Ireland was lovely, just plain lovely. We had pretty fantastic weather, considering we were going to Ireland in the end of September/start of October.

On the advise of a rather charming old Irish man we met in a bar, we took a day trip to Bray. We had been promised a miniature Irish Coney Island, go-karts, arcades, and candy galore.

Of course, it being the waning days of September, this summery seaside resort had all but shut down. Some sparse lonely ice cream and sweet shops remained open but the few tourists meandering about clearly had no interest, as the saltwater breeze forced all jackets closed and faces down to avoid the wind.

Not to be deterred, we set our sights high.























Although we were woefully under prepared for such a hike in our dresses, tights, and ballet flats, we decided to go for it anyway. The path starts nice enough with a paved road to follow. The pavement soon turns to stone, and the stone into stone steps. We thought we were in for an easy and relaxing stroll, but it soon turned from pavement to dirt and from dirt to mud and loose rock.

Bre and I were feeling pretty mighty as we huffed and puffed up the side of the hill, until a man of almost 70 passed us with a cheery, "Good mornin' girls!" (though in our defense, the area we come from is flatter than Keira Knightly, so such a climb is not an every day trip for us).

We finally made it to the top, our tights torn from the brush and our Midwest butts burning from the unaccustomed feel of any type of geographical incline whatsoever.

Remember that tiny little cross? Yeah, not so tiny.



















But an incredibly beautiful view.

Photos are property of Bird in Boots.