We got up a little earlier on Saturday, and of course Jenny, the Irish angel, made us breakfast—French toast today. Michael drove us down to Wicklow, our very own guided tour (but without the timed stops and those particular passengers you can’t stand).
We drove down through Dalkey, an affluent little seaside town. We drove by Maeve Binchy’s (adorably quaint), Bono’s, and Enya’s (ridiculously lavish) houses. Then we went to Glendalough (pronounced “Glen-da-lock”).
On the way home we stopped off at Johnnie Fox’s Pub. It claims to be the highest pub in Ireland and is more of a museum of the strange than a pub. (Though Michael told us there is a pub in Cork that also claims the title of highest in Ireland. I guess nobody actually cares enough to check the truth. This would match the attitude of the rest of this laid-back country.) The ride home was the first time I’d been glad for Mom packing Dramamine, and I napped extensively upon arriving home.
I slept the whole way home the next day. As we were leaving, Jenny was going to pick up her brother (sounds a lot like the airport service my parents run). All in all, I can’t wait to get back to Dublin. And I can’t wait to return the favor when they come to the States!