“[The Burren] stretches across northern [County] Clare, from the Atlantic coast to Kinvara in County Galway, a unique limestone landscape that was shaped beneath ancient seas, and then forced high and dry during some great geological cataclysm. Boireann is the Irish term for ‘rocky country’, a plain but geographic description of the Burren’s aces of silvery limestone karst pavements. The pavements, known as ‘clints’, lie like huge, scattered bones across the swooping hills. Between the seams of rock lie narrow fissures, known as ‘grykes’. Their humid, sheltered conditions support exquisite wild flowers in spring, lending the Burren its other great charm: brilliant…color amid so much arid beauty.”
My take on the Burren? I would describe it as “beautifully desolate”, and would liken it to walking on the moon (although clearly I’ve never done that.) Walking on the limestone formations is a bit bizarre—they look like solid rock, but you’ll often step on one and hear a hollow sound. We drove down the R480 from Ballyvaughn, near the Aillwee Caves (“See it by boat!”…oops! wrong cave), to the N481 in Kilfenora, near the Gleninsheen Castle. This route took us through the “heart” of the Burren, plus also past some amazing prehistoric sites, like the Poulnabrone Dolmen, aka “the Portal Tomb”.
The Portal Tomb was built more than 5,000 years ago. When it was excavated in 1986, the remains of 16 people were found. We read at the site they estimate 33 people were buried there, the most recent being a newborn child from the 1700’s. Look at the picture below, and tell me how those prehistoric peoples erected that bad boy, ‘cause I have no clue.
On the way back to Lahinch, I made Bob take a detour to find a place called the Burren Perfumery & Floral Centre, outside this little town called Carran. The shop itself was not hard to find, as it was well marked, however every time we made a turn the road just seemed to get smaller and smaller. Bob clearly thought that I had no freaking idea where I was going, but finally I was vindicated when made yet another turn—onto the smallest road yet—and there was the perfumery. The cool thing with this place is that is uses the wildflowers of the Burren to make its scents. It’s the only place of its kind in Ireland. The best part? The signs that say “No Coaches” (tour buses). Got to love a place like that!
We found our way home, which wasn’t hard. In Ireland, the best way to figure out how to get some where is to look for signs directing you to towns, rather than the routes that would get you there. For instance, at various points during our jaunt in the Burren, the road signs would just indicate towns, and not route markers. We knew we were OK as long as we saw we were heading towards “Kilfenora”, rather than being on the R480.
Their “roundabouts”—what we call “traffic circles—are another story altogether.We grew to like them during our jaunt through the countryside, but initially they were a little daunting. As soon as you realize that traffic coming from the right, has the right-of-way, you’re OK. And it’s imperative you know which “exit” off the roundabout you’re going to take before you get into it, ‘cause sometimes that’s not well-marked. But they do keep traffic moving without the use of stop signs or stoplights, and we were all for that!
Back in Lahinch, Bob set out for his last round of golf at Lahinch Golf Club for his last round of golf. The Lahinch Golf Club was established in 1893. It’s basically in the town of Lahinch. Bob could have walked there if had wanted to.
While he golfed, I relaxed with a book for awhile, then set out to explore the town. Lahinch, incidentally, is a HUGE surfing outpost, quite well-known for its righteous waves. There are three surf shops in the town, and even while we were there, we saw a few hardy souls in the water trying to catch the perfect wave. I can only imagine what the town is like during the summer. Must be insane.
Needing a nice pint of Guinness after my walk, I headed towards the golf club and had myself a pint while I watched the foursomes come in on the 18th green. Finally I spotted the man himself (he’d been paired with 3 other Americans, believe it or not!) and quick ran out to the terrace to snap some pictures of his triumphant finish.
We grabbed some dinner downtown at the Atlantic Hotel. I had had enough “pubbing”, but Bob was still raring to go, so he walked back downtown and went to some pub called the Nineteenth Hole. Apparently, there were NO women in there, and the only inhabitants were a bunch of regulars that were speaking with such thick Irish accents that Bob had no idea what they were talking about. After downing 2 beers, he called it quits as well and stumbled home.
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