Blog 20: The Craic in Doolin

O'Brien's Tower

Blog 20: The Craic in Doolin

* No, I have not gotten involved in a European drug deal. “Craic” is an Irish slang for “good times” or “fun.” So the title could be translated to: Good times in Doolin. If anybody from Ireland is reading this (which I assume there are because of my demographics) I’m sorry if I’m using this word incorrectly/awkwardly!

Illegally at the edge of the cliffs...shhh don't tell!

            The Cliffs of Moher has become a natural theme park. I watch from higher ground as tourists swarm like bees from the parked tour buses. The silently majestic beauty is somewhat lost as hundreds of cameras begin flashing. I’m not sure if I would have been impressed with the Cliffs of Moher if I’d been among this mob. Luckily, my gaze had been fixated on this natural masterpiece for the past hour. When I first arrived at the cliffs, there wasn’t a tourist in sight. So I had time to take in the cliffs and all the beauty surrounding her by myself. There’s a wall that prevents people from getting too close to the edge of the cliff. I was feeling in a “rebellious” mood and hopped the wall to take in the view as dramatically as possible. Now I’m not saying you should be reckless, but every once in awhile it’s fun to spice life up with a little danger. The cliffs looked like a row of dominos from where I stood. Below waves crashed and gulls soared in kamikaze fashion. For a moment I wished I could trade places with one of these birds. If you ever have the opportunity to see the Cliffs of Moher, I recommend going before 9:30 am to beat the crowds. Your reward for waking up early is solidarity and peace while looking at those beautiful, dramatic cliffs.

Perfect reading location

            After admiring the cliffs and O’Brien's Tower, I hiked back down to Doolin. It took me about 3 hours (but I kept stopping along the way to stare at the breathtaking views). Along the way were herds of sheep, cows, and horses grazing in green pastures. I stopped at one unreal lookout to have a picnic (cheap sandwich) and read a book I brought with me. It was a lovely thirty minutes before I was chased away by looming clouds (typical Ireland).

Foolin in Doolin

            The town of Doolin was the perfect place to spend four days exploring the coast of County Clare. Out of all the places I’ve traveled to in the past five months, I felt most at home in places like Dingle and Doolin. It was a lot like the simple life we live on Maui. The special thing about Doolin though is that it used to be the mecca of traditional Irish music. Traditional Irish music flourished in this little town making it a little treasure for music lovers. Now tourists have ruined its authenticity but sometimes you get lucky with a good “session.” Luck seemed to be on my side because a popular local band, Foolin in Doolin, was playing the night I was in town. The small bar was packed with locals and tourists. An Austrian girl from my hostel and I were able to get a table up front. There were three musicians. The first was an older man with a flat cap and a face wrinkled probably from smiling too much. The second held a banjo and had stereotypical flaming red hair. And the last looked like he’d just finished filming Braveheart. He was tall and broad with wild, black hair that flowed to his shoulders. In his hand was Uilleann pipes (traditional Irish bagpipes) Together they were quite a sight. Irish music is usually jaunty and bouncy. It tempts you into tapping you foot along with the lightening fast rhythm. I like Irish music, but after awhile it sounds like one long continuous jig. The Austrian girl (a little hippy) however was getting really into it. She closed her eyes and started swaying while doing some crazy, yoga-like hand movements. Then an older woman started doing a jig along with the music. People started whooping and hollering. Observing all this craziness, I thought to myself “well this sure beats college dorm parties.” I’d say my stay in Doolin was quite the craic.