress, girls promenading in bikinis (it was warm, but dear Jesus not that warm), and hordes of everything from pimpmobiles to granddad cars cruising up and down beeping cheerfully at just about everyone. We parked up on the beach and people-watched, and enjoyed our sandwiches, laughing at what a pair of old farts we were for having sarnies and flask poured coffee when all around us the tension of half naked teenagers on a sunny beach could almost be tasted.
We took our own little cruise up and down the beach in the car, and it was disportionatly amusing and smile inducing to how it looked, or might even sound. There is something highly amusing about crawling up and down a wide flat hot beach at a snails pace, arms out the window, all laid back like, joking about running people over. Perhaps you had to be there 
Our next stop was Murvagh beach, quiet possibly the complete antithesis to the costa-de-la-boobies gung ho’ness of Rossnowlagh. This beach, just as wide and expansive, long and beautiful, is bordered by a forest, and I don’t know if that’s why, but I’d wager the incredibly calm atmosphere and beauty of the place had a lot to do with it.
We worked out afterwards in the car, hungrily attacking our tuna pasta salad, that we’d walked seven kilometres at least. Seven of the most restorative, peaceful, sun-soaked and calming kilometres I have ever tread. We talked, drifted off, ambled, strode, picked pebbles and shells, and took a rest on a piece of drift wood, soaking in the sun and salt air as if into our bones. I couldn’t possibly be any more chilled out this evening.
I promise, next time we go to either Achill or Murvagh, my camera will be back in action. It’s a crying shame I didn’t have it with me, but, on the other hand, some adventures are nice to keep in the minds eye only.
thanks for all that Lou (
me first????)
Maybe wearing bikinis is sort of a hopeful thing, people saying “IT IS SUMMER DAMMIT!”
No complaints here…
Wow, what an grand day out! I’ve ridden on some terrain (I was 10) similar to what you describe, with the cliffs overlooking everything, here. It’s called Cape Smokey, on the Cabot Trail, around the head of Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia. Just outside of Igonish. It’s amazing being in a vehicle that feels like its positively clinging to the cliff-side and the only thing between you and certain death is a tiny little guard-rail along the highway.
Whoops, just checked. It’s only 365 metres. LOL. This was in 1980 we were down there and it still has a hold on me. I will never, as long as I live, forget the guy going down the slope on a bicycle. I would imagine a racing bike would wear out a set of brake pads by the time you made it to the bottom.
BUT, this cliff is an 18 1/2 hour drive from here. You have it within an afternoon jaunt. To say I’m jealous about the variety of terrain you have within easy reach would be a massive understatement.
Thanks for two grand days out, Lou! You earned it.
Isn’t it odd about the camera thing, though? I make all sorts of excuses from weather to mood to avoid taking/using the camera when I’m out and about. And then, months or years later, I kick myself that I haven’t a visual record of places I’ve been. If you find a cure, let me know, luv!
Next time you’re in Meath, drive up north of Bettystown to the very end of the beach, near the mouth of the Boyne. It’s much quieter and far more beautiful than the Bettystown bit. Twice last week I sat on the sand dunes in the morning sunshine for an hour, with a 360 degree view, not a cloud in the sky, and not a soul on the beach.
On second thoughts, tell nobody.
When is your book going to be published, Lou? Today’s entry is pure magic and badly needs to be preserved so I can go with you any time I wish it! Took my breath away, all of it.
Gord, you get nicer weather, and you don’t have to work a shit 6 day week, so the moral of the story? We make the best of the best bits
Gary - aren’t we nearly at the year anniversary of you starting the whole firsties thing? Must be, surely?
Mr Green, thanks for dropping by, sounds lovely, morning beaches all to ones self are a thing to be cherished for sure.
Mary Lee, funny you should say that, I was mithering to myself the other day about whether I should bind the first year together into a book, update it with pictures and things. Or perhaps just select the outings and in depth posts, or perhaps nothing, like I said, I was mithering
Canadian Readers Want to Know:
What is a Wibbly Wobbly Wonder?
Leaving it to my imagination, ice cream clue or not … is a dangerous thing!
yes! My word what a wonderful day out! We may have “better weather” here Lou, but I think I would seriously trade it for the vistas and varied pleasures you have there. (hmm maybe it’s the bluenoser in me heheh). Maybe I’m just weird.