UPFRONT - Day one:Have decided to take a road trip! We are great and spontaneous adventurers! We shall take to the road, channelling Kerouac/Hunter S./The Littlest Hobo (we're a mixed party). The weather folk swear we're in for a scorcher of a weekend, and the Beyoncé has an American friend in town who wants to see something outside Dublin, for some reason. The pin lands on Slea Head in Kerry, which is indeed very much outside Dublin. But we are undaunted! In our eagerness to include others in this clearly unmissable experience, we call Annie, who is swept up in the excitement at once, and immediately starts packing. It's a marvellous idea. What could go wrong?
Day two:Wake up in flurry of excitement, which bears striking resemblance to panic. It is alarmingly early and nobody has had much sleep. We pack almost everything we own. Except, obviously, things we might actually need like sun cream and trousers. All fits very snugly into the Nissan Micra. We are smug. Then we realise that we still have to pick up Annie, Annie's bag and Annie's guitar. We hope Annie has forgotten her guitar.
A little bit later:We pick up Annie. She has not forgotten her guitar. Annie, Annie's bag, Annie's sleeping bag and Annie's guitar join the party in a Nissan Micra that already contains: two adult American males, both over 6ft tall; two tents; an inflatable mattress; two sleeping bags; a double duvet; all our luggage; a dog (Lola) and a bag of road trip snacks. And a portable music system that works for half a track and runs out of charge.
Annie sits uncomplainingly by the broken window that won’t roll up, her hair whipped up into as much of a frenzy as space will allow. We are all impossibly cheery despite the somewhat cramped circumstances. The GPS system we borrowed from a friend the night before is actually functioning better than the car and we are all appreciating the posh lady’s polite instructions to Tuhn Lift and such.
Later again:Annie has ear ache and large hair from broken window breeze. The GPS lady is acting like she knows everything, and won't listen to anyone else. Is increasingly hard to be adventurous as sleep deprivation takes it toll. Everyone in the car is annoying. A canine flatulence situation has developed, and Kerry is still alarmingly far away. Iceland would have been closer.
Several hours later, punctuated by bossy GPS lady’s occasional command to please turn around (perhaps GPS lady is soothsayer?) we arrive in Dingle. Which is not our final destination. No, we’ve just stopped here to pick up a wetsuit and surf board, to add to the two adult American males, both over 6ft tall; two tents; an inflatable mattress; two sleeping bags; a double duvet; all our luggage; a dog (Lola); Annie; Annie’s bag; Annie’s guitar and the much depleted and mildly odorous snackbag.
The Nissan Micra sags at the knees, staggers and then shuffles onward, along what everyone keeps telling us is one of the most beautiful roads in the country. Desire to smack them all is overwhelming.
A little later again:Road is indeed beautiful. Americans in front seats spend much of the time ducking and wincing at approaching traffic on minuscule road, and equal amounts of time pumping out cheery expletives about how brilliant everything is. We agree. Travelling through Kerry with awestruck Americans is a hoot.
Even later again:We finally get to camping place. We have been in the car for about 17 hours. It is now foggy and grey and the snackbag is empty but still rancid-smelling. I tardily remember how poxy the Irish landscape looks close up, all damp grass and saggy fences and beige mobile homes. I do not want to sleep in a tent. I want to sleep in a hotel like normal people. I hate Kerry.
We decide to pitch tents quickly and go to local pub for rewarding victuals. Stand-off ensues when it is revealed that Americans and Europeans have different methodologies when it comes to putting up tents. The Americans win – surprise – and tent goes up, with much harrumphing from the passive-aggressive European contingent. The European contingent then finds the instructions and discovers the Americans were right. I am suddenly nostalgic for the Bush era, when Europeans got to be right about everything.
We go to the pub for a long time. On return, tent looks almost homely. Annie breaks out the guitar and we sing songs until the wee hours and commune with nature. Verily, camping is a most enjoyable experience.
Day three:We get up at stupid o'clock, this time to drop Annie to Listowel to get a bus to Galway. Cannot believe more buses do not serve Slea Head. Is disgrace.
On the way back, we get stuck behind a bus on impossibly narrow road. Cannot believe they allow buses on Slea Head at all. Kerry is a hole. By the time we get to beach it is mid-afternoon. I have been in a car for two days with farting dog, and tomorrow morning we leave again for Dublin. Road trip is big waste of time. Americans should learn to enjoy Dublin more.
Now:Finally sitting on Coumeenole beach. The sun is belting down across green and iron grey cliffs, and the sea is a deep and glittery blue. All dog farts are borne away on the light sea breeze. Kerry is clearly the most splendid place on earth. Road trip was a marvellous idea. I am typing this column with sand in my toes. If you're reading it, the Micra must have somehow made it back to Dublin.
fionamccann@irishtimes.com