As Friday afternoon came, I went to pick up my rental car. I waited about 20 minutes, far longer than I’d ever had to wait before at Enterprise. While I was waiting, my phone rang. It was John, the owner of Pax House, calling to ask me if I would stay in a different B&B because one of his guests had a broken leg from an accident and he hated to make her move that day. I was shocked (and appalled) as he went on to describe the alternative as an old, old building just up the road. The place was called Ballintaggart House. I had made plans with friends for dinner, so I asked John to send me an e-mail with the details and to keep the booking he’d made for me. I was going to have to look it up when I got home, because “old, old” didn’t exactly make me shiver with excitement. More like horror!
I had a nice dinner with my friends in Bray on the seafront and left to drive them home afterward. We began almost immediately to hear a squeaking noise in the car. After a couple of stops, one to avoid running out of gas, none of us could identify the source of the noise. In addition, we got a bit lost on the way home and my knee was hurting pretty badly from using the clutch (first time driving since my injury).
After all the bad signs – the long wait for the car, the accident causing the B&B cancellation, and the squeaking noise – I had decided to call off the weekend. Too many things were adding up to a feeling of pending doom.
I got home feeling defeated, and settled in to Google the Ballintaggart House. Well, the web site looked wonderful. The place was swanky, and far more expensive than the rate John had secured for me there. This was the “sign” I needed to get back on track. I e-mailed the owner to keep my reservation.
Early Saturday morning, things started looking up a bit. I cranked up the tunes to drown out the squeak and I headed to the gas station to fill the tank (I’d only got €5 the night before when I thought I’d just return the car Saturday morning). The plan was to stop at the Rock of Cashel on the way down to Dingle. It was raining when I arrived, as it had been for the last half hour of my drive, but I didn’t mind it too much. Not even as the guided tour stopped several times in the open for us to listen to the guide as we were pelted with driving rain. I spent about an hour there and tried to eat in Granny’s Kitchen afterwards, but it was crowdy and Granny didn’t appear to be anywhere on site. On a tight schedule, I stopped at Tesco for a sandwich. As the sun began to make an appearance, I set out toward Dingle.
A three-hour drive with several photo-snapping stops got me to Dingle and to the Ballintaggart House. The owner (also named John) was super-friendly and very helpful in pointing me to the must-see spots of the peninsula. He told me the building was from 1800, and although the outside wasn’t the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, the inside was very tastefully and elegantly decorated, and my room was absolutely ginormous!
I took a drive around the peninsula and saw prehistoric forts, bee hive huts, and gorgeous scenery along the way. About the time I got back to Dingle Town it was dinner time. I parked the car and started walking along the sidewalk by the harbor in search of a dining hotspot. Not too far up the path, I discovered a tiny place called Out of the Blue Seafood Only Restaurant. For real! That was its name! It had medals all over the doorway, so I went in. They seated me at the bar, and had to clear away some books for me to have a space for a plate. I had a glass of wine while I waited for my food, and watched them turn away several people with no reservations. This place was popular! I ate my delicious potato crusted pollock and headed back to the B&B, exhausted.
The next morning at breakfast, I met a woman from Clearwater, FL. Small world. She was pretty annoying, bragging about her limo ride to Jacksonville one time to see Michael Jackson in concert. I’m supposed to be impressed? Luckily, I was almost finished with my breakfast when she arrived, so I checked out and hit the road again. I drove around the coast from Dingle to Tralee to Limerick. I drove through Limerick for the first time, and was pretty impressed. I may have to go back there sometime, even if they do call it Stab City. It was a long drive home, but I enjoyed it very much. It was quite relaxing and my knee didn’t even hurt.
All of this goes to show, sometimes you have to ignore feelings of pending doom. Check out the cool stuff I saw because I pushed them aside!
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