The next bout of adventuring took us south to Killarney and Surroundings, where there was no ocean, but oodles of lakeage galore.We poked around downtown for a bit, but nothing really took my breath away. It looked like most other Irish towns I'd been to thus far, though bigger and more touristy. (Dublin aside.)
There were some popular historical sites nearby that we headed to next -- an old castle and the ruins of a 7th-ish-century monastery by a lake. As soon as we'd parked the car, an older gentleman came over and asked if we'd like a private boat tour over to the abbey. He didn't look too dangerous and his prices were reasonable enough (particularly if snatching up tourists for tours before all the other tour boats got them was a substantial part of his living), so it was tally-ho and off we went. He told us about the Histories as we sped across the rippling water, sun coming out for a sparkle or two now and then. The mountains to one side were covered in purple rhododendrons, which are apparently invasive in these parts. Our guide told us that a lot of money is put into removing them every year, but they always come back. I can certainly see them being problematic, but hey, there are a lot of other invasive species in the world that wouldn't look half as pretty coating hillsides.
We docked at the site of the monastery ruins and had some time to poke around. Our guide told us to watch out for deer, but I only saw droppings. It was a beautiful area, and the old stone structures still held an incredible sense of time. Thin purple vines with tiny purple flowers crept out of cracks in the walls, bringing color to the old grays and new greens.
Heading back towards the mainland, our guide indulged us with tales about his true passion in life -- motorcycles. His thick accent (to my ears) and musical voice made him a pleasure to listen to. Once we'd said our thankyous and goodbyes, we wandered around the castle but decided not to go inside. It was hot and almost swarming with tourists by that point. Mom had her memory stuck on a handweaving place farther south that she wanted to find, and I think the rest of us were keen on seeing more landscape.
Our boat guide had told us we had to go see a nearby waterfall, so we did that first, dodging jaunting cars (and their persistent drivers -- no, not today, thanks) and German tourists all the way. The waterfall was pretty, but the magical green forest was more to my liking.
Turns out the road around the lakes and mountains going south was just as terrifying as the coastal road around Dingle, if not more. Sure, there was no ocean to fly into, but there were monstrous tour buses careening around every corner, taking up far more than the half a lane allotted to them. However, the views were worth the few moments of terror, and in the end there were no casualties.
We eventually found what we were looking for and turned north again, sleepy in the afternoon sun and set on being home. That adventure over, we cooked up a fine meal and went for one final walk around the fields before crashing on the couch. The fuchsia was flowering most fluorescently in the evening light, and all was quiet in the village.
By this point in our holiday, the majority of the household had had its fill of exploring and simply wanted to stay home for our last full day in the area. So we did, with the exception of a long stroll back to the beach with the diva shells. The wind was blowing hard that day, and we decided to take a shortcut across a little stream instead of going all the way back to the bridge. We found a crossable stretch with rocks across which to jump and everyone got to wandering/swimming as pleased. A good while later, it became clear why the woman we'd met on our first beach visit had told us to cross at the bridge and not before -- the little stream we'd crossed was of course tidal and had risen several feet in the time we'd been playing. This meant that the way back now involved stripping and wading through the waist-high salty current with dry things held above the water. There was a lot of squealing involved, and a lot of laughing.
The rest of the day and evening was quiet in comparison, just as I'd hoped. One last sleep, breakfast and packing before the journey back to Dublin began.
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