Other than being the second biggest city in Ireland, there is really nothing special about Cork. In the morning, however, Kendall decided she wanted to spend another day there (I suspect she needed to buy a third piece of luggage to fill with reptile food). I, however, had a much more important agenda – get to Dingle Town! So this morning I parted from Kendall and took a local bus to the edge of the city.
Now there are two ways to get from Cork to Dingle. The first way is a straight shot on a major highway (the N-22) through the town of Killarney. The second way meanders along the coast along a smaller road (the N-71) through the towns of Bandon and Bantry and over a dramatic section of mountains. The latter road, although far more scenic, is nearly twice as long as the former. Since I was already weary from the previous day’s travel, I decided to take the shorter route. Therefore, when I got on the bus, I told the bus driver to drop me off as far along the N-22 as possible. So it was a bit of a surprise to me when I got off the bus (upon the driver’s instruction) just outside of Cork on….the N-71.
Rather than trying to re-route, I gave myself a little pep talk and decided to go with this little twist of fate. Who knows where it might take me? So I went into a nearby grocery store, packed a picnic lunch, and started walking along the highway. Immediately after holding up my “Dingle Town, Please” sign, two cars stopped to tell me I was going the wrong way. “I know, “ I said, trying to sound confident. “I’m taking the scenic route.” In one of the cars was a couple that offered to take me about 14 miles up the road to Innishannon.
Now hitchhiking is somewhat of a crap shoot. Sometimes you immediately get rides taking you 50 miles or more; sometimes you wait (or walk) for hours simply to get a ride to the next town 5 miles away. I’ve been reminded a lot the past couple of days of a scene from Steve Martin’s movie, “The Jerk”. In the scene, Steve Martin’s character is attempting to hitch hike from the front of his house when a large diesel truck stops for him.
Steve: “Gee mister, thanks for the ride! How far you goin’?”
Truck Driver: “Just to the end of this fence.”
Steve: “That would be super!”
So Steve Martin hops in the truck, and before he can finish thanking the driver, the driver drops him off 20 feet from where he picked him up (and drives away).
But you don’t turn down a ride, no matter how short it is, because you never know how much longer you’ll wait. And also, every ride is a unique experience, giving you the chance to get to know somebody new and/or hear another story– often it’s interesting, sometimes it’s boring, and only occasionally are you fending off a knife attack. My point is that it’s all part of the adventure.
So I happily accepted a ride from the couple going to Innishannon – Mike & Katrina were there names. As it turns out, Mike was driving Katrina to pick up her car (from a wedding they had attended the previous night), and Katrina was driving another 30-40 miles down the highway after that. After getting to know them for about 20 minutes, I had built up enough trust points that Katrina offered to drive me the extra distance on her own..
Along the way, I learned about her home town of Leap (pronounced “Lep”), so-named because a man being chased on horseback successfully leaped across a gully there to escape. We listened to Irish music the entire ride, and she taught me a little bit of the Gaelic language (which she speaks fluently). Katrina dropped me off in the village of Skibereen and instructed me to take a smaller country road towards Bantry.
Cars were few and far between at this point, but luckily the rain was kept at bay for most of the afternoon. The cows, however, have begun to take a particular interest in me. They all seem to stare at me menacingly, mooing angrily, and scratching the ground with their hooves (as if about to charge). It's kinda spooky - I'm glad that most farms here are fenced.
Although I hiked along the road for about 5 miles before finally getting another ride, this part of my journey was the most beautiful and memorable to date. I really feel like a traveler now!
Just as I started thinking I might have to hike another 12 miles to Bantry (and spend the night there), a guy in his mid-20’s named Daniel offered to take me to Baile Bhurne (pronounced “BAL-eh-FOR-nee”), which he said was the fastest way to Dingle. Along the way we stopped at various historical markers, including a plaque commemorating a successful ambush of the British “Black & Tans” by the Irish in 1920. When we eventually got to Baile Bhurne, I noticed a sign in the other direction that read, “Cork 20 km”. Another sign showed that I was also now on the N-22. That’s right – in the past 7 hours, I’d essentially gone in a big circle.
But Daniel was correct – this was, in fact, the quickest way to Dingle. I soon caught a ride to Killarney (from a man named Tony Power), and within 15 minutes of being dropped off there I experienced my biggest (and funniest) success of the day.
Enter the Sullivan family. There were five of them in all – a married couple, Noel & Linda, and their three small children: Noella, Ben, & Aaron. Despite the fact that they had a very small 4-door, they squeezed me in the back seat with Ben & Aaron, and Noella sat on her mother’s lap in the front. Nobody wore seatbelts. Linda offered me a smoke (which I declined) and then a beer (which I gladly accepted). Ben, who was the oldest child at the age of 7, kept playing with his knife in the backseat (and had enough cuts on his hands to show this was a common routine). Linda handed me a second beer.
As his brother tried to cut off his hair, Aaron proudly showed me his collection of English Premier League cards. Ben grinned widely and told me how he was gonna start smoking as soon as he was old enough. Everyone seemed to think this was a fine idea. When we stopped briefly, I kicked the soccer ball around with the kids. Then the boys tried to hit some cows with rocks. It was absolutely hilarious. And they drove me over 70 km, right up to the front door of my hostel.
Unfortunately the Grapevine Hostel where I wanted to stay was completely booked for the night, so I found a much bleaker, unfriendly place on the other side of town. There were only two other people staying there - Jana from Germany and Sudurika from Montreal. They had also been denied rooms at the Grapevine. We all chatted for awhile before I fell asleep.
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