The back roads in Ireland, the tiny unmarked ones that weave through the countryside lined by hedges, stone walls or fences, are called: Boreens. If you do not know your way around, it is nearly impossible to go from one point to another without becoming lost for a few hours or the rest of your life.
My friend Carrie lives on such a boreen, and if she hadn't spent most of her childhood there, she would be lost too. A GPS works only if you have the exact cordiance.
On walks we took I trusted Carrie to lead the way.
Since most of the country around Cork is hilly, imagine a patchwork comforter cover fluffed up and they spread out over a bunch of boulders, walking along the boreens is good exercise, and risky, due to the random car and faithful cow dog.
Scones, jam, tea...
Spotted along the way... but if I had to find them again I would have to hold Carrie's hand.
Wildflowers bouquets are a temptation, fairies and lepercons are hard to deny, and any road in France is as wide as a highway compared to the boreens.
Enchanting travel if you have your wits about you and not two pints.
If I had a penny for every time I said, "Oh my God!" in Ireland in these last twenty-four hours, I would never have to pray again. Certainly, God thought I was begging to become a nun.
A boreen trailing the rocky coast.
Abandon stone houses, castles, churches...
The boreens and lanes, even the roads in Ireland are just so darn charming that I could be happy being a piece of debris on any of them, though there wasn't a single piece of debris anywhere.
Heather on the knoll, oh my God! Flower power rules in Ireland.
Like I said, "God thought I was praying to become a nun."
A four leaf clover I could have found.
The only road signs I saw were on the main roads.
Nevertheless, if I had to be lost, Ireland would be the place I would want to be lost in.
Safe, magical, enchanting, thoughtful, gentle, happy... a very happy place.
Books and Blogs about Ireland: