Danny, showing us a traditional boat. Read on.
We had a second full day on the Dingle peninsula. I won’t lie, having done the Slea Head Drive the day before I sort of felt like we had taken a good sample of the place. I mean, you could spend a month ANYWHERE and not see the same thing twice if you were willing to dig deep enough, but on a time budget you have to draw lines. Still, I was curious. I had found a website online pretty much by chance for Danny Sheehy – he does no marketing and, in fact, asked me at one point how I had even heard of him to call. When I told him I found him via his site he honestly looked surprised. “Oh, that thing? Forgot I had it.” But I’m getting ahead of myself. I found the site for Danny and got in touch with him – he offers customized walks featuring “[a] poet, a farmer, an author, a fisherman… a man at home on sea or land;” him, in other words. I showed him to Lisa, and she said “sure, what the heck.”
We had a lot of great experiences on our honeymoon, but whenever we’ve been asked what topped our list, we both say “our day with Danny Sheehy.” Continue reading
We failed to take any pictures of the town of Dingle. Here is a classic, beautiful Irish redhead instead. See? Ireland is full of ’em.
As I said yesterday, we left Kinsale in fairly short order and with a twinge of regret. Nevertheless – onward! Our destination is the very popular Dingle peninsula, home to all manner of touristy delights. We arrive in the town of Dingle, where we shall stay for two nights, and check in to the most commercial B&B we’ll see all trip: Heaton’s. This isn’t a bad thing, just noticeable. The dining room is spacious and contains a dozen or so tables, and the place can probably accommodate 50 people or so. Still it is laid out like an overgrown B&B and thus shall I think of it. Lunch that day is at a fairly commercial restaurant with laminated menus and quickly-produced food. Dingle sees a lot of tourist traffic and has the infrastructure to prove it – the quaint seaside town is only found after peeling back a layer of multi-lane roads, parking meters (!!) and, well, laminated menus.
I kid about the food, but it wasn’t actually fast food; it was pretty good and we ate there again the next day. For one thing, they had cold Bulmer’s, a hard cider that my blushing bride had by then developed a fondness for. It is not to be confused with Strongbow, which a tour guide in Dublin would later tell us was “unadulterated piss.” I’m not sure which one leans where, but I got the feeling that even the ciders had fallen into line along the Catholic-Protestant border. Thank God for the Good Friday Agreement.