The Day I Drove On The Ocean Floor, Stumbled Upon A Giants’ Convention, And Disappeared Off The Face Of The Earth (Part 1)
This is an account of a trip I took to a magical place.
It was August 2011. My first summer in Rome. I had been in the Eternal City for five months and felt utterly entrenched. August is the month when, like most of Europe, Rome shuts down for the summer holidays. The city’s inhabitants know well enough to get out of town during the worst of the season’s heat – as beautiful as it is, a relentless sun beating down on all that stone, marble, and travertine, turns the Italian capital into a hellish furnace.
I hate the heat - anything above twenty-five degrees is unbearable - so, I had to make a plan. I needed somewhere relatively cooler than a raging inferno to get some relief. I chose Ireland.
It was during the County Kerry leg of the tour that three unusual things happened.
Travelling the Ring of Kerry can take as little as four hours or as much as eight, depending on how many places you stop to visit and detours you decide to take. I dedicated an entire day to the journey, anticipating an abundance of ruins, ancient buildings, and picturesque little villages waiting around each bend.
I started off early with my trusty steed, Ka – a two-door hatchback with a lot of gumption – and my oracle, Betty, the GPS. A girl could not want for better travel companions, particularly in the face of prescient weather. In fact, the strangeness of the day ahead was foreshadowed by a capricious climate that swung between a gloomy, densely wet mist, and a break through glorious sun - both adding immensely to the suggestive nature of my journey.
About a third of the way around the ring, I was lured off course for the umpteenth time towards a tourist spot called Abbey Island. Called so after Ahamore (or Derrynane) Abbey, a 6th century abbey that now lays in ruins, the island is used as a burial ground and is the final resting place for a handful of historical figures. The only time you can access the island is at low tide when the North Atlantic Ocean pulls away revealing a rippled sandy floor scattered with ocean detritus.
Given that the sun had revealed its resplendent self, I decided to leave Ka in an open car park on the mainland side and make my way across the temporary beach to explore the island – not without noting a warning sign advising that the rising tide is swift and unpredictable.
The island is a wind swept, unkempt kind of place apart from its tended cemetery. The 1500-year-old ruins of the abbey add to the wildness of the place. Meandering along the island’s unsealed tracks, I soaked up both the warmth of the sun and the reverent atmosphere, but that warning sign back on the mainland kept niggling at me.
“What if the tide comes in and I get stuck here?!” I worried. Too risky.
I retraced my steps at double pace and headed back to Ka on the mainland. As I crossed the ocean floor for the second time, I marvelled at the novelty of standing on a surface that would soon be completely inundated. In the distance were some vehicles taking advantage of the somewhat unique situation, running circles on the sand.
“Why not?” Thought I.
Too tempting to resist, I jumped into Ka and eased her onto the waveless beach. Hooning my way around and around, I screamed with sheer joy. With all the windows down, I breathed in the salty breeze and listened to the strange sound of tyres rushing across the silica. It was an utterly liberating experience.
And that was the day I drove across the ocean floor.
…to be continued…