We woke rather late; it was nearly 8:30am when I reluctantly opened my eyes. I had to force myself from the bed and Lauren too. We were still wiped out from yesterday's battle with the mountain. Our joints were stiff and I walked to the bathroom like a ninety-year-old woman. Lauren did too.
We had breakfast with Flopsey and Mopsey and while we lingered over brown bread and butter, Lauren's dwarf called. He was itching to go because there were actually clouds in the sky. The sun was, at least momentarily, hidden from view. We rushed as much as possible, collected our packed lunches (butter and jam sandwiches, apples, juice boxes and monster-sized KitKats) and settled our tab.
"Who drank all these pints?"
"Herself, of course."
Hmm. I think I've heard that before.
We set off on our first cloudy morning of the walk, happy to be shielded from the blistering rays. (Sounds crazy, I know, but its been extremely hot for Ireland.) The first good bit was road walking, which isn't our favorite way to go, but the route was pretty and everyone was in good spirits. Even the dwarf was in good humor. In spite of three severe cases of baboon-butt, we were all pretty happy.
What's that? You're unfamiliar with baboon butt? Consider yourself lucky. Allow me to illustrate...Ireland's version of toilet paper is most like medium gauge sandpaper in the States. It's coarse and rough. After wiping our backsides with it for a few days, we are...raw. It's painful and uncomfortable and makes me think of the monkeys at the zoo with the bright red butts. I know they aren't baboons, but baboon butt has a nice ring to it. Unless you are suffering from it.
Anyway, baboon butt is by itself a nasty affliction, but when you've been walking for fifteen miles or so and sweating and chafing, it's downright intolerable. However, this particular morning, our baboon butts were mostly in check. We did, however, speak of wadding up four-ply American toilet paper and sitting on it like a nest when we get home. Is that too much information?
After a couple of miles of up and down road, we wound our way to a beach; Ireland's longest beach and what a treat we were in for. The waves were crashing (remember that in the Keys, the reefs prevent rollers from coming to shore, so all we hear is a gentle lapping; never any waves) and the wind was blowing. The air smelled salty, but not like the smell of old crab pots drying in the sun, but of fresh, salty sea air. Lauren's step became a bit bouncer and, like all kids, she played a game of chicken with the rushing waves. She soaked her boots more than on
In spite of the pack on my back, I found myself bent and looking down, combing the beach for treasures. Within no time, the dwarf was nearly out of sight. We weren't concerned. We had waves and wind and beautiful shells and stones to collect. Lauren drew in the sand with the tip of her walking pole while we sang and laughed. We'd have stayed there all day, but it was a long haul to Castlegregory and the day was wearing on.
We passed a couple of other walkers and one family making a picnic. Aside from that, the beach was empty! Such a huge expanse of beauty and no one there to enjoy it.
Miles later, we consulted the map. Lauren and I decided to cheat and cut across the tip of the peninsula, taking a short cut to our B&B, thereby cutting out about three or four miles of walking. Our legs and hips were sore from the mountain challenge the day before and we realized just how tired we really were. As we parted ways, the dwarf rewarded Lauren's valiant efforts with a big Snickers bar, which she gladly accepted.
We cut through the dunes and found a place to sit out of the wind. From my pack we pulled out our sandwiches and fruit and made quick work of them. As I ooed and ahhed over all of the treasures I'd collected on the beach, Lauren devoured her candy bar. We then took turns watching the path while answering the call of Mother Nature.
After a short bit, we came to a fork in the road. I was fairly certain our road lay to the left. Just then a car happened by and we hailed it down to confirm. Inside was a family from New Hampshire. We were on the right road and they offered us a lift. We thanked them, but declined, happy to walk the miles ourselves. The road was quiet and we chatted about who knows what. Our pace was similar to an evening stroll by old people. We simply weren't in a rush. We'd cut off the tip of the peninsula and we had time to kill.
After a mile or so, we came upon a big, open field of cattle. Lauren and I can't pass up the opportunity to talk to/watch/pet cows. These guys were comedians and their antics kept us watching for well over thirty minutes. A steer was apparently confused about the state of his being, because he continued to chase and mount one particular cow. It was obvious she was getting tired of it. Her calf of about four or five months decided to show the steer who was boss and tried to mount him! A little bitty calf mounting a ginormous steer. What a sight. That just got the rest of the herd riled and before you could say, "Bob's your uncle," everyone was mounting everyone else. Cow porn at its best.
Knowing we had to eventually reach Castlegregory, we pulled ourselves away only to stumble upon a weed-filled field in which a mangy horse was tied to a broken-down piece of equipment. The poor horse had wads of skin and hair hanging from him and he looked pretty darn unhealthy. Lauren and I were heartbroken and the only thing that kept me from untying him and taking him with us was the fear of being shot. He was in a sad state.
The yard surrounding the house was littered with trash and discarded junk. It was a rough looking place and I knew we'd be fighting a losing battle to even attempt to help that poor horse. I turned Lauren away and we went on, heavy hearted. I hate to see animals mistreated. There's just no reason for it.
Half a mile or so from there, was an old church surrounded by a graveyard on three sides. The gate was open, so we let ourselves in. Old tombs covered in moss and vines gave testament to their age. An old stone wall with a narrow window stood, likely held together by the moss and vines that clung to it. It appeared to be part of what was probably the original church. We walked the property, minding our feet to be respectful of those resting there. No Lavells to be found. I hope that changes in Mayo.
About three miles or so from where we left the beach, we stumbled upon the town of Castlegregory. What a quaint village with quite a lot of shops and stores. It was the biggest town we'd encountered since Dingle. Our B&B was called "The Harbor House" and while we assumed it would be at the base of the village near the water, we decided to ask someone before walking all the way down to the water only to be told it was back at the top. I went into the post office and asked for directions.
Imagine my surprise when the postman told me that our B&B wasn't actually IN Castlegregory. "It's in Castlegregory Parish, not Castlegregory Village."
Well, of course it's not. Only a bloomin' idiot would think otherwise.
Remember that bit of beach/peninsula walking that Lauren and I cut out when we took our short cut? If we'd kept walking the Dingle Way, we'd have come upon it three miles later. Instead, we went three miles out of our way and it would be another three or four miles (by road) to the point where our B&B was located.
We called a cab.
I can't explain the deflating feeling of defeat when you think you've arrived at your destination after a long walk only to find you're still miles away. Nothing takes the mustard out of you quite like that realization. Cab it was.
Our driver was a woman in her sixties with an accent so thick you could paint it. She was lovely and difficult to understand. She talked the whole way while I struggled to answer accordingly. She had a lead foot and more than once I thought I might redecorate her back seat. Thankfully, I managed to keep it in check, but it was no easy feat.
We were dropped off at Spillane's Bar where our dwarf was enjoying a pint after his long beach walk. We joined him for a Smithwick's and a light bite before walking the rest of the way to our B&B. We were fortunate enough to walk by a lush, grassy field of horses. Five or six females each had a colt nearby and they were very well taken care of. We cooed and talked to them, complimenting them on their adorable babies (horses appreciate that sort of thing) for several minutes before the dwarf got sullen. Dwarfs don't like horses anymore than they do cows.
We said our goodbyes to the beauties and made our way to the water once again. The Harbor House was appropriately named. Inside we found our room to be very comfortable and wi-fi was available for my girl. The dwarf went to his room to nap while Lauren and I went to the upstairs lounge to chill. She laid in what appeared to be a huge dog bed, covered in a blanket and was asleep within ten minutes. I sat on a comfy sofa facing the water while I sipped a pint and tried to catch up on my blogging. About an hour and half later, Lauren's tape worm woke her. We went to the dining room to feed it.
We shared some of the most delicious fried brie I've ever had. It was served with a jam for dipping and accompanied by a peppery salad. Lauren then tucked into a huge platter of fish and chips while I had creamy vegetable soup and steamed mussels. Our server was a young kid from Michigan on an internship with the B&B's dive shop. (Scuba diving is becoming a big deal in Ireland!) and he talked to us about trekking in Nepal. It sparked some ideas for future trips. With full and happy bellies, we returned to the lounge, which we had to ourselves all evening. Lauren napped on and off while I blogged.
Around 10:30, the sun began to set and the sky was bathed in glorious oranges. A new group of horses appeared right outside the B&B, so I had to go out and talk to them. The wind was blowing and the temps dropping. I chatted with the horses and made fast friends with a tabby cat who insisted I hold her while I talked to the horses. I fancied myself an animal magnet that night.
Back inside, I finally convinced Lauren to climb out of the dog bed and into her people bed around 11pm. I fell asleep knowing there was only one more walk on the Dingle Way. How did that happen? Months upon months of planning and only one walk left?
I drifted to sleep to the sounds of the ocean one more time, grateful for my walking partner who allows me to live my dream. If she only knew how much she's loved.
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