For reasons too complicated to explain as soon as the extended jubilee bank holiday was announced in mid-January I booked a ferry to Dublin. For the sake of my mental well being it's best for me to observe the brouhaha that surrounds such occasions from a distance, preferably safely ensconced in a nearby republic.
Normally France would be the obvious choice, late spring in Normandy or the Loire is always an alluring prospect, but back in January things were far from normal, Covid travel restrictions still applied and planning ahead remained a bit of a lottery. Furthermore, with a long trip to Spain and Portugal impending at the end of January, and an even longer one through the Balkans to Greece planned for late summer and autumn, we were concerned about overshooting our Schengen visa 90/180 day allowance.
Gill had a bright idea - "What about Ireland?" she ventured. Good thinking! The common travel area within the British Isles overrides the Schenghen visa rules, moreover, visiting Ireland more or less accords with our avowed aim to explore unfamiliar places. Admittedly, back in the early noughties we took the kids on a day trip to Dublin using the fast ferry from Holyhead and in 1967 Gill went on school trip to Ireland. Memories of both events are now a bit hazy. As I said previously about a visit to Laon, does revisiting somewhere you can't remember count as new territory?
So, after a pleasingly unmemorable overnight stop in a public car park next to Holyhead yacht club, here we are, watching the low silhouette of the Wicklow mountains draw ever closer as our ferry sails slowly into Dublin bay, the Emerald Isle looking distinctly grey.
Arriving anywhere unfamiliar is always a tad un-nerving. There were no passport formalities but the Irish immigration officer did quiz us regarding our travel plans and how long we intended to stay. Then it was straight out of the docks and through a 5km tunnel which takes you under Dublin's suburbs to the northern point of the city's urban motorway. In what is clearly a revenue making ploy a short stretch of the ring road has a toll. Recently it went entirely electronic, which is ok if you are a local but bewildering for tourists. Gill attempted to log us onto the system. It was tricky, there was no category for motorhomes, should we call ourselves a minibus or a goods vehicle between 2000kg - 12,000kg? In the end it didn't matter as it transpired that paying a one off charge on- line was impossible; what the system wanted to do was send a tag to our home address. Let's deal with this later, we agreed.
We had pre-booked our first stop - a campsite at Roundwood, Ireland's highest village, situated in the Wicklow mountains about 70km south of Dublin. The site seemed pleasant, generous plots scattered about in a big grassy area surrounded by tall hedges and trees.
It is rare, however, to find a site without some quirk or eccentricity. In this case the owners seem to have a strange attitude towards children. They are banned from the adult toilet block but provided with their own facilities next door. How does that work? At what point does a toddler who needs help with ablutions become a child? What about tweenies? Is a twelve year old a child or an adult? Gill poked her head around the 'girl's facilities' It had three adult sized toilets and a nappy changing shelf, but no showers. So if kids are banned from the adult facilities how do they have a shower? It's odd. Is this going to be a thing in other sites in Ireland, or peculiar to here? We shall see.
Roundwood itself is a pleasant place with a population of around 1000. In the UK it would be lucky to still have a local, but here the village has two pubs, a chippy, a swanky take away pizza place that also does delicious wraps, an artisan butcher listed in an Irish good food guide, a small convenience store, a high end delicatessen, a garden centre and ironmongery store and a 'police house'. Does this reflect the fact that Ireland has the highest per capita GDP in Europe after Luxembourg? It makes Ireland expensive - diesel costs over €2.00 per litre in some places and the going rate for a campsite around €35 per night once you factor in 'extras' like shower tokens and ehu, which are usually included in the price elsewhere in Europe.
The village lies next to the Vatry reservoir. It was constructed in the 1860s to supply Dublin which by that point had grown to be regarded as the British Empire's 'second city'. It still remains along with Bristol, Newcastle and Edinburgh as a great example of Georgian urban planning. It will be interesting to see if Cork is similarly endowed having skipped past Dublin's undoubted charms.
A hiking trail skirts the reservoir's shoreline. We followed it for a mile or two through mixed woodland. Between the trees there were occasional views of the Wicklow mountains. We didn't meet another soul, it was very peaceful.
Tomorrow we are heading south to a motorhome stop near Arklow. Our plan is to go there via Glendalough, famed for both its picturesque valley setting and as a place of pilgrimage associated with the 6th Century monastery of St. Kevin. Is it possible, I wonder, in all seriousness to venerate someone called Kevin?
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