Irland, road trip. | FindPenguins

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Trip start
April 3, 2026
Irland, road trip.Florin Paun
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First impressions
April 4 in Ireland ⋅ 🌧 11 °C
Since the world is currently acting even more insane than usual, we scrapped our original plans for Uzbekistan. Instead, we opted for a solid European destination we haven’t explored yet: Ireland. The plan is simple—two weeks on the road with a rental car, circumnavigating the island.

We left the house early, expecting massive holiday queues, especially since the airline's website crashed and killed the online check-in. Fortunately, the airport was less chaotic than feared. As usual, a bit of wit at the counter paid off: a quick joke with the check-in agent secured us window seats without the typical extra charge. 😃

Our journey started with a test of patience: the flight was delayed twice, and we didn't touch down in Dublin until around midnight. After the initial shock at the car rental counter—where the final bill suddenly more than tripled thanks to mandatory insurance and "cross-border" fees 🤢 —we finally made it to our small hotel near the airport. Not exactly the grand opening we imagined, but we were finally on Irish soil.

On the second day, we pointed the car north. The drive was a deep dive into the island's layered past. We explored impressive Celtic remains and stood on the very fields where the Battle of the Boyne changed the course of history in 1690. By the time the heavy clouds rolled in, we had reached Belfast, ready to trade ancient stone circles for the complex political murals of the North.Read more
Florin Paun It’s a great ride, but the booking process was a masterclass in creative accounting. In the world of car rentals, the price you see online is merely a polite suggestion. By the time we left the counter, we had been hit with the "Belfast Tax" (because crossing into the UK apparently requires a diplomatic fee), a mountain of surcharges, and a daily insurance premium that costs more than the car itself. It’s a total shakedown, but hey—at least the car has four wheels and a working heater for this Irish wind.
4/4/26Reply
Florin Paun The Battle of the Boyne was the decisive clash for the British throne between the Protestant William of Orange and the Catholic James II Stuart. Fought on July 1, 1690, it involved 60,000 soldiers, making it the largest gathering of troops on Irish soil. William’s victory forced James into exile in France and established Protestant political dominance in Ireland for the following centuries. This outcome laid the foundation for the "Penal Laws" and the sectarian divisions that still shape the political landscape of the island today.
4/5/26Reply
Florin Paun The highlight is the Lavabo. An octagonal skeleton where monks washed their hands in silence before eating. It’s pure, calculated geometry. No fluff, just the cold efficiency of a religious machine. Fast forward to 1690, and the logic shifted from prayer to war. William of Orange sat right here, using these ruins as his headquarters to plan the destruction of James II at the Boyne. It makes sense. This place was built for men who understood discipline, whether they were holding a rosary or a sword.
4/5/26Reply
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Irland, road trip.Florin Paun
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Belfast: History in Motion
April 5 in Northern Ireland ⋅ ☀️ 8 °C
We spent the entirety of Easter Sunday exploring this fascinating city on foot fueled by a solid breakfast in our hotel near the waterfront. The weather was a classic Irish mix of bright sunshine and sudden bursts of rain but we kept our spirits high as we navigated the streets. Belfast is exactly to our taste because it feels authentic and slightly worn around the edges rather than polished and superficial. It is a city filled with historical artifacts and a revolutionary flair where the past feels like it is still breathing and moving through the present day.

The atmosphere is undeniably gritty and rusty in the best possible way offering a stark contrast to the shiny tourist traps found in other capitals. We spent the day admiring the many facets of the city from the towering Victorian monuments and the massive Titanic construction pier to the legendary street murals. There is a deep sense of character here that comes from its contradictions and its refusal to hide the scars of its long journey. This is not a city built for the comfort of casual tourists or the rowdy groups of weekend visitors wandering the streets with beer cans in hand. The history here is simply too heavy and too real to be convenient.

The echoes of the armed struggle for freedom during the era of the Troubles are still very much alive and palpable in many corners of the city. Walking through the neighborhoods where history was written in blood and paint provides a powerful and sobering experience that goes far beyond a typical sightseeing tour. You can feel the weight of competing ideologies and the resilience of a people who have lived through decades of intense conflict. Even in the loud and lively pubs where the excessive beer culture is on full display there is something much deeper than just the Guinness taps—a raw and honest soul that defines the North.

As the evening approached we skipped the fancy dining and found comfort in a familiar taste at Nando’s. The lime and herb chicken was a simple reliable reminder of our meals in other corners of the globe during our life as world travelers. It was the perfect casual end to a day spent immersed in the heavy captivating and unpolished energy of Belfast.Read more
Florin Paun Breakfast at the Hampton in Belfast feels less like a morning meal and more like a Viking raid. It is a sobering sight for any world traveler to witness the sheer scale of waste in the Western world. This sign, showing that 15kg of food was thrown away in a single day, is a blunt attempt to curb the mindless arrogance of guests who pile their plates high only to leave most of it untouched. It reminded me of scenes I’ve witnessed in China, where ordering ten dishes and eating only two is a performative display of status. Whether it’s to show off wealth or simply out of pure convenience, the lack of respect for resources is a global phenomenon. In a world of scarcity, this level of avoidable waste is the ultimate hallmark of a society that has forgotten the value of what is on its plate.
4/6/26Reply
Florin Paun Forget Slack pings and "productivity tracking" software; the 1912 version of Microsoft Teams was made of cast iron and oak. This Harland & Wolff time clock was the ultimate corporate lie-detector. Back then, if you weren't there to pull the lever, you weren't "synergizing"—you were just unemployed. It’s comforting to know that while we’ve traded rivets for spreadsheets, the corporate obsession with "time theft" hasn't changed a bit. Whether it’s a mechanical punch-card or a modern algorithm tracking your mouse movements, the goal remains the same: making sure the "rabbits" are nibbling at the carrots for the full forty hours.
4/6/26Reply
Florin Paun We stopped for a quick coffee at "Bean Around the World" on the Falls Road. The coffee itself? Average. The setting? Absolutely surreal. The outdoor seating area is lined with a massive collage of historical photos from "The Troubles." You sit there, sipping a black coffee, while staring at images of riots, armored vehicles, and soldiers in the very streets you just walked through. In Belfast, history isn't tucked away in dusty museum corners—it’s right there on the patio while you take a break. It’s a vivid reminder of how far this city has come, and how visible the scars still remain.
4/6/26Reply
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Irland, road trip.Florin Paun
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From Belfast to Derry
April 7 in Northern Ireland ⋅ ☁️ 18 °C
We left Belfast on Easter Monday, but not before a descent into the Crumlin Road Gaol. This place is a masterclass in Victorian psychological architecture; it’s where the cold, industrial power of the Empire was built into the very limestone to crush the spirit of rebellion. Walking those halls, you feel the mechanical precision of 19th-century "order." It’s a visceral reminder that freedom isn't an abstract concept—it’s something people fought for against a very heavy, very tangible stone reality.

The escape from the city led us north, avoiding the brutal efficiency of the motorways. We chose the coastal routes, where the roads are narrow enough to demand actual driving skills. Despite the tight bends, the local drivers are remarkably rational. It seems the lack of high-density urban rot and overpopulation-induced stress—so prevalent in Central Europe—results in a more civilized road culture. Here, the landscape dictates the pace, not the ego.

The scenery is a relentless saturation of green. Rolling hills and an endless population of sheep set against a deep Atlantic blue that doesn't need a filter. There’s a rugged honesty to this part of the world; it’s beautiful... However, due to the very rainy, capricious, quite cold and unpredictable weather, Ireland is not a place I would retire to after retirement.

By evening, we reached the City Hotel in the center of Derry. The following day was a tactical foot-patrol through the city’s history. From the Guildhall to the 17th-century walls, the Victorian architecture serves as a backdrop to a place that has been the frontline of a freedom struggle for centuries. You can see it in the stones and feel it in the atmosphere: Derry is a city that remembers exactly what it cost to stay standing. No popcorn-stand history here—just the weight of the past.Read more
Florin Paun Standing at The Diamond, the center of Derry's walled city, I found this sailor on the massive War Memorial designed by Sydney March. He is the physical embodiment of unyielding determination. He does not look like a career military man; he looks like a docker or a shipbuilder who simply answered the call. His muscular, barefoot stance on the capstan speaks of grim, necessary sacrifice rather than pure glory. The sculpture honors more than just his death; it honors his absolute will to serve, barefoot and steady, in a conflict that would tear his world apart.
4/7/26Reply
Florin Paun Derry is a city of layers, and my final night here sums up the contradictions. I stood by the Peace Bridge, a stunning piece of modern engineering designed to bridge centuries of sectarian divide. From the mutilated statue of Queen Victoria in the Guildhall to the rows of 'systematized' housing in the Bogside, Derry doesn't hide its scars—it puts them on display. It’s a place where history is never just in the past; it’s something you walk across every single day.
4/7/26Reply
Florin Paun Completed in 1633, St. Columb’s Cathedral is the oldest building in the city and a cornerstone of Irish architectural history. It was the first cathedral built in the British Isles after the Reformation, representing a unique style known as Planter’s Gothic. This architecture blended traditional medieval Gothic elements with the grim, practical defensive needs of a frontier settlement. The building is essentially a fortress-church. During the Siege of Derry (1689), it played a critical military role. Cannons were mounted on its roof, and the tower served as a vital lookout point across the River Foyle. The lead from the roof was even stripped and melted down to produce bullets for the city’s defenders.
4/7/26Reply
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Irland, road trip.Florin Paun
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From Walled City to Connemara
April 9 in Ireland ⋅ 🌬 7 °C
Leaving the historical fortifications of Derry, the route south follows narrow, wind-swept roads that hug the Atlantic coastline. This transition is more than geographical; it is a shift from the structured urban history of the North into the raw, unpolished wilderness of the West. Moving toward Leenane, the landscape begins to dictate the pace, forcing a slower immersion into the ancient territories of the Gaelic clans.

The true fascination of this stretch lies in the "minor sites"—the historical relics often ignored by mainstream guidebooks. The journey reveals a dense layering of time: Neolithic standing stones, early Christian round towers, and the skeletal remains of monastic settlements. These are not manicured tourist stops, but silent witnesses to a past, scattered across fields and cliffs. Every mile uncovers another architecture of necessity, from the defensive towers of rival clans to forgotten prehistoric enclosures.

Reaching Leenane feels like arriving at a geological dead-end in the best possible way. Situated at the head of Killary Harbour—Ireland’s only true fjord—the village is framed by a landscape that mirrors the dramatic temperate rainforests of Chile. The high humidity and relentless Atlantic influence create a deep green saturation that blankets everything.

The stay at the Leenane Hotel serves as the final, traditional anchor for this stage. With its wood-paneled interiors, library of theological relics, and a kitchen serving a Full Irish breakfast that is more caloric engineering than mere meal, it offers a grounded, honest experience.Read more
Florin Paun For me, the 350 g Ribeye. Medium-rare, exactly as requested—the chef understood the 'do not kill it twice' rule. The fat rendered perfectly into the fibers, providing the kind of flavor a lean cut simply can’t deliver. Pairing it with a Malbec from Mendoza felt like a brief, liquid return to our Panamericana days. A heavy Argentinian red, a massive piece of Irish beef, and the raw weather of Connemara outside.
4/9/26Reply
Florin Paun Rahel went for the Irish Stew—refined with Guinness, deep in color, and a solid meat quality. No culinary acrobatics, just a heavy, honest reduction and a side of proper Irish mash that actually tastes of earth and butter.
4/9/26Reply
Florin Paun Built in 1818, Clifden Castle is the ultimate 'Gothic Revival' kitsch. It was a folly—a grand facade built of modern stone and plaster to mimic ancient power. That illusion crumbled in 1894 when the bankrupt owner removed the roof to escape British taxes. The Atlantic weather quickly turned the home into a shell. What remains is a skeletal stone structure stripped of its wooden floors by locals for fuel and building material, now preserved in its state of deliberate decay. Pure facade, then and now.
4/9/26Reply
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Irland, road trip.Florin Paun
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East Coast: Wild Atlantic Way
April 13 in Ireland ⋅ ☁️ 10 °C
Our journey along the Wild Atlantic Way, from the vibrant streets of Galway to the rugged Ring of Kerry, has been a masterclass in Irish duality. We’ve danced a constant tango with the weather—a fickle partner that shifts from dramatic gloom to blinding clarity every fifteen minutes.

The West Coast is a masterclass in atmospheric density. It’s a landscape of rough, wild Atlantic vistas and an endless supply of ruins that invite genuine discovery rather than just a quick photo-stop. But the real luxury here is space. With just over 5 million people inhabiting a landmass nearly twice the size of Switzerland, Ireland gives you something rare in Middle Europe: the room to breathe. There is no sense of overpopulation, no claustrophobic rush. This physical openness seems to reflect in the people themselves—they are notably "cooler," moving through life with a relaxed cadence that makes our high-stress continental habits feel slightly absurd. In the silence of a coastal bog or a quiet village pub, you realize that the most important export here isn't butter or stout; it’s the quiet, unhurried air that allows you to finally clear your head.

Traveling through Ireland often leads to encounters that demand reflection—sites that offer far more substance than a curated selfie spot. In a landscape where "cheap mobility" often brings crowds to the surface-level attractions, true insight is found in the quiet, decaying corners of the countryside. In a world obsessed with "ticking boxes," we made it our mission to bypass the polished tourist traps. For every overcrowded viewpoint, we found a silent ruin; for every €15 parking lot, we found a muddy track leading to a piece of forgotten history. There is a profound satisfaction in discovering sites that haven't been "optimized" for social media.Read more
Florin Paun This structure is a Martello Tower, a squat and formidable artillery fort built from exposed stone. Constructed by the British between 1804 and 1812, this tower was part of a coastal defense network designed to repel a potential invasion by Napoleon. The circular design made it nearly impervious to the cannon fire of the era. The architecture is purely functional, featuring a raised entrance for protection and a 360-degree gun platform on the roof. Today, it stands as an isolated relic of military engineering, a stone witness to the strategic importance of this unforgiving coastline.
4/11/26Reply
Florin Paun Stepping inside the Great Hall is a shift in perspective. The high, timber-beamed ceiling and the stark white lime-washed walls create a cold, cavernous elegance. It was here that the clan feasted, perhaps just feet away from the "Flagstone of Treachery"—a reminder that in the 16th century, hospitality often came with a hidden price.
4/11/26Reply
Florin Paun In museum lies the ultimate symbol of urban power: the Galway Civic Mace. Crafted in 1710 by the Dublin silversmith Anthony Murphy, this nine-pound silver monolith was designed for one purpose—to project the absolute authority of the Mayor. The craftsmanship is a relentless display of baroque detail, featuring the royal arms of Queen Anne, the Irish harp, and the Tudor rose. It wasn't just an ornament; it was a physical manifestation of legal and political control in a city that, for centuries, acted as a fortified English enclave surrounded by "ferocious" Gaelic calans. This mace is the final, silver-plated word in a landscape where dominance was the only currency that mattered.
4/11/26Reply
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Irland, road trip.Florin Paun
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From Ring of Kerry to Wexfort
April 15 in Ireland ⋅ 🌬 12 °C
Ireland is a playground for the curious traveler, a landscape saturated with thousands of castle ruins, skeletal abbeys, and Neolithic remains that pull you back into the deep past. For the "Discovery" type of traveler, this route is pure exploration where every detour leads to another historical artifact. It is a place where the modern world quickly fades, replaced by a sense of profound contemplation and philosophical inquiry. The sheer density of these sites ensures that your thoughts naturally drift toward the bigger picture, far removed from the clutter of daily life.

While the famous pubs of Dublin and Belfast are always pulsing with noise and stout, the countryside offers a completely different experience: solitude. It is one of the few places left where you can stand alone at a massive historical site—many of them completely free of charge—with nothing but the wind for company. This contrast between the social energy of the cities and the quiet, weight of the ruins makes the journey from Kerry to Wexford an exercise in pure observation. It is an invitation to discover a history that isn't just displayed in a museum, but scattered across the fields, waiting for someone to stop and look.

Travelers arriving from Normandy or Brittany might notice a sudden drop in "coastal vitality" on the Irish Atlantic, where seaside bistros and chilled Chablis are replaced by a rough, functional landscape. While the French turn the coast into a gastronomic stage, the Irish traditionally view the ocean as a workplace rather than a dining room. Here, life is lived indoors; the "Art de Vivre" gives way to the "Art of Resilience." You don’t "eat the view" in Ireland—you seek shelter from the gale. The true energy is found behind heavy pub doors, fueled by stout, peat smoke, and conversation. It isn’t a lack of life, but a peerless atmosphere found only when the salt spray is kept firmly on the outside.

One of the most refreshing observations during this trip is Ireland’s grounded social atmosphere. Unlike many Middle European countries, Ireland remains remarkably authentic; even in major hotels, the service is frequently provided by Irish staff. This is largely a result of being outside the Schengen Area, allowing for a pragmatic, skills-based immigration system that prioritizes economic integration over ideological experiments. The result is a society that feels functional and truly owns its heritage. Ireland’s quiet pragmatism proves that a modern, booming economy can thrive without losing its cultural center of gravity. In a world of forced narratives, this authenticity is perhaps the country’s most impressive attraction.Read more
Florin Paun But Staigue belongs to the late Iron Age. Built around the 4th century AD by local Gaelic chieftains, it is a masterclass in dry-stone engineering. Without a single drop of mortar, these walls have stood for over 1,500 years. The intricate, X-shaped stairs on the interior allowed defenders to swarm the ramparts in seconds. In an age of cattle raids and tribal skirmishes, this was the ultimate high-security compound.
4/16/26Reply
Florin Paun This skeletal remains of a 19th-century church stands on ground once held by the Knights Templar—a layer of history that runs deep into the red soil of the Hook Peninsula. The site is currently guarded by a local welcoming committee: a herd of incredibly curious Holstein-Friesian cows. While a red "Danger" sign warns of falling debris, the cattle seem entirely unimpressed by the decaying masonry.
4/16/26Reply
Florin Paun At the harbor of Slade, history and industry collide in a single frame. In the foreground, stacks of "Creels" or lobster pots wait for their next deployment into the Atlantic. These are high-performance traps—D-shaped to withstand the brutal currents of the estuary, baited to lure the catch into a one-way labyrinth of netting. In the background, the silent, square mass of Slade Castle keeps watch.
4/16/26Reply
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Irland, road trip.Florin Paun
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Dubin: Stones and Spirits
April 17 in Ireland ⋅ ☁️ 15 °C
After an extensive tour across the Emerald Isle, we wrapped up our journey by exploring the vibrant streets of Dublin. While the city offers a fantastic atmosphere and an endless array of cool bars, it couldn't quite tip the scales for us. Perhaps it’s the raw energy and the palpable, heavy recent history that gives it a different edge, but our hearts remain in the North. When all is said and done, our favorite city in Ireland remains... Belfast!

In an era dominated by mass tourism and a "TikTok consumer philosophy," the way we interact with heritage has shifted. Too often, cathedrals are no longer treated as houses of God and museums aren't viewed as places of learning, but merely as "life events" or "experiences" to be ticked off. This shift has driven entry prices to absurd levels. Our advice? Give the overpriced tickets a miss. Instead, soak up the genuine atmosphere of the city and seek out the many brilliant attractions that remain free and authentic.

The journey concludes exactly where the pulse of a nation is most visible: the airport departure gate. While the digital struggle of the online check-in remains a task I gladly delegate to Rahel’s superior patience, I find my focus shifting to the social theater unfolding around us. A massive group of Irish travelers, spanning generations from the young to the young-at-heart, is preparing to descend upon Spain. Armed with travel envelopes decorated with Spanish flags and fueled by an enthusiasm that can only be described as "cultural pre-gaming," they are a whirlwind of singing, shouting, and high spirits. It is a fascinating final observation—a society that balances a deep, historical resilience with an unapologetic zest for life and celebration. My souvenirs of this trip are etched into my memory through thousands of ruins, Neolithic remains, and moments of pure contemplation in the silent countryside. I leave the logistics to others and the singing to the crowds; my contribution remains the documentation of the journey, the mastery of the path, and the evidence-based exploration of a world that reveals its secrets only to the truly curious.Read more
Florin Paun A powerful detail from the heart of Dublin, the image shows mythological seahorses (hippocampus) that decorate the historic Grattan Bridge over the River Liffey. Originally opened in 1874, this cast-iron structure is guarded by these spectacular mythological creatures that merge the strength of a horse with the tail of a fish. They serve as a unique Victorian reminder that Dublin is, and always has been, a city deeply connected to the sea.
4/17/26Reply
Florin Paun In a city full of stoic thinkers and academic giants, Molly Malone is undoubtedly the people’s favorite. She is the fictional heroine of Dublin’s unofficial anthem, a "fishmonger" who sold cockles and mussels from her cart before dying young of a fever.
4/17/26Reply
Florin Paun You’ve noticed her bronze bust is looking a bit brighter than the rest of her. Tourist lore claims that touching her bosom brings good luck. Whether i’s for wealth, return to Dublin, or just a funny photo op, millions have obliged. The result? A natural chemical reaction. While the rest of the statue oxidizes into a dark patina, the constant friction keeps the chest area polished to a golden shine.
4/17/26Reply
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Trip end
April 17, 2026