Ireland

The breakfast with French toast Lorraine color a day that there is rather gray and full of rain. From the windows of the dining room there is a view of all the crazy hills of Doolin, the Cliffs and islands Arann.

We set en route to Connemara not before being passed by the Clare Jam Company, or Heaven, where the jam is easy to give in to all sorts of temptation surrounded by dozens of different kinds of jam or marmelade. The owner and vendtore seem to come directly from the past: a few words and with an accent almost incomprehensible. I left the store with 8kg of jams and no idea of ​​how to bring them to Italy. And 'That's the beauty of being on vacation ... or not?

I drive through the moonscape of the Burren along the old road that leads from Ennis to Galway. Today seems really determined to the day when we reach the Connemara ugly and a thin but constant drizzle accompanies us to our destination along the Sky Road. We stop for lunch at the old railway station in Clifden where the delicious goodness of sadwiches is ruined by the annoying noise of a company of rude Italians who manage to obscure the fascinating charm of a place from another time. Italy is far from us as we feel these people. Too bad.

After a short break we decided to go where the obligatory stop at Roundstone, and 'the Craft Village where we are enraptured by the extraordinary beauty of the jewelry, and musical instruments of porcellene types of Irish tradition.

We return to Clifden and we prepare for dinner at Ban Pangur near Letterfrack. Tomorrow is our last whole day in Ireland. Tuesday traveling to Dublin, where the magic begins and ends, where I leave a part of me every time I come home safe, however, to find it during my next trip.