Last Monday, on a blustery morning in Co. Kerry, this was the holy grail -
Cheann Sibeal Golf Club, where Gaelic is the order of play, as you can see.
Now, why we would drive all that way, to a wild links course where people don't even speak our language, I have no idea. But there you have it.
It started out quite well. We zipped at the speed of light to Portmagee, 20 minutes down the road, to catch a ferry out to the Skelligs to see the monks. Either the monks were too hungover to be entertaining (blasphemy!) or the waters really were too rough to be sailing; but in any case, we were staying on land. Fortunately Portmagee is a bonnie wee village so we paused to take it all in, and even to snap a photo for your gratification.
On the way to Dingle town we may have missed thirty four turns, and so the reverse gear got more action than it may have in better signposted other countries. We also got stuck behind this for a while -
Yes, zee Germans. Quite.
Goldy also found us a shortcut, his words: "What's a genius doing here? 54km just became 50!". Here's the shortcut -
That glorified microwave was capable of some impressive feats indeed, but leaping several hundred yards across brown waters may have just been beyond her. I wasn't game anyway.
Out on the Dingle Peninsula, en route to the town, we came across this (which Goldy's dying to tell you about in due course).
Fourteen hours and eight hundred yards of backwards motion later, we made it, finally, to Cheann Sibeal. And boy was it worth it.