We took local advice and just made a quick stop in Limerick (just because you have to stop in any place named Limerick) for a coffee and a piece of rubber pie- actually we passed on the rubber pie and had carrot cake instead, and we were halfway through it when it dawned on us that 'rubber' pie was actually rhubarb pie with a thick Irish accent (among other translations, "tars" is actually towers, and "rats" is actually riots). You might expect that Limerick would have a light and fluffy nickname but instead is saddled with the more ominous "Stab City"- many of the pointy problems that led to this name have been resolved but it was the roughest looking place we had seen so far in Ireland. Limerick, as a name, doesn't fit this tough town- my own suggestion to the Tourist Bureau might be to have Westport and Limerick exchange names.

If you look up Dingle in most guide books you'll find all kinds of discussion around the Dingle Way, a scenic drive that is a long-distance trail around the Peninsula, but for me Dingle was all about my own symbol of Ireland- the village pub (even the real symbol used on the flag is a reversed Irish Harp- reversed because Guinness has already trademarked it for use on their products). Just this past Xmas we were in the Czech Republic which just happens to be the top beer consuming nation per capita in the world and now, here we are, in Ireland, which ranks number two (131.1 litres per year) on that illustrious list. And if you just included stout and ales, I'm sure Ireland would be number one by some distance. Although there were a similar number of "legless" types wandering the streets it was much easier to appreciate the Irish pub infrastructure because it wasn't shrouded in the constant grey haze of Czech cigarette smoke. And Dingle introduced a new level of charm.

On the main drag, Foxy John’s is a combination of vintage pub and a very traditional hardware store. I'm not sure that selling rat poison and hammers in a pub reaches the heights of common sense but they did try to keep the pub products on one side with the hardware goodies on the other side. Lord Baker's Pub supplements its Guinness revenues with the sale of wine and spirits (makes sense), tea, flour, wool and general farm supplies (not so much). Recently closed, James Flahive was a tailor shop for over 100 years in addition to being a pub -- not sure how successful you'd be at measuring the inseam of a staggering drunk but presumably customer complaints wouldn't be significant. The locals proudly contend that there are more pints of Guinness enjoyed in Dingle per head of population than anywhere else in Ireland. It went a long way to explaining the number of wobbly dudes in the street clutching a roll of duct tape and a bag of flour while sporting pants with noticeably different leg lengths. 

There are other pubs in Ireland that offer very creative business mash-ups (bakery, general grocery store, clothing,etc.) but Dingle seemed to an ideal host to this quirky phenomenon. Perhaps Dingle feels more Irish than some because it’s part of a Gaeltacht, a region where the government subsidizes the survival of the Irish language (Gaelic) and culture. 

A reasonably fit person can complete the Dingle Way in 7-8 days so we estimated that DH would require about 6 months to drag her leg around the entire circuit... and opted to drive the route instead. Each corner seems to offer up an entirely different view and, given that the circuit includes a stop that is the westernmost point in Europe, with a bit of imagination you can see the shores of Newfoundland. But we also got a history lesson- the great famine, An Gorta Mór, of the 1840s, took its toll on the population of Ireland following the failure of the potato crop. Despite being able to rely on sea for fish, the lack of skills and equipment meant the famine also affected the Dingle Peninsula in a big way. You can still see the vertical ridges of the potato beds, a number of stone famine cottages, and graveyards- reminders of the Famine, which eventually, through starvation or emigration, cut Ireland’s population by one-quarter. 

There are now more Irish people living outside of Ireland than in which goes a long way to explaining the presence of an Irish Pub in just about every corner of the planet (our most bizarre St. Patricks Day was spent in Manila near an Irish Pub that thought dressing up Little People in leprechaun costumes was a good idea).