And I thought, this is nice...

Day two in Dingle dawned early, and I wanted to take a tour of the peninsula.  But I was, to be honest, very tired of the regular "sight-seeing, photo-snapping" bus tours, and was looking for something a little different.  I found it in Rick Steve's recommendation of "Dingle Peninsula Archeological tours" reputed to be led by a knowledgeable local and to include more in depth visits to the ancient sites in the region.  

When I called at 9am to inquire about the 10:30am tour, the man informed me that I was the first to express interest that morning and that at least six people were required to make the tour a go.  He told me to call back in an hour at 10am to see if enough people had expressed interest.  In the meantime I packed up my stuff at the Dingle Harbor Lodge and prepared to head on over to my original hostel pick to spend the night there as I had planned.  

Well when I called again at 10am, I got the answering machine of the Bed and Breakfast where the tours depart from.  Hmm.  I tried again a few minutes later and still got the machine.  I figured not enough people had signed up, but decided to swing by on my way over to the hostel. When it took a little longer than expected to head in that direction, I called again to see if I could get through.  A woman answered and frantically asked where I was, didn't I know the tour was leaving in 5 minutes!  Aiiee!  She gave me directions and I rushed on over, confused.  

The woman, grandma aged and apparent owner of the b & b, welcomed me very warmly and introduced me to the tour guide and the two or three guests finishing their breakfast at the table.  Things seemed calm enough.  She offered me a cup of coffee and some breakfast bread, and I thought, this is nice!  I followed her into the kitchen and when we came back out, everyone was gone.  

"Oh he's left!  He's out the door! Shit! Shit! He'll kill me if you're late." she cried out, surprising me considerably.

"What? Who? Where?" I cried most of the 5 W questions, confused.  

"The guide!  He's left!  Shit he'll kill me if you're late.  Quick he's in the van waiting for you.  Quick, take the coffee with you! Go!" she cried.

"Okay okay! Just let me get my camera and wallet out of my backpack!"  I cried, rushed.

"Ah wait that's a good cup, you might break it, that's a good coffee cup.  Let me get you a different one!" she yelped at the same time, snatching my coffee and running back into the kitchen, reappearing a few moments later with a "less nice", but still ceramic, mug.  

"Ah shit shit his van is gone! Hurry, hurry, run out to the round about and flag him down. You'll catch him out at the round about.  Go now!  Shit!" she cried, her voice raising to panic level.

And so I ran.  Out into the deserted street. Out in bewildered haste, camera and wallet stuffed in my pockets, sticky bread and a sloshing less nice ceramic coffee mug in hand.  Thank God she added milk, I thought to myself as I ran like a fool down the middle of the empty road toward what I hoped was the round about (an circular intersection in which no one has to stop, where in the US we would have a two or four way stop).  I hurtled up to the round about and scanned the road for any sign of the van.  At that moment, miraculously, he came around the bend and slowed down just enough for me to throw open the door and fumble inside.  

Nothing out of the ordinary apparently, as he didn't make a single comment about any of it.  I was too dazed to string together a sentence, anyway, and so I focused on my sticky bread and what coffee remained in the cup.  From there we picked up the 5 other tour participants at normal speed (all of whom had used Rick Steves as well) and went about our day.  

The tour was interesting but it couldn't compare in excitement to the pre-tour affair.  We visited some monastic ruins and a fully preserved stone hut church, which were impressively old and stony.  We stopped to look at the ocean, where the intense wind was forming rainbow-like apparitions in the sea spray.  We stared, concerned, at the lone surfer in the choppy, and surely freezing, waves.  We saw a number of sheep and lambs, including the cutest black sheep I have ever seen!  He was blacker than coal, really an unbelievable sight.  And it wasn't long before we were back in Dingle, a full morning under our belts.

I returned to the b & b to pick up my bags, which I had left strewn in the hallway.  The woman was there to greet me and take back the (unharmed) cup, with the comment "I'm a good mum to ya, aren't I? I looked after ya."  "Sure" I mumbled, thanking her and quickly getting the heck out of there.  

After such a busy morning, I looked forward to finally checking in to my hostel and settling down.  But, like some kind of cruel sequel, the door was locked and no one answered when I arrived at the agreed time.  Moments later the Lorelai-like proprietor rounded the corner with to-go coffees in hand, waving apologetically.  This time around she let me in, and finally gave me the code to the door so that I could come and go as I pleased.  

And go as I pleased is exactly what I did, although I didn't go very far.  I spent the afternoon in an Irish-language bookshop across the street from the hostel, treating myself to delicious vegetable soup and brown bread in the cafe at the back.  The menu was in Irish, I ordered in English, and the woman working in the cafe was French- how about that!  I had purchased Douglas Adams' "The Salmon of Doubt" in Killarney, and reveled in the luxury of reading one of my favorite authors in a cafe at the back of this dusty and loveable bookshop in the wee town of Dingle.  

Things heated up that night when myself and a girl I met in the hostel decided to go out and tour the pubs.  When I say things heated up, I mean things heated up!  As we turned the corner towards our first destination, we found a crowd huddled across the street and bright orange embers coming out of the pub's chimney.  Apparently the chimney had caught fire, and the anxious wait was on for the volunteer fire crew to arrive.  Soon the truck pulled up, and as the fire wasn't making us any warmer, we decided to head on down to a different pub.  

Our pub of choice was a hardware store by day and a pub by night, the hardware counter on one side for seating, and the bar with more seating on the other.  All the talk was of the fire, with many of the old men claiming to have had something to do with it one way or another, and "volunteering" to go and put it out.  Hahaha.  

We ended our night at another pub where there was a big crowd and some good traditional music, along with some ice cold cider.  

All in all one of the most eventful days of my trip and certainly one of the most unusual.