This was our last full day in Ennis before heading toward Kinsale at the southern tip of Ireland. We headed out in the morning for another hike in the Burren, an idea suggested by Alida, and a welcome one for the prospect of actual exercise more aerobic than lifting a glass with ice and drink. This morning I had felt my first hangover in about a decade, took Excedrin, ate breakfast very slowly, and began to feel human.
We drove in less than an hour to the coast near Fanmore. Because I had tried to plan things—never a good idea in Ireland, as things turn out better when they simply unfold—I chose a trail that followed a road for most of its length. We would have been better off just stopping near the ocean and rambling about on this treeless limestone. The sea is your guide and you don't need a trail if you keep it in your sights. Eventually we abandoned the "trail" and veered off the road and ducked around a cattle gate and ultimately just went cross-country willy-nilly up a hill whose top receded endlessly. We found a cairn—it signaled that we might as well stop here— and sat over the view a spell and ate a tangerine.
Hoodoo you think you're fooling
The trail closely resembles a road. Or is it that the roads closely resemble trails?
Joe and Alida went on to their next destination, Newgrange, and we went back to Ennis town. Here are a few pictures, though nothing much. Even the whipping-out of cameras has fallen to a low level.
There comes a time in a vacation where you do revert to just living your life. The thoughts turn inward, and one seeks less stimulation and knowledge and retention.
An alleyway with impressive stone walls
Dave, didn't you use to work here? (Steve's brother worked at Veritas in Silicon Valley)
We had a nice dinner and a post-prandial stroll and photographed our favorite hands sculpture outside the Catholic church, and then went home to bed.
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