Yes, you read that right. I'm in Killarney. It's the Branson of Ireland. There's folk singing, over-priced "home cooked" food, and kitchy souvenirs. It seems like a place designed to separate tourists from their money. It's not quite as slick as Disney, but more unassuming, like Branson.
I'll take a bus to Doolin tomorrow. From there, I should be able to see the Cliffs of Moher, the Burren, and maybe the Aran Islands. I'll figure it out when I get there. I'll spend Sun and Mon there, and Tues AM, start the ride to Dublin.
2 comments:
A.C. ain't as bad as it used to be.
BTW am I the only one who has noticed the sudden turn towards the routine in these latest postings? No more fear of starvation, no more being forced to utilize accomodations of non-union plumbing, no more monkey attacks, no more Indian eBay shenanigans.
Marcia: are you "home" already?
/pbz
It is more home than not, especially since we are all, in theory, speaking English. There was one cab driver in Cork who was incomprehensible. I swore Laurie was speaking Irish with him.
There really is very little difficulty left in the travel part. All that's left is protecting my wallet from highjacking. And avoiding bad food, which is easier said than done. Staying warm and not falling off a cliff have added themselves to the list now that I'm in Doolin.
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