Ireland Pt 2: an Enchanted Drive through Irish Countryside

Dear friend,

Friday morning found us refreshed with some cells repaired. The night in the hotel felt like a little glimmer of the rest we will experience when we first get to heaven, with cool, dim, clean rooms, and a shower which was as a warm waterfall.

Oh Lord Jesus, praise be.

We were to make the drive across Ireland to the Cliffs of Moher today, and while I was nervous, some of my actual fear had dissipated. I had a vehicle accident a little over a year ago (at the time of this story) and got tied up in knots imagining what could happen in Ireland with the tiny, narrow roads and driving on the opposite side of the road. After some praying and pep talking, I decided it would probably be ok. It would be more dangerous to go into a day like this without courage, so I mustered a few filmy scarves of confidence and dove into the day.

We breakfasted in Enniskerry and left around 11 a.m. The drive across the countryside was like magic to me. We drove on big highways where, you guessed it, the slow lane was on the left. No one passes you in the fast lane. They sit behind you, even if you are going slower than they are, and politely wait for you to get over. The only time someone passed me on the left was a car with a rental sticker, presumably an American or German.

The last hour or so of the drive was on small back country roads, where it seemed as if our little car could comfortably fit, but not expand to hold our little car and tour vans. Fit we did, and if we didn’t, someone had to utilize the many little pull offs the roads have, where the road widens by maybe 2 feet. By this time I had accomplished some degree of comfort and was enjoying it: the stone-hemmed roads bordering wide and rolling green hills. Sheep were everywhere, and some cattle. The houses sat for the most part low and like they were part of the hills too. Trees grew out of the stone fences, and once we stopped for a dog and its owner, because the dog was not leashed and just wandered about on the road as its mistress called commands. The commands were splendidly disregarded, and we shared a laugh with the lady.

We arrived to the Cliffs of Moher and as one must expect with heavily trafficked areas, and tourists, were directed to a large, commercial parking lot. However inglorious the approach, we made our way to the cliffs at last, to lean out over the walls in place for unsuspecting travelers like us who might otherwise not have the sense to keep from being smashed 700’ below.

The edges of the Cliffs of Moher are crumbly and soft. Apparently people die because they get too close to the edge and don’t realize its transient nature. It’s sobering to think of the fall. One of the locals told me later that the best way to see the cliffs is to take a boat out on the ocean and see them from the bottom up. Perhaps some pearly sunrise…

Piffle, the edge was still at least six inches away.

I jest. It was probably 3’.

We spent a few hours in the sunshine at the presumable peak and climbed the little castle. Grace persuaded me to look into an old chest, making me think there was something like a skeleton in it. To my disappointment and relief, there wasn’t. It was a lovely time, but we had another 3.5 hours to go to our hotel.

That was my mistake. Somehow I had miscommunicated the distance, and Grace and Marj were under the impression we were maybe an hour away.

We beguiled the time through the gathering dusk by Grace reading “Love Among the Chickens.” There is nothing like P.G. Wodehouse to make the time go by more pleasantly.

“The coops were finished. They were not masterpieces, and I have seen chickens pause before them in deep thought, as who should say: “Now what in the world have we struck here?” But they were coops, within the meaning of the act, and we induced the hens to become tenants.”

I have since wished to have photos of the last hour driving into Connemara, Ireland. North of Galway, this area has been denominated as a “savage beauty” by Oscar Wilde. It was perhaps one of the most beautiful landscapes I have ever seen. The road was raised between two lakes, and as we drove the mountains fringed our view over the violet waters, with a full moon shining the way. It was so beautiful it hurt. To try to give you a sense for it, I have found two photos which give you the surreal loveliness of the area.

Photo by Markus Voetter

Photo by Lou Goetzmann

This night will always remain in a sacred part of my memory. Grace, reading P.G. Wodehouse, the twilight slowly fading across the lakes of Connemara, and finally, my favorite hotel in the whole wide world.

Ardagh.

Until tomorrow, loves.

L . Raine