Ireland Day 6: T'Will settle into shape
We slept snuggled tight in our efficient little B&B with its small bed. Perhaps less than a double? Anniversary trips are about love and togetherness, especially in an efficient and tiny room.
We wandered downstairs to Mrs Doubtfire's front room and settled into the cozy breakfast table. A trio of sisters from America joined the crowd as our hostess bustled about bringing us tea.
Roland started drinking tea overseas. How odd.
She refreshed the buffet, took our order and turned on the music which started playing "The Pirates of the Caribbean." We were impartially mothered by Mrs. Doubtfire and the sisters as we all chatted about our days' plans. We were headed to the Cliffs of Moher and our hostess rustled up pamphlets to aid our quest.
Galway to the Cliffs is a well trodden route, infested with tour buses on barely two lane roads. The day was Irish overcast with spattering rain. We impulsively stopped at a Woollen Mills where we found a couple sweaters (probably enough to make half her day's sales) and the nice lady sold me a flat cap in a proper size: I've always thought a hat is like life: It has to stretch a bit, then t'will settle into shape.
The thought made me smile as we rolled down the narrow lanes to the Cliffs parking lot. Unlike Slieve League, the walkways were smooth and wide. Buskers were scattered about - a harper on the steps (must be awful to keep that tuned in the wild winds), a tinwhistle at the turn of the path. I have a rule with street musicians - if they make you smile, you should toss a coin. If they make you stop and listen, you should toss a bill. We spent a good hour on photo safari, cliffs and vistas, birds and crashing waves and posed for endless smiling shots in the scarce sunlight.
We mixed the map with Mrs. Doubtfire's pamphlet of interesting spots and drove through the Burren which is like an alien landscape. Also, apparently cairn building is an issue here. There were signs posted in "Move not stones, build no cairns."
For no particular reason other than the building to the right looked interesting, we wound up a Concomroe Abbey, wandering through the ruins and cemetery and spattering rain. We dived for the car just before the heavens truly opened and drove onward till we diverted to a small batch chocolate shop and secured truffles for an afternoon snack, then back to Galway for shopping. Most of the time we spent in O'Maille's a sweater and woolens shop that's been in business long enough to have costumed "The Quiet Man." I bought a gorgeous hand-knit Arran Isles sweater and yarn for my favorite knitters. (It's actually hard to find yarn in Ireland as so much of it is exported.)
We lingered over a quiet dinner in an interesting maze of a restaurant - six buildings or so grown together. I think I had to go through five doors to get to the women's restroom before we wound up in a skylight lit upstairs dining room. We wandered home for by way of a pub with a final drink before curling back up in our snug little room.
We wandered downstairs to Mrs Doubtfire's front room and settled into the cozy breakfast table. A trio of sisters from America joined the crowd as our hostess bustled about bringing us tea.
Roland started drinking tea overseas. How odd.
She refreshed the buffet, took our order and turned on the music which started playing "The Pirates of the Caribbean." We were impartially mothered by Mrs. Doubtfire and the sisters as we all chatted about our days' plans. We were headed to the Cliffs of Moher and our hostess rustled up pamphlets to aid our quest.
Galway to the Cliffs is a well trodden route, infested with tour buses on barely two lane roads. The day was Irish overcast with spattering rain. We impulsively stopped at a Woollen Mills where we found a couple sweaters (probably enough to make half her day's sales) and the nice lady sold me a flat cap in a proper size: I've always thought a hat is like life: It has to stretch a bit, then t'will settle into shape.
The thought made me smile as we rolled down the narrow lanes to the Cliffs parking lot. Unlike Slieve League, the walkways were smooth and wide. Buskers were scattered about - a harper on the steps (must be awful to keep that tuned in the wild winds), a tinwhistle at the turn of the path. I have a rule with street musicians - if they make you smile, you should toss a coin. If they make you stop and listen, you should toss a bill. We spent a good hour on photo safari, cliffs and vistas, birds and crashing waves and posed for endless smiling shots in the scarce sunlight.
We mixed the map with Mrs. Doubtfire's pamphlet of interesting spots and drove through the Burren which is like an alien landscape. Also, apparently cairn building is an issue here. There were signs posted in "Move not stones, build no cairns."
For no particular reason other than the building to the right looked interesting, we wound up a Concomroe Abbey, wandering through the ruins and cemetery and spattering rain. We dived for the car just before the heavens truly opened and drove onward till we diverted to a small batch chocolate shop and secured truffles for an afternoon snack, then back to Galway for shopping. Most of the time we spent in O'Maille's a sweater and woolens shop that's been in business long enough to have costumed "The Quiet Man." I bought a gorgeous hand-knit Arran Isles sweater and yarn for my favorite knitters. (It's actually hard to find yarn in Ireland as so much of it is exported.)
We lingered over a quiet dinner in an interesting maze of a restaurant - six buildings or so grown together. I think I had to go through five doors to get to the women's restroom before we wound up in a skylight lit upstairs dining room. We wandered home for by way of a pub with a final drink before curling back up in our snug little room.