Disclaimer: Beware, in the expected-from-Emily style I tell this story of motion sickness in a very forward manner. All events explained are true and were as bad as they sound.
I write this as I depart for Dingle on yet another Paddywagon Tour. As many people are traveling this weekend, I decided to book a tour for just me to this scenic area and town. As things worked out, my German roommate, Stefanie, and her boyfriend who is visiting also booked this trip - which we found out when verbally exchanging weekend plans!! So, I walked to the bus with them and off the three of us go...
I should also note, it is the same bus driver as I had for Cliffs of Moher. The slightly inappropriate, singing bus driver I had for Cliffs of Moher. Oh boy.
The driver explained that we would first be dropped off in Killarney where we would be transferred to a smaller bus (with a different driver) for the Dingle portion of the trip. On our way to Killarney we drove through the picturesque town of Macroom. The buildings along the Main Street were all well-kept and painted different colors. The driver then gave us an hour stop to wander around the town of Killarney. On an earlier trip to the Ring of Kerry, we drove through Killarney. I thought, "man that looks like a cool place to stop" and, one weekend later, there I was. In need of coffee and excited to look around the downtown, I got caffeine and wandered through shops. Killarney, according to the bus driver, has developed primarily with tourism and is now very reliant on the industry. The only other way Killarney makes money is by manufacturing Liebherr cranes for construction. We then departed for the Dingle Peninsula.
Then, as the roads became more windy and the pavement more bumpy, I became that girl. The girl who gets sick. In a violent eruption of coffee. Who didn't bring a bag. And I got to be that girl for the rest of the day. Everyone knew I was fine. Because everyone asked. And I nodded. And tried not to cry.
We went to a pretty beach. Inch beach. I didn't see much of it because I was in the bathroom recovering my dignity and composure.
(an aside) And this is where the whole "be proactive, write the blog as you go" effort ceased. Instead of getting back on the bus and having a wonderful rest of the day the winding roads got more tumultuous and narrow. After a short ride we stopped at a resting point to overlook the ocean and saw some very very old beehive stone structures... but then the bus journey continued.The driver kept saying that we were getting close to Dingle where we could get some lunch and stretch our legs. "Getting close" was too ambiguous and I kept praying that we would arrive soon as my stomach was not holding on very well. At last he said "five more minutes" as the passengers' stomachs were rumbling - unfortunately, reader, my stomach had another idea. Yes. Round two. Luckily the nice French girls across the aisle had given me a bag an hour earlier and I was excited to be armed and ready. Unfortunately for me and the sweet lady seated in front of me and my jeans, the bag had a hole in it, a large hole, and the fun continued.
A few minutes later we did reach the quaint town of Dingle. Excited to get off the bus and find a trash can and bathroom, we settled on a restaurant that served fish and chips (the Irish delicacy Stefanie's boyfriend was hoping to try). After ordering lunch and cleaning myself up, I excitedly got my fish and chips and eased my raging hunger with an excellent and rather large meal. "I'll be fine" I said, I'll be fine.
We walked down the main strip of Dingle and went into many souvenir shops. It was rainy and cold so getting and staying indoors was a welcomed concept. One of Dingle's main attractions is a dolphin named "Fungie" who is often seen by fisherman and on tours led by the tourist offices there. This also has led to a pretty extensive dolphin store and sculpture of the famous character.
After our lunch and walking break we boarded the bus once again to head back to Killarney and then home to Cork. The driver told me that there was an hour and a half of driving ahead and that if I needed him to pull over I could hit the service light above me. The bus was small, only about twenty people. I started googling motion sickness on my phone as we drove trying to distract myself from the actual motion sickness brewing inside. I stayed quiet, to myself, and stared blankly at the headrest in front of me for the first hour of the journey. Luckily Stefanie had given me a more sturdy, hole-free bag to use if I needed it and I thought I was going to be just fine with my stomach happy and full of fried cod and french fries. But man, I was wrong again.
I tried to reach for the service light in hopes of hopping off the bus and sparing the group from the pending doom - but reader, I was too late. Quietly and to myself the third episode of this television drama played out. The driver then announced that we would be making a surprise stop to take pictures and I was like "woohoo, prolong the agony." When we got off the bus for the picture point the driver looked at me, happy that we didn't need to pull over, assuming I had made it successfully. My look said it all.
After this anticlimactic stop wrapped up we filed back into the bus. We then drove to Killarney and I got to reboard the larger bus back to Cork. For this hour and a half stretch I decided sleeping would help avoid episode number four. Twenty minutes away from Cork, about to make it home free, the bus driver STARTED SINGING. And not just one song, three awful karaoke renditions.
When we finally made it to the bus stop, I took a cab home and spent the rest of the evening eating - as I was a little hungry - and watching computer television.
Dingle is great people. Seriously beautiful.
But visit at your own risk.
The Opinionated Lassie
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