Plan A was to visit the Waterford factory and, maybe, get a piece or two for home. We arrive in Waterford and drive to the what we think is the address. Hmmm. Drive around. More hmmm. Stop to ask directions.
“Well, now,” says the local, “that you can’t do.”
“The factory closed and moved to Slovenia last month.”
The Rock of Cashel sticks up out of the rolling hills in a rather spectacular fashion, supposedly dropped there by Satan as he fled Ireland ahead of the wrath of St. Patrick. When we were young and traveling around Europe, my mother used to speculate that there was a crew of professional Scaffold Erectors whose job was to travel ahead of us and perform their job on any major site we wanted to see. Clearly this continues into my generation.
However, despite that, there are some wonderful ruins from the early 12th century
plus some stunning views across the counties.
We had a late lunch at a pub in Cove with some Irish football fans—that’s fans of Irish football, not Irishmen who like the gridiron—watching a game. Cove has a quaint harbor but there wasn’t much else we wanted to see and we headed down to Kinsale for the night.
We weren’t certain how to get to our B&B in Kinsale. We stopped at a pub (of course!) and Laurie got direction scrawled on a bar napkin by a very drunk fellow. Those directions said, “go up the hill to the green and then turn right.” So we headed up the hill. We didn’t see the green.
We went back down the hill and headed back up. We saw a 10′ × 10′ patch of grass, but the only road to the right was clearly marked, “No Right Turn”.
We started back down the hill, passing a fellow who had seen us the last time around. I’m pretty sure he was shaking his head at the stupid tourists. We come around for Round 3 and still don’t see a right turn. So, we stop and ask the gentlemen.
He confirms that the 10′ × 10′ was, in fact, the green and that we should turn right. When we mention the sign, he replies, “Oh, don’t mind the sign, it’s fooked.”