Day 117: Ballyknockan - Dunmore

If you've ever slept in a baby crib hanging from the ceiling, with someone pushing you all night... well, that's what our rolling bed was like last night. The wind insisted on rocking the camper from side to side, as if it wanted to test how much the wheels could take. I tried to sleep snuggled up to Dad, but every time I closed my eyes, another jolt reminded me that we were a little house in the middle of a gale.

In the morning, we opened our eyes and the other motorhome had already disappeared. Not a sound when they left, nothing. Mysterious these travelers. The sky wasn't giving us a break either: wind and showers, the kind of weather that wrinkles your ears and messes up your whiskers. So the departure was slow, very slow. So much so, that we didn't start until after one o'clock.

We drove south. First on narrow roads that seemed made for carts and sheep rather than a camper. Then, finally, highway. More than seventy kilometers until Dad stopped at a gas station parking lot Applegreen. We ate there, although we didn't really rest. There was work to be done.

First, the mystery of the SIM card, which worked intermittently. Dad said it might be because of the switch to "top-up". I nodded with an expert face, although in reality the only thing that interested me was the free wifi. But the big thing was the other thing: finding a ferry ticket to leave Ireland.

Here I'll explain something important: on many ferries there are "pet-friendly cabins". That means I can be with Dad inside the cabin, smelling new carpets, snoring next to him and looking out the porthole, instead of staying 18 hours alone in the camper, locked in the ship's garage. And believe me, 18 hours down there, without being able to get out or sniff anything, would be hell for me.

The problem is that it wasn't easy. On the routes from Ireland to France the cabins for dogs fly. The Ireland-Spain option doesn't even exist in September, it's only a summer thing. Ireland-Wales could be, and then cross all of England to Dover or Harwich, and then take another ferry to the continent. But that option was more expensive and Dad was reluctant to drive so much through England.

After giving it a lot of thought, bingo! We found a ticket with a pet-friendly cabin from Rosslare to Cherbourg, for September 23rd. A date, a departure, a clear plan. I almost wagged my tail with excitement.

With the work done, Dad took the opportunity to use the gas station's free shower. He came out fresh, perfumed and with the face of a new human. I, meanwhile, watched everything from the window, as operations director.

We went back on the road and, after just fifteen minutes, we arrived in Kilkenny. We parked in the parking lot of a park and went out to stretch our legs. The walk along the canal —the famous Canal Walk— was a gift. Water on one side, trees that seemed to comb the sky on the other, and me with my nose glued to the ground, deciphering secret messages from all the dogs in the city. We saw Kilkenny Castle from afar, very far away, like a giant hiding behind the houses. A shame, because I could already see myself exploring dungeons.

Maybe we could have stayed to sleep in that same parking lot, but Dad preferred another one, wider and quieter, in Dunmore, about twenty minutes by car. We arrived at half past eight and there it was: a camper with a Brazilian license plate. Brazil! I couldn't believe it. What a crazy trip those humans must be having.

At night they close the parking lot, but the campers can stay inside. So here we are, safe behind the gate. And, I confess, the contrast with the night before is incredible: here not a leaf moves. So quiet, so silent, that even the wind seems to have gone on vacation. I settle into my blanket, close my eyes and think: this will be a night of deep sleep.