Since Thursday I've been staying in Dingle, a town in County Kerry on the westernmost tip of Ireland, where they famously love to say "Next Parish: Boston!" The town of Dingle is a fishing community that has 1,500 residents (closer to 5,000 when you count the sheep), about two dozen pubs, and is one of the few remaining Gaeltachts in Ireland, all-Gaelic speaking regions. Here, I've decided, is where good Irish people go when they die. It's not particularly easy to get to: from Dublin I took a train to Mallow, switched to another train which took me to Tralee, and from there took a bus out to Dingle. About a six hour trip altogether; but if I'd had to walk the Iditarod trail in my bare feet in December to get to Dingle, it would have been worth it.
The bus that picked me up in Tralee was a national rail service bus, operating on a normal schedule with a ticket window and everything very official. But after about ten minutes, we stopped, just outside of town, in front of a high school where a gaggle of adolescents dressed in blue blazers and plaid skirts hopped on board. They were students at the all-Gaelic prep school in Tralee, but residents of towns all along the Dingle peninsula, where instead of having a school bus to come pick them up from school their parents simply arrange for them to have regular passes on the Bus Eireann. With these kids on board, the trip took a little longer than I think it ordinarily would have, but I thoroughly enjoyed having them in the back of the bus, teasing each other, throwing paper airplanes, and telling off-color jokes, half in English and half in Gaelic. The driver would stop every couple of miles, and a handful of students would jump off and begin walking down narrow country lanes, with fenced-in sheep pastures on each side, or up the driveway to a little Irish cottage, again flanked with sheep, with two shiny Mercedes sitting out front (the Celtic Tiger, you know). The views alone were spectacular: the Dingle peninsula is a long finger that juts out into the Atlantic, with green mountains stretching all the way down the middle, so that the drive down to Dingle is along steep mountain roads overlooking sparkling blue ocean, and below, lots and lots of sheep. (Perhaps you're sensing a theme, here?)
Western Ireland is the most friendly, happy, peaceful place I have ever been. I don't even think I could explain what's so wonderful about it, because it just feels so perfect and so right. It doesn't hurt, I suppose, to be a redheaded girl named Moira Sullivan traveling in Ireland -- I love the way people here react when I tell them my name. Sometimes it's disbelief, like in this conversation I had at Moriarty's Tavern:
"What's your name?"
"It's Moira."
"Moira? Your name's Moira? No... you're shitting me, right? Did you just make that up so you'd sound more Irish?"
"No, it's really Moira."
"All right then, what's your surname?"
"Sullivan."
"Oh shit... well o' course it's Sullivan, then, isn't it? Are you just puttin' on that American accent then?"
But usually, when someone here learns my name, the expression of friendly welcome that was on their face melts into a soft, happy familial gaze, like a grandmother looking at her granddaughter who she hasn't seen in a very, very long time. When I arrived at the Murphy's Bed and Breakfast, where I had arranged to be staying, Mr. Murphy greeted me with a smile and a cheer. "Marnin' Miss Moira! Come to stay with us three nights, now have ya? That's good, that's good!" And Mrs. Murphy, when she saw me, came and gave me a big hug, then put her hands on my shoulders, stepped back, and said "Come now, let me have a look at ya!"
It's like that everywhere. I'm not sure I have ever felt more welcome, or more in place, anywhere in the world. It's like discovering a family, and a home, I never knew I had.
On Friday I decided to rent a bicycle and take a tour of the Dingle peninsula on the famed Slea Head Drive, which hugs the mountains and curves around the coast, affording beautiful views of the ocean and the rocky Irish cliffs. I've rented bicycles before, while on vacation, and normally it costs about twenty dollars per hour, with a 200 or 300 dollar deposit. But at Paddy's Bike Shop in Dingle, I was equipped with a bike and a helmet for the whole day for just €10. Before I headed out, Paddy gave me two pieces of advice: "Remember to keep to the left side o' the road, now, and always yield to them sheep -- it's them that's got the right o' way, you know." Keeping this in mind, I took off down the coast on a voyage of discovery.
The Slea Head Drive is a twenty-five mile ride, most of which is right along the coast with mountainous cliffs on either side. All along the way there are old Celtic settlements, some of which are 2,500 years old or older, ring forts and stone houses, incredible structures that have
stood the test of time for two or three millennia. The weather was absolutely perfect; whatever you've heard about the weather in Ireland, it's absolutely a lie. Since I've been here it's been 65 degrees, with bright, warm sunshine and light ocean breezes. Out here in Dingle there are even palm trees, because the Gulf Stream air that warms this coast makes it perfectly habitable for tropic flora. I think this must be the world's best kept secret -- these sneaky Irish just don't want anyone to come and spoil their fun, so they've spread the rumor that it's rainy and stormy all the time. Who besides the crazy Irish would want to live in those circumstances? This is part of the same Viking trickery that gave Iceland it's name so that no one would bother invading their little island paradise. I actually think it's more likely that the Vikings tried that first with Ireland, except that the name got mistranslated and it didn't work as well for keeping out visitors. Nevertheless, it's gorgeous here. It's like California, except the people are pleasant and there's no pollution.
stood the test of time for two or three millennia. The weather was absolutely perfect; whatever you've heard about the weather in Ireland, it's absolutely a lie. Since I've been here it's been 65 degrees, with bright, warm sunshine and light ocean breezes. Out here in Dingle there are even palm trees, because the Gulf Stream air that warms this coast makes it perfectly habitable for tropic flora. I think this must be the world's best kept secret -- these sneaky Irish just don't want anyone to come and spoil their fun, so they've spread the rumor that it's rainy and stormy all the time. Who besides the crazy Irish would want to live in those circumstances? This is part of the same Viking trickery that gave Iceland it's name so that no one would bother invading their little island paradise. I actually think it's more likely that the Vikings tried that first with Ireland, except that the name got mistranslated and it didn't work as well for keeping out visitors. Nevertheless, it's gorgeous here. It's like California, except the people are pleasant and there's no pollution. Riding along the peninsula by bike was a spectacular way to see this most beautiful corner of the world. They don't call it the Emerald Isle for nothing -- wherever the mountains gave way to wide open spaces, there is nothing but grass. Perfectly well manicured, bright green grass, as though the entire country were one suburban lawn. The sheep are so abundant that they keep the grass trimmed nice and short, and you can see their little furry white outlines dotting the hillsides everywhere. No need for lawn mowers! There are occasional cows, as well, but really, all you see in Ireland are sheep. I'd stop every few miles for a drink of water or a granola bar, and in addition to the quiet lapping of sea water, the only other sound was the distant bleeting of sheep. It's springtime, which means the baby lambs were born only about two weeks ago, and when you pass by a stone-fenced pasture you see ewes lying peacefully in the grass, soaking up the sun, and small groups of baby lambs jumping on top of each other and bleeting playfully. Seriously, I don't think there is a happier place in the world.
Twenty-five miles was a long ride, and with a lunch break in the golf course town of Ballyferriter and a couple of sightseeing trips, it was about four and a half hours, start to finish. A fantastic way to spend the day. When I finally got back to the Murphy's in the late afternoon, I was sore from top to bottom -- but especially bottom. I don't know how I thought I was going to get in a saddle in the morning (indeed, it proved to be quite difficult and painful), but I called it an early night after dinner, took a long, hot soak in the bathtub, and prepared for another gorgeous day in Dingle.
Saturday morning I trudged up the hill to the equestrian center where I began a two hour mountain ride on horseback. It's been nine months since I rode last, and
although I was stiff and sore from my long bike ride, I quickly remembered how comfortable and happy I am when in a saddle (still nervous about Hungary, but hopefully it'll all work out). With a group of five other American tourists, we took our horses up along mountain trails in the small peaks overlooking Dingle harbour, stopped for a picnic lunch, and then rode leisurely back down to the horse camp. It was another gorgeous day, and from the top of the trail we could see all the way out to the end of the peninsula and the sparkling water beyond.
although I was stiff and sore from my long bike ride, I quickly remembered how comfortable and happy I am when in a saddle (still nervous about Hungary, but hopefully it'll all work out). With a group of five other American tourists, we took our horses up along mountain trails in the small peaks overlooking Dingle harbour, stopped for a picnic lunch, and then rode leisurely back down to the horse camp. It was another gorgeous day, and from the top of the trail we could see all the way out to the end of the peninsula and the sparkling water beyond. After returning back to Dingle Town, I decided to take an organized boat trip out into the harbor in order to visit Dingle's most famous resident, Fungi the dolphin, who migrated up to Ireland 25 years ago and decided to make this little bay his home. He certainly looks a little out of place up here in the cold Atlantic, but the fishermen must keep him pretty well fed in order to retain this great tourist attraction. 
It was nice being out on the water, too, and seeing all the little fishing boats coming in with their latest ocean catch, parking in the harbor and unloading their treasure to the restaurant and pub owners standing on the dock with open coolers, just waiting to be filled with the freshest fish possible.
It was nice being out on the water, too, and seeing all the little fishing boats coming in with their latest ocean catch, parking in the harbor and unloading their treasure to the restaurant and pub owners standing on the dock with open coolers, just waiting to be filled with the freshest fish possible.It was sitting in the Irish pub watching this game that I realized, of all the places I was visiting, the place where I most wanted to meet and hang out with locals was Ireland. And yet, since I arrived in Dublin, almost the only people I had really interacted with (besides the Murphys) were other tourists -- from Germany, from Canada, from the States. Everywhere else that I've been, if I just go by myself and sit in a bar or a restaurant, eventually someone, almost always a local, would come over to talk to me or buy me a drink. But not in Ireland. Those Irish boys play hard to get! So I sat and I wondered -- how do you get an Irish boys' attention? All I really wanted was to talk to some Irish people, I didn't care how old they were or whether they were men or women (Irish women don't seem to exist though, I think, or at least I've never seen them). So I looked around the bar for a while, spent the first half of the game scoping it out, and found a fun looking group of Irishmen in their twenties having a grand time on the far side of the bar. I picked the cutest one there (glasses, blue t-shirt, jeans... you get the picture) and had the bartender send him a pint of Guinness from me.
And that, ladies, is how you get an Irishman's attention.
What a neat trick! I've never bought a guy a drink before, but I have to say, the ROI on this gesture is enormous. Not only did I get my drink happily reciprocated, but had free drinks the rest of the night, and mysteriously my dinner was "taken care of" before the bill even came. I was introduced to the rest of his Irish buddies, who were all in Dingle on a stag party (in Ireland, I learned, tradition is that stag parties are always held at least six weeks before the wedding, leaving ample time to recover from all injuries). A couple rounds later I was made an honorary member of the stag party, and accompanied them (actually, I was sort of carried, fireman style) on a pub crawl all through Dingle into the wee hours of the morning. Between the rugby revellers, the happy bachelors and the regular Saturday drunks, Dingle was the party capital of the world that night, and I don't think I've ever had a better night on the town. It was unforgettable.
If I could somehow swing it (and believe me, I'll be trying) I would live in Dingle the rest of my life. The natural beauty is breathtaking and unbelievable, and I always felt that there was so much to do. The people are outrageously friendly (and fun!), the culture is so traditional and old-fashioned, and Ireland has all the things in it that suit me perfectly. Cool winters, warm summers, abundant hot tea (always served with milk!) and oh that Irish cuisine.
What's that? You've never heard of Irish cuisine? Well, let me tell you... you are missing out on something amazing.
Irish food at every meal is explosively rich and flavorful, and I've never gotten up from a table hungry. The pride in the cooking here is as deep as it is in France, but not as obnoxious. When I checked into the Murphy's, Mr. Murphy asked me: "Now tomorrow, will you be havin' the full Irish breakfast or the Continental breakfast?" I replied, "The full breakfast, please." He clarified, "The full Irish breakfast?" "Yes... the full Irish breakfast!" But what a distinction! Bacon, ham, eggs and sausage (protein lovers' delight!) and a grilled tomato, accompanied with hot buttered toast with marmalade, hot tea, and Mrs. Murphy's homemade Irish soda bread. And that's just how the day starts! For lunch there's always fresh seafood, from hot crab au gratin, made with real Irish cheddar, to roasted scallop salads and simple (but incredible) fish and chips. For dinner there's traditional Irish beef, of course (the best steak I've ever had was here in Dingle), and dozens of local dishes prepared with Kerry lamb, like roasted rack of lamb with a traditional blackcurrant sauce (and local Elderberry wine), or lamb stew. My favorite so far, I have to say, is the beef and Guinness stew, served with a colcannon potato (creamed potato puree with brown sugar caramelized onions mixed in -- DELICIOUS). For dessert they'll traditionally serve a crumble, usually with rhubarb but also with strawberries or apples, and they specialize in unique flavors of ice cream. My favorite? The hot toddy sorbet. But the chocolate whiskey cake is a close second. If you didn't think the Irish could cook, you need to come here.
What's that? You've never heard of Irish cuisine? Well, let me tell you... you are missing out on something amazing.
Irish food at every meal is explosively rich and flavorful, and I've never gotten up from a table hungry. The pride in the cooking here is as deep as it is in France, but not as obnoxious. When I checked into the Murphy's, Mr. Murphy asked me: "Now tomorrow, will you be havin' the full Irish breakfast or the Continental breakfast?" I replied, "The full breakfast, please." He clarified, "The full Irish breakfast?" "Yes... the full Irish breakfast!" But what a distinction! Bacon, ham, eggs and sausage (protein lovers' delight!) and a grilled tomato, accompanied with hot buttered toast with marmalade, hot tea, and Mrs. Murphy's homemade Irish soda bread. And that's just how the day starts! For lunch there's always fresh seafood, from hot crab au gratin, made with real Irish cheddar, to roasted scallop salads and simple (but incredible) fish and chips. For dinner there's traditional Irish beef, of course (the best steak I've ever had was here in Dingle), and dozens of local dishes prepared with Kerry lamb, like roasted rack of lamb with a traditional blackcurrant sauce (and local Elderberry wine), or lamb stew. My favorite so far, I have to say, is the beef and Guinness stew, served with a colcannon potato (creamed potato puree with brown sugar caramelized onions mixed in -- DELICIOUS). For dessert they'll traditionally serve a crumble, usually with rhubarb but also with strawberries or apples, and they specialize in unique flavors of ice cream. My favorite? The hot toddy sorbet. But the chocolate whiskey cake is a close second. If you didn't think the Irish could cook, you need to come here.
Coming to Ireland has felt like coming home. The food, the people, the atmosphere, everything feels like it was made to make me happy. Saying my name to someone here feels like uttering the code words for entry into a secret club, where you are immediately treated as family and provided the warmest possible welcome.
Oh, Ireland. I wish I didn't have to leave you. But I hope to God you never leave me.
