I’ll start by praising Gienna. She only hit one car today. Pesky passenger side mirror.
We were outside the Cliffs of Moher and nicked a parked car. We got out to look at the damage on the other car. Two handsome Irishmen (is there another kind?) walking by had stopped, picked up the actual mirror from the ground, and were trying to pop it back into place. “Couple crazy American girls, yeah?” asked one. Yup.
Eventually, one of them fixed it. They looked around and said, “Walk away now, girls. Walk away.” We quietly thanked them and walked quickly to the car, pulled the passenger side mirror flat against the car, and drove away. We saw them standing in front of the restaurant, where the car owners were likely eating breakfast unaware…
So, Dingle. Anyone who claims your fine peninsula can’t be seen in 13.7 minutes is full of shit. Nah, we probably spent a couple hours. It was late afternoon, the weather kept changing, the wind was unforgiving, and the Atlantic was angry. It was beautiful. I cannot wait to come back. And some day I will step foot on the Blasket Islands.
On the return portion of the loop, there was a “short cut” that was referred to on maps as a “narrow path.” But what does that mean in Ireland, exactly? Everything is already pretty narrow, so how bad might a road get? Well, we found out. Don’t let that happen to you. Stay on real roads.
The next day, a tour guide said, “There are three road designations in Ireland. N is national, R is regional, and L is local. And they mean absolutely nothing. The letters are just to impress the tourists.” Well played, Ireland. Well played.
|Sometimes we got off course.|
|When thinking of words to describe Dingle, rainy, windy, and closed come to mind.|
|No explanation needed.|
|Gienna getting up close and personal with wildlife.|
|Blasket Islands. A small community of people lived here until the 1950s.|