I saw a rainbow, actually two. I jumped into the arms of a stranger as he hoisted me over a jagged waist-high wire fence. How was your day?
     It's January, and never let it be said that we’re are afraid of a little cold. What's the saying, "There no such thing as bad weather, just inappropriate clothing." We have wool up to our eyebrows, and we've two tickets to Ireland.

Day 1 | Arrival | From Dublin to Kilkenny

     After shuffling on three legs of flight (ATL>JFK>London>Dublin), we emerge from the terminal in Dublin to cold air stinging our faces, actually a welcome jump start to our adventure. After all, it is January and Ireland's average temperature is 46 degrees; however, it's a very different 46 degrees than we're accustomed to experiencing.
     First, we pick up our rental car at Dooley's Rental. So easy that it was almost a sin, a lovely coot coupe as we will affectionately refer to it during our week. Len and I debated whether driving on the left side of the road would be an issue; surely not, we agreed. However, throw in shifting from the left - roundabouts - single lane roads edged with century's old rock walls, well, it became a whole different ballgame. Stay to the left. It's the slow lane, they instruct. We're living in the left lane for our week in Ireland. Repetition is the surest way to master anything.  We'll cling to that thought. Just avoid the darkness we agreed upon, words we will eventually eat.
     Heading south from Dublin, our first stop, Powerscourt Gardens, named by National Geographic as the third most beautiful garden in the world. Even in winter, it was lovely and manicured to perfection. The ducks in the pond never let the cold dissuade them from zip-zagging around the pond statue. After the chilly walk around the grounds, we stopped into the cafe for tea, allowing our fingers the chance to find their feeling again. We enjoyed a pot of hot tea (plus scone and chocolate croissant) and enjoyed a conversation with a local older couple from Dublin.  They told us they "come here everyday" to enjoy their cappuccinos and scones. "There's nothing like it," she offered.
     Then, surreal Glendalough. Founded by St. Kevin in the sixth century, we stood in the middle of a monastery where men walked thousands of years ago. We touched what they touched. Quite humbling when you think of it. Some structures still remain. Walk through the cemetery, see the chapel, and wonder about the secluded yet influential lives of these men.
     After Glendalough, we pass over the Wicklow Mountains, making our way southwest towards Kilkenny. As the elevation rises, the temperatures drop; suddenly, we’re in a snow cloud. At the top – Wicklow Gap – our (at least Judy’s for sure) snow wish comes true. We hop out quickly, snap a shot, and scoot back inside and within a minute’s drive down the mountain, sunshine once more.
     We spend our first night in Kilkenny. At Butler's Court Guesthouse, Yvonne makes us feel right at home. I tell her I need shoes for my feet have been freezing all day, and I'm not sure I can make it a week. She rescues me with appropriate suggestions, and unfortunately for Len, it means shoe shopping. We visit the shop; in and out, we grab the last pair of snow shoes and make a dash for the pub of choice, Kytelers Inn and Pub (since 1324).
     We walk through the unusually narrow doors (ones will we continue to find throughout the country) and feel as though we've walked into an Irish movie. Exactly the same. Dark wooden beams and bold furniture. Fire blazing. Men with pints of Guinness. Football on the TV. Conversation throughout. A young man seats us and and older gentlemen returns. We ask for the crowd favorites. Everything, the he boasted with an added promise of "I'll take care of you." He quickly told of his two favorites,  Hot Chicken & Ham Vol-Au-Vent and Bookmakers Sandwich. "Done," I said. Pair each with a pint (that's the understood code for Guinness), and we feel like ourselves again.
     Back to Butler Court Guesthouse. It's time to dream, and then tomorrow, put these new snow shoes to work.

Powerscourt Estate and Gardens | The house and gardens are located on 1,000 acres in Wicklow County. There are 47 acres of gardens (Italian, Japanese, a Rhododendron Walk, and more) and offers views of the surrounding countryside. It is home to the largest pet cemetery in Ireland.  There's a golf club for the sports enthusiast, and for the ladies, just down the road, the Powerscourt Hotel Resort and Spa, a 5-star luxury hotel. The gardens are open year-round, with admission being 8.50 euros during peak season (March-October), and 6.50 euros during the winter months. Don't miss your afternoon tea at the Avoca Terrace Cafe.

Glendalough Monastic City | Glendalough is one of the most important monastic sites in Ireland. Founded in the 6th century by St. Kevin, most buildings that remain date from the 10-12 centuries. It was attached by the Vikings yet has thrived as one of Ireland's great "ecclesiastical foundations and schools of learning until the Normans destroyed the monastery in 1214 AD."

Its most famous and recognizable landmark is the Round Tower which was built almost 1,000 years ago by the monks of St. Kevin's monastery. The towers were called "Cloigtheach" meaning bell tower which tells of their use. The tower was also an escape for monks when the monastery was under attack. It was also a beacon for approaching pilgrims.

Wicklow Gap | The Wicklow Mountains form the largest continuous upland area in Ireland (County Wicklow). From Hollywood to Laragh (26 km), this is one of two routes which cross the mountains from east to west. In January, at the top!

Day 2 | From Kilkenny to Kenmare

     Nothing beats a full stomach and warm bed after going non-stop for almost 36 hours. We’re in Kilkenny, a lovely little town with High Street as its center. Although January finds very few crowds (for us, a perfect scenario), there are locals meandering along the wet streets, sitting with friends eating at their favorite eatery (these are brave souls or those who don’t let the cold deter them) and stools at the counter of every pub in town, filled with older gentlemen with their pint of Guinness in front of them.  Don’t forget the football on the screen. That was nightlife in Kilkenny.
     From our room at Butler’s Court, we see the castle rising high over the roof tops and that’s where we will begin our day. First, breakfast from our little frig of fresh fruit, Irish Soda Bread and Rhubarb yogurt (actually amazing to my surprise).  We load our coot coupe with our luggage and we’re off. Our first full day in Ireland, and we have great expectations.
     We walk to Kilkenny Castle which has stood for over eight centuries in the heart of downtown Kilkenny.  It was built for William Marshal during the first decade of the 13th century and became the principal Irish residence of the powerful Butler family for almost 600 years. Now, it is owned by the Office of Public Works, as we find most castles are where visitors are welcomed. It stands much as it has through various invasions and renovations. A 10-minute film introduces us to its lineage. Hourly guided tours are rather costly, and there’s no photography; we opt to walk the grounds and discover on our own.

In Kilkenny, there are many cathedrals, reminding visitors and locals of their timeless and stalwart religious heritage. One of the most beautiful in this medieval city is St. Canice’s Cathedral built in the 6th century and named after St. Canice. Its round tower is the oldest standing structure. On this Sunday morning, as has been the case for the last 800 years, worshipers walk through the doors.  There are also modern churches as well as many more that are century’s old welcoming worshipers today.
About an hour’s drive west from Kilkenny is Rock of Cashel in County Tipperary.  It’s the site of where St. Patrick baptized King Aengus in 450 AD. Strategically placed on the mountaintop for fortification, the Rock was fought over for many years.  It was given to the Church in the 1100s. Today, scaffolding covers the outside visage of Cormac’s Chapel which is being restored. In one section of a wall, underneath many layers of plaster, a surprising and exciting discovery: a painting of the suspended Christ with Mary and St. John at his side. The Chapel is the only portion of the Rock that will be refurbished due to the fact that it is one of the last remaining Romanesque chapels in Ireland.

We have scheduled each day down to the hour and some of our time estimates have been a little off. Not taking into consideration the awkward driving experience plus darkness, well, it changes everything. There is no substitute for the research we did before we left home. No foreign country should be foreign; it's all about being prepared. However, today we're much later than anticipated, so we begin our journey to where we will spend the night, Kenmare.  It’s getting dark and since we’re staying in Maggie and Paddy’s home, we are sure that this might take a little maneuvering. No bright lights of town to lead the way, so we rely on Maggie and our GPS to lead the way.  For more than two hours, Maggie’s texts save us. We stop in Kenmare for a quick bite to eat (upon her suggestion), then head toward the Kenmare Bay where an amazing host, a hot fire and a warm bed await. The cottage, built in the late 1800s with walls two feet thick, proves to be a comfort during a night of gale force winds hurling in the bay. The next morning, a farmer’s breakfast – farm fresh eggs, warm yogurt and granola. And of course, tea.  What a find on Airbnb, and assuredly, the best lodging we had during our journey. It was like home.

Downtown Kilkenny | Kilkenny began as early at the 5th century. Named by Conde Nast Traveler as the Friendliest City in Europe, well, we most certainly agree. Truly, one of the best cities we visited. Easy to navigate and truly gracious people. Here's a list of what you can do and see here.
Kilkenny Castle | Located in the heart of Kilkenny, it stands high above the River Nore, a strategic move. It has stood for over eight centuries. The Classical gateway (below right) was completed before 1710 and features the coat of arms of the Butler/Ormonde family.
St. Canice’s Cathedral | Christians have been worshiping here since the 6th century, much like they are doing today. It remains a hallowed place, opening its doors to pilgrims and tourists alike.
Rock of Cashel, County Tipperary | A spectacular group of Medieval buildings set on the limestone mountain of Cashel. It features a 12th century round tower, High Cross and Romanesque Chapel (behind the scaffolding, currently being renovated), 13th century Gothic cathedral, 15th century castle and restored Hall of the Vicars Choral. The original St. Patrick's cross (below left) is housed in the undercroft of the Vicar's Choral. Built in Latin style, it has two pillars running parallel with the main body of the cross. "One face of the monument depicts Christ's crucifixion, while the other shows the image of an abbot or bishop, perhaps representing Patrick himself." It is carved of sandstone. (lower right) St. Matthew and St. John's crest.
Blarney Castle and the Blarney Stone | We had to kiss the stone, and we had no clue that the stone is at the top of the castle. Never let a few curvy, uneven, wet steps deter two coots, so we did just that - we climbed. The castle sits on 60 acres of park lands which are fine-tuned with brooks, flowers and walking trails. It's open all-year-round; admission, 12 euros. A little old man sits (below) on the edge while his photographer waits to the left, positioning those who are watching away from his shot. Lay on your back, trust the old man to hold you and lean . . . and lean . . . and lean back. There's a good two feet between the castle and the stone; all I can see is the grass, hundreds of feet below. Trust and kiss the stone!  As the blood rushes to your head, you say, "I've done it." For over 200 years, people have made a pilgrimage to the top to kiss the Blarney Stone and gain the gift of eloquence (the gift of gab). "Some say it was Jacob's pillow, brought to Ireland by the prophet Jeremiah. Legend says it was removed to mainland Scotland, where it served as the prophetic power of royal success, the Stone of Destiny. When Cormac MacCarthy, King of Munster, sent four thousand men to support Robert the Bruce in his defeat of the English at Bannockburn in 1314, the stone was split in half and sent to Blarney. Some years later, a witch saved from drowning revealed it's powers to the MacCarthys." There is a stone there, That whoever kisses, Oh! He never misses to grown eloquent. We'll see . . .

Day 3 | Kenmare to Dingle

     We start with chickens. Not the kind to which I have become accustomed – i.e. fingers, wings.  These colorful yard pets run free, much like cats and dogs back home, and for some of you, I’m sure you know them quite well. They even try to jump in our car. But without them, I would not have enjoyed those hard boiled wonders with my freshly baked bread this morning.  It’s a childhood memory of clotheslines-ringing necks- boiling kettles that I associate with running wild chickens; I do not like them. Forgive me.
     Maggie, our hostess, was once a Ireland tour guide, and she tells us of the South Pole Inn, located in Annascaul, which is on our way to Dingle. This is the hometown and pub Tom Crean, Antarctic explorer and dog handler on the Shackleford’s Endurance Expedition. Its landmark building hasn’t changed much since the 1950s; along the walls are photos and memorabilia of its native son. Opened as the South Pole Inn in the early 1920s by Crean and his wife Ellen, it is a simple blue two-story pub which sits beside the road. It’s a stop we must make.
     Our drive reminds us of home, rolling through the Chattahoochee Forest in Georgia. Lush greens, mountains meeting the (surprisingly) blue skies. However, we’re tooling along the country roads in Killarney National Park (UNESCO site) in County Kerry, a place that might not have been such a popular destination if it had not been for Queen Victoria. Her story, later. These mountains sweep down, touching the lakes of Killarney, an impressive 26,000 acres in all. As we meander through the mountains, now and then, hikers are seen, crossing roads, finding new trails, groups of likely best friends bundled in layers on their way to discovery. At some point in their journey, they will end up where we are headed, the central point in this park: Muckross House and Gardens.
     Muckross House is a 19th century mansion who once upon a time had a very important visitor, Queen Victoria. Henry Arthur Herbert and his wife Mary Balfour Herbert finished the home in 1843. Then in the 1850s, when Queen Victoria agreed to a two-night stay in their home, there was nothing that was too good for the Herberts (or their home).  By the Queen’s visit in 1861, the budget had exploded, and the Herberts found themselves in financial ruin, thus losing the home. It was purchased by Lord and Lady Ardilaun who created gardens and the estate blossomed. Upon her death in 1932, the land and house was donated to the state in her memory.
     We spend the afternoon in Muckross House with hikers and as luck would find it, in the dry from a rain-soaked afternoon. During the winter, the farm is closed, but the tours continue through the home. Authentic pieces still remain, preserved with intense care. We see where Queen Victoria slept; she was given Mary Herbert’s room on the ground floor because she was intensely afraid of fire. The tour is 9 euros, well worth the cost to hear and view (no photography inside) history in its actual setting.
     It’s mid-afternoon, and we have a pub to reach. We’re in Annascaul, and if we hadn’t been looking, the South Pole Inn would have faded in with the other buildings. Len and I open the door and meet eyes. To the right, a blazing fireplace with a mantle stacked with books; in front, the bar keep. The walls are covered with posters, prints and paintings of Tom Crean. There are about a dozen people, all sitting at their own little table in clusters or at the bar, singularly enjoying a pint. As we enter, their conversation drops and their eyes focus on us. We freeze for just a moment, then look around, find two empty spots, and take off our coats. Conversation immediately picks up again about the latest Blindside episode. It feels more like a friend’s living room rather than the neighborhood watering hole. They immediately include us in their conversations, and we wonder what took us so long to find them.
     It is St. Brigid’s Day (celebrating the arrival of warmer and longer days), February 1, and John (originally from London) and his wife are selling St. Brigid’s crosses made of thatch reeds. We offer him five euros; his grin reaches across his face. “I finally sold one,” he shouts to his wife. "Another pint," he shouts to the bar keep, and they all break out in laughter. A pint of Guinness with our new friends and we’re off to Dingle.
     As we make our way to Dingle along the Dingle Peninsula, the views are breathtaking. The squared off plots of green grass, exactly as we have seen in our imaginations. The green, just as vibrant. The rock walls, just as solid and jagged. Before we reach Dingle, we turn left as we follow the signs to Minard Castle which is located on the water’s edge, its ruins overlooking the sea.  It’s our first real look at the rugged cliffs of the coastline, majestic and powerful, especially at sunset.
     In Dingle, Bambury’s Guesthouse is new and modern and a welcome sight upon entering town.  Bernie welcomes us and we check into Room 10, upstairs.  We quickly drop our bags and head into the downtown/marina district. It’s a very cold and raw night, so rather than walking (which is very possible), we get in our coot coupe and drive the few kilometers in.
     Our friend at the South Pole Inn recommended John Benny’s Pub for dinner in Dingle. “For sure, John Benny’s,” he said when we asked for his pub of choice with good bar food. Tonight we dine with Yvonne at John Benny’s. We have the pub to ourselves, and she seats us beside the warm coal fireplace. We feast on Shepherd’s Pie, followed by Warm Apple Cake. At the end of the evening, we notice the walls filled with dollar bills, blackened with names and cities visitors call home. A reminder of Key West's Captain Tony's Saloon. We left our dollar there; we must leave our dollar here. Two Coots. Upon taking it to put tape on the back, Yvonne thinks she sees Two Fools. She breaks out in laughter, and we quickly correct. "No, we're just two coots, but on any given day, we might be fools." Len places our dollar in a strategic spot, and we both touch it in its resting place, hoping for its luck through the rest of our journey.
   Yes, we are again, two happy coots.

Day 4 | Dingle to Doolin

     There are two things you must do while in Dingle, says Bennie our host at Bambury’s Guesthouse. She knows that we’re passing through rather quickly and points us toward Dingle gold. First, the loop around the Dingle Peninsula, and second, the road that will eventually take us toward in our northerly direction of Tarbert, Connor Pass. We have heard magnificent words about Dingle from many of our travel colleagues, so we’re expecting breathtaking views and a true taste of rural Ireland. National Geographic once concluded that it’s “the most beautiful place on earth.” We find out that we are not disappointed.
     Once again, we move down Strand Street (its main thoroughfare) along the marina front, with its row of multi-colored businesses standing as the inland’s shelter from the sea. The loop will take us to Slea Head along the Wild Atlantic Way, the western most point of the peninsula. Along the road, we stop for photographs, even through a bout of blasting hail, we grab a few shots. But wait  - just five minutes longer, there is sun and a rainbow. The small winding road flanked by stone fences lead us onward. At about 8.6 km from Dingle, we see Paddy O’Shea’s pub, winner of eight all-Ireland football titles for Kerry; he has retired to the pub life. Further along, there are Raths, circular mounds which basically look like elevated hedge; locally called “fairy forts” for they believed that fairies inhabited. Although we can't get close, we wave their spirits in our direction. Further along, there are stone igloos, clustered together, looking like bee-hive huts. In the distance behind the reeds, the home used in Far and Away.
     Another 10 km, the crucifix at the point of a sharp curve tells us we have reached Slea Head (Ceann Sleibhe). In the distance, the Blasket Islands. From this point, you can see the ruins on Blasket of a few homes where people once lived. Today, no one is there save the few tourists that take the ferry to see what life was one like there. Back on Slea Head, patches of land move up the hillside while sheep roam the steep pastures. Before us is the village of Dunquin with a few homes, many abandoned. Again, Hollywood’s pulse is here; Ryan’s Daughter. Truly, one of the more spectacular views of our journey. In the watery distance, we see the Sleeping Giant just off the coast.

The cold is pounding against our core, so it’s time for a break. During the winter, many shops/museums/cafes are closed. In Ballferriter (Baile an Fheirtearaigh), we find respite. At the gallery of Louis Mulcahy Pottery, we discover beautiful Irish pottery and a warm café. I know when I return home, I will revisit this potter. 
     We are rejuvenated with lattes and brownies. Moving on along the peninsula, our next step is Gallarus Oratory, built 1,300 years ago as an early-Christian church. During the high tourist season, you’ll pay 3 euros to park, plus you’ll be competing with tour buses. Today, there is no one here to take our money; our visit is free.
     Shaped like an upturn boat, the stone-structure remains waterproof. A simple arched window provides little sunlight to the wall where the altar would have stood. Only about 10 people could fit in its small area. Your imagination works overtime, wondering about the men who stood in this tiny space. What were their words? How did they worship? How did they know to do this?
     Moving forward along the road, we find the ruined church of Kilmalkedar (Cill Mhaoilcheadair). It was the Norman center of worship for this end of the peninsula. The Irish Romanesque church is surrounded by a dense graveyard.
     As nighttime is approaching (darkness rolls in by 4:30 each afternoon), we head back to Dingle. It’s time for sweater shopping, and we find two beauties at the Dingle Woolen Company. Next, we cross Connor Pass (over a series of mountain ranges) which offers us mountain views, sharp turns and one-lane roads that will take your breath away. Just the thought of meeting tour buses here (a given during high tourist season) leaves chill bumps. Luckily, Len is mastering the driving part of this adventure. I simply sit in the passenger side and gasp, a natural reflex when I come within inches of a cliff or stone walls.
     Avoiding an additional 80-miles, we head toward Tarbert, catch the 20-minute Shannon Ferry, and head toward Doolin in County Clare. We are praying for good weather tomorrow, at least low winds, in order to see the Cliffs of Moher. Those we have met in the last couple of days have told us of its closing; we have fingers crossed. In the dark, we find Doolin, a city which rises out of the darkness and assuredly, has profited from the hikers and visitors to the Cliffs. We check in at the Hotel Doolin, aggressively in the midst of renovations. Exhausted, we ask our usual question, “Where’s the best pub in town? We want bar food.” “McGanns,” without a pause. “They have live music tonight.” We erupt into our happy dance.

We and other Americans from Boston and Milwaukee invade McGann’s Pub, filling up the intimate room. The fireplace is glowing and the jonquils on the dark wooden tables allow us to forget the bone-chilling cold just on the other side of the door. After my fish and chips and Len’s beef stew, we settle in for music. At 9:30, two men and a woman stroll in, asking about sound, moving the table beside us to their liking and begin taking out their instruments. A violin. Irish Bagpipes. A bouzouki. The sound check is intriguing; the show, pure Irish.
     We remain for one set for that’s all our bodies would allow. Between songs, the three carry on their own conversation, totally oblivious to those of us who can not take our eyes of them. A hearty “f***ing day” was deciphered quite frequently in that thick Irish brogue.  Friars Green with Blackie O’Connell and Cyril O’Donoghue. A souvenir purchase which will turn to traveling music tomorrow.
     It’s lights out at Hotel Doolin.

Day 5 | From Doolin to Westport

     Another Full Irish Breakfast to begin the day. We anticipate the cold, so we eat heartily. At check out, we even score a gift of a half-loaf of Irish bread. Again, the happy dance.
     We load the coot coupe and get our first look of Doolin in the daylight. A lovely seaside town hugging the coastline. Into the CD player, Friars Green. You can’t tour Ireland without its very own soundtrack.

     Our first stop, the Cliffs of Moher. Parking (which includes admission) is 6 euros per person. Visit the Visitor’s Center for history as well as do-dads rich in Cliffs history. We opt to stop afterwards, for there’s a small window of time which promises sunlight.
     From this point, it’s 200 yards to the cliff edge. You will see a Liscannor slate edge, added due to too many adventure seekers becoming fatal statistics. Once you experience the wind gusts, you’ll understand their necessity. Even today when gusts are minimal, I hang onto Len tightly. At the highest point of the Cliffs is O’Brien’s Tower, built in 1835. The cost is 2 euros each to climb to the top, definitely not worth the price. The view doesn’t change.
     At one point, an entrance to the Cliffs of Moher Coastal Walking Trail which links the villages of Liscannor and Doolin. You’ll capture views of Hags Head, the Cliffs of Moher, Aill na Searrach, the Aran Islands and the Galway Bay. The path (app. 3 miles) is protected while at the Visitor Center but suddenly changes to a remote, challenging and demanding trail offering no barriers, handrails or fencing. The warning to all those who enter is clearly marked. Being curious, Len hiked about 600 yards to the next point and returned with a new respect for Mother Nature.
     Grateful for visit to the Cliffs of Moher, we continue through The Burren (Burren National Park). It’s literal translation, “the rocky place.” This area is a 10-square mile limestone plateau that provides no water, sparse vegetation and is a very protected site. This unique ecosystem has flora that managed to adapt since the last Ice Age, 10,000 years ago.  Driving through, there are many ancient artifacts and a stark reminder of the harsh life for the people in Ireland. We pass Lemaneh Castle, a shell of a fortified house; Caherconnell Ring Fort, one of many low stone areas; the Poulnabrone Dolmen, a portal tomb surviving for nearly 7,000 years. This is quite decisively the most desolate and unforgiving landscape we have seen. Very other-worldly. Cows graze precariously over the limestone. We stand next to this man-made tomb where remains were found that can be dated back to 4,900 BC - surreal. As you walk away from the tomb, you get a haunting feeling of how the chasm of time is so deep – they were people walking and living here millennia ago, right where I am standing now. It’s hard to wrap your mind around that much time.  
     We’re covering more ground today, so it means we will miss some of our planned stops. We must skirt through Galway, a very modern city and head north. We also miss Connemara in County Mayo, where the most visual remains of the potato famine still exist. We’re heading toward Westport and the Clew Bay Hotel.

Day 6 | Westport to Donegal

   Our first order of business, to meet our new friend, Roie.
      During our planning, we discovered a lighthouse, not just on the coast, but on an island in the sea. Clare Island Lighthouse. Located off Ireland’s west coast, it sits in the midst of Clew Bay. It has seven rooms for rent; anyone that is available (no matter the view or price) will do, we agreed. We inquired, but much to our dismay, it, like many other accommodations throughout Ireland, is closed for the winter. Roie, the owner, could tell our hearts were broken, so she did the next best thing; she invited us to her house.
      Long story, short, our arrival was bad timing for her, so in the midst of her busy schedule, she met us at our hotel for tea. She lives in Murrisk, at the foot of Croagh Patrick on the mainland, and ferries from Westport to her property on Clare Island. Her last time to Clare Island to check on the lighthouse – a few weeks back – met with storm force winds; however the lighthouse was intact. Since there are friends that call the island home, she met with some 20 island women celebrating Nollaig an Mban (Women’s Christmas), an old Irish custom where women take the day off and celebrate together after all their hard work at making Christmas perfect for everyone else. I’m beginning to like how the Irish women think.
     We have a splendid conversation over tea and biscuits. She tell of her plans to open an additional property in Westport, and another in Dublin. She is creating more escapes for the Irish and English who seem to be the majority of travelers. A few Americans, she says; I am determined to change that.
     Westport is a city that requires more time; however, we’re on a schedule. We detour to the two most famous historical sites; Crough Patrick and the Great Famine Memorial or The Coffin Ship. We miss Ashford Castle, Connemara and the Aran Islands that lie to the west of us; next time, we promise.
      Heading toward the marina in Westport, we see Crough Patrick (Cruach Phadraig). One of the most sacred destinations in Ireland, this holy mountain’s summit is where St. Patrick fasted for forty days in 441 AD. Pilgrims have flocked to climb the mountain (locals call it The Reek because of its conical shape), to honor their saint. At the top (a 4-mile rugged hike roundtrip), a modern chapel where mass is celebrated and confessions heard; at its base, a statue of St. Patrick erected in 1928 that looks out onto Clew Bay. Today, we hear songs and Hail Mary’s from a group of young people in the parking area. They are preparing for their pilgrimage to the mountaintop.
     Across the street is Ireland’s monument to those who died en-route from Ireland to what they hoped would be life without hunger and famine. When the Irish tell you of their homeland, they always speak of two numbers: pre-and-post famine. A million died; two million fled.The sculpture is of a ship – a coffin ship – whose boards and sails are actually skeleton bodies, of refugees hoping that the ship would take them to a new life in The New World. The overcrowded ships in the 1840s, however, became coffins. The silence is ominous. From the mountaintop to the depths of despair.
     Near the bay, there’s Murrish Abbey, the ruins of a friary dating back to the 16th century.
     We say goodbye to this part of Ireland, heading north toward County Donegal and Donegal Town. Our daughter and her family are waiting, and there are babies to hug. We spend two days in Donegal, and then head south toward Dublin for our flight home. First, our curiosity points us toward the Guinness Storehouse in downtown Dublin; it’s a definite tourist stop, full of all the tourist trappings made undeniably attractive by the pint at the end of the tour. Save the 20 euros (for there’s little authentic history here) and visit a quaint pub full of music, laughter, and yes, a pint.