The application of logic to one’s life is really only a guideline. The longer I go on with this toy-garnering race, the more I believe that logic should be looked upon more as the exception rather than the rule. Especially once you step outside the borders belonging to your own passport (or driver’s license, as the case may be).
Example: if I sit down in a restaurant and am handed a menu, my logic says that I can expect to be served something resembling whatever the waitress has scrawled in her notepad. I’m not saying that this line of thinking is right- or the only acceptable way that one can experience a lunch- it’s just kinda my norm these days. So you can understand my relative amazement when five minutes after the order is taken, another server comes out to inform us that they are closing in ten minutes, and they have already sent their cook home. No kidding.
Our table: “But you gave us menus and we ordered.”
Server: “That wasn’t me. I didn’t give you menus.”
Our table: “We mean you, as in the restaurant. Why give us menus and take our order if you aren’t going to serve us?”
Server: “The chef left already. Today is a holiday.”
Our table: “We only ordered sandwiches- and you’re a bakery!”
Server: “We have no one here than can make sandwiches.”
Our table: “You mean no one else among the many staff inside knows how to make a sandwich?”
Server: “No.”
I’m trying to restrain myself from using the word “obtuse” when describing how this local’s sense of logic measured up against our own. Really.
And many people who grew up beyond these loric borders will take this experience and determine that this aggression will not stand, man. They’ll go off and continue the good fight in an effort to promote their own sense of logic- a valiant task really, especially when the overall objective is promoting order in an otherwise chaotic society. Me, I’m kind of at the stage where I choose to let it be and rather file the whole experience away in my brain under the heading “Amusing”.
So now, where were we?
Ah yes, back to the land of green and easier to understand logics with my intrepid older sister.
It’s a beautiful sunrise in Kinsale as we wake up, hit the gym and then head out in the morning for a four-hour journey to the Dingle Peninsula. We’re bound for the southwestern fingers of this country.
Certain areas in Ireland are known as Gaeltacht regions, or areas where Irish is still spoken on a daily basis. Sure, Irish (or the form of Gaelic spoken in this country) is a compulsory school subject for all students in the Republic, but in places like Dingle- you’ll see the language and hear it widely spoken.
We get to Dingle town, and our bed and breakfast. It was advertised as being located on the bay with uninterrupted views. What we didn’t count on was the fact that gale force winds become even more gale force when you’re on the bay. This weather is awesome! And it only took Rory a few mighty pushes of the driver’s side door to get out of the car. Buffeted by the wind, indeed.
Like I said, everything here is written in Irish. Or Chinese, I guess. Those brothers are everywhere! Kinda like all the obnoxious Yanks heading back to the Old Country in search of their roots.
After our late afternoon arrival in Dingle, the Irish version of a nor’easter does not lend itself to taking in the many enjoyable outdoor activities. Howling winds and driving rain send us out for the best seafood chowder on the planet (it’s located at The Half Door restaurant, by the way) before heading back to our digs for a good night’s sleep by the sea.
Since visibility was crap on the day of our arrival, we are happy to awaken and find Slea Head exposed. We’re set to head north by northeast today, but before doing so we head on out for a drive around the Head to see take in some of the scenery.
The roads are narrow, but I’m pretty certain that we have already covered this fact. My minor car accident was yesterday.
It’s beautiful out here, and with hairpin turns serving as the rule rather than the exception, I’d say that it might be logical to drink something to calm your nerves when riding shotgun.
Atheists? Foxholes? Questionable areas that spawn questionable roads? Are there any whiskey offerings up for grabs at the bottom of this shrine?
We don’t speak Irish, but it doesn’t take long to figure out what this means. Slea head is beautiful, but we decide that our odds of living will increase exponentially if we only take a partial tour of the perimeter. Time to figure out a detour eastward.
These signs aren’t helpful! They’re all in Irish! Can’t we at least get some pictures on the signage?
Eee. Nevermind. Let’s turn around and go back to the Irish language signs…
We do manage a few pull-off spots to take in some of the breathtaking skelligs. Even in this lousy weather, the area has a roughness that helps you to understand why Ireland’s called a terrible beauty.
It’s a bit windy, but well worth the white knuckled-journey.
Back on the big roads, we get off of Dingle Peninsula and make our way up the coast. You know what I appreciate about Ireland? In many instances, they recognize that they do things a bit differently, so they implement measures (or in this case, helpful placards) to alert you of the fact that you won’t be getting lunch with your menu.
It’s simply a manner of skirting the broad and majestic Shannon before we can cross over and head for Galway. But first, we are hungry after all our cliffside navigating. Time for a stop.
Ahh Limerick, you are often overlooked thanks to the likes of Frank McCourt. Actually, it’s kinda nice that this isn’t a huge tourist destination. We had a great time walking around, finding lunch, and observing this most ingenious manner of No Parking cones. Irish people, I recognize and applaud your logic here.
In the next update, this drink will be earned and a pint glass will be swiped. And yes, in my eyes, both of these make perfect sense and should be expected.