April 16, 2005 - Driving around the Dingle Peninsula.

The effects of jetlag were abating at last and as a consequence we all had a good night's sleep. Despite the fact that we were just off a main road (by Irish definitions), we did not hear any traffic noise during the night. That was at least in part due to the foot-thick masonry walls of the B&B. The whole system of masonry construction, heating by hot water and ventilating rooms by windows that swung in or out, again reminded me strongly of Germany.

Breakfast was definitely not-German, however. Our breakfasts in German B&Bs (see Wanderung 2) typically featured freshly baked hard rolls with butter, jam, meat, or cheese, sausages or bacon, and soft-boiled eggs. The Irish B&B breakfasts, on the other hand, featured ham and sausages, fried or scrambled eggs, dry cereal, and toast with jelly or marmalade. These breakfasts are similar in that they provide a huge amount of energy and slow-digesting protein to keep you going for many hours; we typically didn't have lunch until 1 or 2 o'clock in the afternoon. They are also similar in that they have very little in common with what Americans call a "Continental Breakfast", which we have generally found to be some minimal combination of sweet rolls, dry cereal, and toast.

Monika and I had also finally reached a decision that we would keep all our sweaters, jackets, hats and gloves in the back seat of the car. The reason was the variability of the weather that we kept experiencing. The changes from warm balmy sunshine to cold rain and blustery wind in 15-minute periods defeated our normal pattern of looking outside in the morning, deciding on an appropriate outfit for the weather we saw, and wearing that outfit for the rest of the day. Instead, we ended up taking all of the different layers of our weather gear with us in the car. Then whenever we stopped we would look outside, decide what gear we needed for the weather of the moment, and quickly put that on as we jumped out of the car. It is possible that Irish weather is more predictable at other times of the year, but that was how we experienced it in the middle of April.

Having put all our gear in the car, we drove off along the southern edge of the Dingle Peninsula. The southwest corner of Ireland has four peninsulas jutting into the Atlantic Ocean in an arrangement very similar to the four fingers of a left hand when spread out a bit. From our base in Castlemaine we had decided to tackle the peninsula furthest to the north first and then sample the others further to the south. These peninsulas are not that far apart, so as we drove along the south coast of the Dingle peninsula we could clearly see the mountains of the Iveragh Peninsula to the south across Dingle Bay.

The cliffs along much of this stretch were quite impressive. We were also impressed by the stone fences winding far up the sides of the hills in all directions. Most of the land seemed to be used for grazing, but on the Dingle Peninsula we found mostly sheep, a few dairy cows, and almost no beef cattle, which was the opposite mix compared to what we had seen a couple of days back on the Burren.

Our first stop of the day was Menard Castle. In common with all of the non-commercialized sights in Ireland, we found the way to it to be very poorly marked. Our guidebooks were also no help for specific driving directions, so we had to guess at several points about which road to take. We did guess right, as it turned out, so I didn't have to do any frustrating backtracking, and the castle was definitely worth the 2 mile or so detour off the main road. But one thing that would certainly help those of us equipped with GPS units would to list the exact latitude and longitude coordinates of these sites on, say, the back of the map. That we could ultimate puzzle our way through to them even without street signs.

Anyway, Menard Castle is one of the Irish castles that Oliver Cromwell had to defeat in his subjugation of Ireland. In fact, the castle walls are cracked and the entire front wall of the basically square castle is missing. The interior floors are also missing, and I expect that at least in part of this damage is due to the effects of Cromwell's artillery. It was interesting to see a real castle, even if it was in ruins, but I thought we had to use our imagination quite a bit to "fill in the blanks" compared to the fully restored Bunratty Castle.

I was very glad to have the our old GPS unit along when it came time to find our way back from Menard Castle to the main road. All the GPS units I have owned set down a "bread crumb" trail as you are moving, and to reverse course all you have to do is follow the bread crumbs back out of there. That is, of course, assuming you have 2-way streets! Given the poor signage, we were very glad to have that GPS trail so that we could find our way back to the main road, where we turned left (west) to head to the town of Dingle.

Dingle turned out to be a reasonably large town that was both an active fishing port and a tourist haven. Fishing boats were tied up in a row at the wharf, and the nets smelled strongly of decaying fish. The life of a fisherman seems to me to be very hard work under appallingly risky conditions. But the boats docked in harbor did make a pretty picture.

The central core of shops in Dingle were on the first two streets paralleling the harbor, and they were painted the bright colors and nice paint schemes we had seen in other Irish small towns. The shops, however, betrayed some of the tourist influence. We saw one shop featuring T-shirts and another with cheap jewelry like mood rings plus the usual tourist gewgaws. Lois said that Dingle reminded her of the resort town of Lake Geneva in southern Wisconsin, and I had to agree that the mix of businesses and shops had a similar feel to it.

We had read about harbor tours dedicated to seeing "Fungie", a wild dolphin who has apparently lived as a solitary bachelor in Dingle Bay since 1983. The curious thing about the tour was that it cost 12 Euro, but you got your money back if you don't see the dolphin! Such a deal! Anyway, we signed up the 1 p.m. tour and wandered around the shops of Dingle until it was time to board and head out into the bay.

For the first half hour we didn't see hide nor hair of Fungie, assuming dolphins have hair, which I doubt. But truth to tell we didn't miss the critter because we had a beautiful sunny day with calm water, and the scenery out in Dingle Bay was magnificent. We saw a cute little white lighthouse with its tower on a bluff overlooking the bay, tall precipitous black cliffs plunging into the water, and even a split off section of cliff that had the remains of some brick building on top. There was so little of the building left I could not tell if it was an old light tower, a fort, or a hermit's cell of some kind.

But finally Fungie put in his appearance and the Captain of our small boat spent the next 40 minutes playing tag with the dolphin. Fungie seemed to enjoy playing in our wake, just like the wild dolphins we saw in the Everglades during Wanderung 1. He bounced along with us for several minutes at a time and then would wander off for a bit, perhaps to have a breather, before we could entice him back into the game. But all good things must end and we finally put back for port.

After having lunch in the Marina Inn, where I had my first taste of Irish stew (very thick and tasty), we continued to drive west to the tip of the peninsula. Along the way we saw some beehive shaped cottages, dwellings somewhere between 1000 and 2000 years old, and an old stone ring fort set at the edge of the cliff. I was surprised to learn that most of the ring forts and old Celtic settlements had not been excavated by archeologists, because it seems like a gold mine of information to me, but this one had been falling into the sea and therefore it had been excavated before it was lost forever. Afterwards the old fort was opened to tourists, for a price (2 Euro) of course. But I was happy to be able to get out of the car and walk around in the real thing for a bit.

I also got a chance to walk a bit at the western edge of the peninsula, which is at the same time the western edge of Ireland. The wind was howling by then (Irish weather!) and the gray Atlantic swells were whipped into whitecaps before they came rushing in to crashing into the cliffs in a shower of foam. From this watery turmoil the Blasket Islands rose like stepping stones reaching out even farther to the west. Once inhabited by some die-hard farmers, the islands are now deserted except for travelers in the tourist season.

We curled back around to the east on the northern side of the Dingle Peninsula, and stopped for a bit at the Gallarus Oratory, a small stone church built 900 and 1300 years ago, according to the movie we saw there. The oratory was a roughly 8-foot wide by 14-foot long tent-shaped building made from carefully fitted rock. The walls were corbelled inward and sloped in such a way that the interior was completely dry, as it had been for roughly 1,000 years, a feat that I do not imagine would be matched by any of our modern buildings! The oratory was also sufficiently robust to stand up to being climbed on by one of a trio of Irish teenagers who were there when we arrived. Somehow it seemed typical that a young male's response to an irreplaceably ancient artifact of his unique cultural heritage would be to simply climb on top of it!

The oratory had only two openings, a low doorway in the front and a small window set in a recessed kind of alcove in the back. Above the doorway were two stones with holes carved in them, and I found that they fit my wrists exactly. Since these folks were already Christian by that time and presumably did not practice human sacrifice, I wasn't sure exactly what those holes were used for but I sincerely hoped it was for some innocuous purpose.

At the end of the visit to the oratory, Monika declared she was too tired and cold for any more stops, so we took a short cut back to Dingle and worked our way back to our B&B again using the southern route. I worked on the journal with Baby in front of a comfortable peat fire while Monika and Lois visited the local pub to "soak up some atmosphere". They of course soaked up some Guinness and hard cider along with the atmosphere, but came back in time for all of us to get to bed by 10:30.