Ireland - Dingle Peninsula

A blue sunny sky greeted us as we opened the curtains to a new day—the first full sun we’ve had in Ireland.  Our destination for the day was the Dingle Peninsula as our hostess Mary recommended we go there instead of returning to the Ring of Kerry.  Good call.  After a quick breakfast, we jumped in the car, and in less than an hour we were ready to tackle the Slea Head Drive.  I was feeling a little better about driving, but my confidence was soon diminished by the challenging roads in this area.  The land opened up before us as we drove on, and we finally beheld the intense green of Ireland.  

We drove past the first few pullouts, but I couldn’t resist the one that had a sign touting the ancient beehive huts.  The site is well maintained by one of the historical preservation societies.  After a steep walk up to the area, we made it to the top of the hill, we were amazed by the ancient stonework that is estimated to be at least four-thousand years old.  These huts were family dwellings based on construction of stone rings, and they were used by pre-historic tribes and families through 1200 AD.  After exploring this ancient compound, I like to think that even the most distinguished archeologist would say, “This place is really cool.”  

I walked to one of the highest points on the site, and as I slowly turned in a circle, I could see the blue green backdrop of the Atlantic ocean.  The stone dwellings were in the middle of sweeping green hills, laced with old crumbling stone walls and dotted with sheep.  The sun cast huge shadows from clouds on the sides of the hills, and the whole, immense collision of history and impossible beauty took my breath away.  A moment like this is a rarity in a life, and I made sure to file it away in my memory and praise God for allowing my little family to stand in this place.

Beehive Huts

Cross

I navigated the twists and turns of the tiny highway until we made it to Slea Head, one of the few places to access the beach at the bottom of huge stone cliffs looking out to the Blasket Islands.  We lucked out and found a parking place and walked down old stone steps to the beach where there were families set up for the day with tents, towels, and picnic baskets.  Teens played with hurling sticks (more on this later) and small children splashed in the surf.  The several hundred yards of beach is encased by cliffs which seem to barely contain the surge of the Atlantic.  Myrtle Beach it ain’t.  We enjoyed taking pictures here, and I managed to sneak off and find another fun geocache hidden in a cleft of one of the cliffs.  We hiked back to the car and spent the next hour driving back to the town of Dingle mostly in silence due to the enormity of the things we had seen that morning.

Slea Head Beach

We arrived in Dingle tired and hungry, and the kids voiced their desire for a fish ’n’ chip lunch, so we managed to find cheap parking and walked to the first seafood restaurant on the main drag.  Our lunch was delicious, and we’re becoming addicted to the salt and vinegar combination.  We passed the town library on our way to lunch and decided to stop on the way back for more wifi and schoolwork.  Our County Cork card didn’t work here, but the librarian hooked us up with a temporary County Kerry card.  He was gruff but efficient, and went back and forth between speaking Gaelic and English depending on whom he was serving.  Most of the signs around Dingle are in Gaelic, more than I’ve seen anywhere else so far.  

We made the drive back to our familiar Kanturk and rewarded ourselves with soft-serve cones, another growing addiction, at the Supervalu where we shopped for groceries to get us through the next day.  The driving today was the most challenging for me so far.  I consider myself a careful and confident driver at home, but I have been unsure of myself all week and still unable to gain perspective of the car’s position on the road.  The typical two-lane road in the USA, even out in the country, has ample space for two cars and a wide shoulder.  The typical two-lane road in Ireland has barely enough space for two cars, much like the driveway at a house, and there is no shoulder, none.  The road stops at a ten foot wall of brambles, hardwoods, or stone depending on the area.  No margin for error.  If a large truck is approaching at a great rate of speed, I feel that death is imminent for me and my family.  I won’t harp on the driving situation anymore while we’re in Ireland, but I may have a few closing remarks upon the blessed return of the rental car—if there’s anything left of it.

Another sunny morning helped mask the gloom we were feeling knowing that we had to say goodbye to Mary and Flossie and leave the rural comfort of Andrahan Farm.  Fortunately, Mary had time to spare, and she joined us for breakfast and told us more stories about her house and the complicated politics of Ireland.  We learned that her house is 210 years old and was built for an agent in the service of a wealthy landlord.  The practices of these agents were comparable to those of the tax collectors described in the New Testament.  The children sat wide-eyed as Mary passionately recounted the “troubles” back in the days of the IRA and Bloody Sunday, and it was interesting to hear her perspective on Brexit as well.  We packed the car and Mary gave us each a hug and kiss on the cheek as I choked back tears.  We took a picture with Mary and the kids which I’ll post below—be sure to check out the finish on the front door.  We’re off to Ennistimon and the wonders of County Clare, but I’ll always have a special place in my heart for Mary.  I think I’ll remember her best for what she would exclaim with her Irish lilt every time my daughter entered the room:  “My, isn’t she lovely!”

Joseph, Mary, and Deveny