Dungarvan Swill
Trip Start
May 24, 2005
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3
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Trip End
Ongoing
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Dungarvan,
Ireland
Thursday, May 26, 2005
We have set foot on the point on the map where we hastily stuck our fingers whilst flicking guiltily through a guide-book in Trinity College gift shop. We had been loitering around the camping guides a bit too long and were attracting `so, would you like to BUY something?` looks so turned quickly to the map page, closed our eyes and poked. "Oooh. This place has a campsite. It's on the coast. Says it's a lovely wee town. That'll do."
Dungarvan. You can't fault the town: colourful buildings lining the port; a fine commercial art gallery showing, of all traditional Irish art forms, a batik exhibition; a health food shop selling 2 Euro packets of cranberries; a Dunnes Stores. And a bus stop for those who have seen all this and are heading out...
The 4* campsite we picked (the tourist office lady was not allowed to recommend any as she had to "remain neutral when giving advice on accommodations") was situated an Irish 3 miles from the centre of Dungarvan. Eoghan went on strike a couple of times, convinced that we were circuiting the target in ever increasing circles.
By the time we found the place, it was drizzling hard. The beach rose out of the mist beyond the reception hut. We hunkered-down on damp tufts of grass, waiting for the 'four-star' service to come back from her tea break and open up the reception shutters. A passing camper laughed and said sympathetically: "To be sure, when we were looking for her, she said she'd be back in five minutes as well.
So the jellyfish repellent was useful after all
You'll be waiting a while." We were still stamping the cold out of our feet when the girl drove her car up to the hut. "So, you'll be wanting a pitch with a view of the sea. Well, we don't do them but if you would care to find a spot by the cess pits for the camper vans, that would be alright I suppose - for one night. That'll be 16 Euro. You'll be wanting a shower too of-course. Well, that'll be one Euro extra per person per shower."
After rigging, re-rigging and finally re-locating the tent (next to a couple of German bikers) we managed to whip up some gruel and consume a fridge's worth of out-of-date yoghurts and waxy fruit courtesy of the 'olde camp shoppe' (the out of date items were placed in a cardboard box, marked 'reduced').
But the delights of the Countryside were to come on the morrow and, trying to ignore the gale force winds and lashing rain, we shivered ourselves into a fitful sleep to dream of long stretches of beach and blustery hill walks...
"Rambling? No no-one does rambling in these parts" said the cheerful man at the roadside cafe as he pushed out a piping-hot sausage roll and burning cup of tea. But we walked on. and, without the aid of a map or local guide, we found a stream that took us along a lovely thirty metre strip of meadow full of wild flowers before rejoining the A-Road from Dublin.
But it was the adventurous route back along the coast that proved our theory of surprises to hold strong. We saw a dead jellyfish, what might have been a fossil, several lost golf balls, several golfers looking for their golf balls, a rusting tanker and....a whole beach of sewage ( well, it smelt like it and the flies...the flies...) Marrrrrvelous!
Never thought we would be glad to be back at Casey's four star (for WHAT?) and hear the dulcet tones of the receptionist: "So you'll be wanting another shower will you?"
The following morning as we traipsed the 3 miles back to town, the lovely Laurence (a kite surfer from the environs) drove up behind us, took pity and deposited our sodden weary bodies by the bus stop.
Off to Cork...
