Feeding the Sheep

Shades of green. Just like I imagined.

As we continue toward the fishing village of Dingle, we stop to take roadside photos.

An Irishman with a bucket of feed walks down the path. 

When he returned Robin asked him what he's doing.

Irishman: "Feeding the sheep."

Robin: "Because there's not enough grass?"

A glimpse of the Atlantic.

Very Ireland.

Inch Beach

A couple of helpful old-timers in this highway pub assured us that Inch Beach was just around the next curve or so.

Cold, windy, and damp. But still a nice stop.

Just beyond the rocks are a couple of surfers.

Carla ponders some mystical sand writing that might have been here for hundreds of years.

Jamie.

More mystical evidence. A miniature stonehenge.

The beach started getting crowded so we continued our journey.

Inch Cemetery

Friday morning we headed off to Dingle, a fishing village on a peninsula on the Atlantic coast of Ireland, the westernmost point of Europe.

Robin's Euro-driving-skills are getting even better. Can't always find drivers as good as this one. 

Our first stop was at a pub in the middle of nowhere to ask if Inch Beach was near. We found out it's just up the road. As we walked back to the car we realized we were parked a few feet from a cemetery with an ocean view.