Summary

An American couple's visit to the Muckcross House in Killarney, Ireland, is documented, detailing their experiences exploring the estate, local attractions, and their journey to other parts of the country.

Abstract

The author recounts their family's visit to Muckcross House, a 19th-century mansion gifted as a wedding present, where they immerse themselves in the grandeur of the estate, envisioning its past through lavish balls and royal visits. The day continues with a rain-soaked hike, lunch at the estate's restaurant, and a visit to the eerie Muckcross Abbey ruins. The narrative then shifts to their adventurous drive to Dingle, highlighting the challenges of navigating narrow Irish roads, and concludes with a windy beach visit and preparations for the next day's travels to Galway, emphasizing the spontaneous nature of their trip.

Opinions

The author expresses awe at the opulence and history of Muckcross House, imagining the lavish lifestyle of its past inhabitants.
A sense of enchantment is conveyed through descriptions of the estate's gardens and the vivid imagery of the Irish landscape.
The Muckcross Abbey is described as having an unsettling atmosphere, with its tomb-like cellars and narrow stone staircases.
The author's husband's driving is portrayed with a mix of trepidation and admiration for his ability to navigate treacherous roads.
The author's daughter, Sierra, shares her parent's appreciation for the unique experiences of their Irish vacation, despite the creepy feelings at the Abbey and the inclement weather at the beach.
The author seems to value the spontaneity and adventure of their travel approach, as evidenced by their decision to find accommodation on the fly and their positive reaction to the unexpected.

An Irish Estate

Day 3 of our Ireland Trip

Author stands in front of the Muckcross House. Image by Drew Allen, used with permission.

How would you like a 19th-century mansion for a wedding gift?

That’s what happened when an American oil baron and his wife fell in love with their Irish “rental” estate on (I believe) 100 acres of land in Killarney, Muckcross, and decided to give it to their daughter for a wedding present. It was our first stop after a nice breakfast and piano-playing at last night’s b&b, Lios Na Manach.

I’ve never watched Downton Abbey (heresy, I know), but I can understand the fascination with sprawling estates, and upstairs-downstairs intrigues.

I could picture, in my mind, the balls that took place in the front entry, where the tables were pushed to the side to make room for the dancing, and young debutantes descending the stairs to join their admirers; the dining room sideboard full of chafers having been just re-heated in the side serving room, the family conversing under the soft chandelier lights and across the massive table. Adding to its cachet, Queen Victoria stayed there once, my sister had pointed out, as did our tour guide.

Mrs. Herbert, the original owner, gardened and painted. Her bedroom overlooked a garden with roses so vividly red and alive I could smell their scent just a couple of yards away.

The grounds could cover multiple football fields, edged with exotic ferns, ancient trees, and gigantic leaves. I could see now how JK Rowling, who grew up in neighboring lush England concocted her haunted woods.

Image of Author by Drew Allen. Used with permission.

It started to drizzle and I happily put on the rainproof trench jacket I’d purchased specifically for this trip. We lunched at the Muckcross restaurant, then took a 5-mile hike to a waterfall and lake where the kids skipped stones.

Afterward, we went to the ruins of Muckcross Abbey.

The Abbey had a graveyard. I took several photos there and in the main keep until I realized my family (husband and three teen kids) wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

“Drew?” I called my husband’s name.

I heard only the sound of my shoes on the gravel, the spraying of weeds by an unsmiling man in a yellow hazmat jumpsuit nearby.

“Drew?” I repeated.

No answer. A rook flew overhead.

Then Drew appeared and I breathed easy again.

I thought it was just my overactive imagination, but my 18-year-old daughter Sierra said she thought the Abbey felt creepy, too, with its tomb-like cellars, narrow stone staircases, and little window slits that allowed one to spy on people below.

After Muckcross, Drew drove like a madman down narrow roads (“Remember, stay on the left side!”) towards our next destination: the beach near Dingle. Don’t you love that name?

I said “madman” because he was going the speed limit of 60 on his side of the road that could fit only one car, without any shoulder to speak of, the side plantings brushing the side of our car. It made me think of those video racing games, where you can hardly stay on one lane. I was amazed he could.

Speaking of driving, my short-lived driving career in Ireland began and ended that morning, when I drove me and Drew to an ATM down a winding lane, and into a hotel parking lot.

Drew wouldn’t let me drive after that. He said it was too nerve-wracking, which I told him was not very nice because I didn’t hit anyone or anything even though some drivers sure took those bends fast. Oh well. If he wanted to do the video game racing all the time, he was welcome to it.

Image by Drew Allen, used with permission.

At the beach, it began to drizzle, but we came prepared and stayed relatively dry in our rain jackets. We hadn’t packed our swimsuits on this mini-vacation or Sierra might have rushed the waves to surf (which she had done in Hawaii). I could see the longing in her eyes.

The waves were stupendously strong and the wind whipped the hair into my eyes, certainly nothing like the idyllic beach day, but it was fun to beach comb and admire huge jellyfish stranded at low tide. A small bevy of dedicated surfing students bobbed up and down in the waves in their wet suits. The water wasn’t unpleasantly cold, but the wind was a bit nippy.

Our plan was to go to Galway the next day to see the famous Cliffs of Moher and to take dressage lessons, so we tried to reserve a b&b at Ennis, but my phone’s Irish SIM card ran out of minutes. We decided we’d just chance it and try to find a b&b when we got there.

Our previous night’s b&b owner, Brigid, had helpfully suggested taking the ferry to save driving time, so on the ferry we went. We found a b&b called Westbrook House, which had a very nice owner who not only let us take two rooms for the night but also referred us to a great restaurant called Storehouse in downtown Ennis.

On the way there, we walked down a route with a charming combination of narrow streets, colorful row buildings, and as always in Ireland, cheerful flowers in window boxes.

Sitting at the Storehouse waiting for our fish and chips, Sierra said with a tremulous smile, “This has been a really fun vacation. It’s just so different.”

Yes, yes, it has been.

This is a 9-day series through Ireland. Here are Day 1 and Day 2. Thank you for reading!

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