Sligo and Dingle

We left the East Coast of Ireland and headed to Sligo, where my father spent much of his youth, (and although he's 87 he still seems to have a fair bit of youth to spare) and then the next morning we drove to the fishing town of Dingle.

Lough Gill is a lake that features in many of my fathers stories. A very foreboding place...









And here's a correctly exposed photo of Lough Gill and looking not nearly so scary. A white swan decided to check me out.






The wee town of Dingle is the very definition of the word 'quaint', which is why hordes of tourists descend on it in the Summer. It's the off season at the moment of course, and the locals whose incomes depend on tourism are all surly and miserable - although they could always be that way I suppose.






The Dingle Peninsula is yet another gorgeous part of the Irish landscape. All the fields are covered in innumerable stone walls. This is a 'beehive hut' dating from around 500 A.D. No mortar holds the stones together, just gravity.






A very wide angled view of us in the same beehive hut.
















The two of us at Slea Head, in the Dingle Peninsula.