Carryin' on in Kerry

It's a hard life living in London. I mean, on one hand, you've got a world class city, with culture, pubs and all that stuff on your doorstep. Then, on the other, Europe beckons with so many destinations to explore that are just a hop, skip and a jump away on Europe's budget airlines.

This time - it was time to check out Ireland, beyond the tourist-standard destinations of Dublin and Cork.



My plan was pretty simple really. I had kept hearing that the true beauty of Ireland was to be found in the countryside, and especially on the west coast - on the Dingle and Kerry Peninsulas.




So, I booked a cheap flight into Kerry, and then hired the smallest car the rental agency had - with winding country lanes serving as the major thoroughfares, even a sub-compact would feel quite big, and sharing the road with each oncoming car an adrenaline-pumping adventure.


View Irish road trip in a larger map

I got in late at night, and had a seriously tasty bowl of seafood chowder and (of course) a Guinness at a gastropub in Kenmare - a pretty little town that serves as the gateway to the Ring of Kerry, a 100 mile loop that covers much of the prettiest coast and country that Ireland has to offer.

The next day, it was a great day for driving. True, the weather was standard Irish-grey and drizzly, but from the outset, the winding lanes took me through funnily-named villages like Sneem...



... up to 1000+ year old rock forts in the hills, with a bonus of listening to the lilting accent of a gregarious shepherd whilst his amazingly well-trained sheepdog kept a watchful eye on the sheep...



...to coastlines of all types and sizes, with lonely farms perched on a rocky slope overlooking the West Atlantic.



Just gorgeous.

I then drove into Dingle, a chuckle-inducing town on the peninsula of the same name. It took the sheer cuteness of Kenmare, and raised it another notch, as it featured a working harbor and pub-packed high street, nestled at the base of tall mountains(for relatively flat Ireland at least).



I stayed in a lovely clean hostel right off the main street, then just wandered around before ending up (where else?) in a pub for the evening.

The next morning, it was, wonder of wonders, sunny and clear! Unbelievable.

Even I know that you have to take advantage of this as soon as possible, so I wandered around the town in the early morning light...





...then, with a picnic lunch, I drove up the steep, steep, steep road to Conor's Pass, with 360 degree views all over the landscape.



I ended up hiking away from the rest stop until I was way, way up - and precariously-perched on a cliff trying to get a picture with both pond and ocean:



Then, it was time to go down, down, down the other side of the pass, perched on a road that would make any Health & Safety officer or halfway-sane civil engineer throw his hands up in despair. Think steep and narrow - so narrow in fact, that on blind turns it was often a mere 1.25 lanes wide, with oh-so-careful cooperation required by all the drivers. Fun stuff.

The north side of the penibsula just kept getting prettier - with villages, abandoned shepherd's huts overlooking the ocean, and of course, meadows and meadows worth of sheep...



Just a great day all around, and I was only halfway done - as I then took the road to Slea Head, which took me to yet more forts, as well as a gorgeous sandy beach that was the perfect place for lunch.



Back in town, it was a few pubs for the rugby (England losing a close one to France) and some traditional Irish folk music... just a good night all around.

My last day was another early start. The plan was to hike to the top of Mt. Conor, but as it was cloud-covered, I went to my plan B, which was... um... to drive and see what happened.

Turns out that stopping at Inch and its beach had some great reflections...





... before I headed to the other major town of the area - Killarney. It's a tourist mecca but worth visiting nonetheless, and I even got a hike in around the local national park.



The rest of the day was pretty chilled out wandering around town, just in time for Ireland to send me on my way back to the airport with a massive rain storm, reminding me of how lucky I was - great weekend, fantastic views, with tasty pints to end each evening.

When Public Transport in London goes bad...

Ah – let me indulge in a little rant/whinge about TFL… London's normally really good public transportation agency.

Now, normally, I’m a positive guy and a huge fan of public transit in the UK, which is generally reliable and a good way to get around town.

But last night, through a combination of poor signage, service closures, and a mistake by me, I was in for a rather longer journey than I had planned.

The story starts with my catching a bus in from Luton Airport to London. I lucked out and even one 30 minutes early, which foolishly let me think “Sweet! I’ll be back just in time for the last tube train around 12:15 – home by 12:30.”

Foolish, foolish Mike.

Step 1: 11:45pm - Got off at Baker Street tube.
Step 2: 12:00am – Switched trains at Edgware Road to catch the train labeled “District Line to Wimbledon” – my perfect train.
Step 3: 12:10am – Find out that there were no more District trains; have to instead go to Paddington. Irony is that my last train would have taken me 80% of the way.
Step 4: 12:30am – Arrive at Paddington, and after a long walk across the deserted station, find out that the last train has just left.
Step 5: 12:40am – Outside the station, found a #36 bus seemingly labeled “Victoria Station”. Quickly board, thinking a quick transfer at Victoria would be perfect.
Step 6: 1:00am – Getting more and more confused where the bus was heading – finally learned it was going in exactly the wrong direction.
Step 7: 1:30am – After waiting in the slightly dodgy Kilburn, catch a #6 to Marble Arch/Hyde Park.
Step 8: 2:00am – An accident stopped traffic, but finally take the N73 to Putney Bridge (and very close to my house)
Step 9: 2:30am – Our bus stops suddenly ends at Victoria, where (my bad) I find out that I misread the schedule, and that I wanted the N74.
Step 10: 2:45am – Finally get the N11 to Fulham.
Step 11: 2:50am – A final taxi ride to my flat.

Let’s review:

Kerry, Ireland to Luton Airport, London: 450 miles by plane – 1 hour.
Luton to Baker Street: 32 miles by bus – 1 hour.
Baker Street to my house: 5 miles – 3 @#$ hours!!!

There. I feel much better. :)

Bruges, baby, Bruges...

What better way to start a blog post about Bruges, Brussels and Belgium than a Cookie Monster-style musical homage to the letter B?

"B is for Brussels, and a statue going pee,
B is Bruges, too many beers to drink.
B is for Belgium, and chocolate - oops, that starts with C..."


Not especially brilliant, but it does a pretty good job summing about an amazing city.

I took a chance when I made plans to visit, way back in October. The prospect of just jumping on a train at King's Cross/St. Pancras in London, and 2.5 hours later, stepping off in Belgium just sounded perfect. To be fair, I had hoped against the odds that I would have lucked out with some sun, but was more than happy to end up with mostly overcast skies. Heavy rain would have been a bummer, AND encouraged me to stay inside drinking more beer.

My first night was pretty relaxed... the continuing investigation of a train accident a few weeks back meant the fast Eurostar service was a bit slower, but I rolled into Bruges about 9:00. Dropped my stuff off and it was time to go exploring, when I ended up at a cool little bistro – some hearty Belgian meat and gravy, plus some raspberry lambic beers, and it was a slow stroll back to the hostel. I stopped and took a moment to admire the main market square at night:


The next day, I popped up ready to explore. The weather wasn’t quite the bright sunny day I had hoped for – but living in the UK has taught me to appreciate any non-rainy day, so grey clouds or no, I headed out.

First stop was the market square – miraculously free of tourists, who were all no doubt shaking off the previous night’s beers.

Then, it was pastries and a cappuccino at a posh classical café, and refueled, I hit the streets where I immediately came across the first of many, many bike racks (the Belgians do love their cycles!):


…and a store that would have made my urban chicken-raising friends, Dave and Drea, feel right at home.



Bruges is often called the Venice of the North, and is chock full of charming canals and winding lanes.



And, given its proximity to the North Sea’s winds, it also has its share of old windmills – taken advantage of all that free effort:



Once I started back in town, it was all back alleys to the tourist square, where I was very disheartened to see that in the land of some of the world’s finest beers… there’s a Budweiser sign.



I refueled with a truly huge cup (bucket!) of hot chocolate – made by adding your own dark chocolate to melt in the boiling milk – then wandered around...



...before heading to explore the Beguinage. Fascinating place, and a perfectly still oasis in the city, it has been the home of an order of nuns since 1245 – basically a refuge where the single women whose husbands had died in the constant fighting during the Middle Ages could find comfort and a safe place to live. The nice bonus was seeing a family of black/white cats who call this their home, matching perfectly the black/white houses.



My last evening wasn’t too crazy – I started off with some original Belgian fries and peppersauce, then checked out the 't Brugs Beertje – a bar with literally 300 Belgian beers. Awesome. Simply awesome.



I kept walking, including a discovered ancient church in the basement of the Crowne Plaza, and then ended up at a super cool bar playing the best of American blues. Packed place, but I made a friend when I gave an older lady and her husband my table. Then, it was another walk along the river and windmills, this time by a full moon:


… before a late lasagna dinner at a local guesthouse and then off to bed.

Sunday was a much more unlucky day rain-wise – I ended up wandering around Brussels blessing my super-strength REI umbrella, as it stood up to even the fiercest gusts.

Brussels gets a bad rap – often called dull or grey by the casual visitor. To be fair, it’s not a must-see, but I had a great time wandering around the main market square, and then over to the covered shopping arcades.





As part of the surprise, Bruges tends to hide its charms – and you have to go exploring to find them. Whether it’s the famous Mannekenpis statue, or some funny urban art, you’re never sure exactly what you’ll see next:





Finally though – I had to call it a day… after some seriously tasty pizza, I was walking back up a veritable wind funnel when finally, my indomitable umbrella – veteran of multiple London winters - gave up the ghost and collapsed, showering me with water.

“Funk this,” I thought, and immediately headed for the train station for a quick train back to London. Great weekend though – beer, chocolate and lots of sights – can’t wait to go back!

Cheers,
Mike

Happy Days in Heidelberg

This could set a record for overdue posts on this blog - but I'm finally getting caught up and wanted to add a blurb about a great weekend I had in late January in Heidelberg.

Where's Heidelberg, I hear you ask? It's a really cool small city south of Frankfurt in the SW of Germany, renowned for its ancient university. And, by a quirk of fate, this focus on education, instead of industry, helped save the city in WW2 - when it was decided that there was nothing war-related to bomb.

The result is an amazingly well-preserved old quarter, with winding cobblestoned lanes and the charming ruins of the weathered Schloss (Castle) overlooking the city.



I had the luck to spend a summer here back in '98, staying with my Aunt Claudia and Uncle Don, plus my cousins Matt, Kirsten and Katie. It was an absolutely fantastic experience, and to get the chance to come back again was a great opportunity to wander down memory lane.

Aunt Claudia picked me up at Baden-Baden airport... a side effect of the Cold War ending was the availability of old airbases for civilian uses, so RyanAir picked up this one for a song.

My first night back was spent catching up with everyone. I was more than a little embarrassed to have been over in Europe for going on three years without a visit, but they were good and didn't heckle me too badly. Matt also brought his wife Heidi and little baby Hannah...





Saturday was my chance to wander the city, and I started with the Castle (which for some reason I never went to last time... weird), then back down to the city. It's mostly a shell, but with phenomenal views and really good coffee in a crypt.




Crossed the river and the famous old bridge, which included a rather odd sculpture:



...and wandered past the park I spent many a summer night throwing the frisbee around, drinking beer, while taking in the Castle.



Then it was nearly time to meet everyone for dinner at a restaurant that served literally 99 types of schnitzel. Good beer, good food, and great company - I decided discretion was the better part of valor, and avoided the more interesting combinations of bananas, chocolate, and fried pork. My stomach appreciated it.



Post dinner chatting was fun - but then Hannah found dad Matt a cozy place to nap:



Sunday was a nice lazy day. We said good-bye to Matt and Heidi, who had a 3 hour drive north...




After, I got to hang out with Aunt Claudia and we checked out the army base, which was much, much, MUCH more security conscious this time around (post 9/11).

Then, alas, it was time to head home... and a firm resolution that I won't be so woefully bad at coming to visit next time 'round!