Speechless -- The Burren, Ireland

Purples. Purples and whites and yellows and vibrant pinks dot the grassy places between the grey rocks. I believe the scenery here is bright enough to compete with the standard Irish door, which is unusual and surprising. 

Those of you who know me are probably well aware of the fact that I'm a lightweight and that a glass of wine with dinner is enough to make me feel warm and wobbly. It is seldom that I go out to bars (I can count the amount of times I sat down for drinks in Grand Junction last year on one hand) and staying up past 1:00 a.m. is a rare occurrence.  

Ireland is changing all that. Perhaps it's because I'm at sea-level that my tolerance has increased. Perhaps it's because the pub ambiance is fun here that I don't mind staying up dancing and listening to stellar music until three o'clock in the morning. 

Perhaps it's because everyone here does it and when I travel, I try to experience the things that everyone does. 

That said, Sunday morning was later and groggier than Saturday morning. We opened the side door to Roisin's van at 11:30 and blinked our sticky eyes as the sunshine spilled in. 

God, I can't believe I stayed in bed until 11:30. Don't think I've ever done that before... I shamefully walked to the campsite bathroom (a magnificent structure called "The Great Relieve") to wash my face and brush my teeth. When in Rome. 

"Want to drive back through Clare?" Roisin suggested as we left the resort town of Westport behind us. 

"Really? That would be gran-- phenomenal, fantastic, excellent!" I corrected myself. Seeing Clare would not just be "okay". Walking around the natural wonders of Clare has been something I've wanted to do since my last trip. Home to the Cliffs of Moher and the Burren, Clare has the reputation for being one of the most beautiful counties in Ireland. 

We wove our way through peat bogs and castle ruins and fields or erratic stones with sheep taking shelter behind them. 

I felt like I had left this world. The scenery was so arresting, commanding, stark, compelling, fantastic... but as we drove through the brilliantly colored Burren (which means "Great Rock" in Irish), I had no words.

"Christ," I'd gasp as a sharp turn would open a whole new view. "God, I... I just... wow..."

"You okay?" Roisin smiled. 

"Never...never seen... never seen anything like this. God, it's gorgeous," I managed to stutter through my awestruck teeth. 

My pictures are poor and I hesitate to put them up because they don't do the Burren justice, but as they're all I have, they'll have to suffice.

We stopped at a teashop on the way through and I was ecstatic to finally hop out of the car, breathe in the smell of the ocean and take some pictures. My trigger-happy fingers had been itching for ages. The unfortunate side about driving through the Burren is that there are so few opportunities to pull over and take photos. A lorry might round a turn and crash into you as you're off looking at the flowers and grasses.

There are a prodigious amount of walking and biking trails through this part of the country, with a wide range of difficulty levels. I would like to return to the Burren at some point and spend a few days (or weeks) traversing trails like these: Burren Trails

We left the limestone Burren behind us and continued down to the Cliffs of Moher. However, the cliffs are invisible from the road and a fee is charged at the main entrance, so we tried to hike to the Cliffs from the side, avoiding the entrance station altogether.

Then the wind picked up. It howled and raged with a fury I've never experienced, blowing us back down the hill as we tried to push through it. There were times I'd take a step forward and the antagonistic gale would drive me two steps down the slope. With an electric fence on one side and the Cliffs ages in front (at our pace, anyway), we decided that continuing  our excursion would be unsafe, so we allowed the wind to push us back to the van.

Even the cows knew to keep low in that kind of wind.

After another two hours of driving (which resulted in a minor case of whiplash), we reached Roisin's home in Cork. Her parents had arrived from France the day before and had brought a mini-fridge full of Camembert and other fine French cheeses with them. 

Cheese makes me a happy, happy lady

Roisin's father is an avid photographer, so I spent a few minutes showing him the lenses I'd purchased for my iPhone. If anyone already has an iPhone 4 or 5 and is thinking of purchasing a small camera, consider investing in this instead: Phocus The phone slides into the case, the lenses attach, and you've suddenly got a much nicer camera.

Harvey took some accidental pictures while I was showing him how it works. Bad picture, but I enjoy my expression. I hope I always look this concerned when I teach.

Preconceptions:

People do seem to drink an awful lot in Ireland -- compared to my culture, anyway. In my part of the world, one would generally say something like, "I had a glass of wine at dinner, went to Le Rouge for a cocktail, and then went to the Rockslide for a couple of beers." In Ireland, it seems to go more like, "I had a few glasses of wine at dinner, a few pints at Matt Malloy's, a few pints at Abbey Bar, a few at..."

The main difference seems to be the nonchalance with which the word "few" is used.

Challenges:

Roisin is in the process of teaching me a few Irish dance moves. Once mastered, I will record and post them. Should be tremendously amusing.