Ireland Part 2 - The Wild Atlantic Way

I think, in talking about Ireland, I’ve neglected to discuss one minor thing: the roads.

A nice example of a country road.

Irish roads have a bit of a reputation. They’re similar to a protest group that’s hit a bit of a rough patch with their crafts budget, in that they’re both lacking in signage. This is not to say that it’s 100% survival of the fittest when you hit the pavement (that’s Italy, which we’ll get to); it’s simply that there are fewer roadside notations than other well-traveled countries. This was a discussion I had with some friends who had recently returned from Ireland with harrowing tales of navigation. You could almost consider them suspense stories, where the brave couple, intent on forging a path through the twisting wilds, lost their way as the night began to close in around them, their headlights flickering off the towering walls of grass on either side of the rapidly disappearing road, never to be heard from again. That would be the case, especially because their destination was a castle, but this is Ireland. Instead of a terrifying vampire haunting the stone walls at the end of a forgotten lane, they stepped in to a warm, well-lit interior with a wonderful host and had cookies before turning in. Granted, it may have been a vampire trying its hand at confectioneries, but at that point, no reason to look a gift horse in the mouth - especially where cookies are involved.

It's probably where vampires would hang out if they're looking to get away from Gothic architecture.

So we were already aware of some of the realities of driving on the Emerald Isle (though we expected to encounter fewer vampires). We committed early on to rent a car, partly to have some flexibility, but also to say we conquered driving on the other side of the road. This was a big driving force for Courtney; she had wholeheartedly committed to learning this way of life, and had been eagerly waiting to get behind the wheel. Our ride ended up being a Juke, a strange little car which looks a bit like a Ferrari and a Nissan Cube shared a bottle of vodka on the couch while giving Netflix and Chill a right good attempt. It’s also deceptively big. At times, the interior seemed to take up the entire lane, a fact which did not assist in our escape from a large roundabout right outside the Cork airport, where we spent a couple minutes enthusiastically trying to navigate the multiple lanes of traffic and stop lights with no real idea of which exit we needed to take. We only cut off a few people on our way out, so overall, I call it a win.

She was very excited that she successfully parallel parked.

We did have one small detour before we could leave Cork proper. The glare of the check engine light prompted us to pull into the vehicle maintenance area of the airport, where a very patient and thickly accented mechanic explained to us that usually before driving, it’s customary to lower the parking brake all the way.

Parking breaks did not help us here, but the view was wonderful.

Death circles behind us, parking brake safely stowed where it can’t hurt anyone, we zipped onto the highway and headed south. The night before, our tentative schedule of “drive around, see some Ireland places, eventually get to the Cliffs of Moher” was given a bit more spice by Eileen, who told us of the newly established Wild Atlantic Way. From her description, it sounded like we would still be driving around, seeing some Ireland places, eventually getting to the Cliffs of Moher - but now with a direction! Hooray!

The signs of the Wild Atlantic Way - you can see them from a decent distance too!

If most roads in Ireland are emulating an unsigned garage band trying to find a record label to snuggle up to, the Wild Atlantic Way is a top of the line music celebrity who has so many offers from record companies, they could print them out, put them in a room, and pull a Scrooge McDuck. It’s actually so well marked that we turned off our navigation and just followed the bright blue signs. South Ireland opened up before our little Juke as the ocean waved at us off to our left. The Wild Atlantic Way is a sightseeing driving tour with about 188 signature attractions (and about 1000 more unmarked) spread out over 1600 miles of coastal road on the west half of the island. Though we only really had a half a day, we gave it our best effort - and we visited some incredible things! The combination of the number of beautiful attractions and the twisty nature of the roads meant that after about 7 hours of driving, we ended the evening about an hour away from Cork. Maybe not quite as far physically from where we started, but we kept getting distracted by a cool thing in distance.

Galley Head, West Cork.

In addition to their lack of notation, Irish roads have a couple other qualities that add to the driving excitement. The first is, while they’re marked with speed limit signs like other good roads, the landscape pretty much prevents you from doing the posted limit unless you don’t mind pulling your best impression of a roller coaster as speed around the constant turns. Frequently, we drove at half the posted speed. The second is that, outside of the highways, most roads like to see drivers play chicken, and only give you enough space for one vehicle to comfortably trundle along without pulling off. Most of the time, finding a pull-off to allow someone to pass is easy, although one memorable occasion on a mountain road saw an oncoming car slam into reverse and drive backwards a quarter mile until they found a dirt road. We waved thankfully to the grandmother driving the car as we passed. Irish people are hardcore.

She's a natural adventurer.

It was always beautiful as we drove. Towns where the cows seemed to outnumber the people disappeared as quickly as they had come. Gorgeous inlets suddenly appeared as we rounded a bend, prompting no end of stops to take pictures. We found that as long as there isn’t a gate, you can pretty much go where you please, a fact that definitely helped our wanderlust, as we repeatedly saw enticing things in the distance and felt the need to go to there. It was never boring. We found the highest pub in Ireland simply on a whim (sitting at a terrifying 1000 feet above sea level). Twice, Courtney spun the Juke off the main road to see some stone circles, their signs half covered in creeping ivy. We did only get to see one though, as the second was closed due to the early morning hour (didn’t realize stone circles had hours).

I'm trying to look cool, but just end up looking like a dork.

Out of everything that we saw, the towering peak of Priest’s Leap was probably the high point. Full credit here goes to Courtney - the path to the top barely allows for three sheep to walk comfortably side by side. Thankfully, we saw nary a soul on the whole drive. As we crested the peak, the cold wind surrounded us, pulling at our clothes and cutting to the bone. Storm clouds loomed in the distance. Sheep clung tenaciously to the side of the rocks, flipping off the wind with their narrowed eyes and defiant stances. It was all worth it because below us, the entire valley spread out, disappearing over the far border of the horizon. As we stood at the edge of seemingly infinite majesty, I felt the strongest urge to stay in Ireland forever. The next morning was going to tough - or at least I assumed so. The wind had numbed my extremities, so I couldn’t really feel anything. We didn’t stay long; wanting to get out before the rain came, we piled back into the car and set off to find some tea.

Our path up to Priest's Leap.

The green country, out to the end of the horizon.

Everything that I’ve talked about is why I love the country, and more. It’s the endless, green hills covered in their cloud hats as the sun just starts peeking over the horizon. It’s the winding. overgrown roads cutting through a mysterious forest that just begs to be explored. You can quite literally lose yourself in the countryside. At one point, we were close to cancelling the trip to Italy so we could spend a few more days driving around (we decided to go because we had purchased tickets, there was pasta, blah blah blah). Above everything else, our drive cemented in us the desire to return, the temptation to see more of the wonders of nature that were waiting just around the next bend.

The morning sky in Ireland is gorgeous.

The last part of our drive was the big one - the Cliffs of Moher. It had always been our end goal, and we couldn’t have asked for better weather. The ocean glittered in the warm comfort of the sunlight, with nary a cloud in the sky. The ground fell away ahead of us, and we saw exactly where the Dread Pirate Roberts chased Fezzik and company up the rope. Flocks of seagulls and puffins wheeled above the crashing waves far below. The long trail of tourists wandered dangerously near the edge of the 700 foot drop, taking pictures and soaking up the sun. The last time I was there, I had been able to lean into the wind and have it support me, it was blowing so hard. This time, we were able to just stand and enjoy one of the biggest highlights in the entire country.

People pretty much just tried to defy death the whole time (we weren't necessarily doing anything different).

That view, though.

We also, of course, looked for the cave where Harry and Dumbledore went to find the Horcrux.

The Cliffs of Moher might have been our last attraction on the sightseeing tour, but we had one final stop to make. The last night of our trip was again spent in the company of Courtney’s family, this time with Dave and Maura, Eileen’s daughter. We met with them in Kildare, a small town south of Dublin, at a restaurant that boasted excellent burgers - a claim that held up quite strongly! Maura and Dave were fabulous. Through the course of the evening, we drank and discussed a swath of topics about everything under the sun (or moon, rather). They were hilariously funny, and an absolute joy to spend an evening with. They even liked us a lot, and let us crash at their place before we toddled off to the airport the next day. Again, the Buckley family - just knocking it out of park with hospitality and friendliness.

We slept soundly, comforted by the memories of the Emerald Isle, preparing the next day to take a long journey to the seat of the ancient Roman Empire.

A cold Irish sunset, bidding us farewell.