Well if the Volcano Wants Us to Stay in Ireland, By Golly, We'll Stay in Ireland!

Yes, this is a little out of date, but bear with me. We're returning to that fateful Saturday in April, the 17th, when Eyjafjallajokull determined that my parents would be joining me on this lovely island for a tad bit longer. But hark! We made the most of it!! After another day in Dublin we voyaged to the Giant's Causeway in the North. It was only fitting to go visit an ancient volcanic site when that very phenomenon was detaining us. Well, okay, it's only silly people like scientists who believe that lava was the culprit for the formation of these wild rock features. Ask any local and they'll tell you the real story about how the Causeway came to be. It goes a little something like this:

"An Irish giant, Finn MacCool, built the Causeway to reach Scotland to fight the Scottish giant, Benandonner. As Finn crossed the Irish Sea, he saw that his Scottish adversary was much bigger than him so he fled back to Ireland. Benandonner gave chase. Finn's wife, Oonagh, saw Benandonner approaching in the distance. She hid Finn by dressing him as a baby and putting him in bed. When Benandonner arrived, Oonagh told him that Finn was hunting and invited him to wait. When she showed Benandonner the 'baby', the Scottish giant got quite a shock; if the baby was that big, what size must his father be! Benandonner took fright and fled back to Scotland, ripping up the Causeway as he went so Finn could not follow."

This tidbit is of course proven accurate by the fact that the 'other end' of the Causeway is located at Fingal's Cave on the Scottish island of Staffa.

So, without further ado, the Giant's Causeway!

Fairytale

Once upon a time in the far away land of the emeralds there was a lovely little family travelling about. We'll call them the Whartons. They arrived one Tuesday afternoon at a magnificent castle set on impeccable grounds in the middle of a forest and overlooking a pristine lake. Now, any respectable castle is not complete without noble steeds, and Ashford Castle did not disappoint. Naturally the daughter of this family, always taken by equines, felt it was her duty to thoroughly explore the grounds astride a gallant mount. Thus she set out with a new friend, one of the trainers at the stable. After warming up the horses with a brisk trot down an old hacking path, the trainer leaned over and asked the young Wharton if she wanted to go on an adventure. Well yes, yes she did, very much, so it was further explained that there was rumor of any old castle hidden away in the woods along one of the paths. The two girls cantered abreast through the mystic ancient forest, pausing now and again at a fork in the trail and consulting their instincts before venturing onwards. They cantered along, pushing into a gallop sometimes, the only sound in that eerily quite moss-draped forest coming from the hoof-falls and exhales of the graceful grey Irish Draft mare and spirited buckskin Connemara Pony on every canter-stride. Quite without warning and almost unperceived, a shadow loomed through the trunks to the right. There it was, the castle of legend! The two riders eased their steeds over to the base of the ruins, speechless by its presence. They naturally dismounted and explored. But, as the sun sank and their shadows grew long, they swung back into the saddle and cantered away into the sunset.

Best part about this tale? It's completely and one hundred percent true. Yes my friends, Kirsty had heard about a castle in the woods and we went out and found it. Does this place get any better?!

Well, yes, turns out it does. Ashford had a falconry center and, as previously mentioned, stunning grounds, and the castle itself has retained much of the splendor of its younger days. Yes, I am a rather big fan of Ashford Castle. I'm not yet sure when it will be, but I'm definitely returning there one day.

(yes, I'm aware my fairytale seems falsified by the discontinuity of the description of Kirsty's mount and the photographic documentation, but she was riding a different horse when we found the castle, promise!)

Slab City and the Cliffs of Doom... I Mean, Uh, Moher

So after our little excursion out to the Dingle Peninsula we headed up to Limerick for the night. Mother was not thrilled about this plan. I think it had something to do with her hearing from friends back home that Limerick is known to be a little "rough". And maybe both my parents' and my guide books contributed to her aversion by saying it was known around Ireland as "Stab City", or, as the locals endearingly dubbed it because there really are so many stabbings, "Slab City." Oh, and I don't think it helped Limerick's cause that even during our first few days in Ireland when the Irish, friendly folks that they are, would ask where we were going, as soon as Limerick was brought up they would gasp, frown, and ask if there wasn't anywhere else we could go instead. I'm pretty certain that the icing on the cake was when we stopped on our way up to Limerick and a local was so vehement about not wanting us to go that she offered to call up a nearby B&B to try and get us a room there instead. But alack! We already had our hotel reservation, so we continued driving north. It was duly noted as we drove over a hill and got our first glimpse of the city that there was a large fire burning somewhere within the city limits.

But we ventured onwards, found our hotel, checked in, and went out for a surprisingly nice dinner (only two blocks away from where we were staying so we wouldn't have to venture too far into the city). Then went immediately back and got to sleep nice and early so we could wake up early and be on our way. But at least the view wasn't too shabby.

We backtracked to the charming picturesque village of Adare on Tuesday morning, then continued further north still towards Galway, sidetracking along the coast to see what all the fuss was about concerning the Cliffs of Moher. There was a really neat tower built right on the edge...

...of the 228 m (760 ft) tall...

...5 mile long stretch of cliffs.

Okay, yes, definitely worth coming out here. It was surprising how abruptly the cliffs jut up, too. Literally just minutes before we had been driving on a road just feet above sea level. However, we did not heed the warning signs...

The plaque says, "In memory of those who have lost their lives at the Cliffs of Moher"

(Yes, about ten people die here every year. Really glad it wasn't windy the day we visited.)

The little sign in front: Please respect the intention of this memorial garden by not crossing the barrier

(Oops. We didn't see that until we were on our way back...)

...and did stroll out quite a ways along the cliffs, but it was certainly worthwhile!

Holly's Post

I did it, Holly! I made it out to the Dingle Peninsula! Now you can let me come back from Ireland, thank goodness. For everyone else: I made Holly a pinky promise back in December that I would absolutely not leave Ireland without visiting the Dingle Peninsula. Actually... I think that means I broke my promise because technically I went to Scotland first... but I hope I more than made up for it with my documentation. I'll let you be the judge, Holly. I still have three weeks to cancel my flight if you deem me unworthy of returning home (or three weeks to go back out and satisfy the Dingle terms). So allow me to give you a little rundown of our afternoon adventure so that you feel personally acquainted with the area before you retire there.

After a fair bit of driving through the countryside from Killarney,the road went straight into this beach (literally - you can see the cars quite a ways out because folks were free to drive out to where they pleased):

We then followed the road to the right and drove along the southern coast before veering inland for a bit, which gave us views like this:

It also gave me my first encounter with sheep holding up traffic. I know, I know, quite disappointing that it hadn't happened prior, but that must just be due to the use of buses and slightly more driven roads. But this poor fellow had the World's Worst border collie. He was bringing up a herd of lambs at the back of the flock and one of them suddenly darted off and started making a wide loop around to return to its home paddock. The man pointed at the lamb, signaled to the dog... and it just stood there and watched the lamb run by. Then others started to follow suit and the order collie actually shrank back behind its owner. When was the last time you saw a dog that was afraid of little lambs?! Eventually they all went scampering off back down the hill and the man had to go back and start all over again. But in good Irish fashion a handful of people had pulled over and gotten out to help the guy with his herding.

But we continued on our way and soon after arrived in the charming fishing village of Dingle.

I took plenty of pictures because I didn't want you to miss a single thing, Holly, don't worry. Though I hope you're not disappointed; after a very solemn debate we decided against going on the boat ride to visit Friendly Fungi the Dingle Dolphin. But there was a statue of him and some timber playmates so we still felt his joyful presence.

After lunch we drove further west to the tip of the peninsula, passing some fascinating and stunning sights along the way:

beehive huts - standing for over 4000 years (supposedly there are 414 in just a three mile stretch)

(okay, maybe not really 'fascinating' or 'stunning')

And, well, the rest of the drive was not terribly thrilling or noteworthy, but here's some proof that we circled around the tip of the peninsula:

The westernmost tip of the mainland... I couldn't resist going down there.

So what's the verdict? Do you still want to move here so you can introduce yourself as "Holly of Dingle"?

"To kiss it, you must be held by the legs, head downwards, over the battlements"

This is, of course, in reference to the Blarney Stone, the legendary Stone of Eloquence. Yes my friends, the Wharton family (sans one much missed brother) visited Blarney Castle and I can now proudly say, "Veni, vidi... osculari!" In fact, we all kissed the stone. I wasn't about to let my parents get away with flying all the way to Ireland and climbing to the top of a crumbling, seven-storied, narrow-staircased castle without doing their rightful duty.

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I'd also like to take this moment to insert my humble opinion and assert that the next time you find yourself in Cork, Ireland, go spend half a day (at least) strolling the grounds of Blarney Castle and, if you're feeling adventurous (and appropriately dressed to get a little muddy), explore Badger's Cave, a really extensive network of underground tunnels that supposedly led from the castle all the way to a nearby village. And by all means kiss the Blarney Stone! A woman behind us made this exact trek, but when she saw that she had to lie upside down and hang over the edge above a terrifying plummet to certain death should the old fellow assisting let her slip, she changed her mind. Don't let that be you!

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This fireplace was big enough to roast a side of beef...

little farmers market outside the entrance to Blarney Castle and Grounds

We also went down to the charming fishing village of Kinsale for lunch, which is just over a bridge from the closest point of land to where the Lusitania was torpedoed (though how exactly you would know you're standing at this location is beyond me as apparently there's not a plaque or, well, anything at all to signify the event or the place).

Anyway, our time in Cork was much enjoyed, though much too short (seemingly a theme of the whole trip until my parents got stranded here). OH! And on a very serious note: if you're ever anywhere in the general area of Cork you absolutely must go out of your way (and down an absurdly narrow alley) to eat at Jacques.

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Blackrock Castle and Observatory

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St. Finn Barre's Cathedral

(to the left of the main doors stood the 'Wise Virgins', to the right stood the 'Foolish Virgins')

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* - photo courtesy of Mom

** - photo courtesy of Dad

*** - photo courtesy of a random passerby who didn't really speak English