Roads Less Traveled

How to describe this day? Let's just start by noting we experienced sights seen by few tourists and all because Ronnie took a part of his day to lead a tour. During the pizza gorging last night, Ronnie happened to mention that Dundalk was the home of St. Brigid. Julie and I immediately were overwhelmed by this information and explained how St. Brigid rose to the top of our "Lent Madness" bracket only to fall by an handful of votes to Francis of Assisi in the final ballot. We just had to see St. Brigid's shrine. 

So after Ronnie finished cooking breakfast for all his guests, he escorted us through town and out into the country. There St. Brigid welcomed us to a tranquil setting among the pastures of rural County Lough. Brigid was born in the area around 450 and served God and the less fortunate for decades. Many walk and pray the ten stations highlighting her life and ministry. This was quite a moving experience. 

And we were only getting started. Ronnie led us down the narrowest path yet, barely wide enough for a car let alone a van. Tom exclaims in alarm, "Erin, we're scraping rocks on this side." And Erin repiles with equal alarm, "And I'm scraping rocks over here." We thought Ronnie may have been playing a joke, leading us down this cow trail. Imagine our delighted discovery that this was also Ronnie's first time on that path. 

Our next treat came at Mystery Hill. Ronnie stopped his car ahead of us at the bottom of a small hill. He instructed Erin to put the van in neutral and take his foot off the brake. We immediately began to roll backwards, seemingly UP the hill. Tom claims it was really downhill, but it sure looked uphill to the rest of us. 

Over the next hour, we zigzagged in and out of Northern Ireland with views of sparse mountains and the ever present green pastures and grazing animals. Each of us left a "good luck" rock on the grave of the mythical 7' tall woman (The Long Woman's Grave) who married the 7'3" tall Irishman. She died of disappointment upon seeing for the first time the land of her new husband. 

A final stop at Ronnie's inn for bathroom breaks (and to retrieve Erin's dropped passport) sent us down the road to Killarney. 

At a fuel/bathroom stop, I was surprised to hear Clancy Brothers' music playing in the convenience store. I was further impressed by the sound system in the bathroom because, looking around, I couldn't find any speakers. Approaching the clerk to pay for my Magnum ice cream bars (YUM!), I asked her if they always played Clancy Brothers music in the store. A who-is-this-crazy-American look overwhelmed her face. "Excuse me, sir?"

"I'm hearing Clancy Brothers music and was wondering if it's normal to play that in your store". (Are three weeks of drinking wine and Guiness catching up with me?)

"Sir, I think that music is coming from your pocket."

Totally embarrassed I pulled out my iPhone and, sure enough, the Clancy Brothers were gloriously singing away. Muttering a red-faced apology, I slithered out of the store comforted somewhat by the fact that I left the poor young lady with a wonderful story to share--"You'll never believe what some American bloke did in the store today."

The topography definitely changed as we drove southwest. Gentle rolling hills and some flat land gave way to more severe slopes and finally mountains as we entered Killarney. 

Love this town. Killarney obviously caters to tourists but in a quaint way. Pubs with traditional music dominate the streets. Upon recommendation of hotel staff, we settled in at Danny Mann's and swayed, clapped, toe-tapped and sang the night away.