The Return of the Nalca

Dublin – Killarney – Dingle, Ireland

My friend Craig loves the mountains. He is always talking about how if you don’t like the weather, you can just go up or down the mountain in order to find the weather you want. 

Ireland is a little different. I don’t think there are mountains quite big enough for that. Still, there is a maxim that probably applies equally well:

If you don’t like the weather in Ireland, just wait five minutes.

I’ve never seen anything like it. 

It will be downright nasty. Cold. Rainy. A wicked wind. Almost blown right off our bikes. 

And then, five minutes later, the sun is shining and there’s a rainbow blooming over the next hill. 

At this point you’re convinced that the bad weather has completely passed. Not a grey cloud to be found anywhere.

So we take off our rain gear. Pack it away. And start biking again – happily trundling through the perfectly green countryside – with cows mooing and sheep bleating their contentment. 

That lasts about three minutes.

Then, somehow, dark clouds have snuck in, and the nasty wind is back, and it’s obvious that the next cycle of rain is on its way. 

Stop, unpack the rain gear, put it back on, graze on a few of the everpresent blackberries along the road, and start out again – taking an extra minute to think through which side of the road to bike on (the left – but it requires new thought every time). 

That was our day today. Except throw in the Atlantic Ocean, a coastline filled with cliffs and sheep, and the green rolling hills of Ireland. In fact, we’re going to be biking the Wild Atlantic Way – or the Sli an Atlantaigh Fhain for all you Irish speakers out there – for the next several days. 

And you know what? The rain and the wind weren’t even that miserable. First off, it’s not that cold. Second, you know the rain will be over within ten minutes. And third, with the raging wind everything dries instantly. 

So that was the ride today. 

But before we found our way onto our bikes we had to extract ourselves from the bed & breakfast we stayed at last night. 

Let me back up a bit to tell that story. 

Actually kind of rude of me not to address our drama with the train first thing. I’m sure you were worried sick that Diana would end up leaving me in Dublin while she proceeded ahead with our one – and only – bicycle reservation to Killarney. I don’t blame you for being worried. 

What would Diana do if confronted with this dilemma? 

This is what she might have been thinking if the conductor didn’t let us bring two bikes: “Should I use the good ticket and go forward myself – because the ticket is in my name? Or should I waste the one good ticket we have and stay back here with this dead weight of a husband?” 

And what would I have done without Dr. Liu? Stuck in Dublin. By myself. No wife. No doctor. No breadwinner. I’m not even sure I could book a hotel by myself . . . Me and Old Dan would be living on the streets of the Irish capital.

Definitely cause for concern. 

And all this worry was made worse when we ran into Pat yesterday afternoon. Pat is a retired Dublin police officer who was heading out on his own cycling adventure in Spain. When we asked about the whole bicycle reservation thing, he seemed a little worried . . . 

Busy Friday evening. No second bicycle reservation available. 

“Not sure if your trip might go a little arseways,” he told us. 

But we proceed ahead. What could we do? And, of course, it’s starts raining as we bike to the station . . . Not a good sign . . .

Fortunately, after all of our build-up, it turns out that there was no drama at all. We just walked up to the train, put the bikes in the two designated bike spots, took our seats, and that was it. An hour later a conductor came by to check our tickets. Didn’t even ask about the bikes or bike tickets or anything. Almost a little disappointing, really . . .

So we made it to Killarney – round about 10:30 p.m.

Pitch dark. 

And about five miles to the bed & breakfast. 

We dug out Diana’s super-sonic light. 

Have I told you about this light? Diana acquired it for her commuting back at home – because she’s frequently biking in the dark and her night-vision is not that great. I think the one she has is about 30,000 lumens. It’s about as bright as the sun – but more focused. She hasn’t killed any animals directly with it – but pretty sure there is a trail of blinded deer after she bikes through an area.

Anyway, we made it out to the bed & breakfast without incident. It didn’t even rain [much] on us . . .

We’re greeted at the door by our host, Joan. Her accent is Irish the same way my Aunt Patsy speaks Minnesotan. (“Yeah, you betcha. Don’t you know?) You can understand her, but it takes some serious effort . . . She has hair that’s so red out and looks fake, she’s cheery, and she’s a bundle of energy. 

“Let me show you to your room,” she says, as she starts up the stairs.

We follow. 

“The guests on tractors aren’t here yet, but I expect them soon. Glad you put the bikes around back. The dog, he bites the tires, the little bugger, I recently got a trike, and I put it out there, but he chewed the tires and now it’s flat. So we won’t let him near your bikes. Oh, here it . . .”

She’s opening the door to a room . . .

And now there’s a moment of confusion.

There’s talking coming from the room, and Joan is apologizing over and over and backing away. 

She’s brought us to a room that was already occupied – and remember, it’s now after 11 at night – so they’re likely in bed. But the Irish, like the British, are always polite in these embarrassing situations. 

“It’s alright. Not a problem at all. What time is breakfast in the morning? Quite right. Jolly good.”

(It’s as if Hugh Grant from Four Weddings & A Funeral has magically materialized behind the door.)

Eventually, Joan finds our actual room. Joan is still very upset with herself. I tell her about the time I walked in on a couple in a state of “vigorous activity” when I was running the motel in Duluth years ago – just to make her feel better . . . But Joan’s too frazzled and is not listening, and we collapse into bed.

For years I’ve dreaded bed & breakfast situations – because you’re forced to talk to people. But now I realize that I actually love chatting with people in these situations. And the breakfasts are good. Not sure what I was thinking of . . .

We met two couples this morning. The first was a bit of a surprise. The guy is half Egyptian, half Sudanese, and he’s lived in Ireland for ten years. The woman is from the Ukraine. She moved here from Kiev after the war started. They met on a dating app. 

We never saw – but maybe they were the ones that Joan walked in on . . .

The second couple are regulars at Joan’s place. Betty and Michael. They live in Northern Ireland, but explain that they have Irish passports. I guess the Protestants up there fly British flags, and the Catholics fly the Irish flag. Not sure anyone flies the flag of Northern Island. The Protestants could also acquire an Irish passport – pretty convenient because it’s an EU passport – but my sense is that the Protestants wouldn’t be caught dead identifying that much with Ireland . . .

Michael and Betty tell us that the bad times were really tough. Michael’s nephew joined the IRA and ended up getting killed. 

“It’s much better. It’s safe these days. You wouldn’t have wanted to ride your bikes up there back then, now would you?”

They add that “people are people” and sometimes you just have to forget the past and move on.

Then they find out that Diana is a doctor. 

I love watching her at work. 

Michael, who is 83, is worried about some type of Vitamin B12 deficiency he has. He isn’t absorbing B12 so they have to give him these shots, but he’s not feeling any better yet, and he’s not sure he should be on this trip. 

Diana reassures him. Something about it takes 28 days to make red blood cells after getting the shots, or something. 

Doesn’t matter. The point is that she actually takes the time to explain things to people. And she’s rarely worried. It’s always: “You should be fine.”

And then in the end it pretty much always comes around to the fact that the best thing they can do is keep going, keep walking, stay active. 

I think it’s fair to say that Betty and Michael felt much better about their health after their informal consult. 

Wonderful people. The way they are still going on trips like this, and smiling and laughing, and engaged with life, they reminded me of my parents. 

Yes, it’s true that Ireland has a little rain. But with the cheery cows and sheep, the green hills and pastures, and the incredibly friendly and fun people, I think we would give Ireland a VERY sunny rating!

One last thing . . .

Way back in Chili, reader Bill M told us that someone brought nalca to Ireland and now it’s a pernicious invasive species. Well, they definitely have nalca in Ireland . . .

Tomorrow we explore the Dingle Peninsula – and then the next day we start heading north – toward Galway and, ultimately, Belfast . . .