A Day of Rest

We were supposed to walk from Dingle to Dunquin today, which is a hard and challenging walk.  Lauren's sun burn got worse during yesterday's walk (the sun burned right through her shirt) and she has sun poisoning.  She wasn't feeling well at all and there was just no way I could ask her to walk fifteen miles while feeling poorly, much less expose her skin to eight more hours of sun.

Contrary to the expected weather, Ireland's sun was out in full force all day with hardly a cloud to keep it company. My precious girl is not the only one with red, painful skin.  I see other walkers suffering the same fate, but Lauren is the only one that matters to me.  A day off the trail is what we needed.  I hated (I can't tell you how much) to miss a day of walking, but there was nothing to be done about it.

We told our innkeepers over a slow and lazy breakfast that we wouldn't be walking.  When the lady of the house saw Lauren's skin, she disappeared and came back with a spray she keeps in her freezer.  The chemist sold it to her when one of her girls burned herself with boiling water.  She insisted that we take it and we did.  After she made arrangements for a cab to collect us at 6pm, she told us to leave our bags in the lounge and offered her son's bedroom to Lauren in case she need a place to lie down during the day.

God love the Irish, because I sure do.  Their hearts are as big as their throats are dry.

We wandered around the corner to a sports shop where I bought Lauren an SPF 40 shirt.  It will hopefully protect her chest, but it's short sleeved.  They didn't have any sun shirts with long sleeves.  Although she's not quite herself, Lauren came alive in a shop of vintage wraps and shawls and sterling silver jewelry.  I bought her a shawl that, if Gooma was still living, she'd have made in a weekend.  It was dear, but worth every euro for the look it put on Goo's face.  I also bought a few stud earrings for us and a Celtic ring for my girl.  (I'll get a second job when we go back...if we go back.)

We spent the day wandering shops, but resting on benches often.  Lunch was taken in a pub with wifi, where we spent a good two hours or more, hiding from the sun and refueling.  I'm definitely settling in because when I'd finished eating, there were three empty packets of brown sauce next to my plate.  For those of you unfamiliar with brown sauce, you'll have to find some and give it a try.  I'm bring back loads of packets in my backpack (if I go back).

The cab ride to Dunquin was exciting.  Our driver, Dolores, was most certainly a card and had a lead foot. The roads here are one lane and it comes down to a game of chicken when two cars meet.  Who will pull over at the very last second?  Nobody knows - not even the drivers.  I've almost shit me knickers twice this week during one of these contests.  Isn't this fun?

As we drove uphill, Dolores told us to get ready for a "top of the world" view.  She wasn't kidding.  As we crested the steep hill, we were afforded our first view of the Blasket Islands.  Wow.  Just wow.

The Sleeping Giant is an island that looks like, well, a sleeping giant.  The head, nose, belly and so on are easily visible.  The island resembles a man of monster-sized proportions who tired and laid in the sea to rest.  To his left is Great Blasket, which until the early 1950s was inhabited by a group of die-hard, tough Irish folk who preserved their language.  Their story is compelling and their islands speak loudly of a long history.  I was immediately moved by their beauty and isolation.  Wow.

Our B&B is a large property run by a couple.  Just a couple.  No help.  They are struggling.  The place is clean and airy, our room is comfortable and big, but when it comes time to sit down for dinner, it's nearly empty.  A couple of Brits who are walking the Dingle, two Swedes and us - the dwarf's hostel doesn't serve food, so he joined us.  Although the dining room could easily hold seventy, there are only seven of us dining.

The food was....well, I didn't eat much.  I pushed it around on my plate.  The proprietors are WONDERFULLY kind folks who would likely give the shirt off their back, but they don't know how to cook.  I think I've found a job...what will I tell my recruits?  Doug?  Lauren?  Take the tomato basil soup - it was clearly homemade, chunky tomatoes with loads of basil.  They forgot to salt it at the right time and no matter how much salt you add at the end, it will never taste right.  Never underestimate the importance of proper seasoning.  Then there was the "vegetable risotto", which was actually rice with peppers and onions with a bit of broth.  Again, absolutely no salt and nothing at all resembling risotto.

I had a warm roll schmeared with fresh made butter and two Merlots.  I really didn't need to eat - I can live off the fat of the land, but a warm and creamy risotto would have been grand.

We stayed up until almost midnight in the lounge because that's the only place we could access their wifi.  I asked the innkeepers if we were holding them up, but they insisted we weren't.  When we finally decided to go back to our room, I found them sitting at a table in the dark dining room drinking a cuppa.  They were clearly waiting for us to clear out so they could go to bed.  I apologized profusely and told them they should have shooed us out, but they insisted we were no bother.  They are very kind, gracious hosts and their cooking skills are no matter when compared to their hospitality.

The wind was blowing a bit as we walked back to our room, which was a separate building from the main dining room/lounge.  The temperature was perfect for sleeping.  I did a bit of laundry in the sink, wrung it out and used the hair dryer to help it along before hanging it to dry overnight.  Lauren was quiet, her eyes not looking quite right, but she never complained.  Tomorrow is a planned day off.  We were going to take a ferry to the Blasket Islands, but we'll have to assess her condition in the morning.

We tucked in and put out the light.  Outside my window, I could see the mountains looking down at us. They loomed almost close enough to touch, it seemed.  The sun hadn't completely set yet - it was only 11:30pm, but the sky was darkening.  Although we hadn't walked, neither of us had difficulty drifting off to a peaceful slumber.

I sent up a prayer to the Gods of The Dingle Way, who'd already been quite accommodating, to heal my girl's skin and sore muscles so that we could continue walking come Tuesday.  It was a short prayer because sleep soon rushed in and took control.  Only for a brief moment was I aware of the breeze and then I was off.