the Slea Head: Dingle Peninsula.

I awoke in County Clare a new woman: fresh with ideas, lightened in the day’s itinerary, laden in truth, and burdened in virtue.  I had slept.  And I had drank.

Working our way South, we discovered mountains veiled in foggy curtains, and dotted with sheep. 

And then there were the ferries across the River Shannon; cold winds, deltas, and large tin ships with ginger-haired captains.  Coastal waterways deserving of bistro lunches and convoluted American dollars awaited us in Dingle. 

We had arrived.


  The sheep welcomed us. #twistedsistergoestoIreland had become a truth… with Gaelic…

and seatowns. The beauty was overwhelming. The roads empty, we took our time circling the small island.   After an exhausting day, we were on to Killarney… the capital of Irish tourism… and breathtaking views.