In which we delight in Dublin (Part II).

Partial-Sun-day was Excursion Day to Howth, a (village on a) peninsula on the north-east loop of Dublin Bay, accessed by a lovely stretch of road along the coast. An unexpected something crossed my eye while riding the bus along this route, observing all the swanky houses and their palm trees in the… wait – palm trees? Why does this look like California? Where are the green cliffs dotted with sheepies? That’s not really the green I was expecting to see on this balmy island, but there they were. All over. Hoorah for temperate climates.

As it turns out, the green cliffs were located on the other side of the road, across the bay. The bus took us through the village and up up up to the peak of the unusually elevated peninsula, which allowed us a splendid view of the bay and dramatic cloud show. We braced ourselves to brave the blowing breezes and wandered the cliff paths. After all the fun and silly surprises of the last couple days, I was content to be exploring an Irish scene that matched the Ireland that I’d always had in mind. The greens, browns, reds of the grasses were richly darkened against the deepening clouds overhead and contrasted brilliantly with the gray-blue water. The winds added an element of uncanniness as we neared the Baily Lighthouse, their whooshing through the powerlines overhead inspiring them to sing with a confidence not usually exhibited by inanimate objects. It reminded me of a dark night in a tiny Dutch fishing village a couple years ago, where the wind played the web of sailboats in the harbor, singing like the would-be lovechild of a harp and bagpipes. Then I checked the clouds for cicadas.

We managed to scoot our way around the cliffs without getting blown into the ocean and arrived at the edge of the willage just in time to see divers jumping the plank off of a mini-island, their doggies yipping and scampering about as their papis kept appearing and disappearing with a kersploosh. The venture continued out onto the harbor pier, where the wind flexed its muscles more and more heartily. There we picnicked under the cover of a wind-breaker wall while a couple young lads did tricks on their jet skis (or as Wikipedia has enlightened me, “personal water crafts (PWC)”), leaving the little brother to his own defences on his own too-big leisure machine. Wandering around the willage afterward, I made a point to pick up some luscious, sour-smelling, fresh-out-of-the-oven brown bread at a bakery to import back to the Deutschland / make sure my backpack wasn’t too light on the airplane. Afterward we found ourselves in a church to enjoy a moment of sitting out of the wind. The small church choir was rehearsing, one wobbly soprano soaring over the rest and a couple swiftly boreding children sitting/standing/hopping about on the steps nearby. 

Rewarmed, we headed back down the hill to the other side of the harbor to smell the fishes and eventually ended up in a small French café, gussied up more than usual for the holidays. There was quiet sinking into a couch amidst all our outer layers, warm and sugary beverages, and buttery pastries to fuel us back to the bus and home again home again in the wafting darkness, jiggidy jig. A large family dinner that night was the cherry to top the delicious sundae of hospitality that I had so appreciated over the last couple of days – thanks to all involved for that.

One more point that I forgot to mention earlier – Ireland is small. Not small like “Whoville”-small or “Monaco”-small, of course, but small enough that if you’re from there, “it’s likely that your degree of separation from most other people will be pretty minimal”-small. ‘Course this doesn’t mean that the whole place is festooned with incest, only that I was continually hearing stories such as, “Oh, yeah, that prominent politician went to my school” or “That father belongs to one of my cubs” or “The lady two from the left with the red antlers used to sing in the…”, etc. Not quite to the same extreme as in Iceland, though, where a genealogy website + smartphone app was created to help people avoid dating relatives.

Anyway. I was back at the airport early early the next morning and watched the sun rise as I made the long trek to the ryanair terminal, stealing all glory from the tacky Christmas trees dotting the corridor. There was also this hilarious thing in the bathroom:

The planerise took the eye candy to a much higher level – long tree shadows stretching over green fields, clouds like whoa, and oh! That’s Howth! Wading in the golden waves. A send-off that was not for me, though I enjoyed it like it was.