Connemara Coast

MMC :: in August 26, 2015 :: in Ireland :: 1 comment

Perhaps plucky is a better term for Juan Diego, and I was a bit harsh. But no matter. My judgement stands. 

Today we took a trip up the Connamara coast, to catch what we could of this side of the Wild Atlantic. 

Panorama of the Wild Atlantic from the Connemara coast

Our destination was a six-mile loop called Sky Road. All I read of it was ‘Sky Road’ ‘winds up the hillside’ and I knew we were going there. Now if only I had my Alfa…

Getting there we crossed some windswept but clearly well loved landscape. It’s hard to call this coastal area barren when there are so many small flowers and other flora and fauna to delight, when there are signs of life everywhere and the seaweed is red for some reason. 

The heather and the heath

Fauna. Unamused fauna.

Various shades of things you don’t think of as flora

A lake near the clouds

Seaweed!

Connemara coast

We bounced along. The speed limit on these roads is generally 100 (km/h—62 mph), but even when I feel safe enough to do that, I still get passed. Also, Peugeot drivers are as bad as Kia drivers. But when there aren’t other cars around, I whiz along the left side of the street and come to a screeching halt whenever I feel the need to take pictures. It seems that’s the way to drive in Ireland: speed until there’s a car in your face, then figure out who has more room on their side and you’ve determined who has the right of way. 

We caused a minor commotion in this manner. For the record, Juan Diego is all of the way off the road, but unfortunately he is also taking up almost all of the lay-by that the van needs to let the truck past. But the truck did it, and scraped only one stone out of the wall on his left in the process. 

All’s well that ends well

The world’s best street sign, and a candidate for the world’s worst UX

That sign almost kind of makes sense now. 

We finally made it to Sky Road. Worth it. 

The view from Sky Road

I don’t have any pictures of them here, but somewhere in all of that mess, modestly clothing themselves in tablecloths, lie the Twelve Bens, this little mountain range of sorts. (Happy birthday, thirteenth Ben! Even though I know you’re not reading this.)

I like the hills here. They’re definitely different, but in a way they remind me of home. None of those piercing purple peaks; these mountains have been hewn from the earth by glacial flows, slowly being ripped to shreds until only a reflection of the strongest ones remains. These hills are rugged and deep. They have earned their place by having been challenged, and having won. Some hills are higher or better for winter sports, but I like these curmudgeony ones myself. 

After another picnic, we returned home and stopped off one last time for an overlook of Galway and Salthill. 

Clouds over Galway

Then we headed into town for a fantastic concert series. It’s too bad that I can only transfer pictures and not videos without a computer. You’ll have to hear this when we return.

There is something sacred about an empty stage

Also, I kind of want to take up step dancing, but only if various friends promise to play accompaniment, and steps can be my contribution to the jam.