Day 121: Clogher - Glannagilliagh

Waking up with views like that is a pleasure. I opened one eye, then the other, and already had the ocean spread out like a blue tablecloth in front of me. There was no need to rush. We set off without haste, with that calm of someone who knows that the day brings curves, cliffs and perhaps some mischief from Daddy Edu.

We followed the Wild Atlantic Way route, that path for cars and adventurers that runs along the coast as if it were a bright scar. They call it one of the most beautiful roads in the world, and they're not exaggerating: each curve seems to want to be on a postcard.

We stopped at several viewpoints, and at Slea Head, which turns out to be the westernmost point of Ireland. There the land looks out to sea as if it wanted to take one more step, but doesn't dare. Right next door, a cross with life-size human figures looks at the horizon with a solemn gesture. Honestly, the whole thing is uglier than a forgotten plastic bone, but luckily it's on the mountain side and doesn't block the view of the abyss.

In Coumeenoole we wanted to walk to Dunmore Head, the real corner of the end, where scenes from Star Wars were filmed. But a very clear sign says: "no dogs". What a disappointment! I could already see myself posing like a jedi with ears.

So we changed the plan and went to the Blasket Centre. I had to stay in the camper, which doesn't make me the slightest bit happy, but Daddy Edu goes in to browse. For five euros, which seems cheaper than a packet of sweets, he discovers the history of the Blasket Islands: people who lived in isolation until the fifties, speaking only Gaelic, fishing, telling stories and writing books that are still treasures of Irish literature. The building is modern, with large windows to the sea. Outside there is a path to a viewpoint from where the island looks like it's sleeping on the ocean.

We went back to the road, passed through Dingle and tackled the Conor Pass. What a mountain pass! Warnings everywhere: prohibited for vehicles over two tons, maximum one meter eighty wide... and our camper weighs almost three tons and measures two ten at the top. But of course, Daddy Edu looks at the signs as if he were reading the horoscope and says: "Bah, they're sure to be exaggerating". And up we go.

We parked at the viewpoint of the pass. There was wind, playful clouds and mountains that seemed to guard ancient secrets. There we ate in the camper, proud as if we had conquered an Irish version of the Himalayas.

Then came the decision: go back the way we had come, or risk it and go down the other side, which is narrower and with more prohibitions. Guess which option Daddy Edu chose... Of course, the risky one. I was on alert, ready to jump if we got stuck, but in the end the pass wasn't as fierce as they paint it. We went down without problems, with a sigh or two and a lot of skill at the wheel.

Once down, we diverted to Ballydavid North, a cliff that promises a show but ends up being "meh". There aren't even any interesting seagulls.

Already tired of so much zigzagging, we headed east. We left the Dingle Peninsula, crossed Milltown and Killorglin, and finally found a huge gravel car park, on top of a mountain that in Ireland would be more of a mound with pretensions. The access, yes, was from a rally movie: potholes, curves and narrowness that only a brave (or an unconscious) person overcomes. But we conquered it.

Now we are here, alone, with the wind whispering among the bushes and the camper well planted. Not a car, not a soul. Just us, the silence and a lot of stars waiting their turn.