"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.