Back to the Auld Sod: A Slog through Bog

There are lots of names for the area we're in. The Wild Atlantic Way, the King of Kerry, and more specifically, where our AirBNB is, "the land between the mountains and the sea." In front of our house is the sea, and in back, the mountains — on the other side of which is the church these folks (hundreds of years ago) would walk to every Sunday, barefoot with their only shoes in hand so as not to muddy them. The hike, which is more like a slog through bog, is called a Mass Path, and offers spectacular views akin to what you see from the plane as your approach Ireland — a patchwork of green fields dotted with white puffs of sheep, their baaaaas wafting through the air like birdsong. They stand on the steepest of surfaces, sometimes on top of a rock.

The surface we hike is spongy bog, from which they would cut peat to burn for heat. The peat goes down about six feet and is basically dirt and roots. After it's "harvested" from the sides of the mountain and made into brick-like junks, it's dried out against little shields (rock walls) made from rocks to block the wind and rain. Again, I'm talking hundreds of years ago. They were hardier stock than our gang but we got in our steps, pausing for the occasional selfie.

After the hike we went our separate ways. Owen and Hannah drove to town for lunch where a lovely shopkeeper gave them a list of things to do in the area. Looks like Catholic school handwriting to me!

Fred and I napped — the jet lag struggle is real. Last night I went to bed at 8:30 and woke to what I thought was the sunrise, thrilled to see I had slept straight through till dawn, only to realize it was only 11 pm. Fred did the same not once, but twice! Waking at 9:30 pm and again at 11 pm. Fell for it both times! The sun sets around 11 pm here. Super disconcerting. The others passed the time at their place down the road, but soon Fred and Sean were antsy to move around, so they walked down to the baby cemetery... where we first met Brian Lynch two years ago. Here's a reminder of that chance meeting:

Post naps and lunch, Owen called the restaurant he and Hannah planned to take Eamon and Finn too that night— an upscale pizza place in a former church — called the Oratory. After he said his name, I heard him say, "Thanks! I really appreciate that!" The guy on the other end had said, "That's a proper Irish name!" Which reminds me, when asked my name at the car rental, I said, "Karen Lynch. L-Y-N-C-H," to which he responded, "You needn't spell out Lynch around here." It's a fun difference from 13 years in Italy where there was no such joking.

Here's the Oratory:

https://theoratorywinebar.com/

And here are the kids, sans Hannah who is represented by the wine glass in photo two!

The four senior-most Lynches planned dinner out on the water's edge of Cahersiveen (the nearest town) at a favorite of ours from 2022 — O'Neill's the Point. FABULOUS atmosphere and food. While we were waiting for a table in the bar, the host came up to me and said, "Karen, I must tell you.... the wait could be as long as.... thirty minutes." I told him I thought he was gonna say two hours and that would've been fine! LOL. Oh — the young shopkeeper with all the advice for Owen and Hannah told them she also works at O'Neill's, so we looked for the green-eyed bespectacled blondish woman, but she found us first (having been informed by our blond non-green-eyed, non-bespectable server that we were looking for her). She was lovely and chatty, as expected. We all had great meals — I, the fresh salmon and two different sides of potatoes, per yoozh, and they all had the hake — basically fish and chips but quite elevated, and neither of the two potato sides were chips; they were a big peeled boiled potato (somehow delicious!) and potato salad. There was a sauce we all had that Sean pegged for the same as Burger King's Whopper sauce. Perfection.

Here's O'Neill's the Point:

https://www.oneillsthepoint.ie/

And here's us:

A "snipe" of Prosecco is a quarter bottle — also known as a piccolo, split, or quatrino.
Who knew?

Research confirms my suspicion — Whopper sauce is most likely mayo and ketchup!

I need to throw my hat in the ring for Best Make Up Artist next Oscar season.
No sign of a fat lip nor a black eye, right?

After dinner, it was still quite early and bright-as-noon, so we had a nightcap at The Anchor Bar, a pub in the center of town. The kids came back to our house for the same. Apples don't fall far... Owen had figured out from social media that CNN's Donie O'Sullivan is in town (Cahersiveen being his hometown) so I posted we'd buy him a pint if he wanted to stop by The Anchor Bar. Alas, he is untaggable :( I learned that my "Mi Wadi" and Guinness is called a Guinness & Black, and had one.