What Do’in in Doolin? by Cathy
As directed by our Airbnb host, we picked up the keys to our Doolin cottage from Fred, the neighbor and local musician. The sign on the door said, “Knock loudly, and then be patient.” We knocked. We waited. Patiently, we thought. Then, thinking our knock may not have been loud enough, we knocked again. “Ulrigh, I ‘ear yuh!” we heard from inside. Moments later, the door opened to reveal Ted, a white-haired and bearded, jolly fellow, with one tooth and one leg missing (thus explaining the “be patient” part). He gave us the keys and a hand drawn map of the town with several pubs, one store, and one church marked. He told us which pubs were his favorites – O’Connell’s and McGann’s – which corresponded to where he’d be playing the following nights. We thanked him and told him we were looking forward to seeing him perform.
Our excitement about staying in this 100+ year-old house was briefly dampened when we discovered there was no WiFi.
Mildly panicked, we spent a good hour trying to figure out how to at least get the TV working (so we could watch one of the cottage’s library of DVDs), only to find the DVD player broken. As is often (always?) the case when finding oneself off-the-grid, however, we ended up being thankful. We made ourselves a coal (!!) fire, settled into the couches with some blankets and read our books.
Around pint-o’clock, as we’ve started calling cocktail hour, we drove to the Doolin pier and checked out the weird limestone rock formations, typical of The Burren area around us. The tide was low, so we walked way out and got a great view of the Cliffs of Moher and a few brave surfers, patiently waiting for waves. We even had a brief dolphin sighting, which was very exciting!! There were numberless tide pools between the rocks, which Mick explored happily, especially when he found hermit crabs! From the pier, we went to McGann’s for a pint and a great dinner (“the best” lamb shank ever, Jeff said).
Our first full day in Doolin (which shouldn’t really be called a full day when we don’t get out of the house until noon) we decided to take the short drive to the Cliffs of Moher and see the view from the top. It was sprinkling on the drive, but when we paid our fee and parked the car, it started to pour. It’s a decent walk from the parking lot to the cliffs, so we decided to drive for a while longer, explore the coast a bit and hope for better weather later in the day (ticket good for 2 days). Through intermittent rain we explored several small coastal towns south of the Cliffs, bought a rain jacket for Jeff (left his at home), and circled back to The Cliffs for a second go. Five o’clock and still raining. Only now the rain was being propelled sideways by gusts of very strong wind. Jeff and I said, What’s a little rain? Let’s go for it. Mick flatly said, “No. No way.” Fast forward an hour, we’re back at the car, all of us soaking wet and cold, but most importantly laughing! You can’t go to Ireland and not have at least one good rain story, right? And, our homecooked meal and coal fire at the cottage were all that much more delicious.
The morning of day two – fog. Thick, Stockton-like fog. This made for another late start as neither driving nor sightseeing seemed wise (or appealing). Late morning, the fog lifted a wee (“little” in Irish-speak) bit and we decided to give The Cliffs another try. At the parking lot, fog. The visitor center, fog. The walk along the cliffs, fog. Thankful that we’d at least seen them in the rain (unlike the busloads of extremely dejected tourists milling about) we headed for the car. Just as we were crossing the road to the parking lot, however …. Could that be sun?! With a quick about-face, we retraced our steps again and were rewarded with awe-inspiring cliff views, only wisps of fog remaining.
With continued blue skies, we traveled via Lahinch, Ennistimon and Kilfenora to Caherconnell Stone Fort (or “cashel”), in the heart of The Burren. It’s hard to describe The Burren’s strange landscape, but to me it looks like an enormous, undulating limestone puzzle, each piece separated by deep cracks – some moss-covered, filled with ferns and wildflowers, others sea-washed and filled with sea creatures. Caherconnell is situated on what is now an active ranch, run by its owner. While I find ruins as interesting as the next guy, I have to admit the draw for me was the “sheepdog demonstrations” I’d seen advertised in the pamphlet for the fort in our cottage. When we arrived, we were told that the last demonstration of the day (for a Spanish tour group with a translator) was just about to finish up. We decided to buy tickets anyway (I think Jeff felt sorry for me as I’d been talking about it all day). After the tour group had disbursed, we said hello to the young man doing the demonstration. He introduced himself as Greg and offered to give us another, quick demonstration of the dogs at work, which we all thoroughly enjoyed. (How do they learn all those different whistles?!). Even more enjoyable was talking to Greg afterwards. A good-looking guy in his mid-20s, Greg grew up and went to primary school in The Burren. He then went to boarding school in Limerick and decided to become an electrician rather than going to college (the only member of his family not to do so). With the downturn in the economy in 2008, jobs for electricians were few. So, not really much liking the trade anyway, he accepted a job offer from a farmer/rancher who owned property next to his. That’s how he ended up at Caherconnell, where his job duties are many and varied. Greg has never traveled outside of Ireland – loves being at home he said – and doesn’t really want to. We talked about many things with Greg, from Irish history to politics, to local pubs (a trinity of sorts). He is the second person we’ve met on this trip to compare the election of Donald Trump with the Brexit vote. He and an English businessman we met in Newquay said that the folks who voted for Brexit were voting for change (as were Trump voters), but when that change actually got voted in, they realized that Brexit (Trump) wasn’t really the change they wanted. I think the comparison is valid, but I’ll say no more on that topic!
From Caherconnel we drove a short way up the road to see a cool, Stonehengey-looking burial ruin called Poulnabrone Dolmen, right out in the middle of nowhere (though presumably once somewhere to those buried below).
At the suggestion of our new best buddy, Greg, we stopped in Lisdoonvarna to experience its annual “Matchmaking” festival – nightly dancing and singing through the whole month of September. What we found, at least in the places we checked out, was much more hoe-down than Riverdance and more sexa- and septuagenarians than thirty-somethings – surprising given Greg’s age and marital status.
Mick, who was less than enthused with this particular cultural exploration, talked us into another trip to Doolin Pier to look for hermit crabs, after which we headed over to O’Connor’s Pub for another delicious dinner, a pint, some Irish music, and a couple of lovely (“great” in Irish-speak) songs, sung a cappella, by the cottage’s neighbor, Ted. And, feeling blessed with the luck of the Irish for another day, we returned to our cozy cottage in County Clare.
