Athlone has the honor of being the most prominent dot along the highway when we were hungry for lunch. We exited. And that's when the StayLeftStayLeftStayLeft chant began in earnest. (I told my sister, "Always feel free to remind me. Anytime.")

We followed signs to the center of the city. I was doing okay until I got to a traffic light. They painted a white line in the middle of the lane with two arrows on either side and called them turn lanes. The lane was not wide enough for two cars. The car behind me disagreed and pulled up to my right, close. Drat. So I turned left (Tight Turn! Stay Left!) instead, then later managed to make a U-turn with lots of inhaling and exhaling.

Then we saw a castle. And a parking spot on the street. We took it!

We walked almost all the way around the imposing fortress until we found the entrance across from a street performer playing American folk tunes on an accordion. The visitor's center in the castle was open, but the castle was closed. Oh well.

The friendly lady did direct us to look for this pub, though:

We walked across the river to the town centre, which was cute but surprisingly quiet for a workday lunchtime. Lots of places were closed. A church sign read, "Better than Broadband, Immediate Access to God."

We found a cute lunch place! The menu had a variety of options (and a variety of teas) and gave us cool color-photo books of Ireland to peruse while we waited for our order. But the single bathroom was very, very competitive...

Tables did not stay empty for long here. This seems to be the place to go. I had chili beans and we split chai tea (to go with the beans and leaves theme.) Perfect!

We walked back to the car, didn't get rained on, and sis navigated me back to the M6. Not long after Athlone, we exited at Ballinasloe and joined the R446 toward Gort. A more-or-less straight shot, per the map. We thought we were making excellent time. After all, we'd driven over three-quarters of the distance in less than an hour and a half.

But the remaining quarter took us Over. Three. Hours.

In a short time, we figured out the color system of road signs. And also learned that the "M" motorways and the "R" routes are painfully different. (We didn't even know about "L" local roads yet.)

I counted. By the end of the day we had turned around a total of 5 times.

As soon as we left M6, the speed limit dropped and the speed which we were willing to go plummeted.

We took turns driving and navigating. (Kudos to sister for operating a stick shift for the first time in years, let alone on the left!) We aimed for Gort until a key sign vanished. At our first major roundabout, we chose the wrong spoke. Luckily, the signs we saw after turning around (and around until we found the right spoke again) were helpful, as was often the case.

Our main stressor, well, besides multi-lane roundabouts, shifting with our left hand, and looking the wrong way down the road when pulling out and almost hitting oncoming traffic (where are the painted "Look Left" / "Look Right" words when you need 'em?) was the speed of local drivers. To my eyes, we were on a narrow, twisty road full of blind curves that I wouldn't want to take at more than 25mph, or 40kph. But the posted speed limit, like a challenge, remained between 80-100kph outside of town and 50-60kph in town. Unlike the brave (insane?) locals, we could not keep up. Both of us regularly had lines of cars bunched up behind us (though no honking). We pulled over when possible but there were few places to do so except for, like the below left photo, in front of houses.

I felt like I could reach out the passenger window and touch the bushes on the left side, meanwhile cars going the opposite direction sped inches from the right side view mirror.

You can see for yourself on Google Street View. Check out this road in the area:

We read every sign we saw, looking for route numbers and town names near Lisdoonvarna (our final destination) or even the Cliffs of Moher.

Nothing. Several minutes past Gort toward Enningston, we realized our mistake and turned around in a farmhouse driveway right as the owners were coming home. We carefully avoided driving over the welcoming dog. Then, back in Gort, we found the route number we wanted, but a few minutes into that journey, a clear sign read, "Corolin: 13km" and Corolin was a straight shot from Lisdoonvarna.

But which do we trust? The map with route numbers or the sign?

Crossing our fingers, we turned off the road we were on.

Cows greeted us.

Fortunately for our nerves, it was not a heavily-traveled road, but 13km took forever since we drove slow around curves (and came to a stop the two times we did meet another car, pulling way off to the side). It was now 4pm, the check-in time I specified, and who knew how far away we really were.

Finally, we arrived in Lisdoonvarna. I followed the printed-out instructions to reach the B&B but everything sounded simpler than it was in real life. At long last, I spotted the pinkish-red two-story building with white corners I remembered from the web site. Yes! We pulled into the driveway and parked in the wide area off to the side that I assumed was the lot, even though there were no other cars.

I nearly walked right in the door, but sis said, "I'd think there'd be a sign." There was no sign. Not the slightest evidence that this was a Bed & Breakfast. We peeked inside the window. It was... messy. Lots of stuff. Too much for a hotel.

This was someone's house.

Whoo boy. We hurried back to the car, sneaked down the driveway (crossing our fingers the owners would not come home!), and kept driving. Less than five minutes later, we came upon another pinkish-red two-story building with white corners. This one with a sign.

A reasonable mistake? Right?? I only saw the photo a handful of times on the internet a month before we came.

(Yeah, I shoulda just looked for an actual sign.)

Luckily, our hostess, a lovely older lady, didn't mind that it was 4:45pm when we ambled in. She knew who we were, guessed our genetic relationship, then showed us up to our room. She arranged our breakfast time (8am) and said the Cliffs were about a ten-minute drive away. We made use of the facilities, got the door key, and headed back out. Following signs to one of the most famous places in Ireland should be easy. Or so we thought.

As we learned, brown signs have sites of interest on them, so proved to be handy for our entire trip. The first one read "Cliffs of Moher: 10km." Having learned my lesson, I looked down at my odometer so I'd know when we were getting close. We continued along the twisty, country roads.

As an aside, I looked for the same 10km sign on Google Street View, but it appears that since 2009 - the dates of Google's photos - Ireland has added a great many signs. Perhaps too many since they seem to be on every conceivable road and direction from which one may approach the Cliffs.

This might explain why we were just coming up on 10km on my odometer when we saw another sign.

Cliffs of Moher: 10km.

Gah!

Good thing the days are long; we weren't racing sunset or anything. Also, good thing there are two of us because I missed the ever-important arrow pointing to N67 at Ennistimon and had to make a U-turn. I'm getting good at those.

Luckily, once you are on the proper road, the Cliffs are hard to miss. Well, to be more specific, the parking lot is hard to miss. You can't see any cliffs from the road, just an occasional peek at the ocean.

When among the farm fields, you see a ton of cars on a patch of asphalt like rows of shiny cows grazing, you've arrived.

We headed across the street! Cliffs were not in view yet, but we saw plenty of tourists.

They are indeed a stunning sight. (Worth the extra 10km.) It helped that we had perfect weather, sunny and warm with a cool breeze, and afternoon light. The sound of waves crashing on the rocks and birds cawing added to the effect.

As you can see along the main overlook, a serious wall keeps you from accidentally going over the edge. Once you reach the end of the wall (on either end) you see warning signs and a trail beyond, where you may spot seasoned hikers, brave photographers, or a wedding party.

It didn't feel crowded. People from all over the world were enjoying the view. Sis translated overheard French and a couple from NY asked us to take their photograph. The edge looks daunting from afar for the tiny figures at the top. Moreso than close-up. There is a Memorial at the top for those who have perished at the cliffs. It's a bit somber.

But speaking of Memorial...

We realized it was Memorial Day (in the U.S.)

Or, rather, MeMoherial Day.

(insert pause for groaning)

Yeah, I did the math. Over 600 Castles in Ireland. 38k sq. mi. total area (including N. Ireland). So, a castle every 63 square miles.

That explains why we saw so many brown signs with a picture of a castle on it.

I thought finding an Irish castle to visit could be difficult. Ha, no, they're hard NOT to find.

We took the long way back (and saw another sign for Cliffs of Moher pointing in a different direction than the one we were coming from!) Sunlight glistening on the ocean distracted me from more and more cars lining up in my rear view mirror.

The Roadside Tavern by multiple accounts is THE place to eat in the area, so we got a table and enjoyed salmon (their specialty), cheesecake, and live Celtic music! It was awesome.

Check that one off.

We only booked one night in Lisdoonvarna, so we planned our route for the next day before bed, now having a sense of what an "R" road truly meant. The main recommendation on our route in the guidebook was something called Carroway Cemetery near Sligo. We tentatively planned to stop there assuming we could find it without a GPS.

Then we headed to sleep, even though it was not quite dark yet.

11,445 steps, 28 floors, 4.62 miles