Day 116: Malahide - DUB🛫 - Ballyknockan

We woke up in our favorite spot near Dublin, in Malahide, on the edge of the Broadmeadow estuary. Life there moves slowly, as if the seagulls were keeping time and the sea dictated the agenda. Dad and Uncle Javi were so relaxed that it seemed we would never get going.

The first idea of the day was to visit the Guinness brewery. Uncle Javi looked for tickets online but there were none left. So we didn't even bother going. Plan discarded, and on to find something else.

We got into Dublin traffic, which is like a crazy car video game, until we parked in the same place as ten days ago. Plan B was the "House of Illusion". It sounded like magic, but the reviews were more frightening than exciting. So discarded as well. And then the best part of the day arrived: lunchtime. We crossed Saint Stephen's Green and ended up at the restaurant "Boeuf & Coq", where we had been twice before. They didn't give me anything to eat, just so you know, but I enjoyed the smells like never before. Also, the waiters, many of whom speak Spanish, gave me star treatment. I already felt like the official mascot of the restaurant.

Then came the sad part: we took Uncle Javi to the airport. I noticed that Dad was getting melancholy, because it's one thing to travel with company and another to be alone again. I put on a "don't worry, Dad, I'm not going to Valencia" face.

To lift his spirits, Dad went shopping. And suddenly, ding! A message from John and Alastair. Invitation to coffee at their house in Dublin. We arrived around half past six, and they welcomed us with their two little dogs. There was mutual sniffing, I played a little and meanwhile the humans chatted with laughter. The coffee was short but intense, because they had dinner with John's sister.

We left around half past seven or eight, still with light, and decided not to go back to Malahide to sleep: too much wind, there we would be kites out of control. Leaving Dublin was a chaos: cars appearing from all sides, treacherous traffic lights and endless roundabouts. When we finally left the city, it was almost night.

The road narrowed, the curves multiplied and the bushes seemed to want to brush against the camper. I watched every suspicious shadow, and Dad gripped the steering wheel as if that would help. "If a flying deer or a killer bush appears, at least we'll be ready," I thought.

Finally, a picnic area in the Wicklow Mountains, where there is one more motorhome, also Spanish. The wind is still strong, but we are more protected than in Malahide and we can finally relax. We turned off the engine, listened to the roar of the wind in the trees, and I settled down next to Dad thinking: "An intense day, yes, but here we are safe and ready to sleep".