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The next morning, Saturday, we decided that both couples would go separate ways.. Sandy and I headed out to Brandon Point, down an extremely narrow lane road where the posted speed limit was still 80 kmh. The Point was a spectacular cliff with a brisk wind blowing and the skies clear. Great views over the islands. Next, we tackled the mountainous climb over the Dingle Peninsula (Connor Pass) to the town of Dingle. There were spectacular views over the climb, and more of the tight squeezes on the road, but the traffic moved slower, and buses weren’t allowed.

We stretched our legs and then did the circle tour around the Coastal road, where we stopped for lunch and paid to visit an ancient fort – in existence for over 2000 years. Back at Dingle a few hours later, we wandered through town before we settled on a B&B – Murphy’s Bar. We walked off our supper, and then went back to Murphy’s in time to get bar seats for the evening’s musical group: Tincean. The sound was like the Irish Rovers, but the themes were more political and historical. It was a marvelous 2 hours of wild music.

Early in the 2 hour set, an elderly (well, he was older than me, I think) sat beside me and started to chat with me. For a while, I thought he was speaking Gaelic, but then I realized that I was hearing some English words, so I really concentrated on trying to follow. Apparently his daughter was getting married and she and her friends were coming to the bar for a “hen party”. And, soon they did! The bride-to-be had had way too much, but that didn’t slow her down until gravity lowered her eye-level to the floor after an impromptu dance on a table. Thankfully, daddy had left earlier, and equally lucky was that the belle of the bar was not injured on flying furniture nor broken glass. And the band played on!!!

I bought the band’s CD!

Dear friends and family,
I had hoped to upload pics of our travels, but unfortunately, the WordPress app on my iPad is temperamental, and will not upload my pics. If anyone has experienced success with this, please let me know. Meanwhile…

After stepping off the city bus, we carefully crossed the road to our car rental in Dublin. (Look to the right before stepping off the curb!)

The Czech-born clerk up-sold us on more auto insurance (“You are covered already, but if you have an accident, you would have to pay up to EU$1375!”), and as I considered my next few minutes when I would soon pull into traffic on the left side of the street, I quickly accepted. I figured I might be saving my EU$1375 a lot sooner than they expected.

“The Skoda is around the back. Just turn right onto Drumcondra, and follow the signs to the M50 freeway, and then take the exit 7 to N6 highway for Galloway. Oh, and pay the motorway toll next door before you leave.” (Are you KIDDING ME??? I have never driven on the left side of the road!!! Can you provide a driving lesson? What were those directions again??)

Helpfully, he gave us a map, and marked all the exits. However, only about a half-hour later we realized that he gave us the wrong exit to N6! In order to sort of be on the same route as Bob and Alice, who would be leaving later than us, we pulled over at a rest stop and fuel outlet, had a quick lunch, re-routed our iPad maps and headed through rural Ireland on some 2 lane back roads to get us back on N6. After negotiating several round-abouts almost successfully (clockwise, of course) we were back on track.

All went well until we cut off the N6 just east of Galloway – headed for the Dingle Peninsula, and the little village of Doolin. Now, we found ourselves HURTLING along very narrow roads with the left wheels on the dotted yellow line that marked the edge of the pavement, the driver-side mirror constantly in danger of a collision with the oncoming vehicles, and Sandy’s left (passenger) side occasionally scraped by dense brush which also occasionally covered up the dotted yellow line! The really close calls were reserved for passing buses, whose tires were frequently over the often non-existent centre line.

Now, I say “hurtling” only because, in trying to avoid creating a line of cars, we were driving at what I would refer to as a reckless speed of 70 km/h, or so. The signs suggested a speed limit of 100, while another mentioned “Drive with Caution”. Nobody, in their right, or wrong minds could drive at that posted speed limit!

Passing opportunities were rare and there were few pull-outs! Consequently, many overtaking vehicles just pulled into the right hand lane whenever it suited them – drawing gasps from my white-knuckled passenger, whose shoe soles were already worn out from pushing them though the floor boards.

Oh, and our vehicle was a standard shift, with the gear shift being to my left. And, just to increase my frequent moments of apprehension, in shifting down to prepare for a particularly bad corner, all too often I found 1st gear instead of 3rd resulting in a lurching slow down and eliciting groans from my terrified co-pilot. (The warning signs read “Unstable road edge”, and there was also a snaky arrow, but my two favourites on one small stretch of road were “Dangerous Curves” followed a few turns later by “Severe Bends”. I glanced at Sandy, and I suspected that she was experiencing the latter!!)

Shortly after this last stretch, we gradually caught up to a small black car that was doing the speed that we could enjoy. Unfortunately, the driver pulled over to let us pass. Fortunately, it was Bob and Alice, and shortly after we rejoined them, we found our way into Doolin where we located the Information Centre and booked a B&B at Fisherman’s Rest, managed by a garrulous, retired fisherman, Danny Guerin, and his wife, Maeread. It had been a long, strenuous day for all of us.