Cliffs of Insanity!

We set off from the Milestone house after breakfast (and a photo with the aforementioned milestone). We'd wrapped up little sandwiches with homemade bread and jam for the road, and we went through the scenic Connor's Pass on our way to the Cliffs of Moher.


The roads have been pretty easy to navigate, as long as one is patient - for big trucks, tour buses, other cars, and the occasional herd of cows w/cycling farmer and farm dog running back and forth:


A few hours later, we arrived at the Cliffs of Moher, aka the Cliffs of Insanity from a certain cult movie favorite. There's a very fancy visitors' center, which we didn't pay to go in, but rather headed straight for the cliffs. They've put up a safety wall along most of the viewing area, but we followed the crowds past that, to this sign:


And these (the green one indicates that the cliffs must be the Irish version of the Golden Gate Bridge):


Now, I don't have a fear of heights, neither does Lo. And there were many, many people walking blithely pass these signs. But we were both very, very careful, as walked - the sheer drop just a few inches away was very, very far down.


The cliffs are memorable, and I'm glad we saw them...and I also felt kind of relieved as we headed back to more solid ground. :) Our stop for the night was a little town named Doolin, but we had a few more things on the agenda first. Doolin is right near the extremely unique geographic area of The Burren - it's kind of like the arctic tundra and the regular Irish landscape all mixed together, with a couple of prehistoric monuments thrown in. (I'm trying to de-nerdify the blog a bit, you're welcome, folks)



After a quick dinner at a pub (Irish stew and fish and chips, two pints of Guinness), we headed out to the local Pitch and Putt for an early evening round. The Doolin course felt like the big leagues, to me, at least compared to the little Dingle one. It was hilly, with lots of hazards, including actual sand traps (!) and times when you couldn't see the green from the tee. (I know - any golfing types reading this are certainly snickering). I did mostly terrible, but the scenery more than made up for it. At one point, teeing off on a hill, we could look out and see the Cliffs of Moher to the south, the Aran Islands directly off the coast, and a field of placidly-chewing cows just a few yards away. Peaceful sigh.

Lo was tired after golf - she's been staying up late reading and then doing a lot of the driving during the day - so she headed to bed and I went back to the pub where we'd had dinner to hear some music. Unfortunately, it was rather overrun by a German tourist bus group, but a gentleman who I'd met earlier there made room for me at the bar and ordered me a half pint of Guinness, which was nice. We chatted, I listened to the music played by musicians I couldn't see, and Michael (who seems to be a fixture at the bar there) introduced me to the local folks he knew. There was one moment in particular that made me smile - I was drinking my Guinness, sitting with new acquaintances Michael and Paddy, listening to a rousing traditional Irish tune, and I looked up and saw a painting above the bar of John and Jackie Kennedy. So cliche, I know.