Let the journey BEGIN! Part 3

Just want to toss in a bit of an apology about the mishmash of chronological order. It's just as difficult to compose as to read! I would stick them all on the same post but would probably keep losing the whole stack. So. Am currently trying to get over Miss 3 insulting me, lol, who said very determinedly she did not want me to talk to her. She also recently said she didn't want me to read her the story and didn't want me to sit with her. Am working out I am not the favourite at the moment.. Well!

And good news for today! (For the above lines were written last night and just so happens Miss 3 was quite cheerful and affectionate all afternoon today. *'Thank Goodness' sigh*) I can now legally work in Ireland, as I have a spankin new immigration identity card with photo that I wish I'd smiled for!

Thursday, 22nd January: Portmagee - Limerick

After a spontaneously social night in the small habitats of rough western Ireland, We were heading central, to the city of Limerick, and one of our heaviest castle legs of the trip. x)

At one small town we stopped to locate a castle very confidently mentioned in Grandad's guide (Pic of us asking directions of a friendly old local with his bag of market-bought irish potatoes) to find the shops had completely built up and around it for years and years. You could just glimpse a corner of it if you were lucky enough to be taken on a private tour up to the woolen shop's rooftops to see it. It might have been in Killorglin, because I found the statue of King Puck surveying the town majestically, soon after (Picture).

Next up was a site of a medieval monastery, which neighboured a few tractors on their winter break and a vurry slushy mud path entrance.

It was encumbered by a beautiful stone wall that, once again, was thoroughly billy-goated. Yes billy-goat is now a verb. We also found a random bottle of holy water from France of all places, perching at the foot of one of the graves. Tempting to keepsake it, but the Irish blood in me piped up in superstition. Okaay.

The en route town of Tralee is home to Ireland's version of Miss Universe, known as the Rose of Tralee. I bought my own rose there in the form of much anticipated Celtic Thunder CD, which was just destined to be the next new thing in our strictly irish music in-car audio selection.

On way to the next big castle sighting, we were refused easy road passage by a stubborn and very large bale of hay. Nothing like multi-use roads..

Carrigafoyle Castle; or what I would like to affectionately call it, The Giant's Lunch. That is, until giant realised mid-mouthful that stones are not the most co-operative tucker to the digestion system, and promptly left it at that.

A heavy drizzle was very happy to welcome us during our ye old-appreciation photography session, so I took cover in the little stone den opposite the mangled castle. Morning tea was waiting back in the car - along with a 'where did you end up, Jennifer?' - in the very patriotic form of TimTams and vegemite on bikkies.

Video footage: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YZUjSe6zC2c&feature=channel_page

A few castles and a-bull-that-refused-to-be-provoked later, we were in the town of Adare, thought by common belief to be the prettiest village in all of Ireland. It's a bit hard to judge when one visits in winter while the vegetation is on nudist camp, but it had a very quaint pleasant air about it. And thatched cottages!

Heeh, colour accent montage of Grandad and other majestic olds below.