A Long Weekend in Ireland: Castles, Cliffs, and a Pint with Fishermen
January 2007: For the most part, my travels during this era were focused on the developing world—places where adventure was raw and unfiltered. But the lure of Ireland, with its rolling green hills, ancient lore, and warm-hearted people, was impossible to resist any longer. So, when I found a cheap flight, I jumped on it. My friend Jason and I packed our bags for a long weekend road trip through the southern part of Ireland, determined to embrace everything from haunted castles to winding country lanes and, of course, a pint (or a few) of Guinness in a village pub with local fishermen.
This was Ireland as I had imagined it—and as I found it.
Day 1: Castles, Vikings, and a Smelly Ghost
Arrival in Dublin – 11:05 AM
We hit the ground running, renting a car and heading straight for Kilkenny, a medieval town known for its well-preserved history and lively pub scene.
Drive to Kilkenny (1 hour 35 minutes, 84 miles)
Before checking into our castle stay, we made a stop at Dunmore Cave—a dark and eerie cavern dripping with stalactites and stalagmites. But it wasn’t just the geological formations that made this place fascinating; in the Middle Ages, a Viking raid ended in a gruesome massacre here, and legend has it the spirits of the slain villagers still linger.
Check-in at Foulksrath Castle (after 5 PM)
What’s an Irish adventure without staying in a haunted castle? Foulksrath Castle, an ancient Norman tower house, has long been rumored to be haunted by a “smelly ghost” (as the locals affectionately call him). Supposedly, he makes his presence known with an inexplicable stench…
Dinner in a Medieval Dining Hall
We embraced the medieval atmosphere by indulging in a traditional Irish feast at one of Kilkenny’s historic dining halls.
Exploring Kilkenny’s Pubs
After dinner, we wandered into the town’s famous pubs, where live music, warm company, and flowing pints of Guinness made for the perfect introduction to Ireland’s pub culture.
Overnight in Foulksrath Castle – and, yes, the ghost made an impression.
Day 2: The Blarney Stone & Wild Atlantic Way
Drive to Blarney Castle (91 miles, 1 hour 52 minutes)
Early the next morning, we set out for Blarney Castle in Cork, home of the legendary Blarney Stone. The ritual? Climb to the top of the castle, lean backward over a sheer drop, and plant a kiss on the stone to receive the “gift of the gab.” Whether it worked or not, I’ll let you decide.
Drive to the Dingle Peninsula (97 miles, 3 hours)
From Cork, we took the long but scenic drive west to the Dingle Peninsula, one of Ireland’s most stunning coastal regions. The road wound past towering cliffs, green pastures, and tiny villages where Gaelic was still the first language.
Night in Dingle – Lovett’s Guesthouse
Dingle is a quintessential Irish fishing village, with colorful storefronts, narrow streets, and a harbor where boats bob gently on the Atlantic swell. We checked into Lovett’s Guesthouse, a cozy spot with all the charm you’d expect from rural Ireland.
An Evening in the Pubs
No trip to Dingle is complete without a night in its legendary pubs, where locals and travelers alike come together over music, storytelling, and the finest pints in the land.
Day 3: Cliffs, Forts, and the Road Back to Dublin
Exploring the Gaeltacht & Slea Head Drive
The western side of the Dingle Peninsula is one of the most culturally rich areas in Ireland, where Gaelic remains the dominant language and the coastline is dotted with prehistoric ruins. We followed Highway 559, the Slea Head Drive, a breathtaking road that clings to the edge of cliffs overlooking the Atlantic.
Stops Along the Way:
- Dunbeg Fort – A dramatic prehistoric fort perched on a cliffside, complete with an ancient underground passage.
- Dunquin Village – A tiny, picturesque village at the edge of the world, where the next stop west is America.
Drive to Dublin (214 miles, 5 hours)
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, we began the long drive back east, leaving behind the rugged coastline for the bustling capital.
Accommodation: Ashfield House Hostel
After three days of castles and country lanes, we opted for a no-frills stay in the heart of Dublin.
Day 4: A Morning in Dublin
After a well-earned sleep-in and a hearty breakfast, we spent our last few hours wandering the streets of downtown Dublin, soaking in the history and charm before heading to the airport.
Departure: 1:30 PM via Aer Lingus
My route in Ireland
Staying in a Haunted Castle
A Night in a Haunted Castle: Foulksrath and Its Restless Spirits
To kick off our Irish adventure, I decided to combine two of my passions—old castles and haunted places. This led me to Foulksrath Castle, a 14th-century fortress nestled in the countryside just outside Kilkenny. The castle had once stood abandoned for decades, its walls crumbling and its eerie reputation growing, before the townspeople decided to restore it—not as a museum, but as a hostel. A place where travelers could spend the night within its ancient, ghost-ridden halls.
From the moment Jason and I arrived, it was clear this wouldn’t be an ordinary stay. We had the entire castle to ourselves. Not even the caretaker remained after checking us in. That sense of complete isolation, coupled with the sheer age and history of the place, made for a profoundly eerie atmosphere. And, of course, Foulksrath had no shortage of ghost stories.
The most infamous tale is that of a guard who fell asleep on duty—a fatal mistake in medieval times. As punishment, he was thrown from the ramparts to his death, his restless spirit said to still patrol the walls. Another legend tells of a young woman, forbidden by her father to see her lover, who was locked away in a cold stone chamber until she starved to death. Some guests have reported hearing her whispers in the night. The third most well-known ghost isn’t seen or heard—but smelled. A strong scent of flowers is said to fill the air when this spectral presence is near.
Determined to embrace the experience fully, Jason and I set off to explore every inch of the castle. We climbed its creaky stone staircases, winding our way up to a dungeon-like chamber that sent chills down our spines. We wandered the ramparts where the unfortunate guard had met his end, pausing to take in the unsettling silence of the countryside.
Although we didn’t see any ghosts that night, the atmosphere was undeniably haunting. The sheer weight of history, the flickering candlelight, the echoes in the empty corridors—it was the kind of place where your imagination could run wild.
And for a night, it felt like we had stepped into another century—one where ghosts still walked among the living.
Foulksrath castle
Foulksrath castle dining room
Foulksrath castle creepy stone staircase
Kilkenny
Kilkenny: Pubs and a Viking Massacre Cave
Kilkenny, a charming mid-sized Irish town, welcomed us with cozy pubs, live folk music, and perfectly poured pints of Guinness. But beyond its warm atmosphere lay a darker history.
Just outside town, we visited Dunmore Cave, an unguarded, wild cavern steeped in legend. In the Middle Ages, Irish villagers sought refuge here from Viking raiders—only to be discovered and massacred. Archaeologists have since uncovered remains and artifacts, grim reminders of the past.
With no other visitors in sight, the cave felt eerily silent. Shadows twisted along the jagged walls, and the damp air carried an unsettling stillness. Standing where history took such a brutal turn made for a chilling, unforgettable experience.
Kilkenny had shown us both Ireland’s warmth and its ghosts—a perfect start to our journey.
Kilkenny
Countryside when trying to find the Viking cave
Blarney Castle
Blarney Castle: The Gift of Gab… and a Questionable Tradition
We couldn’t skip Blarney Castle, one of Ireland’s most iconic landmarks. It was right on our route, and despite being a major tourist attraction, it truly is an incredible sight. Lucky for us, visiting in January meant we had the castle almost entirely to ourselves—a rare privilege at such a famous site.
We climbed to the top, where an Irishman carefully lowered us backward over a sheer drop to kiss the legendary Blarney Stone. According to legend, this ritual bestows the gift of gab, a trait the Irish are known for. But another, less-publicized tale claims that once the tourists are gone, the locals relieve themselves on the stone—a tradition that may have some truth to it.
All I can say is, when I kissed it… the stone was a little moist.
Blarney castle
Blarney castle
Me kissing the Blarney stone with the help of an elderly irishman who works there with the job to hold toursts over the gap in the floor while kissing the stone so they do not fall.
Dingle
Dingle: A Charming Village on the Edge of the Wild
One of the things I loved most about Ireland was its town names—Kilkenny, Limerick, and my personal favorite, Dingle. Nestled at the gateway to the Dingle Peninsula, this quaint fishing village felt like a step back in time, with rolling green hills, crumbling stone farmhouses, and dramatic sea cliffs just beyond its doorstep.
Jason and I spent the night in Dingle, soaking up the small-town Irish nightlife in its cozy pubs, where locals shared stories over pints, and traditional music filled the air. It was the perfect way to experience the heart and soul of rural Ireland before setting off to explore the wild peninsula the next day.
Dingle marina
Dingle
Dingle
Irish Pub Experience
A Night in a Dingle Pub: Music, Mourning, and Irish Hospitality
It’s hard to imagine visiting Ireland without stepping into a local pub, where the true spirit of the country comes to life. In Dingle, there was only one pub open that night, and it was packed wall-to-wall with locals. But this wasn’t just any gathering—it was a celebration and fundraiser for a family of Dingle fishermen who had suffered an unthinkable loss. Three generations—a grandfather, father, and son—had been lost at sea.
Despite the tragedy, the Irish way of mourning isn’t just sorrowful—it’s full of life. The pub pulsed with traditional music, dancing, and endless pints, a tribute to those lost and a show of strength for those left behind.
Jason and I were the only outsiders, yet we were welcomed without hesitation, invited into the warmth of the moment. It was a raw, unforgettable experience—wholly Irish in every way.
Jason at the Irish Pub
Group of locals singing and playing irish music to raise money for surviving members of local fishermen lost at sea.
Group of locals singing and playing irish music to raise money for surviving members of local fishermen lost at sea.
Jason and Stevie, an elderly Irish man from Dingle with an Irish accent so thick that we could barely understand him. He asked for a postcard from America and when we asked for his address, he said just put my name Stevie,and town Dingle on the postcard and the postman will find me.
Driving the Dingle Peninsula
Sunshine, Sheep, and the Wild Roads of Dingle
We were blessed with rare sunshine and warmth in January—something almost unheard of in Ireland. This made driving the quiet, winding roads of the Dingle Peninsula even more spectacular.
The route was a highlight for me, hugging dramatic sea cliffs, weaving past rocky farmlands, and passing ancient stone farmhouses that had been in the same families for centuries. More than once, I had to pause for a herd of sheep lazily crossing the road, a reminder that time moves a little slower here.
The road signs, written in both English and Gaelic, hinted at the deep-rooted history of this land, where Ireland’s old language still lingers. With the sun shining over one of the most breathtaking landscapes I’d ever seen, it felt like pure magic.
Dingle pensinsula roads
Dingle Peninsula sea cliff
Dingle Peninsula sea cliff
Dingle Peninsula
Dingle Peninsula Farm house
Dingle Peninsula Farm house
Ancient Celtic stone structure on the Dingle peninsula that may have been used for religious ceremonies
Castles, Celtic Crosses, and Our Final Night in Dublin
In just a few days, Jason and I covered countless miles, passing abandoned castles, centuries-old graveyards, and windswept ruins, each whispering stories of Ireland’s deep and often tragic history. The sheer age and weight of the past were almost incomprehensible—every stone seemed to hold a tale of battles, resilience, and loss.
We spent our final night in Dublin, a city that, while lively and full of character, felt far more international than the deeply Irish countryside we had come to love. It was bigger than my taste, but I still found its charm—the energy of the pubs, the historic streets, and the echoes of literary legends.
Yet, as much as I enjoyed Dublin, my heart belonged to the lonely roads, misty cliffs, and quiet villages we had explored. Ireland’s magic, for me, lay in the wild landscapes and the warmth of its people—and that’s what I’ll always remember.