South Africa May 2015

South Africa May 2015

My 2 week trip to South Africa with Travel Department began with British Airways flights to Cape Town via Heathrow. From the day of arrival to day of departure our group of 26 were blessed by fair weather and moderate temperatures, with not a drop of rain.

Arriving at Cape Town airport we were greeted by our guide Denise, a mature and very well spoken mature lady best described by one of our travellers as “The Countess”. We were led onto our plush leather-seated coach which had served as the South African Soccer Team bus during the 2010 World Cup.  Immediately we were transported to the renowned Table Mountain, only to find that wind was too strong to permit the cable car to travel. Instead our driver, Malcom, brought us up Signal Hill, a lesser mountain, for a lovely view across the city and bays.

We stopped for about two hours at the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront, an upmarket and very beautiful harbour-side leisure area characterised by a shopping centre, hotels, heliport and waterside facilities. One of our group chose a Malay curry for lunch, which was served in a frying pan!

Cape Town proved to be a very beautiful city, among the loveliest I have seen, with both modern and historic buildings, and fairly free from graffiti and vandalism. In my opinion, it should be one of the loveliest cities on earth to live. The air is exceptionally clean and clear.

The salubrious 4 star Winchester Mansions Hotel was our base for the first 3 nights. Located on the lovely grassy Seapoint promenade, it was interesting to watch the comings and goings of joggers, dog-walkers and children having fun by the sea. Being autumn the sun went down all of a sudden at 6pm, affording precious little time to enjoy the hotel’s beautiful location.

Our first day’s excursion was to the Winelands, and we started by enjoying a 7 sample tasting at the beautiful Nederburg Estate, with historic buildings amid a vineyard on flatlands beneath sharply rising mountains in the distance. The samples, being South African, were standard measures as we know at home! A lovely al fresco buffet in the sun lunch interrupted our further five wine tasting at another vineyard!

Following our wine-lands tour Malcolm drove us back to Table Mountain, where the winds had died down, allowing our ascent by cable-car to the 3000ft plateau overlooking Cape Town. Apart from the magnificent views of the city and beaches, the first thing I encountered were the hyraxes, delightful little furry animals about the size of a rabbit. Flying close by was the hyrax’s enemy, the Black Eagle. A black lizard scuppered along the rocks as I watched the hungry avian circle around in wait for dinner.

Our second day in Cape Town featured a splendid tour of the Cape Peninsula. Blue skies accompanied us for most of our holiday, adding great joy and light to our experience. Temperatures were generally a very comfortable average of 22C in the autumn of the southern hemisphere. The first small seaside we passed by was Bantry Bay, named after the very different bay in Ireland. A lot of South African places feature Irish place names:- Athlone is a suburb of Cape Town, Killarney is a suburb of Johannesburg, Belfast is a tiny town between Johannesburg and Kruger. Further along the coast we passed by Camps Bay, a spectacular beach washed by Atlantic waves and backed by steeply rising mountains. We stopped at calm Houts Bay for a coffee and a strolls by souvenir stands. A spectacular road brought us onwards to Llandudno which bared a little, but little resemblance to its Welsh counterpart. We veered inland past some thatched cottages which would sit well along the west coast of Ireland, to the Cape of Good Hope, the most south-westerly point in Africa. It was a photographic “must-stop”.

Retreating northwards we stopped for lunch at a lovely al-fresco fish restaurant where we sampled some lovely seafood, eating in the company of well-behaved, well cared-for cats, which were to be a theme of the South African trip. After lunch we stopped to see one of the colonies of African Penguins, with a lovely boardwalk over a sandy and rocky beach where the relatively small flightless birds thrive.

Northwards our trip continued through Simonstown, a navy base where a statue to a famous Great Dane is located. This canine, the only dog to be officially enlisted in the Royal Navy, used to travel by train to Simonstown, making a “nuisance” of himself, so to be named “Just Nuisance”.

With all this lovely scenery and seafood on board, it made for a good sleep which was to be followed by a visit to a more thought provoking place, and the start of our journey eastwards.

A heavy sea mist set a sombre note on our visit to Robben Island. There is not much beauty about this little isle (apart from a pleasant little church in the small village) nor its infamous prison where Nelson Mandela spent so much of his life. The guides are all ex-prisoners themselves, and the one who guided my sub-group suffered from painful eye problems like Mandela, whom he had known well. Setting foot in the great man’s tiny cell, I pressed myself into a corner on top of a large doormat to try and help accommodate the other folk. The guide asked me politely would I mind stepping off Mandela’s bed!

Returning to Cape Town by boat, we set off in the coach eastwards for a single night’s stay by the coast. Passing by Betty’s Bay and some dramatically scenic wave-lashed beaches with steep jagged mountains rising up beyond, we made a stop at the modestly proportioned Harold Porter Botanic Gardens. Sadly most of the native bushes or “fynbos” as they are called locally, were not in bloom but the magnificent national flower, the pink Protea, was. It was a peaceful garden in which to relax a while, and had a very nice bar/café with al fresco tables.

Denise warned us that the Windsor hotel in Hermanus might seem a little downbeat after our first hotel. In reality I actually preferred this simple 3 star hotel, which is located on a rocky seafront which has a reputation as a whale watching centre. Timelessly old-fashioned and simple, it reminded me a little of Benners’ Hotel in Tralee. As we arrived a piano was being beautifully played in residents’ lounge, which featured an enormous roaring log fire, surrounded by aged leather sofas. It was very homely and convivial. My bedroom was modern, bright and simple, with beautiful views from my terrace of the wild sea, and whale shaped chocolates awaiting me at the coffee making facilities.

It was a nice late start in the morning, with a leisurely drive through pleasant Cape Dutch style villages and mountains. Arriving in the quaint town of Montagu, the first thing I noticed was a red bordered triangular road sign with the silhouette of a domestic cat in the centre. This was put in place years ago when a lady had just settled into town with her cats and the local authority obliged to make safe the favourite crossing area of the new feline residents! Our stop for the night was the utterly delightful Montagu Country House hotel, a little piece of the 1930s set in lush gardens full of patios and water features. Fluffy Coco-Cat was happily wandering the gardens and made her way into some of the ground floor rooms. All rooms in this hotel are different, and I was lucky enough to have an enormous, lavishly decorated one set on a corner overlooking one of the wee swimming pools. Later our group enjoyed a candle-lit dinner in the elegant dining room to the accompaniment of the piano playing of one of the hotel owners.

I was sorry not to have seen more of Montagu, but we had to depart in the morning, stopping at Oudtshoorn for lunch, the ostrich capital of the world. We journeyed on through the Outeniqua Mountain pass to reach the Garden Route, the very lovely hill, Lakeland and wooded coastal area by the Indian Ocean.

Our hotel for the next 2 nights was the most pleasant 3 star Knysna Hollows Country Estate, a modern establishment with bedrooms set in mainly thatched bungalows within the  gardens around a couple of swimming pools. Charlie was the resident cat, a beautifully behaved feline with long honey coloured hair and a head like a miniature lion. He joined us at the table for evening meals, but did not beg for food, and accompanied us on walks back to our rooms in the grounds. I enjoyed a couple of swims in the pool nearest my lovely bungalow bedroom.

Our day in the Knysna area started with a very pleasant cruise across the lagoon to the Featherbed Wildlife Park on the peninsula across the water from the town. A jeep took us up the hill to a point where we could walk downhill back to the open air roofed-restaurant where a terrific buffet was served, including an “ostrich shepherds’ pie”. There was not that much wildlife, but wonderful views over the narrow mouth of the lagoon which opened out unto the Indian Ocean. I did see a bushbuck which clambered from the walking path up through the shrubbery.

Leaving Knysna our first stop was, not on the schedule, but by request of a majority of us to Knysna Elephant Sanctuary where, at a very small cost, we enjoyed close encounters and petting sessions with much cared-for formerly-abused elephants. Onwards we stopped as per schedule at the very beautiful wooded coastal Tsitsikamma National Park, where we were able to walk a boarded coastal path as far as the exit of the Storms River. Onwards we travelled to the historic industrial and fairly gritty town (with potential) of Port Elizabeth, where we stayed at the wooden chalet style Kelway Hotel overlooking a lovely beachside coastal resort area.

Next morning we said goodbye to out lovely coach and driver Malcom at port Elizabeth Airport, where we departed for our next stop, Johanessburg, one and a half hours flight time.

After landing in Johannesburg Airport we boarded a new bus driven by the multi-lingual Joseph who could switch in a second from his native African language to either English or Afrikaans, He drove us to Soweto, the huge township working-class suburb where the modern history of South Africa has its beginnings as the community, along with Nelson Mandela and his compatriots, wrought the changes from the apartheid system to a modern democracy. It is a gritty sprawling place, but full of welcoming people and waving children.

We were shown the largest hospital in the world, the Baragwanath, which at first I had assumed was named after a native. Not so, the name is Welsh, from a settler. Passing by the house of Bishop Desmond Tutu, we stopped by a house formerly occupied by Nelson Mandela, to take a peek. After our tour of Soweto we stopped at a home restaurant run by a local lady and her family, who are pillars of the community and who do an awful lot of work to make everyone’s lives better.                                                                                                                                                                     One of the famous power-cuts was in operation and the family unsuccessfully tried for hours to start a stubborn generator, but we enjoyed a most fabulous buffet home-cooked dinner by candlelight, which was followed by a Zulu dance performed by local children in traditional grass dress.

Arriving fairly late at the ultra-modern and comfortable Sandton Park Inn Hotel, I made my way to my assigned bedroom only to find evidence of occupation, such as a finished bottle of wine. This was soon rectified with apology from reception.

The next morning we faced a very early start for a 12 hour coach journey to the final destination of our trip, the Kruger National Park, renowned for the Big 5 wild animals, as well as many more fascinating smaller animals and birds. We stopped at three places of interest along the way, and it was these that took us a long way around to Kruger. The first was to Bourke’s Luck Potholes, a remarkable formation in the rock bed at the start of the Blyde River Canyon in the Drakensberg mountains. The second stop was at the edge of the canyon itself, which reminded me very much of the Blue Mountains in Australia with the wooded flat topped mountains. There was a bus-full of South African schoolchildren who all wanted to take plenty of photographs of the Irish people on their phones. Our final stop was at the Lisbon Falls, an impressive set of cascades.

Our hotel for the next 3 nights, the Pestana Kruger, proved to be the only somewhat unsatisfactory hotel on the trip. In its favour the location was excellent, beside the entrance to the Kruger National Park, and the views from the terrace overlooking the Crocodile River are unsurpassed. The food was very good, the dining room and bar lovely. Staff were very pleasant, and there was a delightful pool in the beautiful parkland grounds. It fell down mainly in the bedrooms which are located in one and two storey buildings which are mostly quite some walk in the pitch black of the evening from the reception/bar/dining room. The rooms were ok but very ordinary for a four star hotel, but each guest found something lacking in the maintenance or housekeeping department. I fared well in merely lacking hand soap and tv reception. I improvised with shampoo. Others had major plumbing problems, floods, electrical failures. The rooms were quite noisy at night with the activities of the monkeys in the surrounding trees!

We were booked on 2 safari trips over 2 days. The first trip was for a half day, with leisure time by the lovely hotel pool in the afternoon, and the second was a full day game viewing. Both trips started at 6 in the morning, and we entered Kruger just in time for the beautiful sunrise. Our group was divided among 3 open-top 4WD safari vehicles which afforded both protection from danger and great views of the animals and birds.

The first animals we encountered in Kruger were the deer-like bushbuck and kudu, which are the most numerous creatures in the park. But soon afterwards we had a very fortunate sighting of a rare black rhino, which was very close to our vehicle, albeit amid the bushes.

I closed my eyes when I heard that a dead baby monkey had been spotted, freshly killed by a speeding car. Later I heard that the guide in another of our vehicles had spotted the incident happening and reported the driver to the authorities. The driver in question denied knowledge of having hit the baby monkey who was following his mother across the road.

Another sad sight was a lone lioness, who was very close to the road, and obviously with not much life left in her. She was walking around slowly, so malnourished her ribs were clearly visible, as was a semi-healed great hole in her side.

Not long after that we saw a plethora of vultures wheeling around, where obviously a corpse lay in the vicinity. It may have been the baby monkey, but could have been the remains of any recent kill.

But the remainder of the game sightings were absolutely thrilling. Lots of zebras, a close-up cheetah, a leopard hiding in bushes, distant lions, lots of elephants and white rhinos, 2 chameleons crossing the road, warthogs, various eagles, hornbills, guinea fowls, crocodiles, bright blue starlings, giraffes, tree squirrels, wild dogs, buffalo, an abundance of kudu, bushbucks, impalas, a tiny steenbok; and blue wildebeest – not quite the “herds of” mentioned by a certain Basil Fawtly to the deaf lady who booked into the infamous hotel in Torquay.

I had to put out my hand to stop the traffic when the second chameleon slowly crossed the road, and the driver/guide of one of our convoy wondered at why I cried halt until he looked down and saw the tiny thing changing colour in front of ours eyes.

The coach direct to Johannesburg Airport took a mere 5 hours or so, compared with the ponderous lengthy outward journey. We broke our journey firstly at an upmarket old-fashioned country food store with several adjoining outlets for food and refreshments, and for lunch we stopped at an extremely well-run motorway service centre with several quality fast-food outlets-you could call it the Rolls Royce of McDonalds!

The flight back to Heathrow was aboard an A380, the largest passenger aircraft in the world. Boarding this 500+ seater aircraft was most orderly and accomplished faster than it took to rush on board a Ryanair before they allocated seats. It was my first time on this twin deck aircraft, but alas it was just like any other wide-body with a cramped up layout. The only difference at all I noticed was that the engines made a muffled deep “boom” sound as they started up. We got off right on time and arrived to Heathrow 10 minutes early. I didn’t even have to change terminals as my flight back to Dublin took off from Terminal 5, arriving back about 8am in Dublin, with the day ahead of me to do the tedious unpacking and washing!

Albania April 205

Albania April 2015

I had intended to report on my Easter weekend in Albania at a much earlier date, but was rudely interrupted by my hospitalisation with Clostridium Difficile. Now on the road to recovery I recall my 3 nights in Tirana, capital city of this country once out of bounds and even forgotten by the rest of the world, thanks to its communist dictator Enver Hoxha.

During its time in isolation I once considered joining a guided trip to it, which was formidably restrictive and very expensive in the 1980s. I think I was too intimidated to take the plunge, as nobody else fancied joining me on this endeavour.

Today Albania remains one of the poorest countries in Europe, but is in the queue to join the European Union within the forthcoming years. It is doing much to overcome the corruption which beset it in the intervening years following the great communist downfall. I had read that the capital Tirana, is looking up and outward and joining the rest of Europe in pursuing a modern way of life. The language is Albanian, an Indo-European language in a class of its own in the same way that Greek is.

My route to Tirana was with likeable Turkish Airlines via their hub at Istanbul. On Good Friday a four hour flight took me to the Turkish capital, with plenty of feeding and watering along the way, maybe not quite of the gourmet kind, but enough to make the time pass well. A one and a half hour connection took me to Mother Teresa Airport at Tirana. The weather had been perishing in Istanbul and my hand almost froze to the stair rail up to my connecting flight, as the rain poured down. During the flight the captain came through the first class curtains to use the bathroom at the rear, and my immediate thoughts reflected upon the recent Germanwings atrocity. Fortunately this captain got back up front very quickly.

By about 9pm I was travelling by taxi from the airport to my ethnic style accommodation, Hotel & Restaurant Bujtina e Gjelit, or translated into English, the Rooster Inn. I had been expecting massive potholes along the road, as depicted in an interesting Albanian trip by the Top Gear team, but the road from the airport to the city centre was smooth enough. The driver spoke no English, except for “no problem”, but was of cheerful disposition. He didn’t quite know where we was going, and stopped the car with engine running, and me still in it, to run into another hotel to ask directions. I worried slightly about being hi-jacked, but thankfully no such thing happened and I soon arrived to my hotel.

Greeting me at the attractive entrance patio were a pair of geese who honked to alert the staff to the new arrival. The premises were as atmospheric and ethnic as it appeared on the website, built in relatively modern times in vernacular Albanian style. My bedroom was traditional, with a comfortable bed, albeit that it was mounted on a wide wooden box which allowed little space at the sides for manoeuvring oneself to and from it. Switching on the TV I was amazed to find Albania has 4 television channels, with its own seemingly competent take on Sky News. The hotel bedrooms are arranged around a leafy quadrangle which has a swimming pool at its centre.

In the morning after breakfast I set out on my walk of Tirana. Located on Don Bosko Street, a spanking new Roman Catholic church of same name is located close to the hotel, and I wandered through the great big gleaming campus into it. Close by a man was searching through the rubbish bins outside on the crumbling pavement. It was quite clear where the wealth say here. Inside the church was of the highest architectural standards with very attractive modern stained glass windows.

On my 20 minute walk into the heart of the city I passed a host of modern gleaming pharmacies with white-coated staff-they seemed to sell medicinal drugs only rather than cosmetic products. Many fruit stalls lined the streets, selling the likes of oranges with their leaves still attached. Fruit and vegetables are by default organic as the cost of pesticides is prohibitive. I also saw that plant and flower shops are popular with the locals.

The appalling crumbling pavements and missing manhole covers require constant vigilance lest one come a cropper. It really is the worst suchlike I have ever seen anywhere, and adds a real third world flavour to the city.

In the city centre I came across some interesting buildings, which I learned are of Italian design construction, Italy being on the far side of the Adriatic Sea. I dropped into one of the lovely coffee shops and was shown great hospitality by the English speaking waiter. A top rate American was served in my lovely surroundings, accompanied by a delicious little complimentary cake. It cost less than a third of what it would at home.

Very close by I came across a fine crowing rooster with its leg attached to the pole of a bus stop. It drew quite a lot of attention, so I presume it’s not an everyday sight, even here. It was the property of one of the street traders and presumably was for purchase.

I wandered into a warren of alleyways behind, where a major city clothes and craft market was taking place. It reminded me of the old Dandelion Market in the Dublin of my teenage years. There was a nice laid back atmosphere, without hawkers pestering you to buy their wares, and a few worthwhile items for sale.

Aside from some real poverty evident in the city, most of the citizens appeared to me to portray a sense of being middle class, and I saw a distinct number of extremely well dressed, mainly middle-aged people. Dog ownership is in its infancy, but a number of pure bred specimens were on leads, and indeed I saw a young Pomeranian puppy which wasn’t on a lead, but with his owner walking with two hands over him ready to grasp him to safety. I guess leads are probably more difficult to get than the animals on which to put them.

I wandered into the most sophisticated part of the city, the Blloku area where all the fancy retail outlets, restaurants and apartments are located. This is the part of the city where Enver hoxha and all his ruling compatriots lived, and where the rest of the citizens were once kept out. The city’s most attractive boulevard borders this locale and two lanes of traffic run either side of the city’s small river which here runs in a straight channel. On one of the bridges over the river are an array of outdoor bookshops, reminiscent of those by the Seine in Paris.

Just before Blloku is the magnificent modern Orthodox Cathedral, a symbol of wealth in the city, and to the side of it is the main city centre Rinia Park, full of statues of literary and other fugures in history.

Beyond Blloku, and at the limit of the city I took a stroll through the city’s largest, the Grand Park, which covers a few hills bordering on a reservoir. It was full of families with children, all queueing up at the various candyfloss stands and pouring into and out of the various cafes and restaurants on its perimeter.

Coming from the park I made my way to the nearby communist style Mother Teresa Square, which is effectively a quiet coach park. Close by stands the Sheraton Hotel, and on the city’s main boulevard which stretches north from the square is the sophisticated 5 star Austrian-run Rogner Hotel which is reputed to be the most luxurious in the city and lies in a setting of parkland.

On the boulevard by the river I came upon St. Paul’s Roman Catholic cathedral, another ultra-modern church of sophisticated design and with fine stained glass windows featuring Albanian favourite, Mother Teresa. A painting of her stands to one side of the interior. Most religious buildings are modern as they were not allowed to exist during communist rule.

Close by the cathedral stands, Tanner’s Bridge, one of the few remaining Ottoman structures in the city, and a beautiful site indeed. A pedestrian walkway, funded by the European Union, links the old bridge area to the centre of the city, and passes by the remains of the old castle of the city, the Justinian Fort. Even this walkway is a bit hazardous, as there are no funds for maintaining it.

Crossing the road in Tirana requires a deal of courage, although there are some pedestrian lights. I tended to cross “with the crowd” and always waited until at least one other pedestrian took to the road.

Skenderbeg Square is the dead centre of Tirana, and a monument of national hero Kastrati (Skenderbeg) riding a horse stands in the centre of the large oval grass area. To one side is the city’s most glorious building, Et’hem Bey Mosque with its beautiful murals both inside and out. This was allowed to stand by Hoxha, due to its cultural historic importance. Just behind it is the city’s iconic old clock tower.  Surrounding the square are communist buildings, including the Opera House and National History Museum, which is noted for its communist realist mural over the door.

In spite of some streets displaying considerable poverty, well dressed people wander all over the city, and it is not a place of no-go areas. I felt very safe in the city, and apart from looking out for potholes it was an easy experience. If people want money they beg outside the churches or else set up a stall selling something.

Evening dinner at my hotel was a rewarding experience. In the centre of the dining room is an open oven with chimney, and a delicious spit roast of tender young pig was on the go. First I took some delicious items from the salad bar, including plump juicy olives and little home-baked savoury tartlets. The most delicious imaginable herby hot flatbread was delivered to my table from the oven and I devoured a whole basketful. The starters and hog were washed down with a carafe of good dry white Albanian wine, and I finished off with a herby sweet woodruff sorbet and coffee. All the produce comes from the hotel’s own organic Gjeli farm, located in the countryside outside Tirana. A video of the animals and farm production plays in the corner of the dining room, and all the animals are of rare breed variety, such as Gloucester Old Spot pig.

I had intended to visit the interior of some of the museums on Easter Sunday, but God had other plans. The morning had started out on a nice note when the staff presented me with a red coloured hot boiled “Catholic egg”. The weather had turned atrocious, with constant thunder and lightning flashing all over the place. Dressed in my toughest raincoat, I set out in hope, but was saturated to the core by the time I reached Skanderbeg Square. I had my sights set on the National history Museum, but to my disappointment it was closed to the general public and only opened to pre-booked groups. This was after dodging huge flashes of lightning across the square!

I retreated into a nice coffee shop for warmth, and it was crowded with people all trying to escape the elements. Being so badly soaked, and starting to shiver, I retreated back to the hotel for a hot shower and to listen to the rain and thunder outside. That evening I enjoyed an equally delicious meal of glorious vegetable soup, a different hot bread, and roast lamb.

On Monday morning I flew from Tirana to Istanbul and onwards to Dublin and arrived home in great form altogether. Next day was a busy one as not alone was it a work day, but I brought my cousin’s cat to and from a post-op vet visit. That evening I suddenly started to shiver and shake with a high temperature, and was unwell in the stomach all night, with a deal of internal bleeding. I knew it was time to make my way to the Beacon Hospital which has my medical record. I ended up 9 days in the hospital on the edge of surgery. A simple antibiotic taken 2 weeks earlier for a moderate chest infection had set up a severe case of Clostridium Difficile superinfection.

At the moment I look forward to my next trip on 5^th May, 2 weeks in South Africa.

Svalbard August 2014

Longyearbyen, capital of the Svalbard archipelago, is the world’s northernmost town. It has been on my mind to pay a visit ever since I saw it on a map, God knows how long ago. I think most people will somehow have heard to Spitsbergen, the largest island of the group, named by a Dutch explorer, Barents, who also gave his name to the local sea. 78 degrees north, you cannot go any further as an ordinary tourist. 

 The domain of the polar bear, the walrus and the beluga whale, I failed to see any of these animals on my short 3 night trip. To see bears and walrus I would probably have needed to go on a specialised small ship cruise to the icy eastern areas, but this would have been a very expensive prospect, and maybe one day I will undertake such an adventure. My own trip was self-organised, whereby I arranged air travel from Dublin via Oslo with Scandinavian Airways. I had a choice of spending 3 or 6 nights and for expense’ sake I decided on the former. To venture outside the 2000 person centre of Longyearbyen involves the expense of an organised trip with a guide with a gun and flares because of the ever present danger of the polar bear. Accommodation is at the higher end of Scandinavian prices, so I had determined to see Svalbard on a budget, if one could ever called it so.

A couple of interesting facts about Svalbard; In the hill above the airport is located the world’s seed vault, which is housed in a building above the airport. In the case of Armageddon, hopefully the current main crops and flowers of the world can be recreated from this repository. The infamous Spanish Influenza killed more people than the traumas of WW1. Its make-up was discovered from the bodies of coal miners who died here during the epidemic and were buried the permafrost which preserves so much after death. Svalbard used to be located in the tropical latitudes and the burial of generations of rain forests has created the organic compound known to us as coal, creating a mining community founded by the American John Munro Longyear. There is no such thing as an indigenous community, and Longyearbyen is international place where English is the lingua franca, comprised mostly by Norwegians and Swedes, with Thai people forming the third most common community.

I had a choice of accommodation. I could have stayed at the Radisson Blu, which is a very nice place, but has a reputation for “tired” rooms. I could have opted for the guest house, or camp site, or the hostel-like hotel of character “Mary Ann’s Polarigg”, but I was attracted by the web pictures to "Basecamp Trappers’ Hotel", one of a collection of small rustic hotels located in places like the African bush. The cheapest option happened, for me, to be to book through Venere.

SAS offers free coffee on its flights, and I was already well caffeinated by the time I arrived in Oslo. A 6 hour wait in that airport had to be endured, complete with fire alarm and airport evacuation. I ended up going through security twice, which in Oslo thankfully only takes a couple of minutes. With Scandinavian prices for basic food options it’s not a cheap airport to kill time and I was might relieved to get on board my onward flight to Longyearbyen, leaving behind a dull and wet Oslo.

Strategically I had chosen a window seat in front of the wing at check-in the night before. For most of the way there was complete cloud between me and the sea below. Then came a break and I peeked my first glimpse of Svalbard at the top of the descent. I was truly excited and well rewarded for my midnight check-in! This has been my best ever view from an airline window, as the pilot guided us through stark treeless valleys with borders of snow-topped mountains and here and there a glacier pouring its melt-water seawards. It was midnight and the sun was bright and rising. The 737 was guided gently as possible onto the rough permafrost runway and I stepped out in my summer tee-shirt to a quite bearable 11 degrees C. This is polar tropicality! A stuffed polar bear greeted us at the luggage belt, and soon I was onboard the Flybussen coach service to nearby Longyearbyen and my lodgings, Basecamp Trappers’ Hotel.

Outside the front door to this unique hotel was the friendly resident German Shepherd dog as he stood guard by his kennel, complete with curtained window. The cheerful receptionist handed me my room key, which was attached to a dog’s bone. I made a mental note not to flash it in front of the hotel’s or any other doggy lest I lose it. My room was as tiny as one could imagine, but just perfect in character for me as a solo traveller. The cosy bathroom sported an arctic theme, and a few old books lay on the bookshelf beside window. I could see straight up the valley, and I pulled the venetian blinds to secure a couple of hours sleep. An 8.30 appointment awaited me next morning.

Breakfast was a very nice affair, with a simple choice of good quality items, including some nice cuts of ham, smoked salmon, chunks of grainy bread, fruits, and self-made waffles which are ever-popular in Norway.

A Viking-like man stepped off the blue coach and I came forward to take my place. Beside me, a stunningly beautiful and smiling 92 year old lady introduced herself and her son and daughter to me. They were from the east coast US. She said she was an O’Shiels of Irish origin. Between them, they had been everywhere in the world, including Antarctica and there was nothing they did not know, though this had to be extracted from them by careful questioning.

Back near the airport we all boarded MS Billefjord, a fine comfortable little ship which accommodated its small crowd very well.2 zodiac life rafts were at our disposal plus what seemed like an infinite number of life-jackets. With a German Captain and Thai crew we steamed over Isfjord to the most impressive Esmark glacier. The scenery here is absolutely stunning. All the time I was on the lookout for polar bears, walrus and whales (including the arctic beluga), yet all I saw were fulmars and puffins. I was informed that I would likely have to take a long cruise towards the icy north and west coasts to glimpse the more exotic fauna, though anything could appear anywhere here at any time. Only in 2011 was English schoolboy Horatio Chapple killed by a polar bear on a camping trip in the hills beyond Longyearbyen. There is always a risk, and anyone venturing out beyond the confines of Longyearbyen must be accompanied by a licensed guide with a suitable gun and flares to distract a bear.

One of our Thai Able-Seamen took a chunk of ice from the sea and cut it up whilst the Viking poured out decent glasses of Grants whisky into which to put it. We all delighted in the wonderful whisky with genuine polar ice. The 92 year old lady was able to sprint down the incredibly steep ship’s stairs to partake of same! As we all supped our whisky the Thai seamen barbecued whale and salmon on deck and soon we were all tucking into ample helpings of delicious meat with rice and salad.

After lunch by the glacier we set sail for the Russian coal mining town of Barentsburg across the wide fjord.  Sea was calm, wind was low, and on deck it was nothing as cold as I’ve experienced elsewhere whilst nicely clothed with good waterproof coat and light woollen jumper. Svalbard has a lot of coal mines, some exhausted and some still working today. John Munro Longyear, an American coal mining magnate, gave his name to the capital, Longyearbyen. Barentsburg is the second largest settlement with just a 500 citizens of Russian and Ukrainian origin. A flight of over 200 steps leads up from the quay to the main part of town, and climbing them was good for my muscles even if I was temporarily out of breath in my state of unfitness. A young Russian guide showed us around the rather depressing but sheltered hillside settlement, and described the hotel as having 5 star comfort. I took a look inside this establishment which also housed the post office. It did sort of remind me of a poor relation to a basic Russian hotel in which I stayed in Moscow in 1979. A statue of Lenin still stands in the centre of town as a mark of Russian heritage. I’m glad they did not tear it down because it is part of history. I peeped inside the tiny Orthodox church where a lady was praying; hence I did not take any photographs of the beautiful interior. This church was built in memory of those who perished in a Russian aircraft on its approach to Longyearbyen in 1996. The coal produced here has always been of very poor quality, but the Russians maintained a strategic position here for espionage during the Cold War and they don’t feel like going home any time soon, this time I suspect for business reasons.

Having left Barentsburg our boat voyaged past the most majestic cliffs draped in rare greenery, courtesy of the nourishing droppings of the thousands of birds that nest here. Later we passed by the airport, and soon were back at Longyearbyen. That was a trip not to be forgotten.

That evening I dined at the lovely high-ceilinged panoramic dining room of the Radisson Blu Hotel. There was the offering of a limited four course menu or an all-you-can-eat buffet. Either was an expensive affair. I decided on the buffet which, appropriate to my trip, had an Arctic theme tonight. Generally I do not like strong flavours now in the way I did as a youngster. In fact I shy well away from them. This evening I decided to be brave and try tiny bits of everything on the buffet. Besides, like all dining in Scandinavia, it cost a fair buck and I was going to get my penny’s worth out of it. There were a number of reindeer salamis and smoked and dried meats; there was smoked salmon, subtle-flavoured caviar, and the strongest of all the flavours on the buffet-the prized red king crab. I found the flavour overpowering, but I do appreciate how gourmet’s might treasure the creamy flesh. The freshest and fluffiest of breads were available, including a wonderfully thin and crispy rye wafer. The hot selection featured whale, with which I am familiar and which tastes  like a slightly oily tender beef with the slightest whiff of cod-liver oil. It’s an excellent and very healthy meat. There was venison, chicken, lamb, salmon and seal, with trimmings of lemon wedges, lingonberry sauce, mustard and other condiments. I had read about seal tasting somewhat like the taste in the throat when one has a bleeding nose, and hating the taste of blood, I sure did not fancy this idea at all. I picked out the smallest piece of bearded seal I could find, and scooped plenty of delicious saffron flavoured chicken drumsticks as an antidote which worked well. Yes. The seal tasted as described, very irony, and I swallowed it whole to hastily get rid of the taste.

Next morning I had an appointment with Svalbard Husky for a Dog Wagon trip on wheels. The jeep picked me up, with a mature Dutch couple already on board. We drove inland through Adventdalen, past a compacted strip which at one time served as the airfield. When we entered their compound all 50 huskies were a-howl, with one particular girl making the most noise. We were advised that all dogs were safe to handle. They were all on long chains, each with a kennel and bowl of water. I went straight to the noisy one and was given a tremendous greeting. Likewise with all the dogs. At least I knew all had received rabies shots recently. The arctic fox is a carrier of rabies in this region and the threat has to be taken seriously. The dogs were all Alaskan Huskies, which are a mixed breed incorporating various husky breeds and all are bred for temperament and performance, and socialised with multiple humans at an early stage.

Our guide selected 12 dogs and persuaded them into the enclosed trailer with our help. The dogs didn’t mind in the least being held by the collar and persuaded to move by perfect strangers. Each and every one of them had a very tolerant nature. We drove back past Longyearbyen and upwards to a hill where a coal mining train of transport buckets begins. The jeep was parked and the 12 dogs harnessed to the wagon. We passengers were asked to help in the harnessing, and being a dog-lover I was delighted to assist.

Starting up on a height the beautiful dogs worked away enthusiastically to bring us gradually downhill towards the airport. It was wonderful sitting in a cart with 3 other people being driven by dog power, and it was at the doggies’ discretion where’re we would go. Our guide had at his disposal a brake and words of command. We came to very sharp turning point by the airport where the guide had to negotiate with the dogs for about 8 minutes as they tried several times to tow us downhill across a little ledge which would have resulted in a turnover. It was a sharp right turn and the dogs wanted to commence it a bit early. The guide shouted “left” several times, and the dogs would initially move left before moving right again. Of course he wanted them to move left AND forward a bit, but the mutts didn’t quite comprehend. 10 minutes elapsed before they “got it” and we were on our way once again. The guide made a refreshment stop for us and the dogs. We distributed one drinking bowl to each pair of huskies whilst the guide went down to a freshwater lake on a bird reserve to collect the water in a bucket. He was attacked on the head by arctic terns protecting their chicks. As the dogs took their turn to guzzle the water through mouths foaming with perspiration, we sipped coffee from a flask and enjoyed a chocolate biscuit. After a well deserved thirst quench we set off back uphill and back to the jeep where we all helped with getting the dogs back in the trailer.

In the afternoon I acquainted myself with the town, visiting the world’s northernmost shopping mall and supermarket which stocked an amazing variety of foods. Some excellent clothes shops stocked top quality arctic gear. Gun cabinets are provided for the safe keeping of weapons-a notice in one shop states that “all the polar bears in this shop are already dead”. Prices were expensive, but at least they were duty free, making them cheaper than mainland Norway. I bought myself a little silver pendant in the shape of a map of Svalbard. The only thing resembling sweets from Svalbard were boxes of Belgian chocolates in a sleeve decorated with a polar bear, which I brought back to my place of work. The local library was staff-less and featured 2 internet computers and a small shelf of books. There were coffee shops and Thai and Japanese restaurants as well as a gourmet restaurant called Huset or “The House”. A statue of a coal miner stands in the main street of the town, which is pedestrianised.

I paid a visit to the museum, which features most of the information you might want to know about Svalbard. Like most places in Longyearbyen you are asked to leave your shoes in the hall and go around in your stockinged feet.  A room is dedicated to the international aspect of the archipelago’s current population, and I learned that one Irish person is resident. Long ago there used only be a male community comprised mainly of coal miners, but now plenty of families live in Longyearbyen and a couple of schools provide education. The main floor of the museum features simulated landscapes with stuffed native animals including a polar bear specimen.

There is an Airship Museum, dedicated to the airship exploration of the North Pole, but and I was sorry not to have enough time to visit it. My flight was due to leave at 4.30am, so I had to seek an early evening repast and get sleeping in good time to wake up before 2am. I enjoyed a very tasty bar meal of fine burger and the crispiest fries I have ever tasted at the Svalbar right beside my hotel, washed down by a nice Belgian beer.

There was nobody at reception to pay my hotel bill, so I had to leave my key attached to its dog-bone on the desk. My mobile phone rang after I arrived in Oslo Airport - I didn’t have to guess they were looking for payment, but they were most pleasant about it. Had I been better organised I would have settled the bill the afternoon before. I had just settled down with a nice breakfast of bacon and eggs when the airport fire alarm sounded. I wasn’t best pleased, having paid Norwegian price for my meal, but I was asked to leave the building. Thankfully it was still in situ when the alarm was over, but it had lost its warmth.

I endured another 6 hour wait before my short connecting flight to Copenhagen. Another 2 hour wait in Copenhagen awaited me before my final flight back to Dublin. I arrived home at 7pm, full of memories.

Newfoundland June 2014

Newfoundland was a place I had always yearned to visit. On one of those exceptionally stormy days last winter, when curiosity as to what airplanes were allowed to fly that day brought me to the Dublin Airport website, I noticed a News Announcement. It was not to do with the inclement weather and how it was affecting air traffic, but rather announcing a new direct route from Dublin to Newfoundland by the Canadian airline Westjet. This piece of exciting news brought me a sense of frustration because I was already booked on a cruise to Alaska, starting in Vancouver. I felt so tempted to book a flight to Newfoundland, but I said to myself “I can’t go to Canada twice in one year, that would be overkill.” Not long afterwards I received a phone call to tell me the Alaska cruise had been cancelled due to overbooking, and I felt slightly bereft. But then, I thought, this is my opportunity to book a self-made trip to Newfoundland!

On Monday 16^th June 2014 I went to the boarding gate for the inaugural flight of Dublin to St. John’s, capital of the Canadian Province of Newfoundland & Labrador. The CEOs of Westjet and Dublin Airport each gave a speech on the launch of the new service. Westjet’s CEO said that this has been the most successful new route in Westjet’s history; it had attracted an unforeseen level of booking, and was sold out for most of the summer.

In just over four hour’s time of trans-Atlantic coffee-drinking, the aircraft touched onto a very wet runway at St. John’s. A welcome party of traditional Irish music awaited us in arrivals, with servings of more coffee, savouries and cakes. After partaking in these I got a taxi to my accommodation for five nights, the Quality Hotel Harbourview. Although it was only 11am, my room was ready, and I indulged in yet another dose of caffeine from the coffee-maker. The continuous rain dulled a promising view from my window straight down the city streets lined with the so-called “Jelly Bean” terraces of different-coloured wooden houses, leading Downtown and up the hill to the Basilica and the Rooms Museum & Gallery.

Despite the cosiness of my room I tempted myself to explore the locale, and sporting a raincoat with hood I made my way uphill to the nearby historic building of the Commissariat House. It quickly became apparent that cars stop when one even looks as if one is about to cross the street here. The only other place I have observed this nicety is in the thick winter snow of Tromso in Norway. Indeed it was only back in May when Newfoundland had its last snow. Today it was just non-stop rain. Inside the historic wooden building I had my first encounter with the very peculiar local accent which was mostly “stage Irish” with some West Country English, and the odd touch of North American for good measure. “Are you really from hereabouts?” I asked the lady on duty, and she replied “Oi be from here alroigh-sh, and you be from...Oirland...I guess.” I assured her I was indeed, just off the first direct flight. She had heard about the new service and reckoned every second Newfoundlander would use it. A friend of hers has a daughter that spent two years in Ireland doing voluntary work for Simon, and followed that up by completing a degree in Sociology at St. John’s University.

Having completed the tour of the building I wandered through the leafy surrounds towards a gate which indicated public access. “Government House”, which is Newfoundland’s answer to Ireland’s “Farmleigh”, was closed until July according to my literature. The security man called me over, and I thought I might be in trouble for trespassing. “Come look in the hall, and get a taste for what its loike”, he beckoned. A magnificent spectacle it is. “Now come see some nice horses, this way”. At the stables I was introduced to four enormous animals, including Vince, who had stomach problems that was causing some concern. “Them horses be with the Mounted Police, for ceremonies loike.” I got a complete tour of the grounds, by which time I was thoroughly saturated, the rain having penetrated right through my raincoat, my feet and shoes sodden like sponges in the puddles. Back at the hotel I removed all my sodden garments and laid them out to dry over the next two days in my heated room.

It was way too wet to get my second raincoat saturated, so I dined in my hotel, which was rated as mediocre as far as food goes. I ordered the traditional Newfoundland Cod’s Tongues, which were served with fries and a wedge of lemon. Cod tongues are not actually the tongues of the fish, but a delicious piece of flesh in the area of the throat. They were absolutely scrumptious, and served with “scrunchions” or diced pork scratchings, which are a traditional accompaniment.

Thankfully, the morning brought sunshine. Loyola O’Brien picked me up in his minibus to bring me to my booked boat trip with O’Briens’ Boat Tours at the wee village of Bay Bulls, some 25km down the road on the Irish Loop. It was lovely to see some pristine countryside with forests and lakes. Loyola chatted away to me about the Irish connections and told me his brother Michael would be commanding the boat on this occasion. On board, Loyola took the mic and gave us a guided commentary. He began with the safety briefing, advising us that we wouldn’t last a minute in the freezing water, but that we should aim to keep dry and get straight into the life raft which was available to deploy at the back. He cautioned that once a boat of this size would get into trouble it would go down with determination and that we’d have to be quick about getting saved! Loyola followed this up with a rendition of Fiddler’s Green, a song about the afterlife of fishermen.

A humpback whale was spotted. Our skipper, Michael, followed the whale at a distance, as he surfaced now and again. A Minke whale also appeared. It took quite a lot of our time tracking the whale, so that when we came to the famous bird cliffs of Witless Bay, our bird-spotting was brief enough. Still, it was very exciting to see so many puffins in one place at one time, and the seas were a fantastic emerald green close to the rocks.

Before returning to base, Loyola “Screeched-in” a couple from another part of Canada to become honorary Newfoundlanders. The pair had don sou’wester hats in order to take on the supposed appearance of a “Newfie” (sometimes regarded as derogatory), then Loyola asked as per tradition “Is you a Screecher?”, whilst holding up the wet fish to be kissed. Following embrace of fish, the couple declared “We is”, followed by a shot of Screech, the Jamaican rum which used to be traded for cod. Loyola then declared “Long may your big jib draw, and may the road rise up to meet you”, the latter part of sentence derived from a famous old Irish saying. In the evening I dined out at a nearby Tripadvisor recommended Korean restaurant, where I enjoyed a most delicious meal.

A second bright sunny day encouraged me to my goal of Signal Hill, a mere two kilometres walk away, but it is 143 metres high. Half way up I stopped off by Deadman’s Pond, which is overlooked by Gibbet Hill, where executed criminals were elevated within view of the denizens of St. John’s to discourage them to follow suit. Today some happy local black ducks bobbed about in the water which was fringed by fluffy white bog cotton.

Across the road I made a detour into the Geo Centre, a vast and spectacular underground museum dedicated to local and world geology, exploration and mining, oil and gas harvesting, and even a room dedicated to the causes of the Titanic disaster which took place a few hundred miles offshore in “iceberg alley”.

A little further up the hill I called into the Signal Hill Interpretation Centre, which described the first Marconi signal from Cornwall to North America at this point, as well as the voyage of John Cabot, and Italian explorer who ventured here from Bristol. I recall, during a visit to that English city, learning about the voyage. There is a tower in Bristol named after him, just as there is Cabot’s Tower on the peak of Signal Hill.

Not being fit, I struggled up the hill, as people sauntered past me. Once up there, the reward was great. I had a terrific view over two icebergs, and south down to Spear Head, where the sun rises first in North America. Many trails lead from Cabot’s Tower around the cliffs. I came upon a beautiful black Newfoundland dog with his owner. Another tourist asked to hold his lead as she was photographed with him, and this is the picture I got taking of the dog. He was a real sweetheart.

Going downhill I detoured through a wonderful nature park by the Geo Centre. Dozens of native wild plants were in blossom, all labelled. Here in St. John’s everything of interest to tourists and locals alike has an information notice. From the park I walked a trail into an upmarket new housing estate, and from her I walked half a kilometre to the most photographed of all Newfoundland fishing villages, Quidi Vidi, still within the environs of St. John’s city. Some beautiful wooden buildings and fisherman’s “rooms” surrounded the narrow hill-clad environs of the village. I went into the Quidi Vidi (pronounced Kiddy Viddy) brewery and purchased some beer, followed up by a visit to the Quidi Vidi Plantation which is an incubation centre for people starting a business in craft production.

On the way back to the hotel I stopped by the Inn of Olde, a very individual pub with an eclectic gathering of items on display. The lady behind the bar had the strongest local accent of any individual I had met. She was looking after the place for the owner, Linda, who was next door in her home doing stuff. She asked me if I was a personal friend of Daniel O’Donnell, who is a regular visitor to Newfoundland, and to this pub. She discussed his wife, Majella’s illness, and his mother’s recent death. She was also familiar with some of the cast of Coronation Street, which is followed by lots of Newfoundlanders. “Oi have to go to Gander next month, which is 4 hours droive, but Oi hate drivin’, what with the mousse on the highway. It’s as cheap to floi to Oirland, that’s whoi de Oirish route will do so well, as well as that, everyone here wants to go to Oireland.

A thoroughly wet day followed, same as the day I arrived. The weather does nothing by halves here. This was a day for the museums. I walked uphill and south to the Basilica Cathedral of St. John the Baptist, which was consecrated in 1855. Construction was supervised by Irish Contractors, under the eye of Irish Archbishop Michael Fleming. Stone from Clonmel was used. A funeral was taking place when I entered through its doors, so it was not appropriate to take a photograph of the interior. It is a fine grey stone building with two towers and a plethora of associated buildings extending from it.

Just across the road loomed the great modern building of The Rooms, a museum, gallery and archive centre whose design is based on the large huts used by Newfoundland fishermen for storing their equipment. It is a wonderful piece of architecture which, along with the basilica, dominates the skyline of St. John’s. Within, I viewed many exhibitions, including artist Pam Hall’s collection of paper houses, collected from many friends throughout the world and displayed in most interesting ways. I learned a great deal about the culture of the various peoples who make up the population of Newfoundland and Labrador, including a large section on the Irish!

I made my way downhill via the fine Anglican Cathedral to Downtown, or as we tend to call it the City Centre. On little George Street, the hub of some infamous wild carry-on at night, I made my way into one of the city’s Irish pubs, Bridie Molloys. This was no shamrock-kitsch version of an Irish pub, but one which you would find at home, without the leprechauns. Irish Stew and Guinness featured on the menu, but I opted for one of the traditional Newfoundland dishes, a Jigg’s Dinner. Not a pretty sight, but very tasty, it consisted of a mash-up of corned beef, turnip, carrot, cabbage, pease pudding, stuffing, and gravy. Washed down with Quidi Vidi beer.

My final call of the day was the Railway Coastal Museum which is at the southern end of the city. My walk took me past the Newman Wine Vaults and O’Mara’s Pharmacy Museum, both of which would not be open until July. The rain, by now, was worse than ever, and I was barely able to take a look at the beautiful historic engine and carriages parked outside the museum. Inside was a lovely model railway, featuring elements of the now defunct railway between St. John’s and Port Aux Basques on the south-west coast of the island of Newfoundland. The museum featured very interesting information about the now defunct railway service and the shipping lines to Nova Scotia on the Canadian mainland.

A long walk through the city brought me back to the hotel. I was far too wet and miserable to launch out for an evening meal, so I settled for a nice bit of Newfoundland cod in the restaurant.

This city is so full of hills, my legs were giving out. I decided to get a taxi to my final specific point of interest, the Fluvarium, and then walk the 3 kilometres downhill back to the hotel. It was a sunny day, ideal for my pursuit. To explain a bit about the Fluvarium; it rhymes with aquarium, one looks through glass at fish, but the glass has a direct view of brown trout and even salmon as they swim through the local river. It is an octagonal building located in Pippy Park, which is St. John’s equivalent of the Phoenix Park in Dublin. The visitor descends a staircase to the area underground where one can inspect all elements of the riverbed as well as the fish. There are plenty of displays on the rivers of St. John’s, particular Rennie’s River which was named after a Scottish Miller who operated a baking mill on it.

Following my visit I began my walk back, starting at the Long Pond where a few people were practising Canadian canoeing. I continued along the Rennie’s River Trail, which a walk akin to the ones alongside the Dodder and Tolka Rivers in Dublin. The Rennie’s River is very rocky in places, and makes for a picturesque river valley through the most upmarket suburbs of St. John’s. Beautiful boardwalks are provided with lovely foot bridges, a gazebo, and picnic tables. Many beautiful houses with verandas peep up beyond the banks, and some have terraces, gardens and steps descending right down to the river itself. I continued my walk through Bannerman Park, where a tiny Miniature Pinscher was frolicking about in the safe enclosure for off-lead dogs.

For evening dinner I came by a plain but good Chinese restaurant, frequented by Chinese people, always a good sign. I chose an absolutely delicious dish of beef sizzled with fresh orange zest, unforgettable. A few men at two tables men were speaking across to one another in Cantonese, and one of turned around and apologised to me, and introduced himself as hailing from Hong Kong, I told him it is very much on my bucket list!

On the day of my departure my flight was leaving at around 11pm, so I had the best part of a day to fit in something. I considered going to the Botanic Gardens, but they are at the southerly end of Pippy Park, and difficult to get back from. Besides, it was a day of mixed weather, with some nasty rain showers on the horizon. I decided to take another boat trip, this time with Dee Jay Charters. The boat was small enough to enter the narrows of Quidi Vidi harbour, so I was able to see this beautiful village from a different perspective which was very worthwhile. The boat passed very close to the two glaciers outside of St. John’s Harbour, and they looked enormous by comparison to what they appeared from shore. The voyage continued to Cape Spear, the easternmost point in the whole of the Americas. It was fun waving up to the folks wandering about the elevated shore and lighthouse. The boat returned to St. John’s close to some picturesque bays with interesting rock formations, and one with a waterfall splashing from cliffs down to a pebble beach. Voyaging through the narrows of St. John’s Harbour was fascinating with views to Signal Hill.

Before departure I had a lovely meal in the Sheraton Hotel -3 minutes up the hill- of salmon with Screech sauce and ice-cream, again with Screech sauce. The flight home took less than four hours, and I was just delighted to arrive in Dublin at the dawn of a new day.

Easter trip to Baltimore, Cape Clear & Sherkin islands

As part of my quest to conquer all of Ireland’s inhabited offshore islands, I made plans to stay in Baltimore, West Cork, during Easter 2014. From there I could visit both Sherkin & Cape Clear Islands during a 3 night stay at the Channel View Bed & Breakfast, just outside of the lovely Baltimore village which is famed for its excellent sailing waters.

I chose to get there and back by public transport, which involved a journey from Dublin to Cork city by rail, an onward bus connection to Skibbereen, and finally a short bus ride to Baltimore. Bus Eireann (Ireland’s public bus company) provides an online Journey Planner, so that I could confirm what times suitable buses would run.

As is my typical experience, rail travel to Cork was very pleasant and relaxing, and it was a short walk across the city to the bus station. The buses to Baltimore were very comfortable and smooth, and I was able to enjoy seeing the beautiful towns and villages through which we passed, especially Clonakilty and Rosscarbery. This would have been denied me had I been driving. The only negative is the price of the bus travel between Cork and Baltimore, which is more expensive than the longer rail journey from Dublin to Cork.

Channel View Bed & Breakfast was merely €40 per night single, which was very reasonable. The view from my room was very beautiful; as the name suggests a view of a channel of the blue estuarine channel of the River Ilen as its sweeps around Ringarogy Island. Host Margaret provided all day tea and coffee in the front room with an everlasting supply of biscuits. It was only a 6 minute walk to Casey’s Hotel, which is famous for its delicious food.

Having journeyed down on a bright and pleasant Good Friday, I awoke on Easter Saturday to sunshine and a full Irish breakfast, after which I walked the 20 minutes down to the ferry for Sherkin Island. A quick 10 minute crossing brought me to the pier on Sherkin Island, where a local lady was bravely swimming in the chilly waters. Just a minute uphill brought me to the almost complete ruins of the Friary. Many years ago I remember landing here in a small yacht whilst on a sailing course with the Glenans sailing school which used to be based in Baltimore. Over 20 years ago I saw Sherkin in the sun, and again today here was the most beautiful bright sunny day. I walked past the community centre and its adjacent portacabin library, the national school and waste recycling centre en route to the delightful beaches of Cow Strand and Silver Strand. Sherkin is a gently hilly island with some excellent grazing land for cattle, together with shady lanes, copses, rocky headlands, sandy coves and land-locked stilly bay, a little bit of everything that are the classic features of south West Cork. I visited the island church, and came across a third sandy cove. Ancient run-down, un-taxed and probably un-insured wrecks of cars passed me occasionally, belching black smoke and making raucous noises from broken exhaust pipes. No police to supervise the motoring activities of the islands!

The previous time I visited Sherkin Island I had lunch in the piratically themed Jolly Roger pub, but this time it was closed, in the process of changing ownership. Instead I enjoyed lunch in the Islanders’ Rest, a hotel with a terrace overlooking Baltimore Harbour which today was the scene of myriad white-sailed laser dinghies. Just below the hotel lies a yacht marina, and nearby is beautiful Horseshoe Bay which is shaped exactly as its name suggests.

Easter Sunday proved even sunnier than Saturday, a lovely day for the 45 minute ferry ride to Cape Clear Island, Ireland’s most southerly piece of land. Passing the Baltimore Beacon, a navigational monument set on top of the headland at the entrance to the harbour, the boat battled more open waters as it sailed by the south coast of Sherkin. I sat out on deck with my face to the sun, surprised to be feeling this warm on the open seas. Just ahead lay the hilly profile of Cape Clear Island, its south shore plunging almost sheer to the sea. The ferry swung around to hug its more gently sloping north shore, with signs of habitation here and there. Some impressive rock formations appeared just before the narrow entrance to the island’s natural harbour, and shortly I was on terra firma. A sign indicated “Gaeltacht” to signify that this is an Irish Gaelic speaking area, though I was to hear not a word of the language spoken during my 3 hours on shore. Children were wading waist deep in the waters by the harbour beach, and I can testify that the cold hurt my bones as I paddled merely ankle deep. The Bird Observatory seemed to be deserted, but the shop-come-pub-come-bistro by the beach was doing a roaring trade with folks enjoying beers and ice-cream at the outdoor tables.

An impossibly steep road climbed the vertical hill to the east, and I had no intention of expending my energies legging up that in spite of the possibilities of getting a good shot. Moreover I was worried about meeting one of the island car wrecks making its way downward with nowhere to step out of the way. Instead I followed the crowd up the more moderate slope to gain views of the South Harbour, an attractive bay which is overlooked by the campsite where Mongolian yurts provide overnight accommodation for some very happy campers. I met these folk in friendly Cotter’s Bar, and they spoke of the heated comfort of their luxurious tents. Cotters was supplying dinner for the island’s tourists that evening and the choice was between 3 types of Thai curry. To quote Basil Fawlty “duck done in 3 completely different ways” and “if you don’t like duck you’re rather stuck”.

Cape Clear had suffered greatly during the immense winter storms, and work was in progress to repair the harbour. The weather was so blissful this day I could not imagine such a thing as a tempest. Returning to Baltimore, the ferry took the route to the north of Sherkin, which made for a very smooth passage and provided further interesting views.

Monday morning was chilly and wet, my day to return home. The Bed & Breakfast owner kindly gave me a lift to the deserted bus stop at Baltimore. I wondered why I was the only one waiting, only to be told by someone “sure no bus comes here on a Sunday or bank Holiday Monday”. I chirped “Bus Eireann’s Journey Planner assured me there was a bus” and the guy just answered in a strong West Cork accent “you poor stupid thing...imagine you believed that” With this horrible new knowledge I hopped up to Bushe’s pub and asked them could they phone a taxi expeditiously as I had a bus to catch in Skibbereen. It took 3 phone calls before they could get me one, and I waited nervously fidgeting with a beer mat. I made it to my Skibbereen connection with minutes to spare and hence reached the homeward bound train on which I was booked.