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.
Holsteins Cows.
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.
Scenic.
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.
Celtic cross.
A boreen trailing the rocky coast.
Abandon stone houses, castles, churches…
Breathtaking landscape.
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.
Romantic.
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:
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