Right, didn't blog yesterday because of the awful hostel we stayed the night at charging €2.50 for half an hour of internet usage.
Anyhoo, it's not too much of a problem eh? (mutter: and not that much happened over yesterday and today anyway)
Chronological order then:
Sunday December 14: Morning begun after sleeping for some 12 hours or so. (Don't look at me like that. [indignation] the sun sets early!)
Right, so usual morning routine; freshening up, shower, huge breakfast with smoked salmon, frozen fish fillets, toast, jam, sausages, and tea. Blahblahblah. The humongous breakfast not requiring enough time, the decision is made to cycle to the cliffs of Moher again. Well, the route we take is slightly shorter and more scenic, but uphill most of the way anyway (well, that's probably because they're cliffs. And 800 feet high) So, more uphill cycling later, and we come to the gorgeous cliffs. On a day with marginally better weather (read, more sunlight, less clouds). There is a spot from near the cliffs which overlooks the bay and the village on the shore, and yesterday, the sun was hanging right over the bay, (like that Shakespearean golden eye) and the bay itself, wow. A pool of golden, blinding but still alluring light. A pool of molten gold the size of rather a few golf courses. The description is hardly adequate, but the lighting made it impossible to get a goof photograph. Enough said then, that I literally said "wow" when I saw it.
We didn't actually spend that long at the cliffs. The weather was pleasant, the view good, but we were short on time, and, well, we were after all, there, just, the day before. Excessive and unnecessary comma usage behind us now, (I truly and sincerely believe that's how street trash Americans sounds like, except, that, like, they add, like, the word "like" almost every, like, three words as well) Excessive and unnecessary tirade aside, we now continue with our regularly scheduled programming. That is, blogging about the nice, uneventful, not-tiring, altogether enjoyable bicycle ride down the hills back towards Doolin to return the bikes.
Remember that other post when I mentioned the jinx on transport except bicycles? Does a tyre puncture count as accursed bad luck? At least it occur ed on the second day. And near Doolin. At the top of the hills back towards Doolin. And that my brother can be nice sometimes.
As for the rest of yesterday, it isn't worth much mention. Two hour bus rides where an Irish couple can play the hand-slapping game for at least a half hour straight (probably more than that) aren't worth mention, yes?
Oh, sorry about that. There was something else yesterday that is worth mention. The ferry trip to the Aran Islands (more specifically, Inis Mór, the largest of the islands) conjured such beautiful words to my mind. I do hope you'll agree with me. Because that ferry trip across 9 miles of Atlantic ocean after sundown, with windows the colour of tar (excuse me for forgoing the more common simile of black pitch), was akin to a mother's gentle cradle, rocking in a faintly circular motion, a comfort from the terrors of the dark outside. A soothing motion, not quite regular, but comforting all the same. Until the Big One comes. Up, up, up it goes, and the slightest hint of inertia tugging you into the seat, but before it happens it's down, down, down, and the weightlessness comes, seemingly for ever, but then it's over almost before it begins. And, far from being discomforting, it brings an anticipation for the adventure of the next. For what wave and what wind can terrify, if the worst has already come and gone? Soon, the swells and the valleys mean nothing at all, and every one, big or small, fades into just one more rock of the cradle, until, all that is left is the gentle oblivion of a slumber bred of exhaustion.
We planned on walking the mile to the hostel, but were fortunate enough to hitch-hike half the distance there. Thank you friendly Irish lady and husband! Considering the already considerable length of this post, I'll blog about the terrible hostel in the next post. Which would be centered on today's events. Which I'll begin writing in about 30 seconds time. Which I'm separating from this post for ease of reading and continuity's sake. Yep, this is all for this post. So, that's it then. Goodbye. See ya. Bye. Yes, really. Bye.
Anyhoo, it's not too much of a problem eh? (mutter: and not that much happened over yesterday and today anyway)
Chronological order then:
Sunday December 14: Morning begun after sleeping for some 12 hours or so. (Don't look at me like that. [indignation] the sun sets early!)
Right, so usual morning routine; freshening up, shower, huge breakfast with smoked salmon, frozen fish fillets, toast, jam, sausages, and tea. Blahblahblah. The humongous breakfast not requiring enough time, the decision is made to cycle to the cliffs of Moher again. Well, the route we take is slightly shorter and more scenic, but uphill most of the way anyway (well, that's probably because they're cliffs. And 800 feet high) So, more uphill cycling later, and we come to the gorgeous cliffs. On a day with marginally better weather (read, more sunlight, less clouds). There is a spot from near the cliffs which overlooks the bay and the village on the shore, and yesterday, the sun was hanging right over the bay, (like that Shakespearean golden eye) and the bay itself, wow. A pool of golden, blinding but still alluring light. A pool of molten gold the size of rather a few golf courses. The description is hardly adequate, but the lighting made it impossible to get a goof photograph. Enough said then, that I literally said "wow" when I saw it.
We didn't actually spend that long at the cliffs. The weather was pleasant, the view good, but we were short on time, and, well, we were after all, there, just, the day before. Excessive and unnecessary comma usage behind us now, (I truly and sincerely believe that's how street trash Americans sounds like, except, that, like, they add, like, the word "like" almost every, like, three words as well) Excessive and unnecessary tirade aside, we now continue with our regularly scheduled programming. That is, blogging about the nice, uneventful, not-tiring, altogether enjoyable bicycle ride down the hills back towards Doolin to return the bikes.
Remember that other post when I mentioned the jinx on transport except bicycles? Does a tyre puncture count as accursed bad luck? At least it occur ed on the second day. And near Doolin. At the top of the hills back towards Doolin. And that my brother can be nice sometimes.
As for the rest of yesterday, it isn't worth much mention. Two hour bus rides where an Irish couple can play the hand-slapping game for at least a half hour straight (probably more than that) aren't worth mention, yes?
Oh, sorry about that. There was something else yesterday that is worth mention. The ferry trip to the Aran Islands (more specifically, Inis Mór, the largest of the islands) conjured such beautiful words to my mind. I do hope you'll agree with me. Because that ferry trip across 9 miles of Atlantic ocean after sundown, with windows the colour of tar (excuse me for forgoing the more common simile of black pitch), was akin to a mother's gentle cradle, rocking in a faintly circular motion, a comfort from the terrors of the dark outside. A soothing motion, not quite regular, but comforting all the same. Until the Big One comes. Up, up, up it goes, and the slightest hint of inertia tugging you into the seat, but before it happens it's down, down, down, and the weightlessness comes, seemingly for ever, but then it's over almost before it begins. And, far from being discomforting, it brings an anticipation for the adventure of the next. For what wave and what wind can terrify, if the worst has already come and gone? Soon, the swells and the valleys mean nothing at all, and every one, big or small, fades into just one more rock of the cradle, until, all that is left is the gentle oblivion of a slumber bred of exhaustion.
We planned on walking the mile to the hostel, but were fortunate enough to hitch-hike half the distance there. Thank you friendly Irish lady and husband! Considering the already considerable length of this post, I'll blog about the terrible hostel in the next post. Which would be centered on today's events. Which I'll begin writing in about 30 seconds time. Which I'm separating from this post for ease of reading and continuity's sake. Yep, this is all for this post. So, that's it then. Goodbye. See ya. Bye. Yes, really. Bye.
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