Saturday, September 27, 2008

Droolin' over Doolin

At last! The final chapter in the story of last weekend's expedition to the west of Ireland.

When last we left our brave explorers, they were on a ferry bound across Galway Bay to Doolin, a tiny seaside town. Rough waves and a chilly breeze did nothing to quench the enthusiasm of the nine travellers --- though the rainstorm that caught them by surprise certainly did.

Doolin's tiny. One road that can't even remotely be called a Main Street winds through, passing the two hostels and three pubs that host and entertain visitors. However, this road passes by golf courses and cow pastures for a whole mile before it actually reaches Doolin. This is the terrible fact we discovered when we stepped off the ferry, umbrella-less and without a dry change of clothes. We trekked, caught between amusement and hysteria, alarming the munching cows with our cursing and complaining about the lack of sidewalks and good Samaritans.

But a hot bowl of Guinness stew with good brown bread cures a whole bunch of ails, and shivers and sniffles are two of them. Plus, we had so much to look forward to the next day --- the Cliffs of Moher. We turned in early in our lovely hostel, with the promise of hot scones in the morning.

And what a morning it was!

Tummies full and bodies rested, we went out to the Cliffs prepared to be astounded.

This is what we saw:

Imagine, the sun rising over this. Now turn over your right shoulder:

Can you picture anything more idyllic? Keep turning:

Ahh, there are the cliffs! And, once more, turn:

There's an Irish saying: "Is glas iad na cnoic i bhfad uainn." It translates to "far away hills are green," a more lyrical way of saying the grass is greener on the other side of the fence. Here's the thing, though. Every hill is green here!


Basking in the Monday morning sunlight.


I cannot get over this.



From the cliffs you can see Inisheer! If you look closely, you can make out a brownish oblong thing on the righthand side of the island just by the water. That's the wreck of the Plassy, the beached ship we played in on Sunday.



I wish you were here on top of the world with me!

2 comments:

Cathie Schorn said...

So nice, Monica...I can feel the fresh air moving across the hills when I look at your pictures.

Christian's okay. It's either only the tiniest possible lung puncture or else the coxackie (sp?) virus, which lodges in intercostal (rib) muscles during some viral colds and causes pain upon inhaling...exactly Christian's symptoms. He's to rest and drink fluids and take Motrin for pain. That's it. Whew!

Talk with you soon, honey.

Love you, Mama

Anonymous said...

Beautiful!