Hans en Nienke: June 2025

In Galway we caught up with my sister Marjolein and her husband Koen. The plan was to travel together for a couple of days. Of course we first had to introduce them to traditional music and the lamb shank in the pub on the first night.

Next day we set out for a world famous abbey. Travelling along the Atlantic Irish coast. Quite a bit different from the Scottish water borders. Unfortunately a few more clouds (spoilsports) drifted in from the Antarctic ocean.

Along the coast several nice old and colourful fishing villages. This is the lovely Roundstone. A coffee break place on every corner.

Time for a quick lunch, with a take away coffee, in the sun.

And there it is, the renowned Kylemore abbey. Currently the modest accommodation of the Benedictine nuns. Build by a wealthy business man, who got his riches through inheritance and the cotton business, to please his wife, who desperately needed 33 bedrooms.

The nuns were able to buy the abbey after they had to leave Belgium, chased out by the first world war. There are days I do not have that amount of pocket money with me.....

The Christians among us will be happy to know that your offerings to the church have been well spent on the poor and needy. These are parts of the extensive gardens. The ladies need herbs on their food.

Meanwhile the weather was changing, moist building up. Still in the air for now.

A day later, when we were driving southwards, the 'moist' turned into rain. Plenty of rain. Heaps of rain. Here, we are admiring the weird flat rocks of Murrooghtoohy geopark (or simply 'suiomh geophairc mhuiriuch tuaithe theas' as the locals call it). It is the limestone coast at Galway bay.

Of course you can't just drive by the Cliffs of Moher. The cheap poncho's Nienke and I brought from New Zealand did protect us from the rain. For about 17 seconds. Mine was so friendly to fly directly into the waste bin. Pretty unbelievable how many people turned up in this horrendous weather, to see this natural wonder. To be honest, there is not much else to do around there, so it's either play scrabble with the family or get drenched trying to make a watery selfie. We went for the third option, we photographed the posters in the gift shop, so we can prove we've bin there. Then we swiftly made our way back to the parking and got the hell of of there. For now, each their own way.

As my sister had forgotten that we could not park our motorhome next to their luxury hotel, we agreed to meet each other the next day in a nearby town. On our way south Nienke and I visited the old Norman town of Limerick and it's old Norman castle. And on the way south discovered a small abandoned abbey (I believe the monks are on a pilgrimage on a luxury cruise liner). By the way, there is something with abbey's and bad roofers!

The same town housed the ruins of Desmond castle and Adare manor. The first one was closed to visitors and the second one... Well, the guard at the gate suggested a camping to us, when we tried to drive into the extensive grounds. Not sure if it was our motorhome, which, I agree, would sharply contrast with the luxury cars in front of the manor, or that he thought we could not afford a room there, even though there was enough variety. Rooms for € 2,000 to 8.500 per night. Breakfast included, I hope....

We love these nice Irish towns. So colour full when you drive through them. Something they should pick up in New Zealand where they still love the 50 shades of grey. OK, and black.

It was a very long day, but we finally found the nice spot for the night I had seen on google maps. For free, you Adare manor bastards! Definitely rewarding.

Dinner at 9.30 pm (poor Nienke), but well deserved.

Our camping spot was a very small parking on a cliff. You could only reach it by driving up a steep road, as wide as our sleeping vehicle was. I'm sure Nienke was praying we would not meet someone coming down. And once you reached the parking you had to back up into, it as it was impossible to turn there. So naturally, we decided to camp there a second night.

The third day we travelled together, we took our motorhome. So convenient to have your kitchen and filled fridge with you. We just disregarded the rain and headed for the ring of Kerry. These are the remains of the 15th century Ballycarburrow castle. A lot of O's and Mac's have been living here and of course some Earls. But the history of the castle remains a bit vague. For reasons not clear to anyone it was mostly demolished in the 20th century. I suspect a local farmer needed some stones for a new farm shed.

We took the ferry to Valentia where we visited the very interesting museum of the Eight world wonder, the Transatlantic cable station. After 5 gruelling attempts they managed to get a cable in between the continents. It worked for 3 weeks. The next attempts failed again, until finally, in 1866 they managed to get a working cable in place. You could sent messages to the yanks for $ 1 a letter (the average wage for a labourer was $ 20 then). I think that's when the simple salute 'hi' was invented.

The cable between the yanks and Europe landed here, not because it was the shortest distance, but because one of the founders lived here. Very impressive how they did that in those days. Not sure what the function of the tennis court in front of the building was, but the moment you throw a ball in the air to serve, it is on it's way to the other side of the bay.

No pictures of the island as we were not allowed to visit, but the small museum about Illaunloughan (also known as Oileán Lócháin) is impressive. It is a small uninhabitable rock, where some dedicated monks lived for centuries. They carved out stairs and build huts from rocks in order to be closer to god. They must have used some body heath to stay warm I think.

Next stop; the local whiskey distillery of Portmagee. Even if you do not like whiskey you just have to visit this man in his small pub. A great story teller, entertainer and maker of a very decent whiskey. The Irish whiskey is spelled with an 'e', while the Scottish whisky is not. The Irish distil the whiskey 3 times, the Scottish twice. The Irish are not so fussed about the age, or 'single malt'. They trust on the master-distiller to create the perfect blend. Our favourite, was a mix of a 9 year old single grain and 13 year old single malt whisky, matured in a Barbados rum cask.

Lunch was served inside the motorhome. Salmon and camembert on fresh bread is better than the fish and chips they sell everywhere.

Because we enjoyed the Ring of Kerry so much, we decided to do the less known Ring of Dingle the next day. There were definitely a few interesting attractions, like this 16 century Minard castle, badly damaged after Cromwell with his ill-mannered friends visited it in 1650. He had a habit of that bad behaviour, at least that is what we were told at several other sides establishments.

I told the others that I had discovered a small remote beach named Coomeenoole, where we could have lunch. Unfortunately Tiktok told some others, or better, herds, as well. We persevered in having lunch there, amidst bus-loads of selfie-makers. The image of these razor sharp rocks was the only view from our lunch spot where we did not see tourists trying to climb it. What a shame...... A nice accident every now and then......

Oops, should not have said that. We drove to Cé Dhún Chaoin (Dunquin Pier) to look at the Spanish Armada memorial and walk/climb the special stairs. Nienke took the path, but my sister and I looked down the cliff first and then jumped from a rock onto the path. Ouch. Marjolein jumped majestically but landed less dignified. We lifted her in the car and added the experience of the Irish health system to our itinerary.

We briefly hoped to be able to get help at a local hospital, but the hospital had no nurses or doctors (in most countries kind of an essential part of a hospital, but it's apparently not a thing in Dingle). So we headed to Tralee University hospital. My sister is not one to complain quickly, so we were not taken very serious in the beginning. When we were finally called in, the nurse was quite surprised that she was not short of breath, and even more that she had a sore ankle. Only when we pointed out that 'he' was a 'she', and also not 80, the nurse discovered the wrong identity. Back to the waiting room again. Finally a X-ray showed the extend of her bad luck: ankle broken in three places. The mood changed and staff were suddenly quite nice. We were told she could be operated the next day. And so Marjolein was put in a bed, parked in the hallway next to the kitchen, under bright flickering fluorescent tubes and told to have a good nights rest. Next morning the orthopaedic surgeon on call had a very brief look and said that there was too much swelling, so they could not operate that day. I think 'the brief' look was more at his operating schedule where his lunch break was about to be threatened. The Irish health system appears to be as broken as the Kiwi one. Time to move Marjolein out and shift her to the Netherlands.

Her insurance company had arranged a flight home on Sunday, so she could at least enjoy 2 nights in the luxury hotel they had booked in Killarney. We were the honorary guests that night.

The Irish have a lot of humor. This one explains how to deal with worries. It probably only works for the Irish (and their friends).

As we were waiting to hear when Marjolein was going to be repatriated, we enjoyed some nice walks around Killarney. Killarney is a place with about 4000 hotels and Airbnb's. The town is filled with souvenir shops and restaurants with the usual menu's. So we fled into the bushes, did a walk around the lake, where we found this nice old bridge. It used to be part of a primitive water power complex. The little hidden restaurant in the 'bush bush', that used to benefit from this power source, had 'modernised' and now got it's power from a noisy generator.......

After our dinner with Koen and Marjolein in the fancy hotel we walked back to our modest motorhome and briefly stopped at the festival terrain of the bikers clubs. They had their annual gathering in town. We felt a bit naked without our leather outfits, besides, the band did not play our kind of music/noise.

We had a few more days to get to Dublin, to return our motorhome, which by now was slowly falling apart. Since a few days we did not have water anymore, the water pump had failed. That means the motorhome was essentially reduced to being a tent on wheels. Together with multiple other issues we can safely say; DO NOT BOOK BUNK CAMPERS. Their help was also useless. "you could come to Belfast (5 1/2 hours drive) or Dublin (4 hours drive), but we can't give you a replacement motorhome or guarantee it can be repaired. So basically our motorhome was like the ruins of this old castle, nice to look at, but not fit for purpose. The 13th century Dunlough castle is dramatically located on top of some steep cliffs and adjourning two small lakes. You do not only wonder why someone would want to conquer it, but also how they did their shopping. Even with our motorhome it was quite a challenge to reach it. And when you do, you'll be blown of the cliffs.

Close by was the lighthouse of Mizen head. Located on the most south-western point of Ireland, build on a very difficult to reach rock. They had to build a bridge to it to bring supplies etc. We decided to go there at the end of the day, so we could park the motorhome there overnight. In the morning we would be one of the first visitors and afterwards have the remainder of the day to spend on the coast.

Crossing the bridge, you looked down on a small pool of calmer water, where a few seals were taking a break.

A gap in the rock formation showed the giant waves pounding similar fissures further west.

My hero did not only cross the bridge in 'one go', but even walked all the way to the end of the stairs to see the massive waves crashing on the rocks. We just love the force of water and only left the parking close to lunch time. The return journey stranded quickly in a huge traffic jam. The single road could clearly not handle a few cars and motorhomes leaving, while another hundred cars (I am not kidding), filled with tourist and locals, were driving towards the attraction. We could have known! It was Sunday and the weather was good. On top of the tourist turmoil, a farmer had decided that this Sunday was a good day to use the same road to move his huge tractor to some paddock further down the road, and do some mowing. Absolute chaos and only thanks to Nienke, who pushed herself forward as a voluntary traffic manager, we were able to get going again after half an hour. With pleasure we waved to all the people driving into this trap.

Still just choosing tiny roads, we stumbled upon quite some interesting sites, like this ancient coastal dolmen. A burial place with a view in Tuama Dingeach na hAltóra. The Irish langage, by the way, is incomprehensible. It is spoken in the Gaeltacht regions whhere we were travelling.

Another old abbey, the Timoleague Friary. Since nobody wanted to repair the roof, the grounds were used as a burial place.

We left the coast and headed for Kinsale, apparently the culinary capital of Ireland. We arrived in the weekend and it was busy. Very busy. Could not find accommodation, let alone a restaurant that would receive us with open arms. At the fourth restaurant I asked for only 5 tables. The answer was 'You're in luck, Tuesday in 2 weeks, may I have your name please'. We were eventually taken in by the owner of a tapas bar who felt pity for the two hungry beggars roaming the streets of Kinsale. We were seated right in front of a Girolle with a Tête de Moine in it. It's a delicious, but very smelly cheese, we used to have often when we lived in the Netherlands. You shave a little 'rose' of it and eat it with a green grape. Then you put a glass bowl over it and store it in the back of the garage. The bartender spontaneously started handing out 'roses'. And on top of the delicious tapas they played Fat Freddy's Drop from our own Aotearoa. Couldn't be better. After visiting a live music pub we spend the night, parked illegally, next to a park.

Granny's Bottom drawer. A lot of shops have the funniest names and a great combination of colours.

This is the stunning castle of Lismore. If you want to stay here for a week you'll have to bring a whopping amount of NZ $ 122.400. But then, you can bring 15 friends. Luckily I do not have 15 friends, so it's not an option....

Close by are the Ballysaggartmore Lodges. Arthur Keily-Ussher build these lodges as gate houses for the main house he had in mind. Well, in fact, it was the wife who had it in mind, because she was jealous of his brothers castle. After building the impressive gate houses his wallet was empty. He found little pity from the locals, as he had thrown them all out when the famine arrived. The story does not tell what happened to the 'lady'. The moral of the story is 'beware of what you do to impress your wife'.

Still not fed up of ruins, we visited the amazing Rock of Cashel. It started as a castle for the Kings of Munster. He donated it to the church. And the monks, always in for a bit of extra modesty, gratefully accepted the gift. A very impressive site.

There are more abbeys there than ice cream shops. Here you can see the Rock of Cashel from the ruins of the Hore Abbey. An abbey that shifted hands a few times, even amongst the monks. They clearly had forgotten about the story of the other cheek.

Before we left, we had an ice cream at Hansie's ice cream shop (not a joke). It's located next to restaurant 'Chez Hans', which even has a Michelin star.

In the surprisingly nice city of Kilkenny, we found a huge castle, weird cathedral and a very interesting museum; the Butler museum. There was a exhibition of a local Dutch artist, Paul Bokslag, I think this one was 11 by 3 meter. Beautiful.

We also stumbled upon the brewery of Nienke's favourite beer, Smithwicks red ale. It was after 2 pm and we had a base of Mexican tortillas, so why not. To be fair, since I was driving I only sipped a bit from Nienke's tasting.

After dropping of the motorhome, we had another day to spend in Dublin. I still had to visit the statue of Oscar Wilde. The flamboyant and funny poet.