9. Ballybunion

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We spent time here on the grass high above the empty beach, watching the waves roll in. And we bought lunch in the local supermarket. But Ballybunion was too big and busy for us, so we set off for Ballyheige and the promise of Banna Strand.

We followed the minor road by the golf course, which has staged the Irish Open (the course, not the road), and when we could go no further, turned inland to join the R551, which took us all the way to Ballyheige. When I say 'took us', I don't mean to imply that it supplied any of the effort, though at least one of us was struggling for part of the day, and would have accepted assistance from any quarter, however unlikely.

On the way we had lunch in a field recently cut for silage, near the Cashen River, and might have dozed off. Neither here nor at any other place we stopped to rest or eat were we bothered by flies or midges. Did St. Patrick banish those too?

Then uphill to Ballyduff and on to Causeway, which promotes itself as a paradise for birdwatchers.

At Ballyheige we cycled without a stop down the main street until we had a view of the strand and the sea, prepared to be gob-smacked.

And we were.

The two sides of the bay at Ballybunion: on one a promontory fort, on the other, crashing waves.

The beach, and the row of houses behind.

It's my middle name. The pub is in the main street in Ballybunion. I regret not stopping for a pint, but they wouldn't let me in on the grounds that I looked too silly.

9. Ballybunion

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