The Land of Eire--Part II

The rolling dunes of Inch Beach.

         On the morning of the 15th of April, in the year of our Lord, two thousand and eleven, I had the best breakfast that I've ever had in Europe.  No, there weren't any cornetti or stale cereals, it was an Irish Breakfast.  This consists of an egg, baked beans, toast, tea, ham, sausage links, a Jimmy Dean-type sausage patty, a black pudding patty, half of a small tomato, and orange juice.  Although not everyone had this every day, I did because a) it was very filling and I needed some energy for the day, and b) I normally don't get this in Rome.  After breakfast, the five of us packed in the car and drove to Brandon Point, which was about 25 minutes from our place.  Of course we got lost along the way so it took a little longer, but it was well worth the drive along roads wide enough for only one car at a time to pass.  At first it was fairly sunny and warm, but it quickly cooled off and the winds came.  We could overlook the bay for miles, and watched as the waves crashed on the cliffs and the sand.

Inch Beach.

        Afterward, we headed down to the town of Dingle, which was about a 45 minute drive or so.  Along the way, though, it began to rain hard, and we were all pretty nervous, as Jonathan was driving on a mountain road through fog, rain, and again on a very narrow road.  So we got to Dingle and it was still raining, and we walked down a fairly busy (for Ireland) street.  We ducked in a few stores and bought some stuff, but we were mostly just trying to stay warm and dry, or at least as much as we could.  We eventually walked down along the pier and had lunch at Murphy's pub.  The leek and potato soup I got, plus the warm fire, really helped me warm up after being poured on by the rain.
        When we emerged from our lunch about an hour or so later, it was warm, sunny, and clear, which helped us stay and walk around by the bay for awhile longer.  From Dingle we headed to Inch Beach, which is a peninsula off the southern edge of the Dingle Peninsula.  The dead seal on the sand notwithstanding, this was easily the most beautiful beach I had ever seen.  The tide had not yet rolled in completely, so there a lot of sand laid open, which transitioned into sand dunes about a hundred yards from the edge of the water.  Covering the sand dunes for the three-mile stretch along the beach was long Irish grass, between which a bunch of snails were taking refuge from the sun.  We left Inch Beach after at least an hour or so, and after we got back to the B&B we went to the pubs again for some more Irish fun.

The town of Dingle along the Dingle Bay.

        After a full Irish breakfast the next morning, John gave us a map and directed us toward Killarney National Park, about 45 minutes southwest of Camp.  We went up and over the Slieve Mish Mountains, which are more like high, rolling hills than actual mountains.  Despite that, however, I enjoyed them more than the high mountains of Switzerland, perhaps because they would be easier to climb and I would have less chance of falling down.  The park was great, with a lot of beautiful scenery, with a lot of grass, trees, and bushes surrounding a series of small mountains and a large lake, with a couple islands in the middle.  It was a very peaceful and enjoyable place to walk, and at times reminded me of walking in the woods in Minnesota, except everything was much greener in Killarney.
        What really makes this national park unique is Mmuckross Abbey, where, unlike every historical building in Rome, we could go just about everywhere without having rooms barred or roped off.  There was formerly a community here of Observantine Franciscans, devoted to the Holy Trinity.  Henry VIII, unfortunately, forced them out, but they returned, only to be driven out for good by the Cromwellians in 1652.  Despite this, however, it is kept in great shape, and people are still being buried there.  What was most bizarre of all was the fact that the "Gandsey Families, Minnesota, U.S.A." are the primary benefactors of this place, helping it remain in as good condition as possible.

To the left of either the 6th or 7th hole.

        So we walked around the park, taking it in and enjoying even more the fact that we weren't in the commotion of Rome, and then went and walked around downtown Killarney, which wasn't that big, but big enough to walk around for a half hour or so.  We also peeked inside the Cathedral there, which was like the majority of other Irish churches in Ireland--19th century Gothic--but it was still really neat nonetheless, and was a great contrast to Rome's churches.

The 9th hole at 9:30.

Lake and mountain, Killarney National Park.

        On our way back to Camp, we had lunch at the South Pole Inn, named so because a local explorer went there, though he ended up just short of his destination.  Anyway, we got lost, and with me as the navigator, I felt kinda stupid for having misled us for an extra twenty minutes out of our way.  Fortunately, though, we did get back in time for Jonathan and I to grab the clubs of John Doyle and a friend of his, which was really generous, considering that neither of us golf all that well, and we were pretty much complete strangers--it really shows the great hospitality of the Irish.  We headed to Castlegregory--yes I said CastleGREGORY--Golf and Fishing Club, got lost of course, and eventually hit the links by 7 pm.  When I first heard that the place existed, I said to myself: "Greg, you are going to golf on that course."  And I did.  The clubhouse was a crapshack, but that really didn't matter, since the course itself was pretty nice--several holes had the long Irish grasses, one green was about 30 feet higher than the tee box, and some holes had sand dunes, all of which were challenges.  It was well worth it, though, because from the 5th to 7th holes, we played along the side of the course that directly overlooked the beach, the mountains, and the setting sun, for which there are no words (really I'd rather put a picture up here, so that I don't have to spend an hour typing it).  But seriously, it was awesome.  Afterward, went to--where else?--the pubs.  Although this night was "special" as there was a birthday party for one of the local guys at Fitzgerald's pub.  The Railway Tavern was much more quiet and laid-back, so I was there for at least an hour or so, just to take a break from the more popular, albeit more crowded, pub.  When we were at the Railway Tavern, Katie even worked up the nerve to sing Sweet Baby James, by James Taylor in front of the Irish locals that were there--very cool and props to her for that!  That's all for this night, but more to come.  Here is a link to a bunch of pictures from this post: http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10150167853861956.305889.507151955&l=18feeefcf1