Ireland, Part 5; Cahir Castle, Mitchelstown Cave & Rock of Cashel
Our plan for the west coast of Ireland was to spend the days traveling around the small towns and sites near our house, returning by evening for dinner. Most of the sites and points of interest on the west coast shut down by 5 p.m., so it was easy to simply get up early, drive to a particular area, then head back home for dinner.
On this particular day, we were starting in Cahir so we could see Cahir Castle. It is said to be one of the largest castles in Ireland, sited on an island in the river Suir. It was built from 1142, so it is an old, old castle. I am so used to American historical sites which typically date no sooner than 1600, but here in Ireland there are places dating back to a time before the common era—that is so fascinating. While sitting in a café next to the river Suir, an Irish family seated nearby struck up a conversation with us and recommended that we also visit the Mitchelstown Cave which was on our way to Cashel, the other place we planned to visit that day.
Cahir Castle was an interesting site. We were there about two weeks before the official tourist season began so there was some construction going on. It did not bother us at all, however, the attendant at Cahir apologized for the inconvenience and waved us in free of charge. Castles are always portrayed as these romantic places where pretty princesses marry handsome princes. This is not true at all. Castles are harsh, horrible environments. The King and his family generally shared these spaces with throngs of soldiers and housekeepers which I can only imagine were lacking in hygiene. Give me the small cottage in the country any day… castles were fun to visit, but I did not see anything which would encourage me to desire life at Court in medieval times.
We hit the road to Mitchelstown Cave. The other interesting thing I noticed between attractions in America compared to attractions in Ireland is how these places are advertised. In America the entrances are usually gaudy lights, giant signs, ticket booths. In Ireland, many times we would arrive at our destination and have to search for the entrance to places. Cahir Castle and Mitchelstown Cave were perfect examples of this. When we pulled up to the place that modestly said, “Mitchelstown Cave,” all we saw was a house; a house where a family was presently living. We eventually found a little window on the side of the house which was the ticket booth. We pressed the button and from within the house came a little old lady into the ticket booth area and took our euro for the price of admission. We walked the path to the area where we were told to wait. I love traveling to places in the off-season. I like being the only people on a tour or one of only a handful of tourists. We paid the price a little on this trip as the weather was still cold and rainy, more so than usual for Ireland –if that is possible.
When we road trip, we also have a habit of pulling off when we see something interesting and adjusting our plans accordingly. Today, we took a lot of detours, so were cold and looking very tired by the time we arrived at Mitchelstown Cave. We sat under this open pavilion in the cold and rain waiting for our tour guide. After a while, Jamie got this big grin on his face as he said, “And here’s our tour guide.” I looked up to see this beautiful supermodel; a twenty-something blonde beauty with a soft braid across the top of her head and the rest of her hair flowing over her shoulders; she had dimples when she smiled and bright blue eyes. She was wearing a white quilted jacket cinched in the middle, which further highlighted how thin she was. She greeted us with the most beautiful Irish accent and smile… we were all hooked. Ethan was about to run to her and hold her hand. He was her sidekick the entire tour.
Another couple with children showed up, so the tour group was nice and small. We all ventured down into the cave. We’ve been in caves in the states and Hato Caves in Curacao. These caves were the Taj Mahal of caves. Concerts are hosted in these caves because the acoustics are so exquisite. Apparently, in 1833, a man was working on this property and discovered the cave by accident when he dropped a crow bar into a crevice. When he climbed down to retrieve it, he discovered these amazing caverns. The caves remain privately owned to this day. The little house we encountered when we arrived on the property is the fifth or sixth generation of the family who owned the property in 1833.
We had a great tour, and that evening we had a lot of fun discussing the beauty of our tour guide. She was not only beautiful, but she was smart. She knew so much about the caves. I asked her if she was a geologist or studying science, and she explained how she had no experience when she interviewed for the job, but got it anyway! Yes, I’m so surprised. This woman was the perfect Irish ambassador; modest, beautiful and friendly. I regret not getting a picture of her, but honestly I did not know how to tactfully ask if she would take a picture with us… When we got back to the house, Jamie and I were telling the story of the tour guide, and we laughed when Jamie explained how he introduced Ethan and I as his sister and “her” kid…
By the time we rolled into Cashel to see St. Patrick’s Rock, the famine wall and Hore Abbey, we were tired and places were already beginning to close. We missed getting into St. Patrick’s Rock, however, we were able to still take pictures. We almost missed Hore Abbey but Ethan spotted a little black gate with a path. The wind was whipping, rain was coming down and we were tired; but we were also in Ireland, so we were going to suck it up. I followed Ethan over to the gate and just over the hill were the ruins of Hore Abbey. Seeing them in the mist, off in the distance on this cold, windy day gave them an aura of mystery; as if any of these sites needed more mystery. Everything in Ireland seemed magical to us. It is all so unpretentious and sturdy; practical. We found a pub on the main street in Cashel where we decided to rest and eat before we headed back to our house in Ennis. The bartender asked us about our day and we began a nice conversation. I asked him if he could point us in the direction of the “famine wall” so we could see it before we left town. He smirked, pointed out the windows in front of the pub, and said, “there it is.” We were so cold and tired after a long day, we all laughed and ordered up some drinks and food.
