And we're off.
After weeks of vague plans and even vaguer maps, the Ireland road trip officially began today.
We left the car parked back in Holyhead, strategically placed just far enough from the ferry terminal to dodge the savage parking charges. Already feeling clever.
The P&O ferry to Dublin was enormous — more shopping centre than ship — and Charlie was in his element. He tore around the decks with wide eyes, exploring everything like he was on a secret mission. We had an expensive dinner on board (standard ferry stuff — fine, but nothing to write home about unless you're writing a complaint).
After a smooth 3.5-hour crossing, we docked in Dublin Port, grabbed a bus into town, and made our way to pick up a hire car.
And then came the pain: €250.
I swear, at that price I thought I was buying the bloody thing. Still, we needed wheels. I handed over the dosh, cursing the fact I could've brought my own car for that money, and all its comforts.
Charlie climbed into the passenger seat, road map already unfolded.
Trip rule #1: No Google Maps.
Just us, an old-school road atlas, and Charlie playing Co-Pilot Navigator-in-Chief for the week. What could possibly go wrong?
Turns out, quite a bit.
Missed the turn for Maynooth on the M4 and ended up doing a lovely extended tour of the Dublin ring road — twice. Between me squinting at roundabouts and Charlie trying to make sense of junction numbers, it was a comedy of errors. Eventually, we made it out west.
Found our Airbnb a couple of miles outside Maynooth, tucked away in the countryside — very quaint, like stepping back in time. Our lovely hosts, Austin & Mary, greeted us warmly, showed us to our room, and introduced us to their deaf dog, who didn’t hear us coming but still gave us a good sniffing. The whole place had a calm, old-world feel to it.
Once we’d settled in, we headed back into Maynooth and treated ourselves to a ridiculously overpriced Papa John’s. Hunger overrides shame. We then walked it off in the glorious evening sunshine, strolling the full length of Carlton Way. At some point on that walk, we passed a little stone boathouse by the water, tucked beside the golf course—part of the Carton House Estate, we later found out. It looked like something out of a storybook, sitting quietly in the reeds. Apparently, it was built for Queen Victoria in the 1800s. Just sitting there, quiet and forgotten, with little red rowboats docked inside. One of those places you don’t plan to see, but don’t forget either.
Knackered now, but happy. Despite a few wrong turns (literal and financial), we’re here. Tomorrow: westward, into the heart of Ireland.
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