Down By The West Coast
The View From Dingle Peninsula
This post was originally published February 2, 2017.
It’s been 20 years, but I’ve finally made it to the West Coast. Well, not the West Coast of America, but the West Coast of Ireland. After spending a few weeks in the city, I was ready to get some fresh air and explore the more rural parts of this beautiful country.
Dingle Peninsula is crawling with sheep. I communicated with some in their native tongue and others offered to model for me as I snapped photographs on my hike. I assume they are used to tourists paying them so much attention and have taken up the roles of celebrities. They get away with a lot it would seem. After all, I did pass a herd of them standing in the middle of a road, not caring one bit that they were blocking traffic. But beyond the self-possessed sheep are stunning views of snow-peaked mountains and rolling pastures that were formed by glaciers melting after the second ice age. Despite a chilly past, the gulf stream current that comes up by Ireland creates a pseudo tropical environment. It didn’t feel like the Bahamas to me, but that didn’t stop some palm trees from growing in a local’s front yard.
Past the coastline are the Skellig Islands that were once used by Catholic monks as religious sanctuaries. The monks lived in stone, beehive-shaped huts and descended 670 steps every morning to fish for breakfast. I could not see any of the huts from the inland, but I did learn that the larger of the two islands was the location for filming the last scene in Star Wars: The Force Awakens. The next Star Wars movie will have some scenes set further down the Dingle Peninsula.
Before leaving Dingle, I tried some of Murphy’s ice cream, which is famous for its handmade flavors. Though a bit skeptical, I tried their bread flavored ice cream and their handmade sea salt ice cream, which I loved enough to get a scoop of with some creamy caramel. It’s true that nothing is quite as good as the milk from a Kerry cow.
On a separate day, I set off for more sheer cliffs and rolling hills, starting with the Cliffs of Moher. The true nature of the Cliffs is indescribable by any word and uncapturable by any photograph. I spent an hour and a half there, running across the muddy paths and scaling the walls in completely inappropriate footwear, doing my best to take in as much as possible. I shouldn’t have run. I should have just stood in the same place for the whole hour and a half, and maybe that would have been long enough to appreciate that single frame of space. To just stand there and take in the sun reflecting off the water, the rainbow that formed in the late morning dew, and the colors in the ocean that had me itching to pick up a Crayola set just so I could find the right match. For a moment, I imagined myself looking out at the Atlantic Ocean from my beaches back home, and I could imagine my past self, locking eyes with the person I am today.
The final place I stopped is called the Burren. The land is sparse and like a giant piece of pumice that’s been weathered down by the ocean’s waves. The rock is actually limestone that formed hundreds of millions of years ago in an ancient sea. I didn’t learn until later that the ground is rich with fossils of corals and ammonites. The edge of the Burren forms a quick drop off into the ocean and is named the Baby Cliffs. Though much smaller than the Cliffs of Moher, I was content to keep my distance from the edge. Instead, I found a lonely looking rock and made it my perch until it was time to board the bus and head back home.