6. Tarbert

We have Tarberts in Scotland too, deriving from a word for a narrow neck of land, which in this particular instance is the causeway that links Tarbert Island to the mainland.

When we cycled from the ferry there was certainly water on our left (east), the water of Tarbert Bay. On our right however, it looked pretty dry; low tide perhaps.

Where the Listowel road meets the main street we found a hostel called The Ferry House. It's not opening until some time in June, but they gave us two ensuite rooms at Eu.20 per person excluding breakfast. The cafe attached to the hostel is definitely not open yet. In the evening we made enquiries about breakfast elsewhere in the town, without success, and bought rolls, cheese, and orange juice.

The view from our bedroom window at 9.10 p.m. The centre of town was a hive of inactivity.

We had dinner in the Swanky Lounge. The food was good, but the upholstery exuded an air of stale smoke that will take years to wear off. (Smoking is now banned in all public places in Ireland, including bars and restaurants.)

The rolls we had bought for breakfast were stale by the morning. The ducks had some of what was left, and didn't seem to mind.


'Welcome to Kerry', reads the sign. This delicate colour scheme meets the eye of the traveller arriving from Tarbert Island. It's best not to have drink taken.

Our accommodation.	They have elections for Neds here.* Can't we send them one of ours? *Come to think of it, so do we.