The Day we Explored the Bridges of Cork

 This morning was a chance for a bit of travel admin as we weren’t rushing off to anything in particular. We had a committee meeting and came up with a plan to get across to the Aran Islands and Cliffs of Moher as an extension to our planned trip back to Dublin later this week. It is much more straightforward to get to Galway from Dublin, than it is from Cork, so we have locked it in, booked the train, two night’s accommodation in Galway and a day tour. Our remaining time here is filling up fast. 

After the planning meeting closed, we got ourselves organised and walked down to our local bus stop and jumped the 220 into Cork City Hall. From there we walked along the river to the Marina Market, a real foodie focused market featuring 35 food vendors and a wide selection of international cuisines. We each enjoyed our lunch of choice before walking back towards the city. 

Mark became our bridge guide, armed with an interactive walking map on his phone. 

We crossed the last bridge on the south arm of the Lee River, bridge number 32, to reach bridge 1, the Michael Collins Bridge, and began working our way down the north arm of the river, Mark providing us with interesting information about each of the bridges as we walked. 

There was even an interested local, who overheard his spiel at the St Patrick’s Bridge, who thanked him, because she hadn’t known the history of that particular bridge. 

While Mark was leading our bridge tour, Julie was challenging us with a street art treasure hunt courtesy of another of the interactive walking maps. 

We managed to find 9 of the street art posters and made it to bridge number 8 before we took a break and headed for a pub (on the advice of the same local, mentioned above), to have a pint and watch a game of Gaelic football on the big screen. 

Dublin were playing Galway, so we figured it was a safe game to watch in a Cork pub. We spent quite a lot of time trying to make sense of the rules, and left a little bit wiser, although still quite baffled. 

The bus and subsequent walk home, crossing bridge 12, the Thomas Daly/Wellington Bridge (our local) were uneventful, and we ended the evening with a stroll around the extensive grounds of our accommodation here, including the derelict end of the buildings, until we found some substantial pieces of stone on the ground and realised they had fallen from a height off the unfenced ruins. We left quickly, deciding we had no wish to be killed by a falling Irish gargoyle.