Celtic Crusades … Escape to Eire

Many people stopped to admire my sublime parking of van with car at the ferry port. We were a novel tourist attraction for the aged coach parties, and really should have charged for the guided tours of our van. Joe expertly put it on the ferry, which proved surprisingly calm in the notorious Irish Sea. 3.5 pleasantly smoothe hours later we pulled into Rosslare and 4/5ths of the family were seeing Ireland for the first time. It was … well … it was like Wales, only sunny. Good roads, nice hills. Very green. European. In the Euro zone, but driving on the British side of the road.

We couldn’t push too far after docking in the evening, so headed for Tramore, a seaside resort in the south east, a suburb of Waterford. If you like hoards of kids, privet hedges, lawns mowed daily, many rules and sky-high prices, this could be just the campsite for you. Why would anyone consider it a selling point to have locked toilets? Were there roving hoards of crack cocaine addicts just looking for a campsite toilet, 3 miles out of town, in which to do their deals? Makes an 8 year-old needing the toilet in the middle of the night even more of a challenge than usual. Still, the kids liked it and were introduced to the delights of hurling (a sport, not reverse peristalsis) and gaelic football. Rhys disappeared off whenever he had the opportunity, Jenna made friends with a dog and then its 11-year-old owner, while Rowan – almost a teenager – was far more discerning and diabolo’d solo. Once again, the big rig drew stares of admiration and disbelief: “est ce que vous avez vue le majestic? C’est formidable!” Joe and I grappled with the joys of tiny tight manicured bends with 40 foot in tow, dump stations conveniently situation in the tightest corner between tents, behind a shed … all the usual hassles. It was all a bit hemmed in for our liking. We don’t like being able to watch our neighbours, three foot away, scratching their bottoms in the morning. But we had work to do and vans to get accustomed to. We weren’t able to move on fast.

To acquaint ourselves with our environs, we like to take a stroll on arrival. Of course, most of these campsites seem to be situated in the only council estate oh-so-conveniently several miles out of town. Inevitably, up a hill. So, we trudged a couple of miles down to the sea, to find a seaweedy, smelly, pebble-cum-litter cove about the size of a beach towel. Undeterred, we soldiered several miles more over hills and cliffs to reach the town proper. I was prepared for a tacky, tourist nightmare town – but Tramore was a pleasant surprise. Yes, there was a massive funfair. But also 5 kilometres of golden sand beach, dunes and decent waves. A pretty little place with non chain pubs and restaurants. After a good meal, the world looked better and we were ready for the long, uphill trudge home.

You can stay anywhere too long. We definitely outlasted the delights of Tramore. But even though everyone probably thinks we’re on a lifelong jolly, we had a lot of work to do. Joe worked night after night and many days for one of his clients, with me chipping in with a 14 hour day. This digital nomadism is not always as easy as it sounds, though I do love seeing five laptops hard at work. Its just the blinking cables and the astronomic charges for internet that wind me up.