Saturday, August 16, 2008

Day 19





Day19: This was our last day in the cottage but we thought we’d try to go pony trekking if the weather held. We woke a bit early, drove over to a sign pointing uphill that said Dunbeacon Equestrian Center, and took the small road back into the valley forever. It was beautiful, but we were disappointed to not find anything.

We headed into Bantry with a flyer that promised pony trekking that I had picked up in town a few days back. We drove past the street we were looking for and looped back. Once on the right road we hit roadwork and a dead end. We looped all the way around the valley, crossed a lovely little lake, [Lough Bonine”] and wound up through the thickets onto tinier and tinier roads. Finally we came across a man with very few teeth leading two mountain goats directly towards us. Turns out he’s the proprietor of the trekking and small animal “farm” and he was disappointed we didn’t have reservations.

We were disappointed, too, when we pulled up the road to the “farm”. The horses looked miserable in small, dirty concrete stables, and the assorted other animals in their pens looked miserable, too. The Irish wolfhound laying in the driveway had a scruffy, matted coat and barely lifted his head when we arrived. A small beagle sat forlornly in the window of the glass house bench and stared unblinkingly at the ground. Six or seven other large dogs were barking from their pen behind stall # 7. Two goats peered around the corner of stall #1 and bleated. I just wanted to get the hell out of there, and made it clear that we would not be TOO put out if they couldn’t work us in.

Saved by a car pulling up that held people with reservations, we bowed out and scooted back down the hill. What a bitter disappointment to go driving all over hell and back and then not go trekking, but what an even more deplorable situation for those animals! I felt depressed just being there.

We drove back into Bantry and decided to get out and explore the boot sale in progress. Fridays are evidently market days in most towns, and a boot sale is exactly like our garage sales, except those selling items stuff everything into their car’s “boot” (that’s what they call the trunk) and bring it to the town square to hawk. They can be quite the treasure hunts, and there are also stands where local artisans sell woodworking, glass, jewelry, plants, herbs, cheeses, honey, cured meats, and the like. What fun. Clare picked up some frosted glass pebbles, and Colin picked up some books and a clock shaped like a life preserver that says “Welcome Aboard”. Tom raided the funny Frenchman’s stall for marinated artichoke hearts and vegetarian dolmades.

We lunched at the Atlanta Café again (this time it was French onion soup and sandwiches) and wandered back to our car. We tried to find the local strand near our cottage one more time, but gave up on a rickety road that led to nowhere. It seems to be a running theme this trip.

Time to pack up, eat meatball sandwiches, and try to finish all the food in the fridge before we have to head out tomorrow morning.


téigh in éag (means: to end!)

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