May 19-20—Working Back Down South, and Then Home

Since this was to be our last full day, we wanted to make sure that we fit everything we could into it—shopping, old castles, and scenic touring. Oh—and more Guinness. So off we went...

(Click on the thumbnails for a larger view, and then on the enlarged image to return.)

	Regretting that we hadn't done nearly as much shopping as we'd wanted, we made it a point to stop in Westport, a fairly large, attractive town on Clew Bay that was sure to have plenty of stores, and we weren't disappointed. This shot was taken just about where we parked the car.
	No, we didn't go in—10am is even a little too early for us. We just had Joe pose out front.
	Ahhhhhh, castles—we couldn't get enough of them. Oh, wait—it was Guinness that we couldn't get enough of. Here are some photos of ... some castle somewhere or other.
	Much of Ireland is covered with old but very well-maintained stone walls. Here's an example of one that goes right up over the top of the mountain.
	While driving along with a thirst building, we spotted a pub that also had several old cars parked out front (an interest of roughly 80% of us), so we swung in to satisfy both urges. Here's a panoramic video of the pub and the beautiful surroundings in which it's situated. The cars belonged to the publican, and he enjoyed gabbing with us Americans about some of the old cars that we owned.
	Today's travels took us by some very scenic areas, such as this one...
	...and this one. Think how it'd look under a blue sky, the sun casting shadows...
	The man is insatiable! As we were driving down toward the area of Shannon to look for a place to stay, we spotted a brewpub! Joe suddenly felt the steering wheel tug to the left, and we went in to sample the local wares. Mike, apparently, went in to sample the local poontang. (Note that, now that we're back down south, the babes have definitely become skankier.)
	We actually had a tough time finding a place near the airport, because 1) it was near the airport, 2) it was 7pm on Friday night, and 3) there was a big wedding nearby the following day. In desperation, we stayed in the little town of Sixmilebridge at a B&B run by a skanky old broad named Nula (or something like that—Mike would know). Joe's shown here being attacked by Nula's pet fox.
	Our last night! After dinner at a so-so upstairs Indian restaurant in Sixmilebridge, we settled into the downstairs pub for a final game of cards. Oh—and a final few pints of Guinness.
	Nula's accommodations weren't up to even our exceedingly modest standards.
	Looking out of the airport waiting area window the next morning, we noticed that our airplane was sporting rugby club flags. At least we think they were rugby club flags, rather than the flags of the warlord that hijacked the plane. Since our flight back to Boston was uneventful, the rugby club theory stands.