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Yes, this is a little out of date, but bear with me.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!