Last time we were in Ireland, we only spent time in the capital (minus a brief day outing nearby). And lovely though it may be, this time, I was determined to see some of the green, nature-y bits as well. So after four or five days moving across the fascinating, yet taxing urban landscape of Ireland and the UK, we headed down from Dublin along the coast for a couple of seaside days.
Now, the journey alone was worth the trouble - while the train was slow, stopping in every tiny town across the better part of an hour, the view from the carriage was spectacular. There's just something about the sea, man. I'm beginning to think in some other life, I must've been a wave.
Alas, I didn't get any good photos, but here, to give you an idea of where we ended up:
Bray. Advertised as a tiny, coastal Irish town, it had me at the first hello. Or rather, the absence of it. I loved at once the quiet of the place, the little streets, the calm that greets you. I was excited, though wary. The weather turned out to be much less forgiving than our previous Irish visit, and being as I am the sort of person who loves a good loll around the waves, I'd kinda figured that wouldn't be in the cards this time.
Indeed, when I did get my feet into the water later, I found myself cursing like a sailor on leave (then again, maybe that's the past life that keeps drawing me to the sea), and quickly dried myself off. I did dip my feet into the water, though, and even danced on the beach the next day. At dusk. Finding a few minutes just for my barefoot self.
But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Understanding that the town was explorable within, say, an hour, I thought let's see what else there is to do out here. Luckily, it doesn't leave much room for wondering (though it does, wandering), as Bray Head dominates the coastal landscape, so putting on our best (and only) shoes, we headed out toward the great old hill.
I suspected, at first, the nature might serve as a good backdrop for some yoga shots (as one does, unfortunately, need to market).
But as we started the ascent, small though it may have been, something connected. Or rather, unplugged. I found I enjoyed more than I would've expected the here-and-now nature of the walk, the not knowing where the path might lead, or even if it was the right one. I also had half a mind to try the coastal walk between Bray and Graystones, but ended up giving it a miss this time, as we found ourselves ascending toward Bray Head, instead.
It's a testament to how addicted to these little tiny damn things we've become - I kept looking around, thinking "wow, it's really like in the pictures, they're not filtered or anything". People around talked about the gray of Irish skies, but I was more struck by the superb, hearty green, the fantastically alive yellow shrubs.
And the roots. Aren't you a sucker for a good, old tree just hanging out, minding its own business? I couldn't get enough of them, kept moving around and gawking at them from different angles.
Look at this masterpiece.
As I found out later, Bray Head has in the last eighty years or so become a religious pilgrimage of sorts. Ever since that great big cross was placed up there (1950, apparently), people have made it a tradition to climb up for Good Friday vigil. Like, from around. Don't imagine it gets much international traffic in that sense, but hey, still something. Well, we were only a couple weeks late all in all, and considering Orthodox Easter (Romania's main religion) had only just passed a few days before, I'd say it was quite alright.
I liked that I found room for silence, in between grumblings of "how much left of this bloody hill" and "dammit, i scraped myself on that". I even, with time, found the cross itself,and some well-deserved respite on top of it all.
I know 
I'm only messing, the climb is hardly tricky, but honestly, I'm not a fan of the masochism that some people in anything athletic have - the agony that some take as a prerequisite for pleasure. I climbed, it was challenging in a pleasant, not overly exerting way, and it gave me some kickass views of the Irish coast. That's about all I need, really.
Naturally, the climb down was trickier, but it did lead to coffee, not one I shall blog about this time, but we found this lovely little place, I Gufi Cafe, run by an actual Italian guy. Now, I unwisely skipped the offer of mouth-watering tiramisu and cannoli, and ordered the last scone (definitely not addicted to them - just happy I don't live in the UK, for the sake of my jeans) which was...underwhelming. In short, tasted exactly like "these Brits and their numpty so-called treats".
All in all, it was the opposite of a dull day. :)
