"Under the influence of the nameless but potent magic of Ireland"

Although the first half of our Ireland trip was marked by wet weather, it didn't dampen our spirts -- or our attitude toward the country. Still, we brightened at the fact that, as we headed south from Sligo and the clouds dispersed, the gemstone colors of the Emerald Isle emerged. It was a disconcertingly tight and technical hike up to the Caves of Kesh Corran (top left), but once we found flat ground within their confines, we were able to admire the pastoral patchwork below (top right). By the time we hit Galway for lunch, it was nothing but blue skies (bottom left) and drips of glass perspiration as the sun glowed golden on our pints at Dew Drop Inn (bottom right).

 

Although we had a room, it would have been a perfect night to camp at the caravan compound where we stayed outside Cong. A desire to stretch my legs after a long drive led me down a gravel road to Lough Corrib (top left). And the sun's inspiration to keep strolling spit me into a verdant loop on a peninsula jutting into the lake (top right). With no campfire culinary fixins, we had to head into town for dinner. The village, famed as the backdrop for The Quiet Man, offered still serenity at its abbey (bottom left) and adjacent forest (bottom right). If sunset had not been nigh, we would have taken more time to explore the caves along its trails.

 

 

We were in bed by dusk because we had to get up before dawn to get to Ballyvaughan, where we got in step with some locals for the Clare Burren Mini Marathon (top left). Even though our short route didn't take us into Burren National Park as we had thought, it still was spectacularly scenic -- from idyllic donkey-laden cottage pastures at the starting line (top right) to inspiring hill-filled coastal marshes along the final stretch (bottom left). By the time we crossed the finish line, the clouds had recommenced (bottom right), so we scarfed down our complimentary post-race soup from Monks and raced to take shelter elsewhere.

  

 

We found refreshing fireside respite inside at Flanagan's in nearby Lahinch (top left). Outside, the drizzle didn't deter students of the beach resort's surf school (top right), where we watched wave devotees brave the bracing waters for a while until we could check in at our country cabin (middle). After washing and resting up -- and giving scritches to the friendly farm dog -- we shared the craic with some fellow runners patronizing the exquisitely renovated Eugene's Bar in Ennistymon (bottom left), a country town cut in half by the Cascades (bottom right), before filling our bellies at Pot Duggans and falling into bed.

 

 

When we were figuring out our Ireland itinerary, many resources recommended Doolin, because it lays claim on being the home of traditional Irish music. We weren't too enamored with the coastal outpost, which seems to have lost charm due to the tour-bus onslaught for access to the Cliffs of Moher (top left). Despite the fact that it wasn't yet peak season, the ferry we took to the Aran Islands was packed with badged travelers (top right). Luckily, the smallest island, Inisheer, was large enough to escape the hordes. We broke fresh sand on a boulder-sheltered beach (middle left) and were the sole pilgrims to a buried medieval church in the island graveyard (middle right). Due to the similarity in names, we thought the island was the setting for The Banshees of Inisherin, but it turns out the movie was made on the largest island, Inishmore. Still, the whitewashed homes and stone fences would have fit right into any of the film's scenes (bottom). 

  

  

For the finale of our "failte" tour, we headed across the island to say our final farewells in Dublin. About halfway there, we stopped in Athlone to see what is purported to be the country's oldest pub (top left). The clouds outside helped darken Sean's Bar, so it wasn't so blatant that we were imbibing before noon (top right). After driving the rest of the way, dropping off our rental car, and resting, we didn't reach the capital's downtown till late afternoon, so we mostly just explored by strolling through St. Stephen's Green (bottom left) and the main square of Trinity College (bottom right).

  

 

We didn't have much of an agenda planned, like we did in the countryside, so we somewhat arbitrarily picked to visit one of the city's free museums. We landed on the National Gallery (top left), whose many exhibit rooms were interwoven possibly even more complexly than the cobblestone paths of Temple Bar. The collection was impressive, but somehow didn't compare to the archives of the outdoors. With the weather finally cooperating, I was craving fresh air, so I took a walk around the west end, past two other national institutions: the Guinness Storehouse (top right) and Kilmannon Gaol (bottom).

 

With that walk, we were done sight-seeing, but there were a few Irish tourist traps that we needed to get caught up in. We were tempted to stereotypically throw back one at the Temple Bar Pub (top left), but instead, we opted to head to an open-mic night at Whelan's on Wexford, which ended up being a highlight of our trip (top right). We found a tucked-away wooden bar at The Stag's Head to match the hue of an Irish coffee (bottom left). And finally, to help transition back to American tastes, our last meal was pizza -- with a whisky sour -- at The Circular (bottom right).

  

 

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An Irish Apologia : Some Thoughts on Anglo-Irish Relations and the War. JSTOR, https://jstor.org/stable/community.29825553. Accessed 31 July 2024.

"The peace, prosperity, and happiness of the Irish people"

I have been to Ireland before, but only in the bigger cities on both coasts: Dublin and Galway. It had remained a dream to get off the beaten path into the countryside. However, I did not intend, after picking up a rental car from the Dublin airport, to drive on the country's most dangerous road. We only found out upon our arrival in Derry that we had put our lives at risk on the way to Northern Ireland. 

Per our B&B proprietor's tip, we paid tribute to our survival with our first pure Irish pint at George's Bar. With our newfound sense of mortality, we wandered within the city's walls (top left) to find another suggested spot, Tracy's Bar (top right), the first among many pubs with non-traditional music and non-understandable patrons. I was so giddy I was in one piece that I foolishly tried to order a whisky sour. Thankfully, the friendly regulars forgave me, allowing us to sing along to Paul Simon while watching soccer till we succumbed to jet lag. The Celtic hospitality continued in the morning, with a meat-heavy full Irish breakfast (bottom).

 

Considering Derry's connection to the start of the Troubles and as the site of Bloody Sunday, we thought we should pay respects at the City Cemetery, where many victims are laid to rest (top). We paused a moment overlooking the River Foyle before setting out for our next city. On the way, we made a detour, as directed by many folks the night before, to Grianán of Aileach (bottom left), a 1st century stone fort from whose rim you can see five counties on a clear day, which it was not (bottom right). 

 

Still, the view was amazing, but not as good as the vista in Glenveagh National Park, where we stopped to take a hike (top). From the Old Dunlewey Church, we delved into Poisoned Glen, bisecting the bog in the mountain basin without spying another soul (middle left). It wasn't until we double-backed to the trailhead bridge that we saw signs of human life (middle right). It got wet as we continued on the Wild Atlantic Way, and the drops were really coming down by the time we checked into our room in Donegal (bottom left). We hunkered down out of the rain at The Reveller Bar, where we senselessly played pool on a snooker table (bottom right) and the bartender schooled us in the differences between American and Gaelic football.

  

 

With a bit of Irish luck, our next day out and about in county Donegal was mostly dry. It was still a little damp when I took a morning stroll along the town's River Bank Walk (top left). But by the time we pulled off the road to see Assaranca Waterfall, the only H20 in the air was mist from the cascade (top right). And by the time we hit Maghera Beach just around the bend, we could even spy slivers of blue sky (bottom). 

 

Because it was low tide, we could explore the strand's many slot caves (top left). The positioning of life-saving rings and the waterline on the stratified-stone walls clearly showed that the sea level could have been well above our heads without proper planning (top right). We stopped by Slieve League Cliffs on our way back to town (bottom left), but about halfway up to the trail summit, dark clouds became downpours, so we called it a day. I shook off the showers with a shellfish pasta at Olde Castle Seafood Bar (bottom right), then we spent the night sheltered from storms at McCafferty's, a good spot for IPAs and footie.

  

 

Since our next stop wasn't far away, the next morning we had a leisurely breakfast before setting out for Sligo. The avocado toast at Blueberry Tea Room was more American but still just as abundant as a traditional Irish breakfast (top left). Upon a recommendation from our friendly footballer bartender, we made a quick stop at Rossnowlagh Beach, a renown surfing beach (top right). No one was in the water, probably because of low tide, but the grooves blown into the sand indicated conditions favorable to hang-ten crests. We didn't try any water sports, but we braved the land sport of Irish driving as we navigated the narrow but luckily vacant roads of the Gleniff Horseshoe (bottom left). We could triangulate where we were on the 10K loop by our position in relation to Benwisken (bottom right), a mountain in the Daltry range along with the more famous, although arguably less visually distinct, Benbulben. 

 

 

Our weather-app radar showed rain on the way, so we slid on into Sligo. While downing some delicious pizza at Swagman (top left), we noticed a surprising sign amid the whisky (top right). Apparently, a brewer at The White Hag, a local craft producer, hailed from central Ohio and fell in with the bar's owner. We toasted their friendship with a few beers from the best tap selection we saw in Ireland, then we checked into our room in the surfing suburb of Strandhill (bottom left). Later, we strolled among the dunes behind The Strand Bar (bottom right), where we had a quick drink before heading back downtown for livelier environs. 

  

 

We lounged with locals at the curiously named Shoot the Crows (left), then I raised my first Guinness pint to salute the musical duo at Thomas Connolly's (right). Our fun was deflated by some forced participation in the global sport of "retracing your steps to find your rental-car keys" -- that were in your dashboard console all along. And thus, the first half of our trip ended with gratitude for the kindness of helpful strangers and relief for the blessing of an unstolen vehicle.

 

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Lennox, P. J. “The Historical Aspect of Home Rule.” The North American Review, vol. 195, no. 679, 1912, pp. 788–802. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/25119775. Accessed 5 Aug. 2024.