19-Aug-2026
After four straight days in Gorey, we were ready to go expeditioning. Just something easy, though. Nothing too tiring...
Arklow, about 15 minutes north of here on the train, was the first pick. Thought to have Viking origins, the town has a strongly maritime past, hosting over the centuries herring fishing and oyster dredging, ship building and cargo trading.
But before you get to the sea, it's not a bad idea to check out the river: The Avoca.
The first of many references to the 19 Arches Bridge, reputed to be the longest handmade stone bridge in Ireland, and certainly very handsome
Here's the real thing
The coast was rather atmospheric on this cloudy day:
But the town is colourful. I'm starting to really love these Irish terraces: Homogeneous, often colourful, and somehow cute:
The town has some grand buildings, too:
The remains of Arklow Castle: "Events that have occurred here are almost a microcosm of the events that have shaped Ireland over a period of eight centuries"
St Saviour's
St Mary's and St Peter's
A tribute to Olympic runner Ron Delaney. Such a beautifully balanced sculpture...
We were both slightly under the weather in Arklow. There are actually lots of little heritage walks, featuring different aspects of the town's history. But after walking some of the river and the coast, we were a little energyless, and very ready to climb on our train just after 1500 (no seats bookable on the way back, as it was full, so it was a good job it wasn't a long ride).
Nigel's lack of oomph was explainable by the lurgy that's now entering its second week. Mine was a little more mysterious until today, when it became clear that I too, having gamely resisted so far, had succumbed to the foul bug.
We wanted to do something, though. So we decided on Courtown. In the instructions left by the folks whose house we're borrowing, it says to avoid Courtown at all costs. But we figured if we got there early, we could have a bit of a walk before the crowds arrived. We were right, as it happens. Courtown has a big "activity centre" called Pirates Cove, plus amusement arcades, but it's all pretty low-key on a weekday morning.
We took the bus. Now, I have to say that bus apps are not Ireland's best feature... Nigel's pretty good at penetrating public transport operations, and even he finds this one opaque... Still, getting the bus out to Courtown in the morning is not a problem. Quite why we did an initial loop of the top of the town I'm not sure, but anyway, we were soon back at our starting point, and heading for the sea.
The thing to do is a walk along the coast:
This is where the river used to enter the sea. It was diverted as part of a relief system during the famine. And, surprise surprise, "in heavy flood the river often reverts to its natural course out over the bar and into the sea"
Constructed in the mid-1800s, this well is fed by a spring, and was once used for family baptisms at Kiltennel Church
Near this spot is the site of the beach-side cottage built in memory of Lady Charlotte Albinia Montague Scott. Talented, kind, and beautiful, she married the Earl of Courtown in 1822, but died of tuberculosis six years later in Rome. The cottage housed "a museum of curios collected by the Courtown family on their travels in China, India, and Africa"
Back in the village, you can go to the Shore Coffee Bar for another fine acai bowl (so many vitamins), and check out the wildlife:
This guy was endlessly entertaining, hopping about the rocks, and chuntering to himself
We'd not planned a long day, being not totally well and all that. So, with lots of trial and error, Nigel had hunted up a bus that went back to Gorey just before mid-day.
We found the bus-stop. Panicked because it indicated a different bus company, and it was now too late to locate another one. Panicked some more when the bus we wanted drew up on the opposite side of the road, and headed off. And panicked greatly when the departure time rolled by, and five, ten, fifteen minutes elapsed, and no bus materialized. OK, we've been waiting at the wrong stop, we thought... We've missed it. And now there's not another bus for the next ever...
Nigel, manfully working the app, ferreted out another option in about an hour and a half, so we set off to find a cafe in which to while away the waiting time. And as we headed round the corner -- there was the bus! Coming towards us! We windmilled a bit, hoping the driver would spot us, and stop. And he did, bless him. "Thanks so much," we said. "We thought we'd been waiting in the wrong place, and had missed you." "Oh, I'm just running a bit late," he says. You see? Never give up.
So we trundle off on a very scenic drive, past Tara Hill, through lots of pretty countryside, home to Gorey.