Doolin away just fine

Lockdown is so last season, at least that’s what I told myself as I clicked a few buttons to purchase my Easyjet flight from Edinburgh to Belfast! In a momentary fit of restless need, post ‘serious’ lockdown, I decided a little jaunt to visit Maddy and the Connolly family was now on the cards.

Edinburgh Airport Covid 19

The airport was of course a barren wasteland populated by reluctant zombie workers and a few brave survivors meandering about trying to follow way marked arrows like some elaborate game of snakes and ladders. A visual highlight was definitely the 3 men wearing union jack facemasks which were swiftly removed 5 minutes into a 22 minute flight in order to consume crisps and alcohol…The alcohol, I’m sure was consumed for its anti-viral properties, and not to fuel some anti-catholic orange marching…it did mean though that some masks stayed off most of the flight. So, no doubt I’m covid, they’re covid, we’re probably all covid!

Maddy picked me up and we fled the north hastily with the rest of the catholic exodus around the 12th of July. Heading west towards Galway and south to a lovely little town called Doolin where campervans gingerly pass each other on slender little roads, in a bid to get a lucrative free space at the Doolin port carpark, nestled snug against the wild Atlantic ocean.

We headed out to Hotel Doolin to replenish ourselves and absorb the toe tapping melodies of a bearded guitar player, with the gentle waft of an open air fire, crackling away any covid concerns I still had. The sun hung low and we were gifted with a heart warming sunset in a rare moment of Atlantic calm. What a lovely start to this little jaunt.

The next day started with a mild fist shaking incident. A rather officious parking attendant turned up with a dose of campervanitis. He clearly had an agenda to move us ‘gypsys’ all on but Maddy with true stealth grabbed a 2Euro ticket just before he could unleash his indecipherable verbal tirade. So our nights camping wasn’t entirely free! I truly believe that if you put a fluorescent vest on anyone they become embued with superiority and immediately become rigid, walking with plump tightened buttocks as though severly botoxed. It was quite a contrast to the soothing sea breeze that accompanied my obligatory morning coffee.

To clear our heads we headed up a delightful coastal path to the majestic Cliffs of Moher. The path is fringed on one side with lush green fields, pungent with the fresh aroma of cattle dung. Climbing gently at first the path soon snakes along the Atlantic with dramatic vertical drops down to vast flattened stone slabs, which cradle tidal pools of crystal clear water, alive with colourful clumps of seaweed. The path then narrows to a metre width, if that, and anyone with vertigo might become dizzyingly paralysed with fear, especially since some sections of the way have given in to the elements and have crumbled perilously to the sea below. At times along the walk the ocean is exquisitely framed by giant hollowed out arches and vast, deeply cavernous caves peppered stoically with wild flowers. A pleasing contrast against the tumultuous crashing waves beneath. As the sun graced our skin, a familiar crimson spread across my face, defying my factor 50 sun cream with rampant speed, yet still, I dont think there could have been a better day for such a dramatic trail.

Medium rare

Reaching the cliff tops the sight of eager tourists stepping backwards towards the cliff edge, complete with selfie sticks, forced a deep inhilation of breath and a satisfied sigh of joy at the spectacular visual splendor of this 300ft landsend. Never has there been a nicer spot to greedily gobble up a picnic! The cliffs are certainly well worth a visit if you’re ever passing these parts with a pleasant earth works visitor centre hidden within the land just down from the O’Brien’s tower.

This evening ended with a delightful meal at Helena’s followed by a sweet sunset and some Connolly campervan shenanigans involving wine and tales of a glass eye or ‘eeeye’ if you’re from these parts. Van life is quite the learning curve, especially if youre 5″8 and wider than a stick of celery. We’ve been referring to the camper as the ‘hobbit-van’, given its 4ft beds and tight living space. There’s definitely a routine and knack to getting up and dressed that involves only 1 person moving at a time. The toilet is literally an upright coffin and the look of wonder caught upon people faces when I emmerge from the van is comedy in itself. You can see them trying to compute the logistics, wide eyed and no doubt concerned that it’s all a devilish form of witchcraft.

The next day brought a deluge of rain that would have kept most indoors and cosy by a warm fire, but not us; off we trundled to a holy well in the middle of the vast and barren ‘Burren conservation area’ to seek out some unknown purifying properties?!? I’m yet to find out exactly what this entails but by the look of the well water its probably the gift of legionella…?! It was certainly fresh out, but a trip to the burren perfumery with its delightful oasis like gardens, eloquently stocked shop and delicious pea and mint soup restored any doubts that we were actually surrounded by a stoney, wet, moonlike landscape.

Saint Fachtnans holy well

The Burren Perfumary Gardens https://burrenperfumery.com/

This road trip has been a whistle stop tour of the wesssht (west) with each day providing a feast for both the eyes and the belly. It was great to see Sinead and her merry troup, Helena and Blas, Karen and co and of course the Connolly mama and papa duo who are the true king and queen of campervan living. I’m returning home today if a bus appears in Monaghan, which incidently is not a given. Wish me the luck of the Irish, as I venture home to Scotland pondering my return. A big thanks goes out to Maddy the resident hobbit who drove like a bat out of hell. She literally ‘cut the shite’ outta the roads and made this trip possible! Thanks pal, see you again soon for another tight squeeze in ‘Holy’, her aptly name van.