WHERE SUMMER MEANS…WELL, MEANS NOTHING REALLY
“Let’s get away from the kids for few days,” said my wife, “I heard Western Ireland is really beautiful”. I’ve never been there, but the brochure sure looked nice. Sunny, lush and green. I guess I should have known better. After all, I do occasionally create brochures for a living.
Western Ireland was indeed very lush and very green and for about eight and half minutes also partly sunny. I guess when it comes to marketing Ireland, timing is really everything. After that eight and a half minutes had passed the rain came back and didn’t stop until we were safely back home in steamy (and unbearable sunny) Tel Aviv. Did we bring any umbrellas? No. Are we stupid? I’m afraid I’m not that brave to admit.
Had we bothered looking at the annual weather chart we would have known there are no real seasons over in Western Ireland. The difference between the coldest day of winter and the “hottest” day of Summer is less than 10 degrees centigrade. This may sound like almost nothing (it is), until you look at the difference in precipitation which is literally non-existent. It’s just rainy year round.
That’s good perhaps for the fields, the sheep and even for the Whiskey. Just not very good for dumb Middle Eastern tourists with romantic hallucinations of the endless vistas on the Ring of Kerry, and no trench coats.
By-the-way, the picture above was taken in Kylemore Abbey, less than 20Km northeast of Clifden and about ten minutes after the cloud cover has ended our eight and a half minutes of sun. Yes, it was drizzling. Again.
It’s foggy, but I can’t remember why
How can you remember anything after three cups of Irish Coffee? It’s not that we had much else to do at one o’clock in the afternoon.
We stopped at the aptly named village of Waterville, where Charley Chaplin is said to have chosen as a destination for his family vacations. You got to admit the guy had a great sense of humor. He probably had a good palate too. The Butler Arms Hotel, where he used to stay, serves some mean raw oysters and splendid whiskey.
Having nothing else to do but to take a picture of a wet dog, we collectively chose to stay over until it was way past three.
The road back was foggy too. Not sure if that was real mist or just me. The only thing I do know is that the following morning I woke up with a headache and all my organs still attached to the place God had intended them.
It was still raining.