I do it my way

🇬🇧

Final thoughts

Ireland, you have been grand

(Mostly)

After twelve days wandering the Emerald Isle, it’s time to sort through the good, the bad, the ugly… and yes, even the weird.

✅ The Good

The Irish themselves top the list: fun, welcoming, and only occasionally decipherable through their musical accents. Add to that landscapes so green they make a billiard table look anaemic, and you’ve got a country that lives up to its postcard reputation.

History here isn’t just preserved — it’s cherished, celebrated, and sometimes peddled to tourists in woolly jumpers. The whiskeys and beers (red ales, stouts, you name it) deserve their own applause. Let’s just say I rarely went thirsty. In short: I felt oddly at home.

❌ The Bad

Yes, it rains — but that’s like complaining the Irish play fiddles. Expected. What wasn’t expected were three nagging irritants:

The tsunami of American tourists loudly “reconnecting” with their great-great-grandfather’s cow. Entire towns seem retooled to cater to this diaspora pilgrimage. Prices that make Paris look cheap. Hotels, B&Bs, restaurants — my wallet is still whimpering. B&B roulette. Sometimes charming, often claustrophobic, and occasionally equipped with showers requiring Olympic-level contortions.

🤦‍♂️ The Ugly

Let’s talk wine. 🍷 As a Frenchman, I naturally require it with meals. What I got instead? Screw-top plonk from Chile or Argentina — shipped across oceans while perfectly good Bordeaux sits next door in Europe. Ecologically insane, gustatorily tragic.

To add insult to injury, my good English companion often ordered Merlot or Sauvignon Blanc with the solemn expectation that “all Merlots taste the same.” My Mediterranean soul wept. If you need cinematic therapy on the subject, rewatch Sideways — it’s aged better than some of the bottles I endured.

🤷 The Weird

Finally, the invisible-but-not-really border between Northern Ireland and the Republic. As a staunch EU supporter, it makes about as much sense as putting up a toll booth between your kitchen and dining room.

So there you have it: Ireland, with its charms, quirks, and questionable wine lists. Would I go back? Absolutely. But next time, I’m packing a decent bottle of red — purely for cultural survival.

---

🇫🇷

Réflexions finales

L’Irlande, un vrai régal

( ou presque)

Après douze jours à parcourir l’île d’émeraude, il est temps de faire le tri entre le bon, le moins bon, le franchement moche… et même l’étrange.

✅ Le Bon

Les Irlandais d’abord : drôles, accueillants et seulement parfois compréhensibles à travers leurs accents musicaux. Ajoutons à cela des paysages d’un vert tellement intense qu’un tapis de billard en paraîtrait pâlichon, et nous voilà dans un pays qui mérite vraiment ses cartes postales.

L’histoire n’y est pas simplement préservée, elle est chérie, célébrée, parfois même vendue aux touristes en pulls de laine. Quant aux whiskeys et bières (ales rousses, stouts, etc.), ils méritent une ovation à eux seuls. Autant dire que je n’ai pas souffert de soif. Bref : je me suis senti étonnamment chez moi.

❌ Le Moins Bon

Oui, il pleut. Mais se plaindre de la pluie en Irlande, c’est comme critiquer les violons dans un pub : attendu. Non, ce qui m’a un peu agacé, ce sont trois points précis :

La marée de touristes américains, venus “retrouver leurs racines” parce que leur arrière-arrière-grand-père avait une vache irlandaise. Des villes entières semblent remodelées pour ce pèlerinage nostalgique. Des prix stratosphériques. Hôtels, B&B, restos… mon portefeuille n’a toujours pas repris ses esprits. La loterie des B&B. Parfois charmants, souvent minuscules, et équipés de salles de bains où il faut être gymnaste olympique pour se tourner sous la douche.

🤦‍♂️ Le Moche

Parlons vin. 🍷 Français oblige, j’aime en avoir un verre avec mes repas. Ce que j’ai trouvé ? Du piquette bouchonné à vis, venu du Chili ou d’Argentine — traversant la moitié de la planète alors que d’excellents Bordeaux patientent à deux pas. Aberration écologique et tragédie gustative.

Cerise sur le gâteau : mon bon ami anglais commandait invariablement un “Merlot” ou un “Sauvignon Blanc”, persuadé que tous se ressemblent. Mon âme méditerranéenne en a pleuré. Pour un peu de pédagogie cinéphile, (re)voyez donc Sideways : le film a mieux vieilli que certains crus servis ici.

🤷 L’Étrange

Et puis il y a cette frontière invisible-mais-bien-réelle entre l’Irlande du Nord et la République. Pour l’européen convaincu que je suis, ça a autant de sens que de mettre un péage entre sa cuisine et sa salle à manger.

Voilà donc l’Irlande, avec ses charmes, ses bizarreries et ses cartes de vins douteuses. Y retournerai-je ? Absolument. Mais la prochaine fois, j’apporterai ma propre bouteille — question de survie culturelle.

---

🇩🇪

Abschließende Gedanken

Irland – ein Genuss

(mit Abzügen in der B-Note)

Nach zwölf Tagen auf der grünen Insel ist es nun an der Zeit, Bilanz zu ziehen: das Gute, das weniger Gute, das Hässliche… und das Merkwürdige.

✅ Das Gute

Die Iren stehen ganz oben: lustig, entspannt und nur gelegentlich schwer zu verstehen durch ihren musikalischen Akzent. Dazu kommen Landschaften, die so grün sind, dass ein Billardtisch dagegen verblasst. Kurz gesagt: Irland ist eine Postkarte in Echtzeit.

Die Geschichte wird hier nicht nur bewahrt, sondern regelrecht gefeiert – manchmal auch in Wollpullovern an Touristen verkauft. Und die Whiskeys und Biere (ob Stout oder Red Ale) sind schlicht großartig. Durst leiden musste ich jedenfalls nie. Ich fühlte mich fast wie zu Hause.

❌ Das Weniger Gute

Ja, es regnet. Aber sich darüber zu beschweren, ist wie sich über Geigen in einem Pub aufzuregen – gehört einfach dazu. Wirklich gestört haben mich drei Dinge:

Die Flut amerikanischer Touristen, die auftreten, als gehöre ihnen das Land, nur weil ihr Ur-Ur-Großvater angeblich eine Kuh auf einer irischen Weide hatte. Ganze Städte scheinen auf diese Nostalgie-Pilger zugeschnitten. Die Preise. Hotels, B&Bs, Restaurants – alles so teuer, dass sogar Paris erschwinglich wirkt. B&B-Lotterie. Mal charmant, oft winzig, und nicht selten mit Badezimmern, in denen man akrobatische Fähigkeiten braucht, um sich in der Dusche umzudrehen.

🤦‍♂️ Das Hässliche

Kommen wir zum Wein. 🍷 Als Franzose brauche ich zu meinen Mahlzeiten einfach ein Glas. Was ich bekam? Schraubverschluss-Plörre aus Chile oder Argentinien – über halbe Ozeane geschifft, während Bordeaux gleich nebenan wartet. Ökologisch absurd, geschmacklich tragisch.

Zu allem Überfluss bestellte mein guter englischer Freund immer einen „Merlot“ oder „Sauvignon Blanc“ – in dem festen Glauben, sie schmecken überall gleich. Meine mediterrane Seele hat leise geweint. Wer die Lektion filmisch aufgearbeitet haben möchte: Sideways anschauen – der Film ist besser gealtert als mancher Tropfen, der mir serviert wurde.

🤷 Das Merkwürdige

Und dann ist da noch die unsichtbare, aber sehr reale Grenze zwischen Nordirland und der Republik. Für einen überzeugten Europäer wie mich ist das so sinnvoll wie eine Mautstelle zwischen Küche und Esszimmer.

So viel also zu Irland – mit all seinen Reizen, Eigenheiten und fragwürdigen Weinkarten. Würde ich wiederkommen? Unbedingt. Aber beim nächsten Mal bringe ich sicherheitshalber meine eigene Flasche mit – rein zur kulturellen Selbstverteidigung.

Link back to my master Blog and main menu J²S 

🇬🇧

With Ryanair and warm saké along the way

Our departure from Dublin was at the positively luxurious hour of 10 a.m. — a time that allowed for the smug satisfaction of not having to stumble bleary-eyed into an Uber at dawn. The Hotel Dublin 1 had served us well: spacious room, central location, and — most importantly — a bathroom that didn’t require me to attempt yoga positions just to turn around in the shower.

Security at the airport was mercifully swift, though boarding came with the now-familiar Ryanair ritual: a ten-minute stairwell pause, as if preparing us for the discomfort that awaited.

The plane left thirty minutes late thanks to a wind-inspired game of aircraft queueing, and the next two hours proved every bit as bone-rattling as Ryanair has conditioned us to expect. The two gin & tonics did nothing to dissipate the pain. I am this close to swearing them off entirely, though I fear that such an act of rebellion would not boost my domestic popularity.

Landing in Carcassonne was like stepping from monochrome into technicolour: 32°C, blazing sunshine, and the immediate shedding of long trousers in favour of shorts. 🩳

With the fridge at home standing as empty as an Irish pub at 9 a.m., the solution was obvious: dinner out. My brother and his wife will join us at the local Japanese spot, where I may even raise a cup of warm saké 🍶 — purely in honour of our safe return, you understand.

Tomorrow, of course, I resume my virtuous life of moderation and no alcohol. But tonight? Tonight, I’m home — and that’s worth celebrating.

Link back to my master Blog and main menu J²S 

🇬🇧

Bacon, rain & self-congratulation

Another early night, another bad night’s sleep. Between nightmares and a stomach that behaved like a bodhrán at a ceilidh, I woke up more times than a nervous leprechaun guarding his pot of gold. So yes, “not feeling too fresh” might be the understatement of the trip.

Still, nothing quite snaps you back to life like the unmistakable smell of bacon wafting up from the B&B kitchen. If that doesn’t get you out of bed, you may already be dead. Breakfast wasn’t due for another hour, and my stomach was still filing official complaints—but let’s be honest, who in their right mind says no to a full Irish on the last day? Exactly.

Suitably fuelled (and possibly doomed), we packed up and braved the rain for a smooth 120 km drive back to Dublin. Rental car returned, hotel luggage dropped, and spirits still surprisingly intact—we marched off to EPIC The Irish Emigration Museum.

Now, EPIC is slick. It’s modern. It’s shiny. It’s also a bit like Ireland throwing itself a surprise party: “Look at us, we suffered terribly, but by God we also invented the White House lawn and gave the world U2.” I admire the optimism, but as a non-Irish visitor, I sometimes felt like I’d wandered into a family reunion slideshow where everyone insists you’re basically a cousin too.

History lesson absorbed (with mild scepticism), it was clearly time for a pint. Ryan’s Bar around the corner obliged: Guinness for everyone, food to settle stomachs, and the comforting hum of lunchtime pub life.

By 4 p.m., we were back at the hotel to check in. I, naturally, surrendered to the siren call of a nap while the others rediscovered the River Liffey.

Evening saw us regrouping, and suddenly my brain clicked into déjà vu mode—I actually remembered the way to Temple Bar from a trip two years ago. Yes, the area is touristy. Yes, the drinks cost as much as a small house in Leitrim. And yes, the live band at The Quays was loud enough to drown out existential thought. But you can’t really say you’ve “done Dublin” without passing through, preferably while shouting your order over a cover of “Whiskey in the Jar.”

From there, we ambled back in search of dinner, stumbling upon The Big Tree, a quiet sanctuary next to our hotel where the pints were cheaper, the volume tolerable, and the collective sigh of relief audible.

Eventually, we caved to the hotel restaurant itself before the kitchen bolted its doors at 9 p.m. Wine (Chile again, sorry Ireland) and whiskey rounded off the evening, because how else do you mark your last night on the Emerald Isle?

Stats of the day: 9.7 km walked, smashing our 11-day average of 7.5 km. Muscles sore, wallets lighter, livers slightly singed—but hearts full.

Tomorrow, the tour breaks up as half the crew heads airport-ward. For now, though, sláinte to Ireland: land of rain, bacon, and the occasional self-congratulatory museum.

Link back to my master Blog and main menu J²S 

🇬🇧

We woke up indecently early again (apparently Ireland is turning us into morning people), well-rested thanks to the Celtic House B&B. Our room came equipped with two double beds — which meant I could starfish myself across one of them while still having the other as a backup in case of emergency. Breakfast wasn’t until 8:30, so I did the noble thing: updated my blog and checked the news from home. Apparently, Carcassonne is bracing for another heatwave. Shorts weather awaits us there, but for now, we’re firmly in “sherry weather” here in Kilkenny — damp, chilly, and only missing the glass of fortified wine to complete the mood.

Breakfast itself was served by none other than Angela Byrne — painter, author, and, if I’m being honest, someone I had never heard of until she placed sausages in front of me. (Every day’s a school day in Ireland.)

Kilkenny was hosting a “Medieval Half Marathon” today. I was this close to joining but, alas, forgot my running shorts. (Also, I don’t run unless a Guinness is involved.) Instead, we settled for something less sweaty: Kilkenny Castle. Now, don’t get me wrong, it’s a fine castle — but after you’ve seen a few, they do start to blend together. Turrets here, tapestries there, medieval draftiness everywhere.

Next up, we wandered through the Craft & Design Experience, peeked at Butler’s House and gardens, and then — brace yourselves — we boarded the little tourist road train.

Yes, we had already walked most of Kilkenny the day before, but when the opportunity arises to sit down and be driven in circles while someone tells you fun facts over a crackly speaker… you don’t say no.

Back in town, I stumbled into a men’s clothing shop and came out with a jumper (half-price in the sales — I ask you, what choice did I have?). Now the real puzzle: will Ryanair let me cram it into my already rebellious hand luggage? Stay tuned.

The Medieval Mile Museum kept us entertained until lunch beckoned.

Our friends A & S had already infiltrated Kyteler’s Inn, so we joined them. The place was buzzing, Guinness was flowing, and the beef stew of the day was calling my name.

Payment, however, was another story — the card machines were down, but by some miracle we had enough cash. A rare occasion, because normally our wallets hold just enough coins to operate a public toilet.

After lunch, we split up. Some of us went to the Smithwick’s brewery tour (where we learned the great Irish truth: Kilkenny = Smithwick’s in a tuxedo, sent abroad for export glamour).

The others went to Rothe House. The plan was to regroup at the legendary Hole in the Wall pub, but alas, it was closed. Plan B: the “Famine Experience.” Spoiler alert — it turned out to be a virtual walk housed inside a shopping mall. Nothing says famine like a food court.

By 4pm, energy levels flatlined. Four of us retreated to the B&B for tea, naps, and the illusion of productivity (yes, I typed this bit of the blog with one eye closed).

Evening brought us all together again at the Langston Hotel for apéritifs, dinner, and live Irish music.

The place was buzzing, the atmosphere cheerful, and the pints plentiful. Kilkenny does know how to do a Saturday night — and we managed it all without running a half marathon.

Link back to my master Blog and main menu J²S 

⸻

🏰 Early Contacts (12th–16th centuries)

• 1169: The first Norman knights (invited by an Irish king looking for help in a local feud) landed in Ireland.

• This led to the Anglo-Norman conquest, with England’s King Henry II asserting control.

• For centuries, English rule was mostly limited to a small fortified area around Dublin, known as the Pale. Much of Ireland remained under Gaelic lords.

⸻

⚔️ Tudor & Stuart Era (16th–17th centuries)

• From the 1500s, the Tudors (Henry VIII, Elizabeth I) sought full control.

• Henry VIII declared himself King of Ireland (1541), breaking from Rome and planting English authority.

• The Plantations began: confiscated Irish lands were settled by English and Scottish Protestants (especially in Ulster).

• Religious division hardened: Catholic Irish vs. Protestant settlers/administration.

⸻

🌍 17th Century Upheaval

• Rebellions and wars (1641 Rising, Cromwell’s brutal conquest in the 1650s).

• Large land confiscations from Catholics.

• By 1700, Protestants (the “Protestant Ascendancy”) owned most of the land.

⸻

📜 18th Century

• Ireland had its own Parliament, but it was controlled by the Protestant Ascendancy.

• Catholics and dissenting Protestants were excluded by the Penal Laws.

• Growing resentment among Catholics and the poor.

⸻

💥 1798 Rebellion

• Inspired by the American and French revolutions, the United Irishmen (Protestants and Catholics united) rose against English rule.

• It failed, but it showed a new idea: Irish nationalism.

⸻

🇬🇧 Union with Britain (1801)

• After further unrest, Ireland was formally joined with Britain in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland.

• Irish MPs sat in Westminster, but Ireland remained politically and socially unequal.

⸻

🌾 The Great Famine (1845–1852)

• Potato crop failure → mass starvation, disease, and emigration.

• Population dropped by millions.

• Britain’s slow response deepened Irish resentment and nationalist feeling.

⸻

🟢 19th Century Nationalism

• Home Rule movement pushed for self-government within the UK.

• Leaders like Parnell gained momentum, but opposition in Ulster (Protestants fearing Catholic dominance) blocked it.

⸻

🇮🇪 20th Century Struggle

• Easter Rising (1916): Irish rebels declared a republic in Dublin. It was crushed, but it lit the flame of independence.

• War of Independence (1919–1921): Guerrilla war by the IRA vs. British forces.

• 1921 Treaty: Ireland was partitioned.

• 26 counties became the Irish Free State (later the Republic of Ireland).

• 6 counties in the northeast remained Northern Ireland, part of the UK.

⸻

⚡ Northern Ireland Troubles (1960s–1998)

• Tensions between Catholic nationalists and Protestant unionists erupted into violence.

• “The Troubles” lasted 30 years, with bombings, shootings, and heavy British military presence.

• Good Friday Agreement (1998) brought peace and a power-sharing government in Northern Ireland.

⸻

🌿 Today

• The Republic of Ireland is fully independent, a member of the EU, and culturally thriving.

• Northern Ireland remains part of the UK, but questions about reunification linger, especially after Brexit.

⸻

5👉 In a nutshell: 800 years of English involvement in Ireland saw conquest, colonisation, rebellion, famine, and partition. The legacy is still visible in politics, identity, and culture today.

Back to post

🇬🇧

After an excellent night’s sleep, I woke with that particular craving only the British Isles can truly understand: a nice, strong cup of tea to shock the eyelids into action. Mission accomplished, our plan was clear — make it to the Galway City Museum for its 10am opening. Thankfully, it’s perched right on the seafront, meaning only a short stroll from our accommodation.

The weather? Grey, damp, and drizzly — in other words, Ireland being Ireland. But miracle of miracles, we made it without getting wet, which in Galway counts as a minor victory.

Inside, the museum turned out to be far more enlightening than expected. I’ve always been a bit muddled when it comes to Irish and Anglo-Irish history (to be fair, who hasn’t?), but this morning I genuinely learned a few things. For fellow history-heads or the historically-confused, I’ve prepared a neat little digest in a separate post (link here). Consider it my public service to save others from the same muddle.

By noon, however, the heavens opened. Strolling about town in biblical rain? Hard pass. Instead, we executed a tactical retreat  to Seasan Ua Neactain (do not ask me to pronounce it) pub for a couple of pints.

We book a table at Flanagan’s pub next door to our accommodation . Lunch there was classic Irish fare — hearty, satisfying, and perfect for six people wedged together at a table designed for four. The only disappointment was the wine. Bottles with screw caps flown in from Chile and Argentina — which felt less “rustic pub charm” and more “airport duty free clearance sale.” Honestly, Ireland, if you’re in the EU, at least buy wine from France, Spain, or Italy. Save the planet and our taste buds.

After regrouping in our rented house, the rain finally eased, and we set off to see Galway Cathedral.

Now, don’t be fooled: the word “cathedral” usually conjures up visions of medieval grandeur, flying buttresses, and a touch of incense-soaked mystery. Galway’s? Built in the 1960s. Solid, yes. Impressive in scale, certainly. But atmospheric? Let’s just say it has all the gravitas of a particularly devout bus station.

Our last evening in Galway was low-key: dinner at home with provisions from the corner shop and 3 take away pizzas as well as a far better bottle of wine than Flanagan’s could ever dream of stocking.

Sometimes, the simplest nights in are the best. Tomorrow, new adventures beckon — hopefully under slightly less soggy skies.

Link back to my master Blog and main menu J²S