Before we begin, let's clear up something from the previous post. I've had the odd text and email from people thinking that it's been a shit. Well, actually no it hasn't. Sure, the weather's been swinging between really nice and really crap, and the broken pump episode in the middle of nowhere was a tad disheartening, but it has been fun. Really.
The point of the post was that solo travel has its pros and cons and for the most part it works. I just happened to be going through that bit where having someone around would have been nice. That's all. Does that mean I'm done with solo travel? Dunno, but next time, I'll probably bugger off by myself again.
I've met lots of interesting people; had lots of lovely pints and some brilliant food in the pubs and seen some truly speccy scenery. I've been rained on a bit, that's all. It's been a worthwhile adventure. Enough of that and onto what's been happening since the last post.
After mooching around Galway for a couple of days, Boris and I took off on Friday for Sixmilebridge, about 13 kms north of Limerick where there's a hostel. It was about an 80 km ride. The main highway south from Galway was bit busy and not exactly pleasant. It wasn't raining, but it kept threatening to.
I had a late breakfast in Gort, nearly 40 km from Galway and had the full Irish. For the uninitiated, the full Irish consists of fried egg, black pudding, white pudding, a couple of snags, tomato, a hash brown and lots of bacon. If Zorba had the "full catastrophe", the full Irish should be called the full heart attack. At €7.50 it's excellent value and negates the need for lunch.
A bit south of Gort, we left the main highway and picked up a back route that was a bit of shortcut even though it had a long steady climb followed by a long descent. Copped the odd shower, but the views back over the Burren were fabo.
Sixmilebridge is a pleasant little village with some nice pubs, one with a very welcoming coal fire and friendly locals. The hostel is called Jamaica Inn. I asked the manager why anyone would name a hostel after a Hitchcock movie and he said, "No, it was named after the place". I said that (it being raining and cold) I could see the resemblance. He said that his wife is from Jamaica. So there.
I had the kitchen to myself, so I went into town and grabbed some veggies for a soup and washed it down with two cans of Cork's finest and had an early night.
The weather forecast for Sunday looked scary with a monster low developing off the north west coast so I figured I'd better try and get to Cork in one go on Saturday, about 113 km. It rained all the way to Limerick so I went to the station to check out the trains. I rocked up to the information counter and asked if I could take Boris on the train to Cork. "No problem", was the reply.
Getting from Limerick to Cork involves changing trains at Limerick Junction which is a good 20-odd kms east of Limerick. I asked the guard what to do with the bike and he told me that there are bike hooks in the front carriage. Cool.
Limerick Junction is in the middle of nowhere with one long island platform. The Cork train turned out to be a big train from Dublin. I had no idea where to put Boris, so I got him and the panniers on and went looking for somewhere to park him. I was down the other end of the carriage when I heard a terse, strong female voice say, "Whose bicycle is this?" It was the conductor and she was not pleased. I told her that I was looking for bike hooks or whatever and she said, "What makes you think you can bring a bicycle on a passenger train?" It was about to get ugly. I was cold and wet and in no mood to be pissed about when I had asked about Boris at Limerick. I was just about to dig my heels in when she said, "I'm sorry. I'm being cranky. You weren't to know and they wouldn't know at Limerick because they just deal with commuter trains. I'll find a place for your bike in the next carriage." She went and found a place where there's a facility for strapping in prams and wheelchairs; I wheeled Boris through the carriage and she brought the panniers. She apologised again and offered to make it up with a cuppa. We departed friends. In fact we chatted outside the station in Cork for a bit.
By the way, she saw me writing in my journal on the train. "Are you writing about me?" she asked. I told her that I record everything - fairly.
Cork's cool. I've been crashing with my mates Dara and Elia. Since being back here, I've caught the tail end of the film festival and generally mooched around town. On of the high points has been an audience with Brian O'Donnell, the proprietor of the legendary Hi B bar.
Boris, by the way is on his way back to Oz by post, so I'll bussing it from here on.
I'm generally mooching around Cork. Yesterday I checked out Cobh and tomorrow after visiting the Beamish brewery, I'll head down to Crosshaven for a couple of days and on Saturday drop in on my friend Jane in Wexford on the way to Dublin. From there, I'll head to Belfast and may be even catch the bus to Derry and Giant's Causeway. We'll see.
Meanwhile, here's piccies.
The point of the post was that solo travel has its pros and cons and for the most part it works. I just happened to be going through that bit where having someone around would have been nice. That's all. Does that mean I'm done with solo travel? Dunno, but next time, I'll probably bugger off by myself again.
I've met lots of interesting people; had lots of lovely pints and some brilliant food in the pubs and seen some truly speccy scenery. I've been rained on a bit, that's all. It's been a worthwhile adventure. Enough of that and onto what's been happening since the last post.
After mooching around Galway for a couple of days, Boris and I took off on Friday for Sixmilebridge, about 13 kms north of Limerick where there's a hostel. It was about an 80 km ride. The main highway south from Galway was bit busy and not exactly pleasant. It wasn't raining, but it kept threatening to.
I had a late breakfast in Gort, nearly 40 km from Galway and had the full Irish. For the uninitiated, the full Irish consists of fried egg, black pudding, white pudding, a couple of snags, tomato, a hash brown and lots of bacon. If Zorba had the "full catastrophe", the full Irish should be called the full heart attack. At €7.50 it's excellent value and negates the need for lunch.
A bit south of Gort, we left the main highway and picked up a back route that was a bit of shortcut even though it had a long steady climb followed by a long descent. Copped the odd shower, but the views back over the Burren were fabo.
Sixmilebridge is a pleasant little village with some nice pubs, one with a very welcoming coal fire and friendly locals. The hostel is called Jamaica Inn. I asked the manager why anyone would name a hostel after a Hitchcock movie and he said, "No, it was named after the place". I said that (it being raining and cold) I could see the resemblance. He said that his wife is from Jamaica. So there.
I had the kitchen to myself, so I went into town and grabbed some veggies for a soup and washed it down with two cans of Cork's finest and had an early night.
The weather forecast for Sunday looked scary with a monster low developing off the north west coast so I figured I'd better try and get to Cork in one go on Saturday, about 113 km. It rained all the way to Limerick so I went to the station to check out the trains. I rocked up to the information counter and asked if I could take Boris on the train to Cork. "No problem", was the reply.
Getting from Limerick to Cork involves changing trains at Limerick Junction which is a good 20-odd kms east of Limerick. I asked the guard what to do with the bike and he told me that there are bike hooks in the front carriage. Cool.
Limerick Junction is in the middle of nowhere with one long island platform. The Cork train turned out to be a big train from Dublin. I had no idea where to put Boris, so I got him and the panniers on and went looking for somewhere to park him. I was down the other end of the carriage when I heard a terse, strong female voice say, "Whose bicycle is this?" It was the conductor and she was not pleased. I told her that I was looking for bike hooks or whatever and she said, "What makes you think you can bring a bicycle on a passenger train?" It was about to get ugly. I was cold and wet and in no mood to be pissed about when I had asked about Boris at Limerick. I was just about to dig my heels in when she said, "I'm sorry. I'm being cranky. You weren't to know and they wouldn't know at Limerick because they just deal with commuter trains. I'll find a place for your bike in the next carriage." She went and found a place where there's a facility for strapping in prams and wheelchairs; I wheeled Boris through the carriage and she brought the panniers. She apologised again and offered to make it up with a cuppa. We departed friends. In fact we chatted outside the station in Cork for a bit.
By the way, she saw me writing in my journal on the train. "Are you writing about me?" she asked. I told her that I record everything - fairly.
Cork's cool. I've been crashing with my mates Dara and Elia. Since being back here, I've caught the tail end of the film festival and generally mooched around town. On of the high points has been an audience with Brian O'Donnell, the proprietor of the legendary Hi B bar.
Boris, by the way is on his way back to Oz by post, so I'll bussing it from here on.
I'm generally mooching around Cork. Yesterday I checked out Cobh and tomorrow after visiting the Beamish brewery, I'll head down to Crosshaven for a couple of days and on Saturday drop in on my friend Jane in Wexford on the way to Dublin. From there, I'll head to Belfast and may be even catch the bus to Derry and Giant's Causeway. We'll see.
Meanwhile, here's piccies.
In case the lawn ever needs doing at the end of the pier in Galway.
Boats, Galway docks
If Furry Freak Brothers fans get the munchies, they know where to go in Galway.
Let's hope they don't get mad.
Eglington Canal, Galway
Murphy's Bar, my preferred Galwegian watering hole.
They lets fools post pictures of themselves at the museum.
The full Irish, Gort Co Galway.
Bicycles as art. Tulla Co Clare
Sixmilebridge Co Clare
Boris gets a seat on the train.
Inside the Hi B, the thinking Corkonians watering hole.
Hi B landlord Brian with Emma
Streets are narrow in Cork. Bus and van stand-off, Blackrock Co Cork
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