Ireland

Our last day in Ireland begins with breakfast ritual at Ardmore House. We hope to cover as quickly as possible to the road from Clifden to Dublin and enjoy the last hours of Portmarnock Beach gannet. We welcome the courteous Cathline and confess they can not bear even us (although Italians) the noise of a company of ladies who have invaded the Mediterranean b & b.

We leave behind the Sky Road and try to enjoy the last glimpses of the ocean while the sun seems determined to lord it. We reach the outskirts of the capital of Ireland in advance (a special greeting goes to the poor Garda motorcycle on the M4 was unable to pull her laptop while the speedometer speed past 220km / h possessed by a Zafira in great shape . I'm sorry friend ... maybe next time).

The time of a meal and a pint in the Star last alas Swords and Malahide and then we head up to the beach of Portmarnock. The day is beautiful and take advantage for a long walk on the sand.

I drive to the Aereporto and I already feel at the mercy of nostalgia. Consign the Zafira the Hertz office. We have grown. Let's check in, the gate and we engage in an endless trek up al'uscita D77. We climb on the flight and already feels too speak Italian. We land on time in Orio al Serio.

Arrivderci 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.

The atmosphere that we live in a traditional Irish pub is really hard to describe, even if they have at their disposal as in this case, words, sounds and images.

Last night we spent the evening at Mannion's pub in Cifden. In my personal experience I think that the ingredients were all there: traditional music (singer, player cash tablespoons), local fishermen completely drunk, whiskey rivers, rude tourists (I do not really want ... but in this case it was French), choreographed fights, and a burst of Gardi Dirty Old Town sung by anyone inside and outside the premises to restore the cosmic balance in the pub.

I think that for a non-Irish is difficult to understand how the punch pub is still a practice so widespread here. For the headlines but it is necessary to clarify that this is something completely different from what we are used to fight in Italy for example disco. People here go on for tens of minutes to poke fun in a totally playful and terribly fancy "look at that big belly that you could not lift the skirt of your wife!" ... To which one responds "you're so drunk that if you fall pants do not you know it! "... and so on (reminds me so much of the game environment pirate Monkey Island) . At the punch you get just for fun and very difficult to attend to the real evil.

Continue reading ...

Let Doolin satisfied and as always a bit melancholy but confident that we will be back soon. Retrace the Burren to Galway to Clifden and we suffered Drigo. The distance today is less than usual and so we allow a generous stop at Joann's Gift Shop. The shop boasts a selection of the best of Irish crafts and knitwear. Continue the journey to Clifden in search of the b & b that will host the next three days, which is located right on world-famous Sky Road. We reach the ' Ardmore House in advance and after a nap we explore the Sky Road on foot.

The Connemara is a mixture of mountains, lakes, lush vegetation, bare lands, white beaches, rugged cliffs ... all seasoned by the almost total absence of human life and personally I find perfect.

The day seems to turn to the better (even though the rain now has completely spared). This evening we expect the very lively nightlife with pubs Clifden impeccable, the smell of peat and people pouring through the streets with cups in hand and a lot of fun.

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