Dear Killarney...

So Gienna and I looked out the window this morning and thought, "What a perfect day for sightseeing!"

One thing I really like about tour companies in Ireland is that they will come right to your door to pick you up in the morning/drop you off in the afternoon. And the drivers are sometimes the best part of the tour.

We decided to do the Ring of Kerry because it seemed sacrilege to skip it.

I think this is a famine or bog village. Save your five euros. This smithy dude? He stands still, but the recorded sound of clanging comes out of a speaker behind you. Sigh.

Gienna taught me how to make water look creamy. Always wondered how to do this.

I hardly think this is necessary. Maybe they should also have a sign with rain on it.



Just hanging with Charlie.

Our motley bus crew

Queen Victoria's ladies in waiting named this Ladies View [of Rain]

Our bus driver

In talking about a portion of land around the national park, the bus driver told us that several hundred acres were passed down to a daughter who became a nun and donated the land. "Can't help but think if I married that girl all this would be mine and I wouldn't have to give these damn tours."

He also took us through a famous kissing bridge. "If you kiss under this bridge, your love will last forever. Though my wife and I have been separated 10 years now, so screw that for an idea."

He sang Drop it Like It's Hot.

He told us about the roads in Dingle. "They were voted worst roads in Europe. You get through there, your hubcaps are gone and your flask is empty. Welcome to Dingle!"

John O'Neill, you cheeky bastard!

At night, we went to a pub in Killarney to listen to some music. It was early in the evening, and I noticed the news on the TV behind the bar. And that's how we learned about the events around the Boston Marathon as it was happening. Everyone in the pub started to watch quietly. And we haven't been hooked up to the Internet except at the B&B, but Gienna was able to get online through her phone for a little time. And the first thing she found was a post on facebook from a good friend who works in Copley saying she's okay. And we both quietly teared up at our table--tired, homesick, and full of questions. And everyone in the pub was watching the two girls from Boston wipe away tears.

And at a time like that, you have options. We opted not to watch CNN repeatedly state how much they didn't know yet. We straightened out, took a deep breath, and ordered more beers. We enjoyed the singing and talked to the people around us. We clapped our hands and decided to deal with it all tomorrow. I got my picture taken with a professional Santa Clause. Because if Santa can't take away your troubles, who can?