We drove to Dingle with a quick stop to see Castle Matrix (pretty cool place).
We got to our B & B and were greeted with a blackberry cobbler straight out of the oven. Since there was still daylight, Robyne and I decided to head down the road for some Pony Trekking. Funny, Elaine seemed to feel a walk on the beach might be safer.
Gavin, our guide, immediately labeled us as "holiday riders." Trying to get myself a horse that had a little umph, I explained that I was slightly more experienced than your average holiday rider. He didn't seem to pay much attention. So the three of us set off to the beach. Robyne's horse, Bingo, would only trot when the front two horses trotted and would on no account move into second position. So, I spent a lot of the time talking with Gavin while Robyne trailed behind like a kid sister.
The Irish saddles are a lot different than Western saddles. Gavin said, "Western saddles are like arm chairs." Every time we trotted, I got banged around in the saddle; I couldn't seem to get a rhythm going. When we galloped, I had to grab the horse's mane (no shoe horn on the saddle) while I flopped around. I really think my stirrups were too long. At one point on the beach, something spooked my horse and it did a couple sideways jumps. I felt I must be advanced since I didn't even fall off. A little bit later, Gavin started galloping down the beach, jumping, that's right, jumping his horse over seaweed piles. My horse, Blackie, followed right along. When I let out a screech, Gavin turned and realized my horse was following and immediately stopped. So much for being advanced. At the end, when Gavin took our horses away, Robyne whispered to me, "do you want to invite him along for wine on the beach?" "Robyne," I replied, "he's only 14." That Robyne, what are you going to do.
We moseyed on back to the B & B, hosed off, grabbed a bottle of wine and headed to the beach for sunset. Beautiful, the waves made plenty of splooshes.
By now, we had learned that if you want food in Ireland, you had better get your order in by 9:00 pm. So at 8:00 pm we headed to the recommended local pub for some food and real Irish music. It was closed, in fact the whole town (which was about the size of my living room), looked closed. We started down a street and Robyne says, maybe this place is open. "Robyne, Robyne, Robyne, it looks very dark. A place of business would have some indication they were open." Creak. That was the door opening. "Are you open?" "Sure, come on in." I'm becoming really good at spotting these open places, aren't I.
It was just us, and Simon and Annie who owned the joint. There was no food (it was pre-tourist season). We had drinks, crisps (potato chips) and a nice chat with some real Irish pub owners. Well, Annie was Scottish and Simon was English, but you get the idea.
With a few drinks in our bellies, we sauntered back to the original recommended pub, which we had been informed would be open at 9:00. "Do you have food?" "We have crisps!" Wonderful. "We'll take a Cider and two Guini's." Well, how would you pluralize Guinness? While waiting for the two pints of Guinness (the bartender taught me the correct way to say it), we chatted with the bartender, and the band at the bar (who weren't playing yet) and finally we grabbed a nearby table.
Cards came out, drinks went down, and we had a nice loud discussion on our need for food until the bartender called over, "would you like some ham and cheese sandwiches?" "Yes," in chorus!
A local Irish couple joined us, Elaine and Gerard. Elaine was nice, loud and that drunken obnoxiousness that fits in nicely at a bar. The band started playing some of those good old Irish classics like "Take Me Home, Country Roads." The band was good. We were all singing and laughing and drinking until 2:00 AM. Elaine and Gerard even said we should stay at their place the next night, but alas, our plans took us elsewhere.