SEDiva Abroad: Bestie Travels Part Two: The Cliffs and the Rock

This is Part Two of a Four Part series on L's overwhelmingly adventurous week in Eireann.
(Sorry for the delay! But SEDiva is back with a vengeance!)

We woke up gloomy and early on Monday morning (gloomy only in weather, not in spirit!) and hit the road after a quick cup of coffee in the cozy and wonderful Aille River Hostel in Doolin, Co. Clare. We drove the scenic and quick route to the highly-touristed Cliffs of Moher about 10km down the road where we were greeted with knock-you-down strength winds.

Now, I have been to the Cliffs a few times now. It's Irish iconicity makes it a beautiful tourist destination, and I've brought lots of people there. I have heard legends of people who've seen the Cliffs in sunshine, but never have I been so lucky. I doubt the existence of such days. The general storminess and breakneck windiness add to the romance. However, I have never, ever experienced winds like those L and I did that day back in March. Please see the video to truly comprehend. L and I hid behind the lookout tower on the far end of the Cliff walk in order to escape the wind and not go tumbling into the sea. It was quite adventurous walking back to the car. (See second video!)

Anyway, despite the wind's anger and obvious aversion to our poor Virginia selves, we had a lovely morning. The Cliffs are highly-touristed now, and as soon as we left, several bus-loads pulled in. But they're worth the trek and the almost disgusting level of comfort provided (if you can stomach a warm gift shop and café) just for the absolute beauty.

Our safe-haven, our rock in the hurricane, our shield from the storm

The beautiful Cliffs - can you spot the Harry Potter cave, hiding the false horcrux?

Our gratitude to this tower knows no bounds!

With many hours left on our car rental, we headed back toward Cork City via Tipperary. One of my favorite overly-touristed destinations in Ireland (another one that I have overly frequented myself) is the Rock of Cashel in Tipperary. The Rock was the Cathedral and seat of the Bishop of Munster for hundreds of years and is now a national heritage site. With a small admissions fee, visitors are free to roam around and explore or wait for a guided tour. Having taken the tour several times, I employed myself temporarily as L's personal tour guide, and we treked around the ancient castle.

Like a giant castle, the Rock is magical and historical all at once. The history behind the place, the stories surrounding every stone and every hollowed out room, the myths and legends whispered by different tour guides create an air of superstition, a bygone era, a world of legend that is often still glimpsed in Ireland.

However, the Rock has been under restoration for a number of years in order to restore and preserve several aspects of the site that are particularly historical as well as endangered by time and the environment. The development has made the Rock even more historical but also more touristed. So roaming over to a nearby field, I showed L the crumbling monastery of [Dominican? Benedictine?] monks who were ousted by one of the most recent historical Bishops of Munster only for fear of a dream the Bishop had in which the poor monks were plotting his death. The Monastery occupies a giant, nearly abandoned field, as many ruins do around Ireland, but the presence of a friendly neighbor and her dog reminded us we weren't lost in a gothic novel. Wandering around in the gloom, L and I took as many fun photographs as we possibly could. Truly, two Southern girls playing castle.

I barely remembered a story about this cross, so L decided to take its advice and hop on one foot backwards around St. Patrick's Cross three times. She'll be engaged in a year, we think.