apathtosomewhere

Guess what – yes it’s raining!

We hatched a plan to end up at Malin Head tonight as it’s the most northerly point of Ireland and in between, investigate the Rosguill and Fanad headlands. We left Creeslough and meandered to Carrickart, along some very pretty countryside.

At Carrickart, we headed onto Rosguill, following the WAW signs which were also part of a designated scenic tour. We stopped at Rosann beach, a beautiful sweep of sand where The Pup met a collie and they chased each other – saves walking them. The clouds were dark and angry on the horizon and as we got back to the Van, it started to spit. We carried on- the landscape was stunning. In fact, I couldn’t keep up with the note taking, it changed so much. Just majestic coastal mountains, craggy outcrops and delightful little valleys.

We headed back to Carrickart and was going to continue down toward Milford, but the WAW signs took us east and over a bridge that connected Rosguill to Fanad which was a bit of a bonus. That saved us a considerable amount of time and mileage of going all the way down to Milford and back up again!

So we toured around Fanad, heading to the lighthouse, still being flabbergasted by the landscape. Donegal is amazing. We arrived at the lighthouse, just as the heavens opened so dashed into the little cafe and visitor centre and had lunch, which was lovely from a little eatery. We looked at the little gift shop as it was still pelting down and when there was a slight window of drizzle, we scampered back to the van.

There were puddles everywhere from the downpour along the little roads. We trundled along the little back roads, cursing as yet another car came up behind us. This was getting a bit of an annoying trend, so it seemed – we could be on normal main roads and have nobody behind us for miles but as soon as we got on the remotest backwater of a lane, a car would appear in our rear view mirror. It was uncanny. As we go fairly slowly, we don’t like holding people up, so we indicate and pull over to let them pass. It seems a new concept for the Irish driver as they have a tendency to hesitate, wondering what we’re up to, before gingerly passing us.

The scenery on these headlands are just jaw dropping and at every corner, there’s another fabulous surprise! Ballymaststocker viewpoint was no exception – half way up a craggy hill just beyond a couple of hairpins, the view was amazing – overlooking sandy bays, the distant headlands, Carrickart in the background – it was one huge amazing vista.

We headed down the lovely east coast of the headland through Rathmullan and Ramelton, two small delightful towns and onto Letterkenny, where the heavens seriously opened up – so hard that we were on double wash wipe with the windscreen wipers. It had eased off as we skirted the edge of Letterkenny – full of roundabouts, traffic lights, commuter traffic and queues. It’s always a bit of a shock to the system touching a large town or city.

We headed back up towards Buncrana, stopping along the way for fuel. As hubby was going to open the fuel cap, a staff member appeared out of the blue and took over the responsibility of filling up the van! Blimey, that hasn’t happened for many years, a petrol station attendant! It was a bit weird to just stand there and let someone fill your car up!

We went through Buncrana, picking up the WAW up to Fort Dunree, perched on its rocky promontory and built for the Napoleonic Wars. Then the long straight climb up the Mamore Gap, where the holy well of Saint Eigne is found and is one of Ireland’s “magic roads” – an optical illusion whereby a stationary car appears to roll up hill. As we were the only ones up there, we were unable to verify the theory. The view on the other side was far reaching and spectacular as we trundled back down.

We tracked down the possible campsite down a plethora of back lanes to find a long line of elderly caravans greeting us which sort of put us off and then we found out that dogs weren’t allowed. Well, that solved that problem, but created another in the fact that there seemed to be no alternatives. On the way up to Malin Head, we were frantically googling and not getting very far.

It was howling a hoolie at Malin Head, an extremely exposed piece of headland with a signal tower. There are many old stone signal stations along the Wild Atlantic Way, built between 1804 – 1806 in preparation of a possible Napoleonic invasion which never happened in the end. Each station is spaced so they can see each other and signaled by using a flag system. The one at Malin Head had been rendered which was now falling off, so it had a rather neglected, if not brutalist look about it.

https://www.irishtimes.com/news/environment/ireland-s-napoleonic-era-signal-towers-1.1253929

We fought to get out of the van with the wind and had a wander around, taking photos to prove we were there. A band of rain was coming across the bay, so we went to the little coffee trailer and ordered coffee and cake from the young girl sheltering there. There were a few brave souls braving the weather, wandering on the headland, but we retreated back to the Van to consume our most northerly Irish cup of coffee and our most northerly Irish piece of cake before heading off.

During our earlier wander we had also spotted “Eire 71” on a prominent piece of grassland, created from large white washed stones. We had seen two or three on our travels and we had learnt that they were a WWII navigational tool, mainly to let aircraft know that they were approaching neutral Eire and whereabouts they were. Apparently there’s not many about, but this one look in good condition.

https://coastmonkey.ie/eire-signs/

With the weather closing in, we had no option than to go to the nearby Farren’s Bar for a most northerly Irish pint of Guinness in the most northerly Irish pub as we had celebrated this moment in the south and west. It was a convivial place to scratch our heads for our campsite conundrum. As we were leaving, one of the pub guys started up a conversation while scratching The Pup’s ears and suggested we should go to Kinnagoe Bay, down the coast and go off grid. So we did. We dropped down a steep road onto a tarmacked parking area which overlooked the most amazing bay, surrounded by tall grassy cliffs and a sweep of sand. It was perfect. There was one other car, the owner letting his dog have a run on the beach and so Hubby and The Pup went to join them. Another car arrived, but after a few photos, they disappeared again.

Then we were all alone, just us and the gannets, diving into the sea for their tea, in one of the loveliest spots you could find. We were totally self sufficient, The Pup could be off lead and it was just perfect ending for our last night on the Wild Atlantic Way. We fell asleep with the gentle sounds of waves crashing on the beach and felt very happy.

I liked this campsite – you got a private bathroom. A whole room with toilet, basin and shower together and it’s all yours while you use it! No separate shower cubicle, no trying to wash and keep your dignity when people keep walking in. No abandoning of belongings while you nip to the loo. All contained in one space. Call me a prude, but I rejoice when I find this kind of arrangement. Hubby just thinks I’m weird.

It’s broken sunshine today, but there’s dark rainclouds appearing over the hill – big, black and angry and one of them spilled its wrath upon us making us dive for cover and shut the van doors until it passed. It just hammered down for about ten minutes and then the sun came out again. The angry cloud was last seen sitting and disgorging its contents on a local mountain,

We waddled to the Ti Linn cafe and gift shop next door for breakfast – Ireland doesn’t seem to do a veggie full breakfast, so I settled with avocado on toast which was very nice. We were the only ones in – The Pup stayed in the van for a lie in and afterwards we had a quick wander around the gift shop, baulking at the prices of the jumpers.

Our first point of call today was Malin Beg, the furthest west you can go in Donegal. We arrived at a large parking area which overlooked a fabulous beach, far below. It can be reached by negotiating a several flights of steps and it’s well worth the effort. Once again, beautiful soft sand leading to a clear sea with gentle waves surrounded by tall cliffs. It was just magical especially in the sun. We stayed for quite a while, with The Pup wragging seaweed (we forgot her ball) and having a whale of a time, before steadily ascending the stone steps. That’s worked off breakfast.

We jumped into the van and headed vaguely north, past tall majestic cliffs on the coast – before veering in slightly inland, first to the little village of Glencolumbkille nestled in the rolling coastal hills before snaking across to Glengesh. The landscape was changing again as we headed across the countryside – upland moorland, mountains, peatlands, crags. Donegal was the most dramatic of all the counties we had visited on our trip. Constantly changing and so awe inspiring. The road took us up high, across an empty landscape until we summited and the valley opened up before us. Glengesh is a fantastic viewpoint looking down the valley towards Ardara. We pulled into the little parking area and found, to our delight, one of those little coffee huts (they seem to be quite popular at these viewpoints). Perfect timing – coffee and cake while soaking in this splendid view.

The road snaked its way down towards Ardara, a pleasant little town and we followed the Wild Atlantic Way up towards Maas, taking a slight detour down towards Naran and Portnoo. We just had a quick nose and turned around – we like our small empty beach coves too much.

We headed to Dunglow, realising that we didn’t have much of an itinerary today and seemed to just be driving for the sake of it. I wanted to check out the sea stack at Crohy Head, so drove up to Dunglow as we missed the first turning and followed a narrow lane to Maghery, small community towards the end of the headland and onto Crohy Head where the road hugged the coastline. We were expecting a little parking area as it was mentioned in one of the guide books, but there was nothing, not even any signage. We peered down towards the sea, hoping to catch a glimpse, but to no avail. We retraced our steps, thinking we would see it on the way back, but again hidden from view. So we stopped and Google mapped it – thank goodness for technology as it highlighted the stack and we zoomed in on its precise location. Finally, after passing a fantastic Grand Designs house buried into the earth like a Hobbit dwelling about four times (we must of started looking suspicious) we stopped in a little lay-by/passing place behind a car who’s owner was having a nap. Grabbing The Pup for a bit of fresh air, I finally saw the sea stack! But how did anyone to get down to see it better? Eventually we spotted a path line in the grass in a field, which lead down to the edge of the cliff, but there was no signs to say whether you could go down or not. It was quite steep too. I ummed and aared before deciding not to go – it’s suppose to be the most photographed stack, but I wouldn’t get a great shot where I was. So we headed back to the car and decided to concentrate on finding somewhere to stay.

Ever since we arrived in Ireland, we have spotted county flags flying everywhere, mainly in private gardens. All the Irish counties have their own county flag – a bit like Cornwall or Northumbria and Donegal was no exception. Each county has its own colour and the flags can be chequered or have the county emblem emblazoned on them. It’s quite a splendid sight.

Dunglow had a site in the centre of town, which we noted, but a quick Google revealed a place called Sleepy Hollows campsite near Crolly about 12km from Dunglow. It also had Leo’s Tavern just down the road, famous for being known as the home of music artists Clannad, Enya and Moya Brennan, and most nights had live music. This sounded perfect and we found both easily. However, Sleepy Hollows was full – the first time we had failed to secure a pitch! That was rather disappointing to say the least. The lovely owner told us we could park overnight in Leo’s car park if we asked nicely otherwise the nearest campsite he knew of was a good 45 minutes away. The day was going slightly pear shaped at this point, so we drove back down the road slowly, contemplating our next move when we came across some little camping pods. An idea struck us – why not stay in one of those tonight? Then we could go to Leo’s after all! So we found the phone number and gave them a call. Yes they had space – yippee, but dogs weren’t allowed, but we could try Leo’s car park…….

Leo’s car park was okay, but it was a pub car park at the end of the day. We were in a slight pickle now, but hubby found another possibility in a place called Creeslough, in north Donegal. So we plumbed in the town and followed the satnav to Gweedore, turning east. We were abandoning the Wild Atlantic Way, lopping off the northwest bit of Donegal as we followed the R251 which was a bit annoying, but oh my goodness, what a fabulous route! It took us into the Derry Veagh Mountains, passing an impressive quartzite eminence called An Earagail (Errigal mountain) all 752m of it as well as other summits. It was absolutely stunning and actually a pleasant change of scenery to the coastal routes – sometimes it’s great to go off piste – you never know what you will come across! The satnav took us down some little back country roads before burping us out in the town of Creeslough and we quickly found the Wild Atlantic Campsite – an unusual place in its set up, as it seemed rather open and public – more of a community area than a campsite. There was wine bar/cafe, launderette and pizza place by the entrance, then the reception surrounded by a play and games area which the local children used, a small amusement arcade which seemed open to anybody, various holiday accommodation in the shape of villas and pods and then motorhome pitches. We were getting too tired to travel further and it looked fine, just a bit different to all the other sites we had stayed at. There were quite a few other campers already set up, so we booked in and was allocated a pitch over looking a large grassy area. Anyway it had a pizza shop which solved our dilemma with what to have for tea (again we had been useless at getting in supplies – at one point, tea would of been a hodge podge of what we could find in the fridge).

We wandered up later to get the pizzas and was going to check out the pods and villas, all lined up in a semi circle, while we waited for the pizza to cook. They looked quite attractive, but were sat right next door to each other and as they were quite modern with floor to ceiling glass windows, there seemed a lack of privacy. There was no hedges or fencing separating them – they would look fabulous in a Centreparc type setting. This whole site looked pretty new, so perhaps things were ongoing. We were going to press our noses up against the empty ones to have a look inside, but a stern notice about “No Dogs in this area” made us change tact and we sat on the verandah of the cafe, sunning ourselves which was very pleasant.

We waddled back with our pizza boxes and sat in the van to eat them. The wind was quite cool and then relaxed, planning what we would do with the last two days of our Irish adventure. The end was rushing up too soon, but it seemed weeks ago when we first set foot on this wonderful island. We decided to stay at Malin Head, the most northerly point of Ireland and toast it with a pint like we had done with the south and west and on Friday, follow the WAW to its end in Londonderry and a quick dash to Belfast ready for the ferry on Saturday morning.

What a difference twelve hours make – the day dawns with bright sunshine and blue sky.

We skip breakfast and head to the gorgeous wide sandy beach of Rossnowlagh, primarily to give The Pup a big reward after being cooped up all day yesterday. She just loves the beach and she got a good workout as we walked quite a way to the other end to find a coffee. Armed with two steaming cups, we headed back to the beach, found a suitable rock and watched the surf school set up.

We wandered back to the campsite along the beach again – there seems a lot of stranded jellyfish here. There’s also quite a few surfers riding the waves too and you get the impression that it’s a surfers hotspot.

It’s 11.45 before we hit the road and weaved out of Rossnowlagh. Despite a couple of large static caravan sites and a windblown seaside vibe about it, there’s quite a lot of new builds going up, but built with sensitivity and with character and charm. They are quite smart houses. We pondered why the sudden surge in building here – it’s only 45 minutes from Sligo so is it becoming a small commuter community or are the static owners upgrading to bricks and mortar and making Rossnowlagh their permanent home?

We headed to Donegal for lunch and parked in the riverside car park where we had to pay the princely sum of 70c for two hours parking! Whatever next! We wandered into town within minutes, hoping to find a recommended bakery, but discovered it was closed. So we hunted down the second recommendation, the Old Castle restaurant, a beautiful stone building by the church and castle and enjoyed a seafood lunch outside. Afterwards we walked back to the van admiring Donegal for being very pleasant and having a lovely feel about it.

We had a plan to head to Killybegs and beyond and so followed the main R263. From this road we could see across to yesterday’s mountains, now free from cloud and rain. They looked very majestic and we were sorry to have missed all their glory – further in the distance, we could also see the Ox mountains and the Mayo coastline. We soon arrived at Killybegs and discovered that it was a huge fishing port with many sea trawlers tied up at dock with other associated industries that supported the fishing surrounding the dock area – fish processing plants, boat repairs, haulage and warehousing amongst others.

As fascinating as the scene was, we decided to continue on, stopping and having a coffee at Largy viewpoint, which gave us a panoramic 180 degree view of Donegal Bay, the mountains and County Mayo. In the sunshine it was truly stunning. We travelled a little further, a road sign invited us to take a lower back road to Muckros Head and the little village of Kilcar. With the Slieve Mountains in the background, the scenery here was probably the best and prettiest we had seen yet. Pretty bays and estuaries, lush green countryside with houses nestling in the hills, coastal fields running down to the sea, tiny hidden sandy coves – it had the lot.

We came up to the village of Carrick and followed the signs for Slieve League mountain which was an apparent must to visit. We ended up at the Visitor Centre as we were unable to get the viewpoint by car. Visitors could either walk there (2 miles and all up hill) or take the regular shuttle bus at 8 euros return each. We voted for the bus and fell in conversation with the English driver as we were his only passengers. The visitor centre information sheet told us the last bus back was 5.10pm but our kindly driver informed us that his last run would be 5.50pm. We double checked with him again as we disembarked and went off to admire the Slieve League cliffs and mountains.

The cliffs are better than the Cliffs of Moher, being as tall as the Eiffel Tower and plunging straight into the sea. The views were stunning and we walked up the stone steps to see if we could see into the Bay of Donegal. People were even higher, reaching the ridge and walking along. It was so beautiful and our day was made, as we came back down, spotting dolphins playing in the water – there was at least twelve of them, swimming in a group. Amazing and we watched them for many minutes. We sauntered down to where the buses picked people up and waited. There was a large Indian family too. A shuttle bus pulled up, but it transpired that it was a rival company, but we asked if our bus was coming. “Oh yes” came the reply, seconded by a private coach driver. 5.50pm came and went, but we were reassured again by the shuttle driver as he disappeared down the road. By 6.05pm, with no way of contacting the visitor centre, the Indian family set off to walk back while we remained optimistic. However when the icecream vendor told us that the last bus went ages ago, we had no option but to follow the Indian family as well down the sliver of tarmac.

It was a 2 mile walk, mercifully downhill, but at least 50 minutes! It was actually a very pleasant walk as we had chance to peer down to the sea and the little inlets as well as admire the long distance views. We overtook the Indian family with ease – we felt sorry for them as they had several young kids in tow. Thank goodness it was a lovely warm evening with the sun high in the sky still. It was to nice to actually stretch the legs to be honest. By sheer luck, there was a campsite right next to the visitor centre saving us having the stress to hunt down a campsite gone 7pm and it was our first point of call as we arrived. The Pup worked on the chap in charge and we checked in, left to choose our own spot, which was a sunny corner. The chap told us that the visitor centre had a habit of getting a tractor to tow vehicles away after a certain hour and put up barriers to stop overnight parking. That’s all we needed so we retrieved the van quickly, found our spot in the sun, got the chairs and beer out and thankfully sat down.

After some tea, we wandered down to the Rusty Mackerel around the corner for a pint of Guinness – a lovely traditional old pub with little cubby holes. It was heaving with people, while a small group played Irish music. Great atmosphere. The Pup was totally exhausted and crashed on a bench – she’s so tired. She sleeps while we’re driving, but it’s not a proper deep sleep – think it all catches up with her. So she was not impressed when we tugged her lead to wander back to the campsite gone 11pm. It was a gorgeous evening, not a cloud in the sky as we finally rested our weary heads on our pillows.

We heard the patter of rain on the roof of the van as we stirred.

Peering out with bleary eyes, yes it was raining. Actually stair rodding. It wasn’t a surprise to be honest, checking the weather apps had shown a long line of black cloud icons with double raindrops for today. It wasn’t going to be a nice day.

We packed up and headed to Ballina to check that out, hoping to have a wander around. It was a pleasant enough town, but not a tourist town and with the rain becoming heavier, we changed our minds. On reading the guide book last night, it mentioned a cafe in the coastal community of Easky so fancying a coffee and most likely a cake, we toddled off there, though we had an inkling that it might be closed after giving it a quick Google. Their website stated it was temporarily closed, though some site owners don’t keep their information up to date. Unfortunately this one did and as we pulled up, it looked very closed with its windows covered up. Back to the drawing board.

It was really quite misty and miserable with low cloud hanging low, erasing any scenery to be had. We didn’t have a clue what was out there – it could be flat as a pancake or have magnificent mountains. Occasionally the cloud lifted ever so lightly and you would get a hint of a silhouette – we were level with the Ox Mountains, was that a whiff of their foothills and they went even higher? We would never find out.

We arrived at Ballysadare, south of Sligo and found a coffee shop and a SuperValu opposite each other. We parked down a side road as there didn’t seem to be any public car parks and I nipped out to do a quick shop (another supermarket that was higgley piggley) before getting coffees to go and a couple of cakes. Hubby took The Pup for a wander. We met up again and headed off on the WAW, but didn’t go far when we came across a little parking area overlooking Ballysadare’s little estuary and had lunch. As we ate, the rain eased off and we could see a little further – Knocknarea, a local prominence standing at 327m and overlooking Strandhill appeared from the mist, which we weren’t expecting and looked back to see if the Ox mountains would make an appearance. Unfortunately no. Saving one the cafe’s cakes for later, we headed towards Knocknarea, looking for The Glen. The scenery as usual, was constantly and subtly changing from bare coastal fields to roads lined with hedgerows.

So we kept an eye out for The Glen, a hidden 1km walk along a narrow canyon. It’s not easy to find said the guide book, so we followed the written instructions, driving up the side of Knocknarea looking for a scenic lay-by some 600m from the junction. We pulled into a lay-by and hoping it was the right one, walked back down some 200m looking for a well on the right side. Sure enough, a little stone trough hugged the hedgerow and opposite was a little opening.

A propped opened metal gate with a severe sign that said “keep out, danger, falling rocks and trees“ had been evidently ignored as there was a narrow, but well worn path diving into the undergrowth. Foliage overhung the path, making a little green tunnel with a fair drop on one side. It was really quite pretty. Branches had fallen across the path, so we picked away across them and ducked under low branches until the path opened up with two walls of rock on either side. In the middle, several trees had been uprooted, their rootballs at 90 degree angles while their trunks blocked our way. We tried to see if we could find a way through and walk further along, but it was impossible. What a shame as it was really wonderful. Moss clung to everything, the flora and fauna dripping with moisture. You half expected a little fairy to appear – it was quite magical and had a serenity about it. Unable to go any further, we retraced our steps through the bushes and picked up the van.

The weather had closed in again (it was spitting while we investigated The Glen). We climbed higher around Knocknarea, still unable to see very far – we kept getting tantalising glimpses of the local area, but nothing more. It wasn’t a day for taking photos at all, though it was beautifully green and lush.

We decided to head to Glencar Waterfall which was just north east of Sligo and with all this rain, it should be reasonably spectacular. We neatly navigated our way through the city’s outer limits, getting held up slightly for some roadworks and where we had a little chuckle. We had come across a few roadworks on our little Irish trip and out, deep in the rural backwaters, the stopping of traffic was overseen by a man on each end of the works, with his-vis jacket, hard hat, walkie talkie and a stop/go sign which they twisted after consulting each other. We had commented that surely traffic lights would be easier, but maybe a bit of manpower was quicker to arrange than a traffic light permit out in the country. So imagine our surprise to find the manual traffic management in operation on a busy road in Sligo except these guys sported a large golfing umbrella to keep the deluge at bay!

We carried on following the route to Glencar – the misty rain obscuring this beautiful valley – it’s suppose to remind visitors of a Swiss valley apparently, but we could only see the bottoms of the trees. There was a parking area, cafe and toilets at Glencar and as we parked in a bay, we commented that we hadn’t been charged for parking at all at any of the tourist spots we had visited and all the public toilets were free too (and spotless as well). It was so refreshing. In the Lake District, you might as well just hand over your credit card to the National Park and let them drain it for you – there’s a hefty payment for almost everything which is a bit off putting, but here, it’s free. We tried to work out how they did it.

The waterfall notice board said it was a quick ten minute walk away and that no dogs were allowed. So we left The Pup in the van for that short time and did a quick dash – it was actually less than five minutes and the waterfall was impressive. A family were reading the board by the waterfall, but there was no one else – the rain was obviously putting people off, so it was lovely and quiet (must get fairly busy on a warm summer’s day) and we could look at the waterfall at our own pace. The rain started to fall heavy again and we retreated back to the Van.

The Pup had curled up on my seat and refused to move. I jumped in via the side door, peeled off my coat and between us, shoved The Pup off – she went to the back seat, gave us a withering look and sulked for the rest of the afternoon.

Not wanting to visit anywhere else that involved getting out of the van whilst it was raining, we settled on the idea of having a drive round, in the hope that the weather would lift – it was apparently quite spectacular around here – and we would be rewarded with a magnificent view. We plotted a route to Manorhamilton, then up the valley on the R280 up to Kinlough. It was on this road that the heavens really opened up and the rain lashed down. Somewhere out there was the 1,726ft Benbulben Mountain with its flat topped summit – we managed to get a hazy picture of it as 50mph when the cloud lifted slightly. At Kinlough, we did a right and headed down the side of Lough Melvin with the plan to go northwards to Ballyshannon, doing a big loop.

Just before Garrison at the end of the lough, we stopped for a cuppa, looking back over the Lough, and to devour the other cake left from this morning. The sky and water were the same grey colour and so melded together – there was no horizon. We packed away and carried on passing through Garrison, keeping to the 40 speed limit when a couple of impatient drivers overtook us and sped off. We snorted in disgust at them until it suddenly dawned on us, that all the road signage had changed abruptly – we had unknowingly just crossed back into Northern Ireland and therefore Britain (there’s no border signs or anything to declare that you’ve just left Europe) and we were back into good old British miles and familiar road signs. Even the satnav reverted back! Suddenly we felt very much at home – this could easily be England! Then we realised that we had been poodling at 25mph through the village instead of 40mph – no wonder those motorists overtook us!

We were still babbling over the weirdness of it all when within a few miles (or was it kilometres) at the village of Belleek, we parted company with Northern Ireland and the brief comfort of familiarity, and found ourselves back in Eire with the sudden change of road signage! It was like visiting another dimension – did that just happen?

By this time, it was nearly 5pm and we needed a place to rest our weary heads. As we were coming up to Ballyshannon, we decided to check out a campsite there. As we approached the entrance on the main road, we noticed that it was right next door to a huge electrical sub station – perhaps we just plugged our van straight into there. It wasn’t floating our boat so we decided to head to Bundoran just down the road as that boasted at least three options. However as we entered the town and through its main thoroughfare, it felt a little rundown and a bit too “kiss me quick”. The campsite was down a side road, next door to a cinema complex and a Lidl – we were starting to prefer the hum of 40,000 volts.

We resorted to Google and found a possible site in a place called Rossnowlough, north of Ballyshannon. The rain was relentless, wiping out everything as we followed the signs which took us again through Ballyshannon, this time through its handsome and attractive High Street and we were quietly impressed. Quite a lovely town. We were now in County Donegal and we weaved our way down little lanes, catching glimpses of the sea until we arrived at Rossnowlagh and the Boortree campsite, a small tidy little place near the beach and the cheapest site so far. We quickly set up and sat in the van as the rain continued to fall, making little sorties to the toilet or giving The Pup a quick walk – poor thing had been cooped up all day.

About 7.30pm and after a sophisticated tea of fajitas, the rain finally gave up and stopped. Hurrah. But with the skies remaining heavy and broody and everything was feeling a touch damp, we had no enthusiasm to go anywhere so curled up, quietly steaming up the van until darkness fell. Let’s hope for better weather tomorrow.

We decided that we would have an proper breakfast this morning.

So we got our act together, sorted out the van and drove the short distance up the hill to An Dun cafe – sounds really lazy, but we had to be off the site and also we could head straight off – well that’s our excuse.

The cafe opened at 10am and was already busy when we arrived. Our lovely couple from Leicestershire joined us (they had walked up as they were staying overnight again) and we enjoyed a hearty breakfast and coffee together. Finally we said our goodbyes and headed off in our different directions – we might bump into each other again, who knows.

We came off Achill Island, back on the mainland and headed northwards towards Bangor – the mountains giving way to miles of blanket bog and piles of peat bricks. We assumed that the peat was being cut for local and private use as we had not seen any large commercial peat operations. As peat is a great carbon store, its cutting releases carbon dioxide into the atmosphere and impacts greatly on the landscape. Its harvesting has been scaled back significantly over the last few years, but there was still miles and miles of presumed small scale domestic cutting.

At Bangor we lopped a corner off and drove up the side of Carrowmore Lake before turning right and joining the R314. This was again mainly moorland and peat fields. In the distance we could some dramatic cliffs, so we decided to dive down a small road towards the coastal village of Portacloy. We discovered a lovely little bay surrounded by a smattering of houses, with a beautiful sandy beach, totally deserted with a little sail boat bobbing out to sea. We had a stretch of the legs and was having a cuppa, when the owners of the parked camper in front of us returned. They had a gorgeous collie dog who instantly made friends with The Pup and they had a good ten minutes of chasing and playing together. There was a cool wind despite the van saying it was 19 degrees and there was a great deal of cloud cover.

We said goodbye to the collie and his family and followed the back roads, running roughly parallel with the coastal road. The only significant trees to grow here were spruces and other fir trees in seemingly small commercial plots, though a lot of the trees had self seeded – it didn’t seem to have been managed for some time. We popped back on the R314 at Belderg and came across the Ceide Fields Visitor Centre – where a local schoolteacher cutting turf back in 1930’s discovered an extensive Stone Age settlement and is the oldest in the world at 6,000 years old. We pulled into the car park and as the guide book we were following, declared “that the remains may be a little underwhelming, but it’s worth a stop to admire the 100m tall cliffs from the viewing platform opposite”. With that dampener about the remains and the fact that The Pup couldn’t go in anyway, we voted for the platform and got a stunning view of a little inlet and the stunning cliffs. We spent few minutes scanning for wildlife which remained elusive and headed back to the Van.

The countryside had dropped down and now there were trees, hedges and gentle rolling countryside. We stopped in the lovely little village of Ballycastle opposite the little village store which was surprisingly still open – just before 4pm on a Sunday afternoon, we thought everything would be shut tight. So we hurried in – it was small and compact but seemed to have an excessive amount of disinfectants, toothpaste and other non perishable products, but hardly any food unless it was tinned. We didn’t have many options at this point – there was literally just cheese and biscuits in the Van, unless we fancied granola for tea. Somehow we scrapped together some ham, two pots of trifle, some carbonara sauce (we had seen some fresh pasta lurking somewhere in the fridge) and a packet of biscuits and feeling triumphant, hopped back in the van. We had muted the thought of heading to Downpatrick Head, just north of Ballycastle where there was a spectacular sea stack, but you could only go so far and then walk to it. The guide book’s warning of the exposed headland and cliff edge, especially on windy days didn’t sell it to us plus the fact we had seen it quite clearly in the distance on our way in to Ballycastle, also helped our decision to carry on.

We kept on the R314 – with our late morning, we were a bit behind on time and now realising it was late afternoon, need to tracked down a place to stay.

We had spotted a campsite on the map in Ballina and headed in that direction past the little community of Killala and its little tidal bay which was quaint. Just before the town, we turned off into the Belleek Park caravan site which looked quite smart, so we checked in. We have rocked up to every one of our campsites so far and managed to get a pitch. A lot of them we have seen in a little Irish caravan, camping and motorhome guide that we picked up in Mullingar when we first arrived in Ireland (seems ages ago) and it’s been a little godsend. They have all been different, some very modern, some a bit dated, some quite quirky, but they have all ticked a box and we haven’t been disappointed or really disliked one.

As usual we were left to cruise the site and pick our own pitch, finding one in front of a hedge (the weather was due to deteriorate again so we wanted some shelter) and we quickly nested and went off for a walk around the site. The Pup wanted her tea (she can be quite insistent) so we cooked the sausages we bought from Ballina’s village shop and just chilled. Hubby managed to concoct a lovely meal from our meagre pantry and with the sun shining (of course, we were in the shade again) we relaxed. Though we are only touring around, it’s strangely quite tiring. We seem to sleep well despite a Labrador sharing our tiny bed. We had an early night after planning our itinerary for tomorrow and after a brief struggle to claim our rightful bits of the duvet, fell asleep.

We’ve got a mountain!!!

Woke up to blustery wind, but it looked a lot brighter. We stumbled out of the van to breaking cloud, a sun peeking out and a tall peak overlooking our campsite that turns out to be Slievemore mountain standing at a lofty 672m and dips its toes into the ocean. From our own lofty position we could see distant coastlines too – those weather apps were right for once.

The whole van felt damp, so I did some laundry, dried the towels in the dryer and we just hung other stuff out. We weren’t particularly quick, but we would be off to investigate Achill Island. With ten minutes left on the dryer, we parked the van by the site’s shop and rewarded ourselves with icecream while we waited for it to finish – then we were off! Our first port of call was the Deserted Village on the foothills of Slievemore mountain next door to a rather large cemetery. We parked up and above us was a long row of abandoned stone cottages, all roofless and in somewhat state of dereliction. It is thought that there has been some form of habitation here throughout history, the last known being in the 20th century – the cottages were inhabited again as booleys but only during the summer with islanders looking after their animals. It was quite startling how quickly the cottages had deteriorated, but with the howling winds and lashing rain, it probably didn’t take much. We sat there quietly – it was very thought provoking and atmospheric, what a tough life these people endured – until a noisy family came along, dad with phone in hand videoing everything. We wandered off muttering. In the distance, several tall towers stood on top of Minaum mountain (466m) and we realised that was what we briefly visited in the fog yesterday. Oh blimey. What were we doing, though we would have got fabulous views up there!

http://www.visitachill.com/en/desertedvillage.html

We drove down the road to Keel Beach, just to have a look. It was busy with cars and people, with a large flat campsite across the way. It looked a lovely beach with waves crashing onto the sand – kite surfers and windsurfers were in the water making the most of the strong steady wind. Dogs weren’t allowed on this Blue Flag beach so it was a bit rotten of us to take The Pup with us while we checked it out. She was itching and wasn’t impressed when we trotted back to the Van.

The hubby had read that Keem Beach, right down in the southwest of the island was quieter and off we set, diverting only to find the Achill Henge on the way. Apparently it’s a large brutalist concrete monument built in the middle of nowhere in 2011 . We turned down a tiny little lane, did another right turn and raised eyebrows as the tarmac turned into a rough stony track. We crept down this until we reached a sort of isolated farm building and a wasteland of quarried stone. We felt that we were trespassing. Hubby went out to see if he could see it while I tried to find it on Google maps – it was all very vague. He came back after unsuccessfully scanning the moorland and we abandoned the quest. What a weird place to build a monument and make it so hard to visit.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Achill-henge

We rejoined the main road to Keem – I finally found the concrete monument on Apple Maps and we had been in the right place after all, but we just didn’t fancy returning back to that track – we were lucky not to scrape the underneath of the van as it was.

The road started to climb as we skirted the Croaghaun mountain which plunged into the sea below – sheep happily munched on grass on death defying slopes. We were quite a way up, though this time I could see where the void on my left went today. As the road turned, way down below, the little Keem beach sheltered in a delightful curving cove, appeared. We dropped down to the parking area which was on various levels – we ended parking on the top level as campervans were banned from the bottom, though two or three had carried on, their drivers apparently unable to read. We walked down the hill to the beach – there were many people milling around and two food vans were doing a good trade. It was quite a lovely little place despite all the people and cars and had great views of distant cliffs and islands. The beach, as usual, was golden soft sand and gentle crashing waves. We broke the bad news to The Pup that she wasn’t allowed on the beach either (well not between the hours of 12 noon and 6.30pm, June to September apparently). We had lunch here, perched on a rock overlooking the bay while The Pup whimpered. So close yet so far. We felt quite bad, tormenting our dog by showing her a beach and then dragging her away. So we told her that we find a dog friendly beach and waddled back up the hill.

There were sheep everywhere on this island, free to amble wherever, trotting across the roads and even into gardens. The Pup wanted to play with them especially when they ran so we kept her on a short lead. If they stood still, she ignored them. Back at the van, we looked to see where else we could visit and discovered a wide sandy curve on Apple maps in the north west. Perfect. We could go there on the way back to base.

I plotted Dooniver Strand in the satnav and after a lot of twists and turns down country lanes came across a small jetty and a cul de sac . There was no obvious way of dropping down to the beach, so after a lot of backwards and forwards to get the van turned around, we headed for Dooniver Beach instead, just a little further up, again going down the tiniest of roads. The lane ended overlooking the sea with a couple of wooden picnic tables perched by the entrance – another car was already parked so we happily switched off the engine as we saw a long empty sandy beach.

The Pup was so happy. Chasing her ball and running into the sea, we were finally back in her good books. The beach was practically empty apart from a family of four half way along and as we approached, they seemed happily playing in the water of an outflow pipe. This whole gorgeous beach of soft beautiful sand and they were by a large pipe spewing water – we hoped that it was just freshwater being piped to the sea and not something else. It just seemed rather odd with the shallow sea just metres away. Anyway we left them to it and walked quite a way until we kept spotting stranded jellyfish and turned around. The sun was out and it was gorgeous – we sat on the large stones on the edge of the beach and enjoyed the fabulous view. It couldn’t get much better than this.

We strolled back to the van – three more cars had pulled up and their occupants had gone for a walk, we thought we had exclusive rights to this bit of the coast! We were about 3 miles from our base and had a leisurely cruise back along the coast with Slievemore mountain stood majestically in the background. We stopped briefly at a recommended cafe to see if they did breakfasts and if dogs were allowed in – yes was the answer, so that’s breakfast sorted. We headed back in the sunshine and set the van up before sunning ourselves in our camping chairs. Unfortunately, the trees that shielded us from the worst of the wind last night were now starting to blot out the evening sun! We got chatting to a lovely couple and their dog from Leicestershire and later, after tea and The Pup booping for a walk, we all got together for a dog walk on the beach where the dogs had a good run chasing balls. We then wandered over to the pub (more like a working men’s club tbh) for a Guinness or two and had a good chat before meandering back to our respective campers and shutting down for the night. It’s been quite a lovely day.

Well, we survived the night.

It was a touch windy overnight, to say the least. By the morning, the weather remained unchanged – low cloud, drizzle that got you really damp, stiff breeze and basically claggy. Ironically this was probably the best site so far and would have been an amazing spot if only the sun came out, but today that definitely wasn’t going to happen!

We gave The Pup another run on the lovely golden beach and I had a quick shower. The ablution block was basically breeze blocks painted white and cobbled together, but had nice little touches like hairdryers, lots of hooks in the shower cubicle and a nice space to get dried. It was better than yesterday’s which I found dark and a little creepy (I seemed to be the only one who used it) – can’t explain why, but it was my least favourite.

Anyway, we packed up and headed off. We reached the exit barrier before realising that we hadn’t retrieved the fifty euro deposit for The Pup! Yikes. We quickly went back and got the cash – that’s a lot of money! Today’s destination was Achill Island, west of Westport in County Mayo and our route took us back into the Connemara mountains – not that we could see them much with the thick mist enveloping everything. We followed the N59 towards Leenane, with trees and bushes lining the valley before opening up at loughs – it was all very pretty as we steadily climbed – the cloud lifted slightly and we could just make out a vague outline of a mountain. We were so pleased we managed to see them in all their glory yesterday. We passed through Letterfrack and dropped down into Leenane again, where we parked up and had a coffee and cake in The Purple Door cafe – it was busier than yesterday, probably because of the rain! We galloped back to the van as the rain started to get heavier, but as we drove out on the R335, the weather seemed to be clearing, revealing the surrounding mountains. Our spirits rose! We hugged the edge of the Killary Fjord through wooded valleys, past gushing waterfalls and rivers, swollen by all this rain. The scenery got a little more craggy as the mountains joined the fjord and as we went further west, the sky looked brighter – but a quick look back in the mirrors and it was black as your hat! Maybe the sun would join us some time. The sheep who make this country their home, snuggled behind rocks and ledges waiting for this weather to pass – they’re not daft! The road turned inland and the landscape changed to bog land, peat fields, rough pasture and gentle countryside as we headed to Louisburgh, a pretty little town with the mountains in the distance and picked up the coastal road towards Westport. We pulled off to visit Bertra Beach for a bit of a break and to let The Pup have a walk around. There was a height barrier of 1.9 metres which was far too low for the van, so we were unable to get right up to the beach. We parked on a little gravel layby next to another thwarted campervan, facing the sea and looked for sea life through the binoculars. There seemed to be quite a few people walking on the curving beach, considering the weather, so we studied them too through the binoculars – we weren’t too sure if it was a litter pick, or some organised event as there were some workmen with a digger erecting fencing in the sand dunes as a way to protect them. As we watched a pocket of sunshine shone on the nearby islands which glowed a vivid green against the grey sky and sea. It was quite stunning. We piled back into the van and as we made our way back up to the main road, a nearby mountain loomed over us, its summit covered in a stream of low cloud giving it a dark purple hue and a definite broodiness.

We came up to the gorgeous town of Westport and dropped into the centre. A large stone monument dominated the main high street, with buildings circling around it with roads leading off. It was quite handsome. We had crawled in a long line of traffic to get to this point with cars seemingly coming at us at all angles. It was so gnarled up which was a shame as we were tempted to stop for a wander but that soon vapourised with the daunting prospective of finding a parking space. Every town seems to have this traffic chaos for some reason. So we continued on the N59 towards Newport, with a slight nagging feeling of maybe we should of stopped, but then a huge black cloud appeared on the horizon and gleefully emptied its contents on us – maybe the traffic in Westport did us a favour.

As the weather continued to close in and get worse, the N59 bent to the west and towards Mulranny. Here the WAW route signs took us down a side road and the view point of Dumhach Bheag – a perfect place for lunch. The drizzle blotted out distant islands and far below was the exposed beach site of Mulranny Glamping. We felt for them. It was very windy – enough for us to hang on to the van doors – and as we ate our lunch, we peered through the binoculars and the mist – we thought we saw a whale – while the weather gave us brief glimpses of islands dotted out to sea before shutting them out again. We finished lunch and followed the headland round, through craggy countryside and isolated communities overlooking the Atlantic. As one person had said to us early on in this trip “this is our parish and the next parish is New York City” It was certainly true.

We carried on driving, the drizzle horizontal, the wind teasing the long grass – even the hardy sheep had hunkered down. Past Currane and along the coastal road towards Achill Sound – one end being bog land with peat being harvested turning gradually into very rough pasture and grassland. Nothing seemed to grow here and if it did, it was stumpy and leaned at forty five degree angles. But there was a beauty about it, almost romantic and very atmospheric.

A impressive white bridge took us across the water on to the island of Achill and after a brief stop at the SuperValu to stock on food, followed the satnav’s intructions. We weren’t very far off our campsite and a cuppa according to the satnav as we turned down an isolated side road and a little further, another right turn onto a narrow unfenced road and started to climb. At this point, the mist turned into thick fog making us crawl along. Looking left on my side, with a slight hint of alarm, was nothing but a white void – the little grass verge just seemed to plunge downwards. Sheep, sodden and grubby, ambled across the tiny strip of tarmac and stared at us incredulously as we crept higher and higher. I must admit at this point that I hadn’t really given my full attention to where we were going today, so though a bit uneasy, assumed that we would soon summit and cruise down to the coast and our campsite. Except we didn’t. We just kept on rising with the fog getting denser. I grabbed my phone, tapped in the campsite’s postcode and with a great deal of dismay, discovered that we were nowhere near the campsite and currently heading, well it was anyone’s guess.

With no way of turning around, we carried on until we came up to a wide gravelly area where the road ended abruptly. There was a large wire fence surrounding something in the murk, maybe telecommunications at a guess, and then we noticed a massive concrete base nearby with thick nuts and bolts anchoring a chunky cable which disappeared at a steep angle, into the cloud with surprising swiftness. It must be part of a tower, but there was no way of knowing which added to the eeriness of the whole place. We didn’t linger, descending slowly, hoping fervently we wouldn’t meet anyone coming up – deep ditches one side and the unknown precipice the other made it impossible for any passing. The sheep watched us, following our van and almost whispering amongst themselves “stupid humans” – I’m sure one even shook its head – as we slid past and finally the fog thinned and we were saved.

Heaving a sigh of relief from our brief, but exciting diversion, we typed in the postcode for Seals Cave campsite, it was less than ten minutes away and we arrived at a scattered beach community facing a wide grassy frontage with the beach beyond under heavy cloud. The campsite looked bright, fresh and cheerful and we checked in. It was on four different levels as the land rose behind the reception and we ended up on level three with six other campervans, sheltered by a row of trees. The wind still whipped up here but it wasn’t too bad and after waiting for a lady who claimed we had parked in her pitch (campsite’s fault) we set up home and tried to figure out how to dry stuff. Everything was feeling damp, but towels and coats were wet from being used. We gerryrigged a washing line under the awning and took The Pup for a quick walk down to the beach (she was bored and kept booping us). It was still claggy with fog and a fine drizzle hung in the air. We sauntered back, checked the facilities and made some tea. The wind seemed to pick up and rocked the van gently with its gusts. This was pretty rotten weather and hoped that the weather apps, forecasting a sunny day tomorrow, were true to their word.

Sorry for the lack of photos today, but there just wasn’t a view! 📷

The sun was out! Time to make the most of Connemara!

We made a plan. We had found an eco camping site on a headland, west of Clifden which was only half an hour away, but you had to make an advance booking. We decided to book it so we were assured that we had somewhere to sleep tonight and as we couldn’t get in until 2pm, we would go off and enjoy the mountains while the weather was good. It was due to deteriorate again this afternoon.

And what a difference from yesterday’s dank and misty afternoon – with the sun out, the greens showed off their true colours against the crags and granite of the mountains. It was great to see them – we were a bit disorientated yesterday, not being able to figure out the landscape. We drove from the coast towards the mountains that rose majestically in the not so far distance. The road was tree lined and you could catch glimpses of them until the foliage gave way to open moorland – we passed loughs and lagoons as the land got a little wilder. We headed to Maam Cross along N59, before turning left onto theR336 to Maum. We were now in the valleys, with the mountains rearing on either side, tall and steep. With the broken sunshine, it was just perfect for a drive and admiring their magnificent beauty with a backdrop of lofty clouds. It was stunning. The R336 turned another left at Maum and we headed to the little village of Leenaun at the head of the Killary Fjord. Houses were few and far between along the valley and every so often, a little church would appear, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. We dropped down into Leenaun, nestling idyllically between the mountains and parked up – we had seen signs for the Purple Door Cafe and we were ready for a coffee and cake. There were probably half a dozen shops – a little grocer’s, the cafe, two pubs, and tourist shop, the post office and a large wool shop. We found the cafe – with a sticker on its door “Dogs are welcome” – and we went in to get refreshed. Afterwards we had a little wander (the wind was keen) and peered into the shops before continuing our mountain tour.

This was a refreshing change to be in and amongst the mountains – so different from the coast and peninsulas we had been following. This was our kind of landscape with peaks and ridges, some of them looking impossible to scale with their craggy sides and faces. We headed west, before turning down to Lough Inagh – this was wilderness, no houses, just miles and miles of sheep country. This valley was wider and not so dramatic, but still beautiful. As we passed a roadside fence, we noticed a large sheep with the most spectacular curly horns snared in the stockproof fencing. We needed to stop and help it, but we had travelled a little too far down the road, so we ended up doing a 1,000 point turn, managing to hold up traffic on this isolated road that had suddenly appeared from nowhere (how does that happen?) retracing our steps to the stricken sheep. As we pulled up and opened the door to leap out to rescue it, it must of really yanked as suddenly it was free and looking a bit stunned, wandered off. Oh for goodness sake.

We did a 500 point turn and continued, dodging sheep who sauntered casually across the road without a care in the world. We rejoined the N59 and headed to Clifden along the valley. Clumps of trees, shrubs and rhododendrons signified a house sheltered from the westerlies that obviously swept up the valley. A rain shower swept through and obliterated the view , though not as much as yesterday. The land softened with craggy outcrops and we dropped into Clifden. We stopped for fuel on its outskirts, which were a bit scruffy but the town centre was lovely with two streets of shops – we parked down a side road, the High Street chocker with cars both moving and parked and wandered back to enjoy Clifden. Again we admired all the independent shops (well there were no Marks and Sparks, Boots or Costa Coffees) in town. Exhausting Clifden we decided to head out onto the Sky Road headland for another little tour and followed little lanes overlooking little bays and inlets and craggy lowlands. We found a viewpoint and parked up, making sandwiches and a cuppa to watch the incoming bad weather approaching from the west. Far below was our eco campsite and it looked very exposed…….

So we let the satnav guide us further out to the headland with the wind picking up. We keep noticing donkeys everywhere – two or three in little fields, they seem to be the animal to keep around here. We turned off down a track that twisted and turned until we came across a barrier. We pressed the button and a disembodied voice let us in. Again, more twisty track through the campsite until we came to a circular house thinking it was the reception. It was a private house and we retraced our steps to a point where, if we had read the notices should of parked. By now it was raining horizontally, so we scampered past a coffee hut to an aging caravan and introduced ourselves. A quick tour of the site for loos, rubbish and water and we found ourselves on a little patch of grass looking out to sea with a curving sandy beach just metres away. Much to the amusement of the lady in the caravan next door, we messed around with the van’s position – high winds were due so we had to consider our pop top, but then we would get rain in our side door. Finally, we found the optimum angle and set up home.

The rain stopped and I took The Pup for a walk around the site. It was essentially a very large field, so campers were scattered which was nice. The Pup dragged me briefly onto the sandy beach but there was another dog on a lead (we’ve got a 50 euro refundable deposit on The Pup – she must be on lead, we must pick up her poop and she mustn’t dig the site – if we abide to these rules, we get our money back). I checked with the site owners – was The Pup allowed off lead on the beach. Yes, she was. So we both took her down and she rejoiced by running in the surf and shaking clumps of seaweed to bits. With the rain starting to spit on us and an ominous dark sheet of cloud on the horizon, we headed back to the van and stayed there. The wind picked up and rocked the van, the scenery disappeared and the rain lashed. This was the worst weather we had had so far, but it was nice to curl up, open a beer and chill. The Pup curled up on the back seat and slept, occasionally dreaming and we put the heating on in the van to knock off the chill. It was quite cosy especially watching the long grass being whipped, waves crashing on the rocks, rain lashing on the windows and the coast disappearing in murk. It’s only June after all………..

This morning’s weather – sunshine with rain. But hey, it’s warm.

We sorted out the Van and left Doolin, following the coastal road towards The Burren, an area of natural beauty, on our way to the Galway coast. We had tapped in a postcode of a possible campsite into the satnav, but as usual, it chose the quickest/shortest route – it still hadn’t read the memo about our road trip. So we kept punching in names of little villages along the WAW so we could admire the scenery and not worry about where we were going.

It started off as gentle rolling countryside, but gradually, the unique limestone landscape of the Burren took over and it’s just stunning. Mile upon mile of limestone pavements running from tops of hills and mountains down into the sea. It’s almost moonlike, surreal and nature at its best. Then the limestone gives way to green fields and little cottages before it takes over again. It’s just an amazing sight with hill upon hill covered in grey stone. It is quite majestic.

The country roads of the Burren seem to be popular with scenic coach tours and the drivers of these mammoth behemoths are a bit mad. The coaches – huge 54 seater plus – are so wide that they actually take part of your side of the road, but the drivers ignore that trifling fact and bear down on oncoming vehicles regardless, showing no signs of slowing down, let alone stopping. The times we pulled over to let them whizz through. At one point, we had one behind us and it was like a re-enactment of the film “The Duel”.

We hugged the limestone coast, passing pretty cottages and villages. There’s lots of thatched dwellings dotted around and Ballyvaughan was particularly attractive. It’s a lovely coastal drive overlooking Galway Bay. We turned left off the main road to find Traught Beach for The Pup – the van had to limbo under a height barrier again – and The Pup had a good 20 minute stretch of the legs as we noticed that the dark rain clouds were starting to gather.

We passed through Kinvara, a pleasant little town and onto Galway city. The countryside had flattened out again as we took the main road and entered Galway’s outer suburbs. We took the ring road, missing out the city centre, just as the heavens opened which wasn’t great timing – now we were in the midst of multiple lanes, traffic lights, retail parks, all sorts of road signs pointing everywhere, other road users who knew what they were doing while trying to figure out how to get out of it all. It was a bit of a culture shock to be thrown into that melee after two weeks of gentle motoring.

We got burped out on the other side, relatively unscathed, but we were now hungry and needed sustenance. A Tesco supermarket appeared in the distance and I offered to shop as our cupboards were bare. I haven’t shopped in a big supermarket for ages (I forgot to take an euro for the trolley to start with and had to go back to the van) so I spent many minutes wandering around lost and disorientated. Its layout was weird with products tucked in little corners and there were two prices on display. I thought I was getting bargains but it was the lower price if you were a loyalty card holder, which I’m not. I was glad to escape, but I got food for a couple of days which would keep us going.

We were now on the southern Galway coastline heading to a place called Spiddal/Spiddle, depending on what map you looked at. The Pup has taken to lying across me and sticking her head out of the window for short periods (she is secured in btw) which is great for her, but I freeze. We pulled up in a quayside car park overlooking the bay and scoffed the recently bought sarnies, feeling much better for it. A quick cuppa to wash it down and we continued our journey.

The scenery was changing yet again. Now it was craggy countryside with stone walls separating the land into tiny overgrown plots of fields. The road signs were all Gaelic rather than the dual signs – there was hardly any English. We followed the coast as it got even more prettier. We had decided to travel further and were now heading to a place called Gurteen Bay, but along the way, we got sidetracked and headed to the Lettermore and Dog Islands as we had read they were worth visiting. And they were. We only went so far as we realised we were pushing for time for our final destination, but they were very pretty. Little bays, coves, inlets interspersed little fields and lagoons. Bridges took you over the water to the next island. It was still craggy with large boulders poking out between the grass and thatched cottages. We ended up with an impromptu little tour trying to get back on the main road (the satnav does have its uses) and we got lovely long distance views over to the mountains – it just had a feel of wildness about it, a remoteness despite cottages dotted everywhere. It was so beautiful.

The weather closed in big style, blotting out the mountains with rain – it was like being in a plastic box. We just knew there were stunning views out there, but we just couldn’t see them which was rather disappointing. We were gradually rising and headed out into moorland and total wilderness. There was nothing out here, not even hardy animals apart from heaps of peat bricks being harvested with plastic bags everywhere. Even the trees couldn’t be bothered to grow here – it was a windswept and wild landscape, atmospheric in the low cloud. And then we were back to the chocolate box crofter cottages, some of them sporting a thatched roof, little bays and inlets and hugging the coast again – just stunning scenery. This was amazing despite the grey weather – what would it be like if the sun was out?

We arrived at Gurteen Bay campsite on spit of land near the pretty little village of Roundstone. It overlooked a little cove of sand. We quickly checked in as the rain had stopped and the cloud lifted so we had a window. Again, we faffed around a bit, mainly as there was a stiff breeze and we needed to get the van at the right angle. Finally satisfied, we took The Pup to the beach and was only there for a few minutes when it started to rain again. We retreated and decided to make tea for us and The Pup while the rain washed the van. It did stop later and we took the opportunity to go back onto the beach and investigate further – there were two or three other sweeping beaches on Gurteen Bay side as well as at least another over the narrow fields and dunes into Dog’s Bay. We reached a high point next door to the unexpected graveyard and tried to figure out if we could reach Dog’s Bay from Gurteen (there was only a sliver of land separating the two) – it would need a further beach walk to find out.

We turned around as it was chilly and walked along the sand, The Pup was running in and out of the water, scooping up seaweed and giving it a good shake, doing zoomies and digging in the sand. Basically living life to the full, she was so happy. It was a lovely spot. We turned around again when we spotted numerous jellyfish stranded on the beach and headed back to the campsite. It was here when we realised each and every static caravan on site was tied down, literally anchored so they didn’t topple in the winds. We had noticed on our walk a noticeboard explaining the ongoing recovery of the conservation area due to concurrent storm damage. No wonder the caravans were nailed down – think it gets a bit windy here. We sauntered back to our van, nestled in a little dip and sheltered from the wind and settled down for the evening. Tomorrow we had a plan of moving a little further up the coast, staying a couple of nights and checking this area out thoroughly.

Footnote: apologies for my wonky photos with the horizon not straight. My iPhone won’t let me straighten them up at the moment, despite various attempts to sort the problem. But I’m working on it – just bear with me!

It was raining and we had run out of gas.

The gas stopped just as the kettle whistled for our first cuppa of the day – phew, but now we would have to source another bottle. The trouble is, there is no way of way of knowing when it’s running out – no gauge or anything, so it’s a bit of a guessing game. As we were staying another night, there was no rush – we got up slowly, had a leisurely shower, tidied the van and got coffee from the campsite’s own little coffee hut.

The weather apps on the phones were proving useless as they were saying sunshine and we still had horizontal drizzle.

Finally we decided to go and find a nearby beach for The Pup as it looked like the rain was easing up. However as we left for our walk (the big plan was to not drive the van at all today), the heavy drizzle reappeared so we ended up walking slightly hunched and with heads down. Doolin is split into two parts – our end where we staying had a couple of pubs, a hotel, a couple of little shops and is relatively quiet. Walk five minutes or so down the road and there’s another huddle of shops, but a lot more touristy – jumpers and icecream and gifts with roadside parking. It’s a bit narrow here, so with people milling around and trying to park their cars, it seems all slightly chaotic. We carried on, but started to think we had missed the path to the beach. We stopped by a pitch and putt course and studied the route – it seemed there wasn’t a path at all. We could carry on down to Doolin pier or have a game of golf and it didn’t take long for us to make a decision.

We skipped over the cattle grid, checked if The Pup could join us, gathered a driver and putter each, four balls and a handful of tees and set off in the drizzle to the first tee. The Pup thought it was a great game – she wanted to chase every ball taken at the tee, so we had to hang onto her lead, hubby’s shots were great but had a tendency to veer right or left and I just scudded my ball along the grass though I did manage to get them airborne later in the game. The Pup kept nicking our balls and then dropping them – usually in a better position than where they landed. The rain stopped and the stiff breeze dried us off as we finished 18 holes minus two balls (one had disappeared over the wall, narrowly missing two passing walkers and a Skoda) and thought it was the funniest thing we had done for ages.

We wandered back to our end of Doolin with the plan to catch the normal service bus to the Cliffs of Moher, hoping they would take dogs onboard. With 30 minutes to kill before it arrived, we found a coffee shop. Hubby lingered outside with Pup while I went in to suss it out, but the young lad behind the counter told us that we could bring the Pup in! We’re so confused with the dog policy here – the pub won’t let you in, but the coffee shop does! The Pup made friends with a chap by the door who proffered chips to her, before she worked on the other people in the cafe and hoovered up all the dropped bits on the floor. We sat outside and drank our coffee before joining the queue for the bus. It rolled up on time and Hubby boarded to check if Pup was allowed and guess what? The answer was no. Even the bus driver thought it was nuts too.

We watched the bus disappear round the corner, cursing. Ireland is a lovely place, full of friendly, happy and very helpful people, but seemed to be very dog unfriendly and thinking about it, we hadn’t seen many dogs at all on this trip (no wonder Pup gets all the attention – she’s the only hound around). Now, we are not the type of owner who thinks we’ve got a right to take our dog everywhere we go, there has to be restrictions of course, but in England, dogs are allowed on public transport and certain retail outlets (in the Lake District, you are a pariah if you don’t allow dogs in your shop). We had heard that it was due to health and safety reasons in Ireland which we totally understand – some dogs can be snappy, but it’s more the owners than the dogs to be honest – but it can be quite restrictive on what you could do with your pet.

We wandered back to the van despondently. We had booked tickets for the Cliffs of Moher last night and now wished we hadn’t. We had only one option now – pack the van down and drive to the cliffs, putting paid to our van free day. We put everything away, leaving out a plastic sheet and our water container, so nobody pinched our pitch and headed off. On the way we stopped at a small petrol station cum village shop to see if we could get our hands on a new gas canister, but alas they didn’t have one.

The Cliffs were only about 15 minutes away and we pulled into the large car park, showed our tickets at the kiosk and parked up. Across the road, we joined the rest of the tourists wandering around up a tarmac path, with half a dozen shops buried into the hill like something out of The Hobbit. The Visitor Centre was similarly embedded which was kind of attractive. The path snaked up a hill towards the cliffs where we found ourselves engulfed by a Japanese coach party – we paused to let them go. At the edge of the cliffs, the path went either left or right (it’s part of a long coastal path) and we peered over the wall with several other people to look at the towering cliffs disappearing into the distance. They were fairly dramatic and impressively tall – we decided to take the right hand path and wandered along, pausing to take a photo, watch the seabirds and just to admire the cliffs, but with so many people around with their holiday heads on, it was becoming mildly irritating. Think our patience finally wore thin when two Japanese women barged us out of the way for a photo opportunity and we realised that this just wasn’t our thing. We wandered a bit more in case the scenery changed, but at the end of the day, cliffs are cliffs. We walked back to the visitor centre to use the facilities (no dogs allowed inside the buildings – here we go again) and went to find the van. We had been here about an hour which was enough – perhaps the no dog policy on the bus had done us a favour, it was a 2 hour wait for the bus home.

So we drove back to Doolin on the lofty main road, looking down on Doolin and the surrounding area. In the distance was another campsite and they sold gas bottles. We already had a contingency plan if that went belly up too. Our campsite had a kitchen for those camping in tents so we could make cups of tea in there if need be. So we wheedled our way through the chaotic end of Doolin, down to the pier and went to the campsite’s little shop. Hubby emerged triumphant, clutching a brand new bottle and we were saved. We headed back for a cuppa.

The weather had brightened up considerably by now and the sun was attempting to make an appearance. We returned back to our pitch and reset the van, chilling and trying to dry our damp clothes from this morning.

Around 7pm with the sun finally out, we waddled back down to Russell’s, the little place where we got coffee and The Pup hoovered up for them. In the evenings, they have a restaurant and got a reputation for the best fish and chips in Ireland amongst other things. Inside, it was decked in wood and dark colours, but was very trendy – it was already busy. As we had The Pup we sat in a large room under a huge sail for a ceiling. It was really lovely. The Pup crashed and slept on our feet under the table while we enjoyed a lovely meal including a fabulous pecan and walnut pie. The fish and chips were fabulous. The staff were lovely and a small band of three musicians played a guitar, fiddle and squeeze box at a table, so we got live Irish music again. It was so pleasant and relaxing. Fabulous place. We sauntered back to the van and planned a vague route for tomorrow – we were heading to Galway and Connemara and it looked like it was going to be fabulous.