Read Online At the Edge of Ireland by David Yeadon - Free Book Online

for a traumatic transformation when the charmingly upmarket and architecturally flamboyant Victorian town of Killarney itself, with its plethora of palace-like hotels and resorts, suddenly becomes Ireland’s most popular tourist nexus after Dublin. The relatively narrow roads that encircle the Ring of Kerry attract dawn-to-dusk processions of bumper-to-bumper coach traffic, all visiting the same “top spots” (the National Park, Muckross House and Abbey, the Ladies’ View panorama, Ross Castle et al.).
    For those whose images of Ireland conjure up shamrock-garnished horse and carriage rides, leprechaun-filled souvenir shops, pseudo- céilí concerts in “traditional pubs,” KISS ME QUICK I’M IRISH souvenirs in every imaginable guise, and an exuberance of blarney that even make Japanese tourists wary of overkill hype—then this will be seen as some kind of paddywackery paradise.
    For those, however, who are willing to work a little harder to discover a more authentic Ireland—may we gently continue to entice you to travel a score or so miles from the crush of Killarney and venture south to the next peninsula, which offers a far more authentic experience altogether.
    Here on Beara the scenery is as rugged as a rhino’s carapace and formed largely of sandstone, with slate and igneous intrusions, all bent, buckled, and fissured by the Armorican tumult of over three hundred million years ago. The land is creased, incised, and gashed by constant conflicts with the oh-so-Irish elements of rain, frost, and that miasma of “mizzle” (mist and drizzle) that cocoons the high ancient places.
    But we don’t mind at all. We’re out of the Killarney chaos and into the wild country now, switchbacking up the steep narrow road to Moll’s Gap and a quick pause for a gourmet snack (one of the thickest, creamiest, and richest quiches ever) at the famous Avoca Café perched on the scoured treeless peak here.
    And then it’s all downhill, looping and laughing together as we see signs for Kenmare and the Ring of Beara. Anne reads a short outspoken commentary from one of our guidebooks:
    The Beara peninsula is as beautiful as the Dingle, far to the north, but it is perhaps the least known of the western peninsulas. It is more rugged and till now lonelier than the others. Its fate is being argued. One faction, led and supported by conservationists, tourists, and many German, Dutch and English “blow-in” settlers, is for keeping things much as they are. The other, including a number of influential locals, want the god Development: roads, houses, hotels and industry to match Ireland’s economic surge of the 1980s and 1990s. Having fouled up your own countries, these Irish seem to be saying, you want to stop us fouling up ours, and that is for us to decide.
    â€œI assume this ‘fouling’ business doesn’t refer to our peninsula,” I said.
    â€œOh—so it’s ‘our peninsula’ now, is it? Getting a little possessive aren’t we, especially as you haven’t even see the place yet!” Anne said, laughing.
    â€œWell—it says ‘least known,’ so I guess we’ve picked the right one…and I’ve heard nothing about any ‘fouling.’”
    And Kenmare certainly appears foul free. In fact, after all the hype and hullabaloo of Killarney this is a model town of decorum and grace. Hidden back behind the cozy little cluster of downtown stores are two of Europe’s most prestigious hotel-resorts. First is “High Victorian” Park Kenmare tucked away at the top end of main street, laden with antiques and tingling with olde world country house charm. Then comes Sheen Falls Lodge, definitely one of those “if you have to ask the price here you can’t afford it” places set on a three-hundred-acre estate with tree-shaded walks down to the long, ocean-lapped bay known somewhat misleadingly as the