In the Clifden area there is an old homestead--is this what they call them in Ireland?--that is still standing. Originally there was a stone house built on the top of the hill, but apparently it was extremely cold with the wind and open fields. After a time they ended up moving all of the stones of the house down to the valley below and reconstructing it there. Amazingly, those stones still exist, still holding shape after all the intervening years.
My dad takes amazing photographs, and here are some of the ones he took from the house over the week:
Every now and then we went into the town of Dingle itself, which was cheery and colorful and overcrowded. The sidewalks could barely hold the tourists, but it looked out on the bay and the food was delicious.
There were blackberry bushes all over bursting with fruit. I picked a bunch and made scones. I think I felt closer to my heritage while picking berries than any other time on the trip.
We had a wonderful time together. We drove around the area to see some of the historical sites. All these ancient castles scattered over the countryside! How strange, to live surrounded by so much history.
On Monday, sadly, we had to head back to Dublin and split up, my parents to the airport, and Subash and I to a cricket match.
Tonight we are back in Dublin staying with a friend we met when we were here earlier this month. I think this makes the 10th bed I've stayed in? I'm not sure.
Many thanks to my wonderful parents for coming all the way to see us! I miss you guys.
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