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The continuing chapter of our flying visit to Southern Ireland in April as I write to the beautiful strains of Hayley Westenra and the hikoi 'marches' on towards Parliament but Helen Clark finds Shrek the Sheep's company more enjoyable....keeping up with NZ politics and current events. (Now outdated when you read this because my attention has been diverted from the keyboard by domestic events.)

After leaving Cork, visiting Blarney Castle and historic Cobh on our second day in the Emerald Isle, late Saturday afternoon saw us in the Irish tourist mecca of Killarney in County Kerry. My trusty Lonely Planet Guidebook informed me that this is where I would find plentiful supplies of leprechaun-adorned t-shirts, mugs, tea towels etc to purchase - souvenirs for my children and grandchildren. But I ended up coming away empty handed because there were only cheap key rings and plastic gimmicks to choose from, or expensive Irish linen, the latter of which is very beautiful but young people don't have much need for doilies and supper cloths these days.

Killarney claims to have been a tourist town since the mid 17th Century but it wasn't until the 18th Century that Lord Kenmare developed it as a centre for tourism which attracted royals and dignitaries from around Europe. Back in the mists of time dating from the Neolithic period, Killarney was an important Bronze Age settlement where copper ore was mined. It was a sub-kingdom to Cashel (also known as the Rock of Cashel, which was the centre of power in Ireland) during the 4th Century, and became a stronghold of the O'Donoghue clan - if you happen to be a descendant. In the 7th Century, Killarney became the focus of Christianity when St Finian founded a monastery on Inisfallen Island in Lough Leane (Lake of Learning).

West of the town stands St Mary's Cathedral with a huge tree in the front lawn. The cathedral was used as a hospital in the 1840's, and during the Famine it acted as a refuge for the destitute - the tree marks the mass grave of those who died. At the northern end of High Street is a memorial to Famine victims erected in 1972 but the inscription reads: "This memorial will not be unveiled until Ireland is free." The quest for a united Ireland, subliminal or otherwise, knows no appeasement.

Present-day Killarney has few individual attractions unless you are one of the hundreds of thousands who use it as a starting point for the magnificently scenic Ring of Kerry, whether you self-drive it, take a coach tour, walk it or cycle it. In which case, Killarney is second-renowned for having more registered accommodation than anywhere else, after Dublin.

The Ring of Kerry is not the only attraction outside the town. You can fish for trout and salmon in the Rivers Flesk and Laune and in the lakes in Killarney's 10,236 hectare National Park. Also enclosed within the park is Ross Castle, the residence of the O'Donoghues and the last place in Munster to succumb to Cromwell's forces.
Nearby is Muckross House and Gardens built in the Victorian style and donated to the park (I just forget the details of the benefactor without looking it up). Muckross Traditional Farms are reproductions from 1930's Kerry farmhouses complete with chooks having free range to the houses and gardens. Visitors are encouraged to talk to the traditionally dressed labourers as they work on the plots growing food and crops organically, husbanding the animals in the ways or yore, practicing apothecary, making vegetable dyes and cooking by traditional methods. And there is also a Muckross Abbey, founded in 1448 and burned by Cromwell's troops in 1652.
Three to four kilometres on, you come to the Meeting of the Waters. This is the point where the 3 lakes meet - Lough Leane (the Lower Lake or Lake of Learning), Muckross (or Middle Lake) and Upper Lake, which doesn't have the added distinction of being named after something inspiring or famous. Just plain Upper Lake, which hardly seems fair when it is no less functional or picturesque than its contemporaries.
A hike through oak and yew woodlands lead to the Mangerton, Torc, Shehy and Purple Mountains and by all accounts, the Torc Waterfall is a sight worth the rough climb.
Red Deer are known to have been in Ireland for the past 10,500 years - from the end of the last cold period in fact. The Killarney Herd, numbering around 700, is the only wild herd of native Red Deer remaining in the world and naturally, they are fiercely protected.

All this history and splendor was not mine to absorb and admire unfortunately, as time was of the essence, not to mention my beloved's aversion to strenuous exercise! Lonely Planet said to consider the pocket-sized village of Kenmare as a more sedate base so we left kitschy Killareny in our wake and proceeded south east.

The road to Kenmare skirts part of the National Park and took us through an enchanting ancient Yew forest where a thick carpet of emerald green moss up to 6 inches deep in parts covers rocks, roots and trunks; past lakes glistening in the late afternoon sun under whose refracted surface lurked wily trout; and over precipitous rocky passes where hairy (rather than woolly) sheep scramble about the rocky slopes like goats.

Pete discovered that the saying about English, American and Irish drivers is positively true - the English drive on the left, the American's on the right and the Irish drive down the middle of the road! Meeting oncoming locals in the centre of the narrow bumpy 'poor excuse for a road' didn't do his heart a lot of good.

I attach pictures of this stretch of road, which illustrates in part how captivatingly picturesque it is, in addition to how hazardous.
Kenmare was all that was promised. Not so much pocket-sized as Mary Poppins carpet-bag sized, it stands in a basin between Mangerton and Knockboy Mountains, where 3 rivers empty into the great Kenmare River (more of an extended bay really). We drove into well laid out X-plan one-way streets lined with colourful fronted shops, pubs and B&B's bedecked in flowers, and a triangular market square in the centre. On the outskirts of town, we found a series of guest houses snuggled against rolling leprechaun green hills, quietly and unhurriedly basking in the late afternoon sun - who said it always rains in Ireland?

We chose Druid House as our overnight shelter, attracted by the Celtic name and the promisingly eccentric look about the place. When you have stayed in as many B&B's as we have, one develops an eye for recognising the tell-tale signs between a private residence and a home offering a bed for the night. And B&B connoisseurs such as ourselves have also developed a preference when it comes to choosing the type of environment created by the host and/or hostess. Druid Cottage appeared to have just the right ingredients; hutches crouching between the drive and hedge that possibly housed chooks for the provision of fresh eggs at the breakfast table, an unruly assortment of flowering plants in containers rather than a highly disciplined formal garden pruned for inspection, white resin deck chairs with their backs to the stone wall in order to take full advantage from the sun's rays and the heat absorbing granite, and most interestingly, about 4 pairs of shoes all turned up-side down along the wooden edging separating the car park space from a strip of lawn. What did the up-side down shoes signify? We were intrigued. Despite its unorthodox appearance, Druid Cottage looked inviting so I walked up to the forest green painted door, knocked expectantly and waited to see what lay beyond.
The third and, I hope, final chapter will follow but I will try to make it sooner rather than later. The good news of today was that the All Blacks beat England again. The game was only televised on Sky TV, which we don't have so have had to rely on a written report on the internet.

Looking forward to hearing from you....