Ring of Kerry, Part 2: Sneem

Eventually we began to see more houses, a bit more traffic (a couple cars here and there, rather than none at all), and more cross streets. We were approaching Sneem, our first stop on this roundabout trip.

Why Sneem? We likely would not have stopped here had it not been for Mary Burns, a work colleague, who had pointed it out as a convenient stop along the Ring of Kerry. She also has relatives there, and gave us the lowdown on some places to eat and, if we were to stay more than a few hours, sleep.

Sneem was like many of the other small Irish towns that we would see on our trip: drive too far, and you are quickly out of it again. Along the main road there was a fair amount of commerce--pharmacies, bakeries, pubs, gift shops, an odd bike or beauty shop here or there. Storefronts were right up against the road and all seemingly part of one giant contiguous building that spanned the distance between streets. Flower boxes and colorful shutters adorned some of these exteriors, helping them stand out from the otherwise dreary facades. To my surprise, some of the residential buildings along the side streets were quite colorful--yellows, blues, purples--which must look beautiful on sunny days.

We parked the trusty Opel and stretched our legs. It was cold. Now it was windy too, and the clouds were spitting down rain. It felt like a dull November day in New England.

A gift shop beckoned, so we headed in for some warmth. Though we had only been in Ireland for a day it felt like we had already been in many gift shops (need to bring home gifts, of course) and seen much of what western Ireland had to offer in terms of trinkets and shirts. Every gift shop had a section filled with Guinness-themed items. Hats, rugby shirts, pint glasses, sweaters, postcards, boxers. You name it. Ireland's most famous export was everywhere.

Similarly, and more to my liking, every store also had a large selection of Irish caps. These were likely as touristy as the Guinness merchandise, but I felt better about trying these on since they felt authentic. They were apparently also made locally. (I ended up purchasing one in Galway the day before heading back to the U.S.)

Caps for sale. Everywhere.

We bought some souvenirs and then kept walking. The rain had stopped, and the sun was threatening to come out, though the chill remained. We walked past a pub (The Blue Bull, which we would try later), a post office (closed), and a couple small restaurants. We followed the main road over the town's one-lane bridge (which requires drivers on either side to negotiate who will cross and who will wait), and walked by the rest of the small town's nondescript shops and stores before reaching the end and doubling back. There really was very little to see here.

We found evidence of the Burns clan in Sneem.

Though this side street looks like a great place to play, we didn't see any kids.

Back near the car, we saw that the post office--which had been locked up tight at our arrival--was now open. Perfect! Time for postcards. We had a lot to write home about--the town of Killarney, our long hike yesterday, the many vistas from our drive today--even though we had not been in country long.

The only other person in the post office was the woman who worked there. She was older--in her 60s or 70s, perhaps?--and was wearing a pale, mint-colored dress jacket and long skirt. It reminded me of something that my grandmother might wear. And come to think of it, she did rather look like my grandmother, between her outfit and her curly white hair. We talked for a bit (the basics: where we had come from in the U.S., what had drawn us to Sneem, our mutual dislike for the crummy weather, for which she apologized, etc) before wishing her well and dropping our postcards in the mail. (I wish I had taken a photo of her--this is the only photographic regret I have from our whole trip.)

The main road through Sneem narrows to a single lane. In the background, a pub lends needed color to the scene.

We were getting hungry now, and the prospect of a light lunch--soup and a sandwich, maybe?--was appealing. So we walked a few doors down to the Blue Bull and took a seat. Things did not go as planned, however. In Ireland, of course, taking a seat at a pub does not mean "I'm hungry, and will pay you for food if you send over a member of the waitstaff." It means "I don't want to disturb you, and will come up to the bar when I am ready to order." But in the 5 minutes that it took me to remember this vital piece of information, nearly an entire tour bus had come into the bar, a development that seemed liable to overwhelm the one bartender and one server on staff. (Also, they didn't seem to care too much about haste.) Natalia and I looked at each other, looked at the menu (lots of small finger sandwiches and meat offerings), looked at our watches, and decided to make do with the snacks we had in the car. We could eat later. It was time to resume our journey along the Ring.