July
3, 2004 continued.
We arrived in Connemara in the
afternoon.
We stopped at a little store in the town of Oughterard and
bought supplies, and then we drove up over the mountain pass.
The road we took was a very narrow lane that hardly anyone
used; it wound up into the mountains, and eventually down the other
side to the sea.
Chris Ryan had told Jineen and me about this road several
years ago, and we had driven it in the wintertime.
We had loved it then, but now in the summer, it was even more
spectacular.
You left civilization behind when you turned off of the main
road onto this small track, and as you ascended the mountainside, it
was magical.
There was incredible scenery, with the mountain slopes
covered with a maze of rocks among the peat bogs, and streams
tumbling down the hillsides into silver lakes.
Nobody lived up there but the sheep, and the sense of peace
and serenity was awesome.
The Road less Traveled!
We stopped by a waterfall near the top, where you could see
forever. You could look
back from where we had come and see the waters of Lough Corrib; and
looking forward, you saw hills and mountains, green in the summer
sunshine, with the silver cascades of falling streams contrasting
with the dark evergreen forests ahead.
Here we had our picnic: fresh bread and good Irish cheese,
fruit, and chocolate cookies for dessert.
Mom climbed down on the rocks by the waterfall, and Melissa
hiked up to the top of a large nearby hill.
|
Mom at the Connemara
Pass Picnic Spot
|
We carried on through this enchanted landscape.
Rocks, rocks, peat bogs, and more rocks.
Swiftly falling creeks and sudden lakes, then on to dark
forests, more lakes, more peat bogs, and more rocks.
It was remote, desolate, spectacular.
After a while we started to see the remains of old stone
shepherd’s cottages, their roofless shells reminders of times gone
past. Sheep grazed
along the side of the road, and sometimes lay dozing in the road
itself. When we
approached the other side of the mountains, we could look down on
Galway Bay. As we
approached the coastline, we wouldn’t have thought it possible,
but the land became even more rocky.
We continued down to the sea, and turned right along the
coast, heading for the town of Screeb where our lodging for the
night was. Unfortunately,
we missed the turnoff twice, following erroneous roads along several
peninsula shorelines before we finally found the way to Screeb.
It would have been easy to miss; the town, as far as we could
determine, consisted of one tiny store.
But eventually we located our B&B, called Dun Manus; it
was a lovely house with a view of Kilkieran Bay, an inlet from the
Atlantic. We sat on the front deck and had tea.
We went to dinner at the Peacock Hotel, which was about
twenty minutes away. It
was a glorious drive through spectacular countryside, with the slow
sunset casting a golden glow on the many lakes and inlets. Shafts of sunlight coming down through the clouds made for
mystical lighting; and our mood was peaceful as we enjoyed the
gradual nightfall, listening to the ‘Song for Ireland’ on the CD
player. After dinner
and a drink in the pub, we enjoyed the scenic drive back, now in the
dusk.
Returning to the B&B, Melissa and I went for a walk.
It was about 11:00 pm by this time, but it was not fully
dark, there was still a bit of light in the western sky.
We followed a small lane up the hill behind the house, where
we saw a little stone building, one of the old shepherd’s
cottages, long abandoned, with vines and ivy serving as a roof.
Using the torch, we climbed over the gate and investigated.
As we explored around the back we found an old corner of
stone walls; the ruins of an even more ancient building, with trees
growing dense over top of it, forming a sort of cave.
We were pretty sure that Leprechauns must live there!
We went around behind it and struck a tiny trail that wound
into the underbrush. We
sort of crashed through the undergrowth, following a path clearly
meant for smaller feet, and found ourselves in a fairy-like hollow
between the rocks and under the holly trees.
It was a hidden secret place, and it felt very mystical.
But when we went to leave, we found that the leprechauns,
clearly annoyed with our trespass, had hidden the pathway that led
out, in an effort to confuse and trap us.
Every path we tried to use to leave the hollow was a false
trail or dead end! After
several aborted attempts and aimless wanderings, we finally managed
to find a way out, and escaped their clutches.
Continuing on up the road, we saw a number of enchanting
hollows among the rocks and banks and heather that surely must have
been, at the very least, meeting places for leprechauns and fairies,
if not their actual dwellings.
Twice I caught a quick glimpse of movement out of the corner
of my eye as some fey creature darted into the underbrush under the
pale starlight, but these folk are very elusive, and difficult to
actually get a clear view of. We
felt that it was very likely that they had buried a pot of gold from
a rainbow’s end nearby, but alas, there was no possible way to
locate it.
Then we went back down the hill and to the water’s edge; we
lay on the rocks by the bay and watched the sky.
Fluffy, puffy clouds lined the horizon, dark eerie shapes in
the glow of the last lingering rays of the sunset; we watched them
change shape, picking out a hippo, a whale, a crab, and Siamese
gorillas. Melissa saw a
shooting star. It was
well after midnight before we went inside and to bed.
July
4, 2004
Independence Day!
This
was actually somewhat ironic, as George Bush’s recent visit to
Ireland had triggered a renewed wave of resentment towards him among
the Irish people, and we found ourselves in the somewhat unfamiliar
and quite uncomfortable position of feeling like we should apologize
for being American! Not
that the Irish people turned their antagonism towards us; they were
as unfailingly friendly and gracious as always, but on numerous
occasions I felt like I should hold up a sign that said, “Don’t
blame us, we can’t stand him either!”
But aside from all of that, I had the best Fourth of July I
can ever remember. It
was a magical day from start to finish.
Melissa and I got up early and left the house at 6:00 a.m. to
go hiking. We paused on
the deck of the house to look at the water. The surface was as still and smooth as glass; not a breeze
stirred at this early hour, and the hills beyond were mirrored in
the water. It was a
scene of incredible tranquility and beauty, and the absolute
stillness and quiet was broken only by the honking of a pair of
snow-white swans as they flew across the inlet just above the
surface of the water, before gliding in for a graceful splash
landing.
We drove towards the mountains, and following the directions
of our B&B lady we found a little lane that led us up a hillside
to join the hiking trail. We
parked the car, and took a path that headed straight up the
mountainside. Soon we
came to a fence on the steep slope, with a metal gate in which the
word “Mamean” was wrought, and it was topped with a cross.
As we stood below the gate, the ground sloped up sharply to
it and then dropped away on the other side; as we gazed up at the
gate, we could see nothing but sky beyond it. It truly looked like the Gateway to Heaven!
We opened the gate and entered.
|
Gateway to Heaven
|
We walked up
the side of the mountain on a small stony path marked for hikers,
which wound among the rocks and boulders, climbing upwards toward
the summit. It is
actually an ancient pilgrim's trail.
In the clear morning light, the views were breathtaking.
The land was much wetter than it looked from a distance, with
streams, cascades and pools everywhere.
We didn’t see a soul, except for the occasional sheep.
It was incredibly peaceful.
When we reached the top, we came upon a small church; this
was the ‘Mamean’ that the gate below had signified.
It was sitting at the top of the slope, a monument for loved
ones and a place of worship, apparently put there for hikers and
travelers. There was a
holy well and a small stone shrine, with a statue of St. Patrick
standing in front. Twelve
Celtic crosses surrounded it, representing the Twelve Stations of
the Cross. The scenery
from this spot was phenomenal; you did feel like you were looking
down from heaven. I am
not a particularly religious person, but this place held a kind of
magic, and I felt that one could find God here.
|
Mamean Church
|
Inside the little building, people had left offerings on an
altar; remembrances for those loved ones they had lost.
Some of the most touching mementos were for firefighters that
had died in New York City during September 11th.
There was another shrine outside, where people had left small
objects of respect for this place of worship, often something they
had carried with them up the mountain. There were coins, photos, keys, hairclips, small toys and
figurines, pieces of jewelry. I
wanted to leave something there myself; I searched through my
pockets for a suitable offering.
The only thing I had in my pockets were the car key; feeling
that this would be an unwise sacrifice, I pulled a button off my
shirt to leave as my contribution.
We hiked on, following the path around to the other side of
the slope; from there we could look down across a huge valley, with
the peaks of the Twelve Bens mountain range rising beyond.
We sat on the rocks and watched the view; it was different
every few minutes, with the moving clouds and changing light.
Higher peaks towered above us on both sides, and before us
the vale glistened, as the morning sun reflected on streams like
silver ribbons, and on the hundreds of small bright pools set within
the peat bogs. We saw
our path winding away into the distance far below us; I wanted
nothing more than to just keep going indefinitely, to follow the
trail to see where it went and what treasures it held.
Still
round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate . . .
We sat on the rocks for a time and just listened.
We could hear the breeze around us and the wind on the
mountaintop above. We heard the sounds of birds, of sheep, of trickling brooks,
and the louder tumbling of a small waterfall not far away.
And other than that, just quiet.
We sat there for a long while. Don’t think, just be.
Eventually, it was time to return to reality.
But next time I visit Ireland, I am going to try to put time
aside for some longer hikes, to follow some of those pathways and
see where they go! We
made it back to the B&B in time for a late breakfast, collected
Mom, and set out for Clifden.
We followed the coast road; it was very scenic, and
very rocky! It is hard
to describe the fields and hills in this area; they are just about
solid with stones and huge boulders. Few trees grow there, between
the rocks and the peat bogs. It
is very different from the rest of Ireland, with a unique and bleak
beauty all its own; but it would be a very hard place to live and
scratch out an existence, especially in farming!
We saw many of the famous Connemara ponies.
You would often see one or two mares with their foals, in the
back yard of small cottages, or sometimes in a field that went right
down to the water’s edge. We learned that there is quite a lot of demand worldwide for
these ponies, and they often sell for up to eight or ten thousand
euros, even as yearlings!
There are many different types of scenery in Connemara, and
it can change quickly from one area to another.
We took a detour up between the arms of the mountains, where
the land was less rocky, with large trees overlooking a fast-flowing
river where the locals fish for salmon. Here the Ballynahinch Castle sits in awesome splendor by a
large lake; it has been turned into a very exclusive hotel and
resort.
|
Ballynahinch Castle
|
Back to the coast, we stopped at a lovely sandy beach on
Gorteen Bay. Melissa
and I took off our shoes and socks, rolled up our pants, and went
running along the beach, splashing in the small waves that came to
shore. It was
brilliant, but the water was certainly cold enough to discourage any
thoughts of actually swimming!
We walked along the beach, collected some seashells, and then
went on our way again.
We followed the shoreline around through the beautiful
fishing village of Roundstone, and then we proceeded on to the town
of Clifden, arriving in the early afternoon.
We checked into our B&B, the Faul House, and found to our
delight that they raised Connemara ponies there; so we got some good
up close and personal time with those darling pony foals!
We stopped in town at the bakery for some picnic supplies,
and then set off for Clifden Castle.
The Clifden Castle is very special to me.
When I visited Connemara the first time, with Jineen, we
found it quite by accident; and it has always ranked as one of my
favorite-ever castle experiences in Ireland.
On that occasion, we were driving the Sky Road.
I just love that name, the Sky Road, and it is very
appropriate. The drive
is incredibly lovely, winding along the cliff edge with the water
below and nothing but the sky beside you; and at times when the road
slopes sharply upwards, it seems there is nothing but sky in front
of you as well, and you might just drive up into it.
It was nearing sunset, and the sky was filled with pastel
colors. We happened to
look back behind us, and from that angle, we saw it!
There were green fields sloping down to the bay, with the
hills rising behind, and this incredible castle sitting there,
majestically overlooking the water.
Of course, we turned back and found a way in, following a
small and very rough little boreen (lane) from the road down to the
castle; only to find that getting out again turned into more of an
adventure than we had anticipated.
There proved to be no place to turn around because of
flooding at the bottom of the road, and we ended up having to back
our rental car up that narrow lane for about three quarters of a
mile, burning out the clutch in the process.
(For that story, see Ireland,
December 2001.)
Clifden Castle - view
from Sky Road |
Because our finding of the Clifden Castle had been so
unexpected and so delightful, it has had a very special meaning to
me; and I have been very eager to return to it ever since.
And of course Mom and Melissa had not seen it, so it was with
great anticipation that we headed down the Sky Road this time.
We had no trouble finding the entrance to the little lane.
Now common sense dictated that Melissa and I should hike down
the lane first, and make sure that the way was passable and the
turn-around possible, before taking the car and Mom down the little
boreen. I was not keen
to back out again, as our rental car this time was significantly
larger than before, and I wasn’t at all sure it would even be safe
to drive down. The
entrance to the little roadway looked even rougher, narrower and
more eroded out than I had remembered it.
Needless to say, common sense did not prevail.
Mom made some crack about how she couldn’t believe I would
let a little rough road stop me, and so of course taking up the
challenge, down the lane we went. With the briars, barbed wire and stonewalls literally
scraping both sides of our rental car with noises like fingers on a
blackboard, we bumped and scraped our way down to the castle.
It was with much relief that I saw that there was indeed a
dry place to turn around this time!
|
Clifden Castle
|
The castle was as lovely as I remembered it.
It sits in a green pasture, with sheep and cows around it,
overlooking a bay off of the Atlantic.
This particular peninsula of land is lush and green, and the
setting is exceptionally peaceful and beautiful.
We sat by the castle and had our picnic, again with fresh
bread and local cheese, and some excellent pastries from the bakery.
A man and woman came along before long, and they turned out
to be one-eighth owners of the castle.
We shared our pastries with them while they told us some of
the history of the place. It
is a relatively new castle, built in the late 1700s by John Darcy,
who was High Sheriff of West Galway.
He left it to his sons, but they lived elsewhere and had
little interest, and it was eventually taken over by the state.
In more recent times, the eight families who were tenants on
the estate were allowed to purchase it and divide the land up
between them, with shared ownership of the castle.
After lunch, we explored the remains of the old stableyard
below the castle. The
ivy covering the walls was in many places so old and strong that it
had grown into small trees, with the tough winding trunks clinging
to the stones.
|
Clifden Castle
|
As we headed back up the lane on our way out, we stopped to
look at the ancient Standing Stones that stood by the roadway near
the entrance. These
monoliths towered above our heads; lonely sentinels that had stood
there silently for time out of mind.
There are many such monuments in western Ireland, set there
in primeval times; nobody really knows who put them there or what
there purpose was, as they predate the known history of the area.
Touching the stone, I almost felt that the rock beneath my
hand was alive. It was
filled with a sense of agelessness and mystery. There was a large crack in one side of the stone; you could
almost, but not quite, reach your hand inside.
When peering in with the torch, we could see the faint glow
of some ring-shaped object deep inside the fissure; we couldn’t
make out what it was for sure, but it intrigued us.
Wanting to leave something of our own, Melissa and I dropped
several coins down into the crack.
You could see them faintly if you looked inside, but you
couldn’t reach them again. We
wondered if, years and years hence, some other future travelers
would stand in this spot and look inside the hidden place in this
Standing Stone, and wonder about those coins, and about those who
put them there.
We continued on, and enjoyed a lovely view of the Clifden
Castle from further along Sky Road, probably the same spot from
which I discovered it the first time.
Then bidding it goodbye, we headed back to the B&B where
we dropped Mom off for a rest; and Melissa and I went looking for a
beach.
The map showed a road out to Omey Island, and a sandy beach
there. We followed some
very small and obscure roads, searching unsuccessfully for the
bridge. Being somewhat lost by this time, we stopped and asked a man
standing in front of his house where the road to the island was.
He laughed, and told us that we would need a boat!
There is no bridge, the road goes right across the sand for
about a half a mile to the island; but you can only drive it at low
tide! Now the tide was
high, and the road was covered by about twelve feet of water.
When you looked out at the island, you would never imagine
that it was possible to drive to it; the ocean was between it and
us!
Giving up on reaching the island, we went out to the point at
the very end of the peninsula, and climbed down on the rocks,
watching as the tide came the rest of the way in.
We saw the waves crashing on the rocks just below us, and
seagulls soaring high then diving for fish below the surface of the
water.
Picking up Mom, we went into the town of Clifden and had
dinner at Mitchell’s, a very nice seafood restaurant.
We then drove back down the Sky Road one more time, to a
lookout point at the end of the peninsula, to see the sunset over
the ocean. Incredible!
Sky Road Sunset |
We were tired after a long full satisfying day.
When I sat down that night to write up a few notes for this
report, it seemed like our early morning hike had been days ago,
rather than only that morning!
July
5, 2004
Melissa and I got up early again, and went to ride Connemara
ponies on the beach! Riding
on a beach is something I had never done before, and had always
wanted to, so this seemed the perfect chance.
We had stopped by the pony trekking place the day before and
talked to the owner, a rather gruff Irishman who had somewhat
grudgingly agreed to take us out for a ride in the morning, early,
before he was open for his usual tourist customers.
He was feeding the ponies and tacking them up when we
arrived; and he informed us that these were the ‘lively ponies.’
We had told him that we were expert riders, but he gave us a
rather dubious look that indicated he had probably been told that
often and erroneously, and that he would reserve judgment.
Then he set out to test us a bit!
When we hit the first stretch of beach our guide with very
little warning took off at a flat out gallop.
What a blast! In front of me, Melissa’s pony’s hooves were throwing wet
sand all over me and my mount; but we paid them back later, when my
pony got in front he threw an entire fresh cow patty on Melissa! Serves her right, for getting the faster pony!
After a couple of gallops our guide, now convinced that we
really could ride, loosened up and became much more friendly; soon
we were chatting away and he was telling us all about pony trekking.
We galloped over the fields as well as the beaches.
Often the footing was inconsistent and the ground had many
dips and humps, but the ponies were surefooted and never once
stumbled or faltered. We came to a small informal racetrack where a race meet had
been held the day before, and had a nice run around the course.
It was marked off with ropes and tapes, and had very tight
turns; but the ponies were handy and flew around it with ease!
When we finished the ride, our guide, like any good Irishman,
tried to sell me a pony. While we were untacking, to my embarrassment, my pony slipped
out of his stall and took off!
We chased him down behind a neighboring house, and returned
him to his stable to finish his breakfast, and then went back to our
lodging to have our own.
We set out through the area known as the Twelve Bens, or
sometimes, the Twelve Pins. This
is a rugged range of mountains made up of twelve distinct peaks, a
very beautiful area with many lakes, or loughs, among the majestic
mountains. We stopped
by the Kylemore Abbey, a beautiful abbey sitting on the shore of
Lough Pollacappul, at the base of Duchruach Mountain.
It was built in the 1860s, and is the home of the Benedictine
Nuns, and a renowned international girl’s boarding school.
|
Kylemore Abbey
|
We stopped in the town of Leenaun for provisions, and then
searching for a suitable picnic spot, we looked for the smallest
road on the map that we could find.
The roads in Ireland are often quite small and winding
anyway, so it tends to take quite a while to get from place to
place. Finding your way
across the countryside is very different from here in America,
because they rarely use route numbers or road names on the smaller
roadways, instead using a signpost system, with signposts pointing
to the town you want to head towards.
When we are not in a hurry, we like to look on the map and
find the smallest back roads we can to get where we are going,
rather than taking the most obvious routes.
Often these little byways become just a one-lane track with
grass growing in the middle, and can be very remote and deserted.
This is often where you find some of the most pristine and
beautiful scenery, and some of the best adventures.
The road less traveled!
We turned down a small road outside of Maum, and followed it
for miles as it wound through the mountains and alongside a stream.
We saw nobody except sheep and cattle.
We parked the car by a little bridge and had a picnic by the
stream.
Proceeding after lunch we came across a farmer moving a flock
of sheep. He had three
sheep dogs that were doing the herding duties. We stopped and watched as he moved them through several
fields and across the road to a new pasture.
The dogs were very clever, and incredibly responsive to the
subtlest commands from the farmer.
He would point, and they would enthusiastically dart in and
move the sheep in the direction he indicated.
They knew exactly how to keep the sheep bunched together, and
how to direct them across the road.
At one point the farmer, wanting to go ahead of the sheep and
open the gate, tapped his staff on the roadway, and instantly all
three dogs froze as still as statues.
They held the sheep motionless as well, and when the farmer
gave them another signal the dogs then sent the sheep through the
gate. It was quite an
impressive performance, a real pleasure to watch!
In the afternoon, sadly, we left Connemara, as this was the
last day before our flight and we needed to head closer to the
airport. But as we
weren’t leaving until the following afternoon, we had arranged to
visit an area known as ‘The Burren,’ which was south of Galway,
in County Clare. We
followed a road along the coastline, and we saw yet again another
type of scenery: hills that consisted of solid rock!
From a distance they had a gray color with a slightly
purplish cast, and we thought the hills were covered with heather.
When we got close we realized that they were completely
covered with stones. We
had thought it couldn’t get any rocker than Connemara, but we were
wrong!
|
Rocks of the
Burren
|
We checked into our B&B, which was aptly named Rocky
View. It was a nice
house with a lovely sunroom featuring large glass picture windows,
with a beautiful flower garden outside, and beyond that an
incredible view of . . . the rocks!
We had a cup of tea and enjoyed the view, and watched as an
older man in dirty coveralls worked in the back yard.
Mom stayed to examine the flower garden, and Melissa and I
went exploring.
We parked the car by the road and took a short hike down to
the Gleninagh Castle, a lovely little fortress right on the Galway
Bay. It was another
locked castle, mores the pity, but there was a beautiful little
shrine and holy well beside it.
Two older Irish gentlemen came along; they were very funny
and entertaining. They discussed Irish history and American politics.
They told us how when Oliver Cromwell came over from England
in 1649, commanding an army sent to crush Ireland, he had set off
gunpowder charges under the southwest corners of many of the castles
to cause them to crumble and collapse.
Needless to say, the Irish aren’t too fond of Cromwell.
|
Gleninagh
Castle
|
Leaving Gleninagh Castle, we moved up the shoreline and sat
on some high cliffs above the bay. You could see the Aran Islands and the Atlantic beyond.
There were a number of large seabirds precariously nesting on
the face of the cliff, looking as if they might tumble off into the
sea at any moment. Gulls
were sailing in the wind, occasionally dipping down to the water’s
surface to fish. We
watched as distant storm clouds gathered, and we enjoyed the stiff
breeze on our faces.
We then went further up the shoreline; the cliffs
disappeared, but there was a huge expanse of bare rock from the road
down to the shore. From
a distance it looked like smooth solid stone, but up close we found
that the seas and the ages have carved it into an intricate
labyrinth of convoluted shapes, with splits, crevices, and
unexpected cliffs appearing in the cracked and eroded rock
underfoot. As we
traversed through this treacherous maze, we were surprised to see
cowpatties on top of some of the biggest outcroppings of stone.
Obviously the cows are able to negotiate this landscape as
well; we couldn’t figure out why they didn’t break their legs! Fortunately, Melissa was able to avoid the cowpatties this
time.
|
Melissa watching the
Burren sunset
|
Sitting on the rocks by the water, we watched the slow
sunset, with dramatic rays of light breaking through the
ever-changing clouds. We
watched storms over the Aran Islands; black clouds hovering on the
horizon with shafts of silver rain slanting down, accompanied by the
rumble of distant thunder.
|
Storms over the Aran
Islands
|
Picking up Mom at the Rocky View, we went a bit further along the
coast to a nice restaurant overlooking the water.
There we had a table by the window and continued to watch the
sunset; it lasts for hours as the sun goes diagonally across the sky
instead of down during the summer. Two cows watched placidly while their calves frolicked on the
rocks by an old ruin on the rocky shore in the slowly fading light.
The Irish people tend to be very friendly, and one
dapper older gentleman in particular waved to us as we arrived at
the restaurant, and again later when he left.
We thought he was exceptionally sociable, and we were
surprised when we arrived back at the B&B to find him there.
Then we realized he was the same man we had seen working in
the garden earlier, but he looked so different clean and dressed up,
we hadn’t recognized him!
July
6, 2004
After breakfast, we set out again;
but we didn’t get far before encountering an obstacle. There were two large tour buses, going in opposite directions
on the small winding coast road, and they were stuck! As they tried to pass, the bus heading towards us sort of
tipped a little and leaned into the other one, and became firmly
wedged between the other bus and the stonewall beside the road.
We sat there for quite a while as they tried to extricate it;
finally, with much scraping of metal against metal, and against
stone, they pried the buses apart.
As the tour bus passed us the driver gave us a friendly wave;
and we were astonished to find that the driver was the same dapper
gentleman from the garden and the restaurant and the B&B the
night before! He’s
everywhere!
We checked out a couple of castles along the way, but found
none that we could enter. Soon
we arrived at the Cliffs of Moher!
This is an absolutely stunning spot.
The bad thing about it is that it is quite a tourist
attraction, which is something we generally try to avoid, so there
were a lot of people there. But
nonetheless, the cliffs themselves are so beautiful that it is worth
putting up with the busy atmosphere to have a glimpse of them.
They stand about two hundred meters above the Atlantic; an
old watchtower stands at the highest point.
Several varieties of sea birds nest along the cliffs, and you
can watch the waves come crashing in on the rocks below.
I leaned out over the edge of the cliff on my stomach so I
could look straight down; and I became convinced the rock I was
lying on was about to break off and crash down into the sea below!
|
The Cliffs of Moher
|
It was time to head for Shannon Airport for our flight.
I was both glad and sad to be heading home; I would love to
have stayed for another week, but at the same time I was getting
eager to get home and ride my horses.
All in all, it was a great trip; and as always, I look
forward to the next one!
Song
for Ireland:
Walking
all the day
With tall towers where falcons build their nests
Silver wings they fly
They know the call for freedom in their breasts
Saw Black Head against the sky
With twisted rocks that run down to the sea
Living on your western shore
Saw summer sunsets, I asked for more
I stood by your Atlantic Sea
And sang a song for Ireland
Talking all the day
With true friends who try to make you stay
Telling jokes and news
Singing songs to pass the night away
Watched the Galway salmon run
Like silver dancing, darting in the sun
Living on your western shore
Saw summer sunsets, I asked for more
I stood by your Atlantic Sea
And sang a song for Ireland
Drinking all the day
In old pubs where fiddlers love to play
Someone touched the bow
He played a reel that seems so grand and gay
I stood on Dingle beach and cast
In wild foam we found Atlantic bass
Living on your western shore
Saw summer sunsets, I asked for more
I stood by your Atlantic Sea
And sang a song for Ireland
Dreaming in the night
I saw a land where no man had to fight
Waking in your dawn
I saw you crying in the morning light
Lying where the falcons fly
They twist and turn all in your air-blue sky
Living on your western shore
Saw summer sunsets, I asked for more
I stood by your Atlantic Sea
And I sang a song for Ireland
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