We had one more day before needing to head back to Dublin, and decided to spend it on the coast exploring Sliabh Liag (Slieve League) -- "Ireland's Ultimate Sea Cliff Experience", because how can you say no to a tagline like that? Remotely located on Co. Donegal's southwest coast, these are boasted "The Highest Sea Cliffs in Europe", "One of Ireland's Best Kept Secrets", "The High Point of the Wild Atlantic Way" (har har) and "Shut Up About the Cliffs of Moher Already, At Over 600m We're Nearly Three Times Taller Than Those Piddly Things". In reading up on the destination, there were a lot of warnings about how difficult it was to find the start of the hiking trail, how you had to have a good GPS in your car, etc. etc., so I was surprised at how well-marked they were once we got close. Indeed, it was very remote and the tiny road had more sheep on it than cars, but we found it okay. The parking area at the base of the trail leading atop the cliffs had a limited capacity to say the least, with one car leaving as we arrived and otherwise no one. It was another overcast day, the view from the parking lot was glorious, and it only went up from there!
A rough, rocky road gave way to a meandering footpath, leading up and up over the considerably gentle slope of the mountain, the landscape opening behind us.
Once the path leveled out on top, it was only a matter of minutes and meters until we'd crossed the plateau and the mountain dropped away before us, and beyond only water and sky as far as the eye could see.
It was a moment that demanded a picnic, and as we sat on a cold boulder, feet dangling over the mighty Atlantic, I contemplated all of the paths that had brought me to this place, and we thought back 12 or so years to the first inklings of our friendship, both caught up in the awkward throes of adolescence at music camp in Ohio, and wondered if the us-then would have believed it if we'd been told that someday we would be sitting together atop a cliff on the Irish coast, drinking tea and eating banana and peanut butter sandwiches... Honestly? Unlikely.
Snack of Champions, I'm telling you.
In many places there was a kind of red moss that really popped against the green.
Picnic complete, we spent some time wandering the clifftops, taking in the views on either side over land and sea.
Find the tiny Asas!
Wanting to see the cliffs from the official (and much more accessible and touristy) viewpoint in the daylight, we made our way back down the mountain, a classic November sun tucked away in its wintery layers of sky, shining somewhere far away. The same two sheep, black and white, were snacking along the trail, though now there were quite a few other people on the previously deserted path, and we sped up our pace to get away from the Loud Americans descending behind us.
Once back at the car, we drove the rest of the way down and around the mountain to the short road leading to the viewpoint, then joined the other tourists walking from there. It was the weekend and there were quite a few people, local and not, out enjoying the last of the afternoon.
Once we rounded the bend and the cliffs we had picnicked on that morning came into view, my first thought was that the whole thing rather looked like an enormous alligator snoozing in the water, ridged reptilian back and long tail stretching out in the distance.
It was grand, and then it was dark, and that was grand too. Not great for seeing though, so we turned back to the car in the dark stillness, the ocean quiet far below. The large, gray, austere houses here and there along the coastal route that had looked so cold and empty in the daylight were now alive, their windows lit orange against a deepening blue dusk. After stopping in the largest coastal town, though still sleepy and lifeless except for one short street, to find some dinner, we headed back our next airbnb a few villages away (where we'd dropped off our stuff early that morning -- a good thing as it would have been mighty hard to find in the dark), and went to sleep.
We were staying in a hotel-room-like addition to a house build precisely for guests like us, which was located inland down a tiny road, perched on a little hill overlooking green, sheepy fields, the coast and sea cliffs blue in the distance. There was a large corner window in the sitting area of the room, and one of my favorite moments of the whole trip was sitting there the next morning, quietly drinking tea, feeling incredibly lucky, taking in the view.
As I wasn't flying back to Hamburg until early-afternoon the next day, we could take our time driving back to Dublin -- not too much time, as we had to cross the entire country, but enough time to take a couple detours. The first was highly recommended by our airbnb host, nearby St. John's Point. It would have been a nicer walk had it not been so cold and drizzly, had I not been increasingly ill, and had we not been confused by the conflicting signage both forbidding trespassers and welcoming visitors. There were some cows and a lighthouse, and tiny, whimsical plants growing out of the rocks that, for whatever reason, amused me greatly.
I really enjoyed the road back to the main drag -- probably because I wasn't driving. It wasn't much of a road at all at some points, but more of a car path hugging the coast, cutting through groves of gnarled trees grown sideways in the wind, and weatherproof sheep snacking nearby.
From there the road led us to Donegal and back into barren, red-brown hills, through evergreen forests, past lakes and the occasional green patch with a sheep on it (always these sheepies), through tunnels of overgrown groves leaning over the road, into sudden splashes of yellow foliage that made us both say "Oooh!". Cute towns appeared out of nowhere and disappeared again just as abruptly, then we were back to rolling green fields and manor houses, passing from Ireland to Northern Ireland and back again and past old gothic churches and grand country homes that looked like new money, their manicured lawns also dotted with sheep, though here they just looked out of place.
Our final detour that we'd picked out in advance was Killykeen Forest Park in Co. Cavan, a couple hours outside of Dublin, which we found after much looping around the 1-lane roads we'd become accustomed to by this point, lined in ivy-coated trees, decked out in end-of-autumn's finest.
It was late afternoon by the time we got there, so we only had time for a short walk, but it was enough to recharge our batteries after all the driving, and prepare for the city driving to come.
With the light fading and anxious to leave before the automatic gate closed at 5pm, we plugged my Smithie friend's Dublin address into the GPS and were on our way, arriving without any trouble that evening and calling it a night shortly thereafter.
The city was gray but picturesque as we made our way to the airport the next day, following a swanny canal for stretch and passing many homes with colorful doors, and other street scenes.
Asa and I parted ways at the airport, with me flying back to Germany and him catching a bus to County Clare, where he would spend some time doing a work-stay and playing music, this time letting someone else do the driving. This somewhat-spontaneous trip had been a great success, not to mention a joy, and I was so glad to have had this time with him as well as the other friends along the way. All the adventuring in the cold, rainy wilderness sent me home with an authentic Irish head cold that had me in miserable form for weeks following my return, but oh, to explore these wild places so far removed from my normal life was so worth it. Thanks again to Asa for chauffeuring me around the country, and to our wonderful friends and hosts. And you, who are a thousand miles away, there are always two cups at my table.
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