Friday morning, I left my hostel and left on my third trip from Galway—this time bidding Galway farewell and heading south to The Burren and The Cliffs of Moher.
If you have only heard about a few tourist attractions in Ireland, one of them is likely Cliffs of Moher. So, even though I had seen them from the water the day before, I was excited to catch another glimpse from the top. But, more on that later…
Our first leg of the tour was leaving Galway for The Burren, a National Park in County Clare made up of a karst landscape and lush farmland. The Burren is unique because of the limestone karst that forms the terrain. Because of this, the farmers can’t plant or sow anything too deep, but the grass is rich with nutrients for thriving livestock.
As we drove out of Galway, we passed the beach and the bay, and the driver told us a little about the history of fishing in Galway.
Or, I think he did. I was too busy chatting with my seat mate. One of my favorite parts of all of these tours has been sitting with people from around the world and learning a bit about them. On this tour, I sat next to Mariana, an opera singer from Argentina who was working a temp job in Galway after putting her opera career on hold during the pandemic. Mariana was going on the tour with her sisters who were visiting, and she could not have been more friendly. Needless to say, the minute she said opera, we clicked and began discussing our favorite composers (Puccini), roles (Butterfly), and languages to sing in (hers was Italian, mine is German). This was yet another one of those moments of my trip in which the world became a little smaller. We shared so many romantic notions of storytelling through music, and it made for a truly delightful conversation.
Our tour through The Burren took us through several small villages, and our bay driver did a great job of explaining what they were known for. First village we passed, for example, was known for its oysters. In fact, they are the oysters served by the royal family whenever they have oysters! Other villages specialized in chocolate and boating, many of them holding yearly festivals to celebrate their specialty.
Our first stop in The Burren was Dungauire Castle. As we had a big agenda, we only made a 10 minute stop at the small castle to take some pictures. Turns out, this was probably plenty as most of the castle had been converted to a gift shop (like all good castles are). The views of the Burren from the castle were worth it, though, as the fog was starting to clear and we got a great look at some typical Burren topography.
As we continued our journey, our bus driver explained that the word Burren comes from an old Celtic word meaning “rocky area.” The land of the Burren dates back 13 million years, and it was most likely ocean floor and was located somewhere in the tropics before shifting into its current spot. Because I’d the tropical history, The Burren ground is warmer than other ground in the country and spring growth starts here before anywhere else. The region is home to over 600 different species of plants and wildlife, including some more tropical types. Sinéad had told me there were palm trees in Ireland, and I scoffed… I stand corrected!
Our second stop on our trip down the coast was the Aillwee Cave—a cave system formed by melting water from the Ice Age. Having booked the tour primarily for the Cliffs and a ride from Galway to Doolin, this stop (and subsequent tour) was a total surprise to me. We went through the cave in groups, learning about the formation of the rock structures, stalactites and stalagmites, and how the caves are still changing. While not the most awe-inspiring cave I’ve ever been in, it was an informative tour and cool to learn about what has been found there. Recently, bones were found in the cave, belonging to a species of bear that had been extinct in Ireland for 3,000 years. While they don’t know quite how the bones got there, it’s generally thought that the bears hibernated in the cave. The bones date from 4,000 and 10,000 years ago—that’s a long hibernation!
We left the cave, continuing our windy path through the Burren before making our way to The Cliffs of Moher—the real reason most people booked the tour.
The Cliffs of Moher are the second most popular tourist attraction in Ireland, right behind the Guinness factory. I’m not quite sure that those priorities are straight, but I can make an argument for it.
We had an hour and a half to walk along the Cliffs, and I’m tempted to say that it wasn’t enough. As majestic as the Cliffs were from the water, the perspective up top on a perfectly clear day is breathtaking. It’s truly incredibly that these 200-meter tall columns were formed so perfectly along the Irish coast line.
I stood at the edge (well near the edge…I’m not an idiot). So much of this trip for me has been awakening my creativity. As I watched the water lap against the cliff side, I felt an ineffable sense of wonder—maybe it’s knowing that the same water carved these cliffs eons ago or knowing that artists have been inspired by these same cliffs for centuries. Whatever it was, I became inspired to write in a way I haven’t in at least a year. I listened to the busker play as I walked along the Cliffs, and a random tales started forming in my head. I’m not sure what they will be, but the Cliffs unlocked stories I’m excited to explore.
After touring the Cliffs, our tour group made it to Doolin for lunch where we are at the Doolin Hotel and brewery. I walked into the dining room, and a woman on my tour group tapped me on the shoulder. She had been sitting in front of me and heard me say I am a writer (reclaiming that title), and she wondered what I wrote. I explained that I’m not really sure, but I hoped this trip helped me get back into it. Since the group was having lunch together, she asked if I’d like to sit with her for lunch.
As we ate (I had a great smoked salmon Caesar salad), I learned about her life—going from a Navy nurse in Vietnam to being in public service to ultimately becoming a Presbyterian minister in Chicago. I have struggled with figuring my life path over the last few years, and listening to her incredible experiences gave me a nice reminder that I didn’t have to have it all figured out now…or maybe ever. She was traveling through Ireland for the first time to connect with her ancestry, and we talked about how the pandemic impacted her travel plans. Hearing her express gratitude for even being able to take this trip at all reminded me to stop and really appreciate how lucky I am to be here. It’s so easy to get caught up in running constantly, looking for the next thing, but it’s more important to be present and focus o what is true right now. And at that moment, it was a lovely lunch with a new acquaintance.
After lunch, I left the bus tour in Doolin and walked to my B&B. Doolin is a quaint little town, spread out across the coast and hills. It doesn’t have a town center as much as other towns I had been to so, so I got to walk by beautiful farms (past cows, donkeys, horses, and sheep) and such as I went to the Lodge. And my B&B was indeed a lodge. I’m not sure its origins, but the stone building (complete with tower) had been converted into an inn for those passing through. I got to my room and took a bit of a rest as the day had been quite full by 4;00, and I knew I had a big night ahead…
Sun sets pretty late in Ireland in the summer, so after my walk, I decided to walk down towards the water to catch a bit of golden hour sunlight. The water itself was a little bit farther than I bargained, but I passed a golf course (of course) with a perfect view of the Cliffs of Moher. From a third angle, the Cliffs were still spectacular—especially in the golden light of the setting sun. I had hoped to get to see the Cliffs once in my journey, and I lucked into perfect weather for three different viewings. I have seen some pretty amazing sights on my travels, but something about those Cliffs was special. I’m so grateful to get to carry an image of them with me always.
I continued my walk towards a pub where I was going to meet Sinéad for dinner. My bus driver friend told me to go to McGann’s, a local pub at the end of the road, and since I met him in my favorite spot in Galway, I trusted him.
Good thing I did because there was good craic going and it wasn’t even 7! This was very much a place of regulars, so when I sat down at the bar it was clear I was not local. A man sitting in the corner—who was exactly what I’d picture for a man from the Irish country—was already a few pints in, and he called to the bartender to make sure I got to order. He began asking me where I was from, and we started to have a whole conversation about why I was traveling, what I did for a living, and his travels through the US. As he continued talking, he regaled me with stories of meeting American presidents—namely, Kennedy—and shared his thoughts on politics (both Irish and American), and he told me several times that it was clear I was “a real one.” I took this to mean he admired my adventurous spirit.
When Sinéad got there 30 minutes later, he introduced himself as McGann… so I guess I was talking to the owner of the bar for about an hour.
No wonder I felt so well taken care of! He suggested I order the fish and chips (a great selection) and we stayed a bit longer before heading off for the night.
I have been so taken with how friendly everyone has been if I just sit at a bar. I downloaded several books to read, but I haven’t gotten the chance to read any as I’ve always had conversation companions looking to share the craic and a story. I can always check out the books again later.
Sinéad and I left Doolin for the evening to go to Lisdoonvarna. Lisdoonvarna was not originally on my radar, but I overheard two women talking about a matchmaking festival that they traveled to Ireland. Turns out, it is a month long festival that takes place every year in the small town of Lisdoonvarna. I had told my friend Mary about the conversation I overheard, and she practically begged me to go. So, I told Sinéad about it, and her response was “oh that’s on now??”. Turns out, it’s a big deal! She agreed, we absolutely had to go.
So we got to Lisdoonvarna and made our way to the Matchmaker bar, a colorful pub with a big mural upfront, including a portrait of the Matchmaker himself, Willie Daly. Yes, there is an actual matchmaker. Mr. Daly is probably in his 80s, and he has been in the matchmaking business since the 70s. When we got into the bar, there was already a group of women lined up to talk to him.
Instead of making a beeline, we did a lap around the bar, getting drinks and taking stock of who was here. I had heard that the festival was mostly people in their 60s and 70s, but that wasn’t entirely true of the Matchmaker. People of all ages danced to the very lively band—playing a mix of Irish classics and American pop—as men and women got to know each other.
Okay, mostly men. This festival was started to help lonely farmers find love, and I don’t think it has really changed all that much. Groups of men clumped together, sipping their beers, getting a good look at the prospects—we turned heads everywhere we went (of course we did). Unfortunately, none of these guys were quite what I was looking for as most were a good 12 years younger or 25 years older than me—and verrry drunk. Not quite the same appeal as the Galway chaps.
Despite that, Sinéad and I had a great time dancing and people watching. At one point, we got in line to meet Willie and put our hands on his leather matchmaking book and “think of love” to attract our ideal mate. We learned about his matchmaking process, in which we could participate for a “small fee.” As I didn’t plan on moving to Lisdoonvarna, I was out of luck…but it’s good to know I have options if I ever want a green card.
We also went to the other bars, all of which were participating in the matchmaking festival. These dance halls attracted a much older crowd, partner dancing or two-stepping to country music. We were stopped by a few men who hit on us. One tried to get us interested by introducing g us to his friend who “played soccer for Ireland”. Sure. Others would just tap me on the elbow as I walked by. Subtle.
After about two hours, we were tired of getting leered at, so we made our way back to Doolin. Doolin is well known for its trad music, so we found a pub that seemed lively.
The band was in full swing when we got there, and they began playing “The Wild Rover”—my favorite Irish pub song. We sang along, tapping the table to participate in the lively revelry. At one point, a young man came in to sing a few tunes with the band. Like the bar in Galway, everyone stopped talking to listen when he sang, and he sang with such heartbreaking passion that it would have been impossible not to be enchanted. I love how singing is such a part of the culture here. It definitely made me miss performing and singing myself, something I’ll have to look into when I get back.
When we finished our pints (a blood orange cider for me!), we retired for the night to prepare for our drive to Dingle.
After a lovely breakfast of a full vegetarian Irish (eggs, tomatoes, toast, hash brown, and beans), Sinéad and I got in the car and began the trek to County Kerry. We drove through the windy roads in County Clare, past farmland and behind tractors to get to the ferry station that would take us across the bay direct to the more remote county Kerry. We thought we’d be 5 minutes late to the ferry due to the slow tractor on the one lane country road and a detour thanks to a very helpful sign that told us to not follow Sat Nav (GPS) directions, but we drove onto the ferry just in time for it to pull away. What luck!
When we crossed the bay, we made a stop in Tralee, a central city in County Kerry. It wasn’t quite time for lunch, so Sinéad and I stopped in a coffee shop for a lovely lemon and latte while the car charged. I don’t think Tralee sees too many tourists, but I’m glad we stopped in the town. The most surprising part of Tralee was the park that had a monument dedicated to one Neil Armstrong. Yes, that Neil Armstrong. The well known Irishman. Apparently, he had come to Tralee to open an astronomy center, so they have a site in his honor. Go figure.
We got back on the road and continued our drive to Dingle, opting for the “high road” as suggested by the waitress at the cafe (yes, Loch Lomond has been stuck in my head since she said the words “high road and low road”). The high road was also known as Conor’s Pass, which had been recommended to me by my friend Kathleen. I have driven across many mountain passes before, but Conor’s pass was nothing short of perfection.
It was a perfectly sunny day, so the green mountains popped out against the vibrant blue sky. The waitress had said there was a place you can get out and walk up, so we pulled aside at the first spot and scrambled up a some rocks for a lovely view of a valley. Thinking that was the viewpoint, we were thrilled when we got to the real viewpoint of the pass. The high hill was perfectly situated in between two bays, so a gorgeous green valley was nearly surrounded by water. I am not often speechless, but being able to see for miles across the bay left me with nothing to say. Even though my calves were sore from my Cliff walk the day before, I continued up to nearly the top to get a panoramic view of the valley. I know the weather is rarely that nice in Ireland, so someone really did us a favor by making it crystal clear on our journey.
Taking advantage of the weather, we decided to grab a quick lunch when we got to Dingle and continue with a drive of the Dingle Peninsula. County Kerry is known for its scenic peninsulas (particularly the Ring of Kerry), but my friend Mattea suggested we go to Dingle instead, saying the Slea Head Drive was as beautiful (if not more so) with far fewer tour busses. In fact, we had no tour busses on our route, which provided us the opportunity to amble at our leisure along of every inch of coastline.
The drive took us through farms (I accidentally got a picture of two horses going at it), passed ruins (the famed behave huts), and by crystal clear water. Because it was so clear, we got a great view of the Blasket Islands—two of the bigger islands located in the bay. The Blasket Islands were home to Peig Sayers, a famed Irish storyteller who I learned about in the museum of literature. While there wasn’t a ton to learn along the drive, it was obvious why these islands inspired her poetry so much. I could go on about how beautiful it was, but words really don’t do the views justice. Suffice it to say, the drive was poetic in its natural beauty, and I can see why so many people said I had to go to Dingle.
After our drive, we checked into our B&B and rested a bit before dinner. I love traveling in B&Bs. They are so much more personal than hotels, and there’s something quaint about them that helps me relax. Our Dingle B&B was in the center of town, but it was perfectly insulated from any noise. Perfect for a midday nap.
When Sinéad and I regained our energy, we set out for a night on the town. My bus driver friend had told me that Dingle would provide the good craic on a Saturday night, and once again, he was not wrong. We went to a lovely Italian place for dinner where we both had hearty bowls of pasta—just what we needed before a long night of pub crawl.
The first place we tried to go was only, so we changed course to a nearby pub that had some music going. Unfortunately we got there right as the session was ending, but we decided to stick around for the next set. That idea was cut short when a man who was far too drunk started falling into Sinéad…so we decided to find a new place.
We made our way up the hill to Foxy John‘s a popular Dingle spot for both a pint of beer and a screwdriver as it is a hardware store and pub. For you Angelenos, unlike Laurel Hardware, this place actually is a hardware store and pub… just in case you feel like fixing a shelf after a few pints.
The vibe of the pub was quite a bit different than other places I had been the last few days as a DJ in the back played electronic music, and numerous hen and stag parties threw back shots while dancing. Certainly a fun place to dance, and much more my demographic than the dance floors in Lisdoonvarna. We enjoyed a drink there and decided we’d go to the third bar recommended to us, Dick Mack’s brewery and whiskey bar.
This was my favorite place of the night. As soon as we walked in, some men in a stag party saw us and started chatting us up. They found out I was from California and started asking me questions about where I was going in Ireland and singing me questionable renditions of Hotel California. Like most people I have encountered in Ireland, they wanted to know what I thought of the weather, which really had been quite pleasant.
We stayed a bit longer at Dick Mack’s, watching the stag parties get progressively more intoxicated and taking bets on when a man who looked like Gaston would pop out of his very tiny button down shirt (I swear, his biceps were the size of my thighs). As there were quite a lot of stag parties, many of the men we talked to were married (or, maddeningly, hiding their rings), so I can’t say that Dingle was more successful than Lisdoonvarna for matchmaking. Alas.
The next morning, we were greeted by a wall of pervasive mist, and my luck with perfect weather had run out. Fortunately, we did our big scenic drive the day before, so we had planned for a lazy Sunday anyway. Sinéad and I enjoyed a nice breakfast at our place (I had a great bowl of porridge with fruit and homemade peanut butter), and I learned all about the GAA (the Gaelic Athletic Association) as County Kerry had won the Irish football championship this year. The woman who ran the B&B had such pride in their county, and it was wonderful to hear how the traditional Irish sports persisted as a way to differentiate Irish culture from English. I regrettably didn’t know about Irish football or hurling before my trip, and now I’d love to see a match!
After breakfast, Sinéad and I walked along the marina, hoping to find the Blasket Islands experience our host had raved about. unfortunately, it wasn’t a museum like we hoped, but a boat tour taking you to the Blasket Islands (honestly, it was really hard to tell from the way she explained it). Since the weather was iffy and I didn’t want to press my luck with a third boating experience, we decided to skip the tour and wander through some craft stores instead.
I had told Sinéad early on that if we found anything with the text of the Irish Blessing (“May the road rise up to meet you”), I was going to get it because the text was a formative part of my high school choral experience. She had thought I’d be able to find a lot of prints with the text, but I kept coming up short in gift shops. So, when I found a coaster with the text, I snapped it up. A coaster can be a wall hanging if you believe enough.
We continued our walk around Dingle, wandering through a lovely garden, the church, and some artist galleries before lunch. In one of the galleries, we even got to chat with the artist about her paintings of the sea. Honestly, after our drive yesterday, I understood her inspiration.
After finishing our shopping tour of Dingle, Sinéad and I went for lunch at the one place that had been recommended to us over and over again—The Fish Box. Dingle is a seaside down, so it is know for its fish. And, I love fish, so I got their namesake “fish box”, a plate of fried calamari, cod, prawns, and chips. Sinéad was a good sport and got whatever vegetarian options that were on the menu. As we had our lunch, Sinéad overheard one of the women at the table next to us (part of a lovely family who gave us suggestions on what to order) say that she was moving to California. Nosy person that I am, I asked where in California . Turns out, she’s moving to LA— right near me! She is a writer and doesn’t know many folks in LA, so we exchanged information.
My friend Allison says that anywhere I go, I run into someone I know. This isn’t quite the same, but the principle holds as I have a new friend I met somewhere I went. I’m excited to connect with her when I get back.
Since we had a busy few days of travel, Sinéad and I took the rest of the afternoon to rest before heading to the marina for dinner. Our new B&B host (poor planning on my part meant we had to change locations) told us that the marina was where everyone would be in the early evening. While I can’t imagine it was as hopping as it would be on a sunny day, the rain continued to hold off enough for us to enjoy a lovely view of the harbor as we had our meal. It was our last night in Dingle, so I doubled down on seafood, ordering muscles in a lemon cream sauce with a side of fries (very Belgian of me). Instead of my typical beer, however, I decided to try the locally made Dingle Gin (we had planned to go to the distillery but couldn’t quite tell if it was open or not). Longtime players will know that I do enjoy a gin drink, and I have to say, Dingle Gin was one of the nicest versions I had.
After our dinner we decided to retrace some of our pub crawl steps and start with our favorite spot from the previous night. Unfortunately, absent of the stag parties, Dick Mack’s was kind of dead…save for the rowdy (and obnoxious) group of Americans playing the very out of tune piano. When we walked into the pub, they were playing America the Beautiful (time and place, man), and it just devolved from there as the guy on the keys proceeded to get the “crowd” going by asking if we had any people of [insert ethnicity here] in the room. I did appreciate the Jewish inclusion in that representation (he played the hora), it did seem like he was going through his song book of all of the songs Americans think would be played in an Irish bar. Spoiler alert. None of what he played I had heard anywhere else in Ireland.
Deciding to save our ears from the out of tune piano and singing, we went back to Foxy Johns where another American was holding court over the music. Though this one appeared to be hired by the bar and was actually quite good as he covered Ed Sheehan and other modern crooners. Once again, though, we made a quick exit when he said he was going to play “a song he wrote for 9/11”. Not really the vibe we were going for.
At that point, we were going to make our way to another pub down the road when we heard the strains of Wild Rover (what has become my pub calling card) coming from a tiny pub across the street. We walked in (or tried to) and found a banjo player sitting at the door and another guy leading the pub in song. Jackpot.
Wild Rover is one of the two Irish pub songs I know, and we joined in. As soon as the song was done, one of the women turned to Sinéad and said “you look like a singer”…which she is, and before you know it, Sinéad was coaxed into singing for the pub. Sinéad sang several songs beautifully, and as she is a classically trained soprano, several of our new friends exclaimed “what a voice” throughout her performances. Another fellow bought us drinks to keep us there singing with them, and I was even convinced to sing. Not being a native Irish person, my knowledge of Irish folk songs is limited (and I had to carefully sort out the Irish versus the English ones in my head), so when the banjo player told me to sing next, I went with the old classic…Danny Boy. Though, later, a woman did a tribute to the Irish-born Van Morrison and very drunkenly sang a creative rendition of Moondance. If only I had known that was an option…
I hadn’t performed for people in so long, I didn’t realize how nervous I would be, even with a glass of whiskey. But the pub soon joined in, and I felt right at home. I really do miss singing and performing, and I am grateful that this trip reminded me of that.
It was pretty clear that the crowd wanted us to stay and sing all night, but we had places to go! So, we snuck out the back and made our way to the Dingle Pub. The Dingle Pub was the place to be on a Sunday night, and when we got there a 60th birthday party was up and dancing right by the band as they played the classic Irish hit “Take Me Home, Country Roads. All joking aside, they were fantastic. They played everything from current pop hits to older dance tunes (think your classic wedding playlist), which was perfect to get people up and dancing. We ordered our drinks, and we hopped on the dance floor just in time for. Kenny Rogers/ Simon and Garfunkel medley. Not a combo I’d heard together before, but it really worked.
Though it was a Sunday night, more people kept showing up, and soon some of the folks we saw at Foxy John’s must have gotten tired of original music that could be found on Spotify and joined our party at the Dingle. Soon, everyone was dancing together—I got pulled in for a dance with a gent at one point and in another song I was part of a chain with our arms around each other. Everyone was just enjoying the craic together, it didn’t matter if we knew each other before or not.
In a previous post, I mentioned that Garth Brooks was a big thing in Ireland, and he happened to be playing in Dublin that weekend. Well, lest the patrons of the Dingle Pub be left out of the fun, Garth Brooks was the hottest request of the night, as the band was asked to play “Friends in Low Places” at least 6 times. Since they had played it earlier in the evening, the guitar player kept turning down the request. But at the end of the night, we wore him down, and Friends in Low places brought down the bar. This has always been one of my favorite songs to sing back up for in karaoke, but I honestly don’t think anything will top swaying with a bunch of folks from County Kerry singing about slipping down to the oasis. I may have just met them, but I guess I now have friends in Dingle, as well.
We stayed till the end of the band’s set and thought about heading to one more spot. The place we wanted to go was closing just as we got there, so we took it as a sign and headed back to the Dingle Pub for one more round (ending at our favorite place) before calling it a night.
I had been told that Saturday night was going to be the best night in Dingle, but there was something special about that Sunday evening. As we were headed to Dublin the next day and would be spending most of the day in the car, this celebration was the perfect way to wrap up my western Ireland adventure.
Highs of Doolin and Dingle: The Cliffs, Conor’s Pass, Slea Head Drive, and all the craic
Lows of Doolin and Dingle: Drunk people invading our personal space
Biggest Surprises: Singing an Irish tune by myself in an Irish pub
A Trip Around the Sun 