In my quarter-century of bopping around the North Atlantic Arc, I have been to Ireland only once, spending eight nights in 2002 in Galway, Donegal, Derry, and a couple other places. I got travel advice from Bobby, who has been visiting Ireland for far longer than I have been visiting Scotland. I have long wanted to tag along with him on a trip, but we tend to travel in different times of year, and I've been preoccupied with my own turf. We are getting older, and it feels like time is getting short. Ron and I asked him to take us along this year. Bobby doesn't wander around the country much anymore; he has roots and friends on the Dingle Peninsula, and usually stays in Dingle for two weeks. That suits us fine. We are keen to experience his home territory. This would be a more relaxed and social trip than is usual for me. I did no planning or research, leaving everything up to Bobby. I brought my journal along, but never wrote down a word. There will be detail missing in the following account. This was nonetheless a rewarding trip, and another tick off my bucket list.

Monday 29 May 2023--We land at Shannon early in the morning, a little too early to pick up our rental car, so we have a bit of breakfast at the airport. Then it's off to Dingle, a drive of two and a half hours or so. Bobby's driving, which is fine with me; I've learned from experience not to drive any distance on my first day over. But I'm dreading riding shotgun on the wrong side of the car, an odd experience if you aren't used to it. As well, I am a bad passenger. I'm used to being the one behind the wheel. I'm quite sure on numerous occasions that Bobby is going to hit a curb or run off the pavement. I manage to keep my mouth shut, mostly. I find that by pressing down firmly on the armrest, I am able to keep him on the road. I only cry out in alarm once.

Through such towns as Adare and Abbeyfeale we go, and take the scenic road over Conor Pass, a fine route for a first approach to Dingle, at least on a clear day. A clear day it is, and the forecast is for sunshine for the next ten days. I must be the charm--I brought a similar stretch of fine weather to Norway last fall.

We arrive at our guesthouse a short walk outside Dingle town center, and meet our host, Brendan, a retired fisherman. A nap is in order. Then we stroll down to Foxy John's for a pint. Like many of the older pubs in Ireland, Foxy John's has a dual function as a pub and a retail shop, in this case a hardware store. I doubt they sell much hardware these days, but the counter and wall display give the place an unmistakable Irish charm. We find Bobby's friend Michael in the snug. I've met Michael on several occasions--he runs a gift shop around the corner on Green Street, and most years he comes to Springfield to hawk Irish-themed wares at the Eastern States Exposition, in September. I haven't seen him in several years, though, due to the recent disturbance. (I think he came last year, but I was in Norway.)

We are enjoying our pints and chit-chat when an American woman on her way out the door does a double-take--apparently, she recognizes Michael from a YouTube video--and exclaims, "You're Michael O'Hare!" He knows that.