This seems like obvious advice. Ireland is known as a damp, rainy place. In fact, that’s why Ireland is associated with the color green: an abundant amount of precipitation has led to an abundant amount of plant-life, leading to more shades of green covering the Irish landscape than anywhere else in the world (probably).
When we first arrived, one of our guides broke the news to us immediately. “It only rains here twice per week… once for 3 days and once for 4.” In other words, we should keep our expectations low on the weather outlook. Got it. Except a friend of mine was in Ireland the week before and swore the skies were clear during her entire visit. Cue my incessant optimism.
While in Killarney, Ireland, one of our tours took us through the spectacular Killarney National Park. Our adventure included a “pony and trap tour” through the Gap of Dunloe, followed by a boat ride on the lakes of the national park. The pony and trap tour was absolutely lovely (although we have to admit we purposely snagged a couple that we felt we could carry on an enjoyable conversation with, which made the ride that much more fun).
For miles, we rode through lush green valleys, gurgling brooks, and trotted over arched-cobblestone bridges. We might have assumed we were in an Irish countryside oasis, untouched by time — apart from the brief moment our guide’s “Party Rock Anthem” ringtone echoed through the hillside. Everyday I’m shufflin’…
After exiting our carriage, we did notice some clouds thickening around us. But quite honestly, there were always clouds. In my mind, they would not have put us on the next leg of our tour if rain was expected. So we were led to a line of John boats. When I say John boats, I’m referring to boats approximately 15 feet long, have a 10-horse power outboard engine, and seat 8-ish people comfortably. Maybe something akin to these utility boats, featured on www.waterwitch.com. Along with bench seats, we were also outfitted with several large tarps. In my optimism, I observed aloud, “I guess these are for the splash from the wake of the boat.”
All 7 of the other passengers, including our friendly helmsman, turned to look at me as if I had three heads. I’ve grown accustomed to this look, with my accent and all. My cynical other half was the first to reply back.
“Sweetie, that’s rain ahead. It is definitely going to pour on us while we’re out here. The tarps are our ponchos.”
“No, it’s not. This is going to be a lovely, dry ride through the rest of the park. The only drops we’re going to feel will be from the splashing of our boat on the lake.”
Now let me back up here. When Chris and I disagree, it’s for one of two reasons. 1.) We do not agree, or more frequently, 2.) we are determined to prove the other wrong. This was the latter.
After we continued on for a second, and a few more of our fellow passengers joined a side, we decided to make a wager of it. “I will bet you one shot of Jameson that it’s not going to rain on us.” I offered as our boat backed off the dock. I could see the cloud cover getting denser just in front of us. Chris took this wager triumphantly. “One shot of Jameson. If it rains, you take a shot of Jameson. Done.” We even shook on it. I sat, resolute, as the rest of the boat smiled and shook their heads at the wife destined to sample a little whiskey that night.
Within moments, the mist began. “Does this count?” my bench neighbor inquired. It didn’t matter. A few minutes later, it was undeniably raining, with drops falling in what felt like all directions. By the time we made it to the end of our water-bound journey, the John boat passengers were no longer visible. Just a set of tarps, layered on top of each other, with us sheltering ourselves underneath. I have no idea what that portion of Killarney National Park looks like. To me, it looks like a blue tarp with rain streaming in.
Now the town of Killarney can best be described as a college-town, without the actual college. The streets are lined with more pubs than restaurants, and almost every pub has live music nightly. If you have never experienced an Irish pub with live Irish music, it is everything you imagine. Dark without being sketchy, draught beer without smelling like exploded kegs, warm without feeling grimey, crowds without feeling crowded, booths that don’t feel desecrated, and sing-along music that feels more “Sweet Caroline” than “Call Me, Maybe”.
We opted for one of the many pub/restaurant combinations. And as promised, we started by ordering a shot of Jameson for me. I assumed it would be brought in a normal-sized shot glass – like a shot of tequila. What they brought was not a shot. It was a glass. Like I’d ordered a rum and coke –hold the coke, replace the rum with whiskey. Bartenders will probably argue this is actually considered a shot. Tomato, tomahto.
After some squirming, I took a quick swig. I might as well have taken a swig of lighter fluid. I know I have friends who adore Jameson. I am not that person. No matter how hard I tried, I could take no more than a swallow or two. After laughing at my struggle, Chris finally conceded and was satisfied with my loss. I chased the horrible taste out of my mouth with a traditional Irish Snakebite (Guinness + cider). After dinner, we happily retreated back to our lovely hotel room at the Killarney Park Hotel to prepare for an early morning wake-up call to tour the Ring of Kerry.
We managed to snag a room with a beautiful bay window at the Killarney Park Hotel.
And here is where karma really kicked in: hangover. Nausea, headache, gagging, knocking on death’s door hangover. When Chris finally managed to get me out of bed, I made it no further than the bathroom before collapsing. For someone who drank less than a shot and a beer, I felt like I’d just awoken from a losing battle with an entire bottle of hooch. Even with the promise of seeing the Cliffs of Moher, Chris could not force me to stand up, nevermind get dressed and board a tour bus to ride through rolling, meandering hillside. Let me be clear: I am a trooper. You tell me we’re going on a tour of a tar factory, and I will grin ear-to-ear with a nose plug in tow. But I could not “troop” today. Chris didn’t even argue as he called to cancel our tour reservation. We ended up getting out of the room sometime after lunch, and I managed to eat a few bites of fish and chips before feeling like a human again.
Cliffs of Moher, according to www.cliffsofmoher.ie.
As it turned out, others who did manage to make the tour said it was a bit disappointing. This time, the rain was not the culprit. Rather, an abnormally dense fog and brutal wind made it impossible to see, and next to impossible to not be blown off the cliffs.
The wonderful town of Killarney, Ireland, pictured above, with Killarney National Park in the background.
With Killarney’s college-town feel and the surrounding national park, we would make a trip back in a heartbeat. Not only did we not get to see the breath-taking Ring of Kerry on our first visit, we also would have enjoyed more time visiting some of the pubs and chatting with some of the best conversationalists in the world: the Irish. We would even keep the same itinerary, with one obvious change: bet on the rain.
A Belle Abroad 