Ireland and beyond

We're back from the land of rainbows, funny accents, and sausage-for-breakfast. And although it sounds a lot like San Francisco, it was actually Ireland, ancestral home to the Boston Celtics and fruit-buster Gallagher, among others.

Due to the constant drizzle – or mizzle as we learned – the Irish are very accustomed to staying indoors and amusing themselves. This is probably why they've given the world a disproportionate amount of good writers (James Joyce, Oscar Wilde, etc.) and a disproportionate amount of good beers, (Smithwicks, Harp, Killian's, and, of course, Guinness).

We were able to sample the mother of all dark beers at a small pub called Morrissey's located in the small historical town of Abbeyleix, located somewhere in the middle of Ireland. This old guy comes with the place, apparently. Whether you want him to or not.

The Irish have also thankfully given the world many famous and gymnastic sports mascots, including Lucky, the Celtics mascot (anything but your traditional Leprechaun) and, of course, Mr. Fighting Irish himself, the Notre Dame mascot.

While there, we drove all around the land of Lilliputians, but we started with a night and a day in Dublin, the capital, where we strolled by the River Liffey and made our way through the shops of Temple Bar. While here, we learned about the importance of reading the road.

Afterwards, we made our way south to Cork, the country's second largest city and spelled Corcaigh in Gaelic or Gaeilge. This city (of about 274,000) is cute, welcoming, walkable, and filled with violent stabbings, apparently. Thankfully, we deftly avoided the fighting Irish and their stabbings and made it through without any blood loss. We also thoroughly enjoyed staying at our cutesy B&B, located just minutes from the knife attacks.

The next morning Kate and Kathryn traded in their euros for various forms of herpes simplexes when they voluntarily kissed an old, often-peed-upon rock called the Blarney stone. Here, Kate is getting accosted by another old man (not the one at Morrisey's) just before the herpes infection.

And here is DCMOM right afterward. She seemed to have survived just fine.

After a good helping of Irish coffee (or tea in Kate's case), the viruses on their lips were accompanying us on our journey to Killarny, a town with a rougher name than Cork (note the "Kill" part) but fewer stabbings. Here we stayed at another B&B just outside the pedestrian zone and enjoyed shopping, eating, and avoiding the rain. It was at this point that we began to realize that this country has more B&B's than should legally be allowed in an already overly-effeminate country already known for its tea, lace curtains, and rainbows.

In Killarny we (the viruses and us) followed a PBS news crew aroundsome local and scenic lakes and were chased away by pestering Irish bugs with funny accents (Buzz, sez I. Buzzzzzz.).

The next morning we were off to a west coast peninsula called Dingle, famous not only for its beautiful sites but also for its wonderfully delicious berries. After a short walk through the town of Dingle and a long drive out, we made it to see the most magnificent views that Ireland has to offer.

Actually, what we saw were the Cliffs of Moher, Gaelic for “Cliffs of the Ruin,” which rise about 600 feet above the frigid Atlantic Ocean and offer stunning views.

I can't say enough about how beautiful this place is. In fact, both Kate and I were so enthralled with the views that, upon closer inspection, we fell. Luckily, thanks to our superhuman strength and the wizardry of the photographer, we were able to climb back up.

Afterwards, we stayed in the small town of Ennis, located at the intersection of nowhere and nowhere, and spent the night sleeping soundly in quite possibly one of the most popular hotspots in a 25-mile radius – the Old Ground Hotel. Sounds like a blast, right?

On the next and final day, we hustled through a quaint castle and accompanying village (rebuilt for tourists with heavy wallets) and took some time to compare the old-fashioned, smelly 16th Century Ireland with the old-fashioned, smelly 16th Century America. Personally, I like the 16th Century portrayal at the Renaissance Fest the best because you can get all the authentic smells plus a diet coke.

So, after much spending, eating, and driving in the western part of Ireland, Kate said, “Take me home!” So we drove all through a country the size of West Virginia on the country roads, mountain mama, and made it to the airport in the nick of time.

More pictures in the next blog.