Nora Roberts's Travelogue of Ireland:
Dingle—8/29/04
We're lucky in the weather--warmish, and with some sun, so we head out to Dingle and its peninsula.
The road from Kenmare to Killarney is a snake that winds through the stony mountains. Curve by curve by curve, between rocky ledge and rock wall. There's sun and shadow on the mountains, and as we pass the first of the Kerry lakes, its water is steely gray. There's gorse here, yellow as sunlight, and purple heather, then the thick forest around Muckross. Houses on the hills with those hills crowded with garden, and stone cottages nearer the road. We go around bustling Killarney, on toward Castlemain, and the towns between. There is water and mountain, and the roll of green and loamy brown that forms a quilt seamed by stone gray walls. Sheep on the hills, sheep along the roadside. What happens, BW wonders if you strike one. Do you have to try to hunt up the farmer and tell him he's having mutton for dinner?
The sun gets a bit stronger, and there's hints of blue in the water.
We pass Inch with its long strand of sand, and its rocky promontories and surf. There are people walking the beach, and cars with surfboards. I can only imagine how cold the water is. I like sitting there, watching water strike rock. I wonder what it is that pulls us to that endless war, the splash and foam of white as water slaps up against rock.
I see seas of those orange flowers along the roadside as this part of Kerry goes gentle. It's both wild and peaceful. Despite the carpark behind me when we stop at an overlook, it's intensely private, and still because of its sheer drama, a wild place. The green slopes down to water that's steely blue-gray, and the land climbs up the other side of the bay, green and green, backed by the shadow of mountains where the clouds hang low. The mountains look quiet--so old, their peaks and juts soft from ages and ages of weather.
We stop in Dingle. It's a happy town, or has always seemed so to me. We find immediately a place that serves homemade pizza. Why not. There's a couple with a baby boy who's not at all happy to be there. His name's Sean and he cries or calls for his Da-da almost the whole time. His mother tends him, but he wants his Da, and finally gets his way.
The pizza is wonderful. Not as good as Dan's, but very good all the same. I remember a jewelry store here from a previous trip, and we climb the steep street to find it. It's just as good as I remember, and more gifts are bagged. So far, I've got nothing for myself. Must remedy that very soon.
Into a market for more crisps for the road, and we're off the circle the point and head to Slea Head.
Dingle Bay itself is simply stunning, as is this whole area of Kerry. Green land with that soft brown running with it, gentle mountains, and the water. Blue bay spreading, spreading out to the hard, gray Atlantic. I watch the little boats slide over it. The sun comes and goes through layered clouds and spaces of blue, and the wind has a bit of a bite. I'm glad of my jacket, though in towns and at various stops I've seen people in shirtsleeves whose blood is obviously thicker than mine.
When we begin to wind our way back, we pass a pottery place, and decide to stop. It's bigger than it looks, and the work is gorgeous. More presents to be shipped back home, and a couple of pieces for me. There, I feel better!
We simply drive, bumping along as the land toughens up again, and we leave the seaside for the ruggedness of the mountains, then steer our way to Killarney.
We stop there, park and wander. Years ago, at least ten or twelve, we stayed in Killarney and happened across an Italian restaurant, just opened. We have fond memories and hope it's still here. There it is! It's exactly as it was, and we make a booking for an hour later.
Time to wander about, recall our previous visit, work up an appetite. I'm browsing a shop, looking at sweater, when an old Italian woman quite simply brushes me aside so she can get to where I'm looking. I'm so surprised by the sheer rudeness it takes me a moment, then I consider she's older--and decide she's just plain stupid on top of it. Fortunately for her, I'm not really interested, just killing time, so I leave her to it.
We head to our restaurant. I have spaghetti that's just absolute heaven. I think BW got some sort of penne, but I was too interested in my own plate to care. I eat every bite, and think I can't do more, but they have gelato. I surrender to gelato. They have profiteroles, and BW succumbs to them. A little tear of pleasure forms in my eye as I work my way through rich chocolate, creamy vanilla and strawberry too fresh for this world.
We waddle out, and start home down the winding, winding road. You have to climb up the mountain at a point, and we're up enough to get mist from the clouds. The mountains are lost in it, and the ride is gloriously eerie.
The rain was considerate enough to wait until we pulled in the gates of home.
Nora
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