The Dingle Peninsula

Tim Collins was our tour guide around the Dingle Peninsula, out in the country rather than in the town of Dingle. He was a tall, white-haired guy with bright blue eyes and looked very Irish. I can't help but notice we've never had a female tour guide.

Ring forts—go back 2000 years—connected with fairies in legend—we just passed one, where the land is up several feet, and plants are growing on it. It's a big round stone wall, reminiscent of stone cattle walls. It’s obviously very old and full of atmosphere, perhaps haunted.

Narrow road—1840s-1850s, for carriages and carts.
Ring of Kearay—another peninsula, about 100 miles around

Beehive huts (several in a stone wall) 2000 years old. Pretty when they’re intact, though even the ones we walked around, with just the foundation left, were really cool looking. I really like old stone buildings.

We went to a 6th century foundation of a monastic settlement (I took lots of photos, despite "oh the dreadful wind and rain"), which included a stone wall circling around beehive cells. Also inside the wall was a small rectangular church, or rather the foundation of one. In front of the church foundations, on the left side of the door, was the simple tombstone of the abbot, and about a foot or two in front of that is a little circle of stones indicating where he died.

It was very windy and wet, and there we were trudging along paths and climbing slick stone walls to look at really old architecture. I’m so glad I got this raincoat for the trip.
We took another stop at the Visitor’s Centre for a 7th century oratory. We went into the registrar’s gift shop, where those of us who wanted to walk through the rain to the oratory went to one side of the room, and those who wanted to be relatively dry and just go to the film presentation and coffee shop went to the other side. I of course went to see the oratory.

Dave bought our tickets, and off we went back into the rain and wind, and the wind seemed, if anything, stronger. We walked the several meters along a path in a field, and oh my it was worthwhile. The oratory, a place for worship and meditation, is the only one of its kind still intact. It's a beautiful little grey stone building. The stones are piled up till they form a point at the top, and before that the ceiling is slightly curved. A small window is at the back where there would have been an altar beneath it (a bouquet of orange flowers leaned against the wall instead of an altar), and a low door at the front. We gathered inside, and it was perfectly dry—I wanted to stay in there longer. The floor, in the 7th century, would have been covered with straw or reeds. It lasted so long in part because in medieval times, it was kept as a shed—a wood shed or something, but it’s still a bit surprising that it is still intact, so perfect. Next to it are a couple of stones with crosses carved on them, and there’s a low stone fence around them.

Next—and by now we were thoroughly wet; my pants and jacket were soaked, but my hiking boots are so good that my feet were quite dry—we stopped at the ruins of a 15th-century church. It had worn down, simple gargoyles, and there were two rooms. At the back of the church, in the center back wall, there’s a long narrow window called the eye of the needle. It’s been worn down, widened somewhat, because people climb through that window; they believe it will bring salvation.

Oh, yes, in front of the church, we stopped to take a look at a large stone cross that’s 2/3 underground. And a few steps beyond that is a tall, skinny stone with ancient language marked on it—I think it’s 4th century Ogham—where there’s a perpendicular line with slanting marks along it. At the top is a hole through which people standing on either side can reach and give a sort of handshake, like making a pledge. Actually, before we reached either of those, there’s a simple sundial that, according to Tim Collins, the tour guide, tells the right time two days out of the year. It’s not properly lined up with the West.

32,000 ring forts on this island
Population five million (one million in Dublin)