Rugged and Romantic Indeed

Last weekend, my Paul and I went to Glendalough, Ireland to meet up with my girl Lauren and her husband Dave.  The Lonely Planet describes Wicklow National Park in Glendalough as “rugged and romantic.” Paul says, “Just like me!”

Before I get to the good stuff, can I just say that I’m thinking about instituting my own private boycott of airplanes, airports and all that flying nonsense.  Paul and I were supposed to meet in Dublin for date night on Thursday, before heading down to the wilds on Friday morning. It was going to be so lovely, a nice walk around the city, hit a few pubs (most notably the Porterhouse, a microbrewery paradise in an otherwise macrobrewed nation), and generally flirt and make out. Sounds lovely, no? I’m sure it would have been, but my flight was delayed a bit. Seven hours, to be exact. By the time I missed the bus and caught a cab, I was meeting Paul at the hostel at about 2am. Sigh.

He didn't even complain when I made him stop so that I could take a picture.

Things turned around pretty quick for us, though. We caught a bus that zoomed through the Irish countryside to drop us in front of the Glendalough Visitors’ Center. From there, it was just a mile walk through the hills and a few stepping stones across a stream to get to the place where we were staying. Count on Dave and Lauren to find a hike-in B&B, and count on Paul to schlep my bag without even a hint of complaining.  For all of us, I think, it was completely worth it, as the accommodations were fantastic and the setting was gorgeous.  Seriously, I kept trying to take pictures, but my poor little camera and my limited skill just couldn’t do anything with the vastness of the setting.

We had a wonderful couple of days there, including lots of hiking, lots of looking at ruins, and lots of napping and eating. Pretty much exactly what a vacation should be, I’d say.  Plus, I don’t know how you guys spent your Fourth of July, but I bet you didn’t get to experience the joy of reminding someone English how we kicked their asses. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so patriotic.

I know, a cemetery shot from me, shocking.

On Sunday, Paul and I caught the bus back to Dublin and continued the themes of the weekend: sitting, walking, eating, drinking. It was all quite lovely, but I’ll leave you with this image of a church that the LP’s description of was so compelling as to actually compel us to leave the self-guided walking tour route in order to investigate it.

Not exactly what we walked out of our way for