Join Larry McGinnity as he retraces his backpacking escapades through West Cork in 1976, a place that captivated his heart. Through his vivid recollections, McGinnity – now in his 80s – reminds us of rural Ireland’s slow-paced charm.
I had mixed feelings as the station wagon slowed beside me, and the driver called out, “Like a lift?”
Firstly, I was backpacking through Ireland – Co. Cork, to be precise – because I wanted to do it slowly, at a walking pace. Still, here I was, 40-something, humping a pack and sleeping bag, the road climbing steadily in my face and my sweat running down it.
A D V E R T I S E M E N T
Genial Ireland
Besides, this was genial Ireland, and there was such a thing as common courtesy in response to a kind offer from a stranger.
So, per his instructions, I threw my pack up inside the railing on the roof and, making sure it was secure, climbed in the back with a “Thanks. This hill was getting a bit long!”
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Yank?
“Yank?” asked the driver, with a British accent. “Where you headed?” he continued without pausing.
“Yes, St. Louis. Kinsale, which I think is at the top of this hill, off to the left.”
“Yes, it is”, answered the female passenger to the driver’s left. “That’s too bad, as we’re going straight on to Glengarriff.”
“Glengarriff?” I questioned. “What’s there?” I’ll never forget her reply…
“It’s magical!”
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Instantly, with one of those decisions that can change your life, I said: “This I’ve got to see. Glengarriff must be special.”
“It is. You won’t be disappointed.”
It was. And I wasn’t.
Magical Glengarriff
Glengarriff was so special, so enchanting – and yes, so magical – that I spent the next week there, just moseying around the picturesque village of a few hundred people, relaxing, letting Ireland’s slow-paced charm sink in, taking in the breathtaking views.
There were scones and hot tea, visiting pubs and letting the locals delight me with their blarney.
Flowers were everywhere. I kept my camera clicking to capture not only the flora but the entire panorama.
Every day there seemed to be another scene to capture, another walking trail to take. Glengarriff is nestled between the mountains and the nature reserve behind it, with beautiful Bantry Bay and the mild Gulf Stream breezes coming in to caress its mews and memories.
One day a hike through tranquillity, the next a ferry ride to Garnish Island in Glengarriff Harbour (an inlet of Bantry Bay) to take in the exotic Italian gardens, “Grecian temple” and the magnificent botanical display. Sheer magic … the lady was right!
I especially fell in love with the scene of the old river bridge built by Cromwell’s army when they invaded in the 17th century. Or so I was told; later, I learnt that Cromwell’s Bridge probably had nothing to do with Oliver or his army, despite its name.
>>> READ MORE: How Cromwell’s Bridge in Glengarriff got its name
Often, after a walk with Sugarloaf Mountain in the background, I would end the day sipping tea on the veranda of the Eccles Hotel, built in 1890 and incorporating fabric from an earlier hostelry erected in around 1745.
Although I was staying in a B&B nearby, the old hotel – with its view of the bay and Irish hospitality – offered the perfect way to relax and absorb the peace and tranquillity that the Emerald Isle extends to visitors.
“We’ll be there when we arrive”
And so, it was late in the afternoon one day when I found myself sipping tea and eating a scone, as a car came to a screeching halt in front of the hotel.
Car doors flew open and four people bounded out, also screeching as they saw me: “Where are we? Where are we?” with their obvious American accents.
A D V E R T I S E M E N T
“Well, you’re in Glengarriff, in west Co. Cork”, I replied.
“How many miles to Kenmare?” the driver curtly demanded.
Now, I had visited Kenmare before, so I knew the approximate distance. “It’s about 20 miles”, I said.
His next statement confused and astounded me: “We’ve got to be in Kenmare by 5:30!”
As I said, I knew Kenmare over the county bounds in Kerry.
And I also knew Ireland and the Irish approach to time, especially arrival and departure times. It can be summed up nicely in the Irishism called “Irish time”, meaning: “We’ll be there when we arrive”.
A D V E R T I S E M E N T
So, knowing that nothing of great urgency was happening in Kenmare at “5:30” (or anywhere else in Ireland for that matter), I suggested: “Um, why don’t you take a minute out for a nice cup of tea and enjoy Glengarriff and the view? It’s magical…”
“No, no” they responded in unison. “We’ve got to be in Kenmare by 5:30!”
And so they jumped back into the car, doors slamming, and roared away.
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The essence of Ireland
Bemused and saddened over what they had missed – that is to say, the essence of Ireland and the reason for coming – I looked out over peaceful Bantry Bay once again, sighed and ordered another pot of tea.
A D V E R T I S E M E N T
If you too have memories of visiting Glengarriff in the 1970s, please share them with us in the comment section below!
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One Response
A remarkable memoir written with the sensitivity of a person who embraces the love of place.