A Conversation in Dingle

So here is a conversation between one of my colleagues (C) and an older drunken Irish person (DIP) while we were buying chocolate at the Centra grocery store in Dingle. My colleague's dialogue has been omitted because it hardly matters:

DIP: From America you are, aren't you. What part?
C: .....
DIP: I've been to North Carolina. Horrible, horrible place North Carolina. They have a swamp there.
C: .....
DIP: I've been to New York nine times. Nine times. And Chicago. And Pittsburgh.
C: .....
DIP: Have you been to San Francisco?
C: .....
DIP: I want to go to San Francisco before I die. St. Patrick's cathedral. Market St.
C: .....
DIP: (with increasing volume) Go to San Francisco and die. Go to San Francisco and die. Go to San Francisco and die.
C: .....

(Pictured: a statue of Fungi the dolphin who plays in the harbor at Dingle. Not pictured: drunken Irish person, death, or San Francisco)

Ring of Dingle

No jokes--it's just too easy. So I'm going to bore you again with my travels. Though I can barely drive in the U.S., I decided to rent a car and drive in Ireland. But I had GPS. Going to Dingle, I read about the great views of Conor's Pass but how "treacherous" it can be in bad weather. I bravely decided to avoid it, thinking the GPS would take me by way of the main highway. Where did it take me, you certainly would feel inclined to ask if just out of courtesy. Here, that's where:



I survived. The next day I went around the ring of Dingle. My first big site was the Celtic and Prehistory Museum where I meet this odd musician who has collected and now opened to the public a strange collection of things, including the giant skull of a Woolly Mammoth--complete with tusks as big as me. And then I was off to the Great Blasket Island. And it was great. The place is empty:



The few remaining inhabitants left the island years ago. The ferryman said that they went to American and never came back. No cafes, no convenience stores, no bathrooms (ouch). Only the abandoned houses even newer ones with stuff just left or litter piled in. As this eerie, i.e. poorly shot, photo will attest:



I hiked the island for three hours and was alone most of the time. Which is disconcerting when you find piles of bones around the place:



But the view was worth it: