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being .
When I finished eating , I got up from the table , thanked Ronnie , and went upstairs to the bedroom . I was very tired . The night before I had slept on the floor of the ferry , then driven in the rain almost two hundred kilometres on narrow roads , with that dangerous grass in the middle , the wells , the sheep , and the excitement of being in Ireland . What a wonderful country !
I woke the next morning to the aroma of fried bacon invading my nostrils . Taka was sleeping curled up in his bed ; a few pints of Guinness spoiled him in the pub half a block away from the Dromid Hostel , after the chicken feast . I went downstairs to take a shower in the communal bathrooms and , as I returned to the dorm , I heard a shy tapping at the door and a voice .
“ Mac , breakfast is served . Ronnie made a scotch one , please join us ,” said Andrea .
I couldn ' t believe the generosity of these people . I went down to the kitchen and there were three plates on the table . In the middle was a platter with black pudding , sausage , boiled eggs , fried eggs , black bread , and Irish butter . Absolutely no vegetables . No tomatoes , no cucumbers , only protein . A kettle was steaming with hot tea next to a small jug of milk .
After breakfast , I got ready , said goodbye to everybody , and set off for the Cliffs of Mohers area . I crossed the Ballaghasheen pass on The Highlands of Kerry and descended into the Glencar Valley , which translates as “ The Valley of the Gentle People ” or “ The Valley of the River of Rocks ”, where the famous Glencar Highland Lamb grazes at the foot of Ireland ' s highest mountain , the Carrantuohill Peak , 1,039 metres tall .
The thrill I got when I rounded a bend and saw it was fantastic . The path was dangerous , and I needed to be careful . I came across lonely people walking in the middle of nowhere and a burnt-out Land Rover . It looked brand new . I crossed villages where the road turned into a tunnel because the treetops joined together . A road repairman greeted me warmly and I stopped to take his picture .
In Killorghin village every house has a distinct colour . My mind was adjusting to driving on the left
side of the road and my confidence was growing mile by mile . I saw landscapes that left me openmouthed and some brought tears to my eyes . It was raining all the time , foggy and cold .
I stopped past the Cliffs of Mohers , on the Atlantic coast and took a picture of La Más at the very moment when a cluster of thousands of birds were making patterns in the sky .
I arrived mid-afternoon at the
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