May the Market Forces be with You

Me and the mot and the mot’s mother spent a few days in Kerry at the end of September, staycationing being de rigueur nowadays.

On the first morning there, getting into the car for a drive, our first port of call was Portmagee. I wanted to see the town Luke Skywalker and his crew launched their boats from when filming on Skellig Michael in July. 

The Jedi knight would be in another part of the galaxy by now, but I hoped to pick up some residue of the force. I imagined, with the Hollywooders gone, that the Skellig birds would be back to breeding and screeching, and village life in Portmagee would be back to normal.

And what a pleasant normal it was. In a café on the main drag we each bought an exquisite open crab sandwich on fresh brown bread for a not unreasonable €7 a pop. The café had large windows facing the bay and we sat gazing at the water. The weather was clement. A fishing boat with seagulls following was like a painting. I was almost moved to formulate an axiom à la Eric Cantona. It was easy to believe in the midst of such a peaceful scene that the force was, indeed, with us.

Following the food it was time to break the spell and take a ramble up the village. We made our way relaxedly, remarking on the good fare and how picturesque Portmagee was. I took out my phone and snapped some pictures for posterity. I read a plaque by the harbour that told a strange tale of New Year’s Eve 1727, a French ship and a tradition that continues to this day. It had the thrilling whiff of adventure on the high seas.

We hopped in the car intending to drive to Valencia Island to visit a candlemaker that the mother-in-law thought she had seen on Nationwide. I did a three-point turn on the street and then I spotted the sign: ‘Kerry’s Most Spectacular Cliffs, 5km’. It pointed up a street called Harbour View. Who could resist such a sign on such a sunny day in the heart of the Kingdom? Certainly not us.

I swung the car round and drove out the road. The journey was short and with the aid of several more signs of the same nature—namely, ‘Kerry’s Most Spectacular Cliffs Thisaway!’ —we soon arrived at the place.

A cottage with a tea room and a car park, and up ahead a pathway that led to the sheer cliff faces and the mighty Atlantic swirling with all its secrets below. I parked and we got out, eager and excited now to see the spectacular sight.  A sign on the cottage wall told visitors to report at the hut if they wanted to see the cliffs. That’s nice, I thought: safety is clearly of paramount importance.

We found the hut, prominent at the start of the path, and headed over. Fields on either side; some cattle grazing. We drew near. Then I saw it. Panic seized me: a cash register inside, manned by a friendly foreign woman who spoke good English through the hut’s window.

She had me over a barrel. I couldn’t change my mind at this stage and suggest we head back to the tea room for a scone instead. They were all geed up to see the next best thing to the Cliffs of Moher. I’d never be forgiven if I didn’t fork out.

Luckily, though, and to my great relief, the fee was a snip at €4 each. It could have been so much worse, the ending so much sadder. The signs are there to see: they’re a cute bunch in Kerry.

© Brian Ahern 2014