The Cliffs of Moher were a beautiful sight indeed, but these cows? These cows took the cake of interest.

Dublin’s famous statue of Molly Malone cast her eyes to the far reach of the street as we waited beneath her. Jamie was half asleep and sitting on her pedestal, playing a game on his phone. My mom and I were catching our breath from the fast paced speed-walk we had taken to arrive on time; just a few minutes before 8:00AM. We waited, patiently, with other tour groups beginning to vacate around us. The waiting continued… questions were asked… patience dwindled among the remaining few that were also headed to the Cliffs.

As the first tour of the trip, I was looking forward to whatever awaited me on the Paddywagon tour bus. Although semi-self conscious of the touristy attire that I donned (with a camera hanging from my wrist to add that certain spice), I was more than ready to embrace the beauty of the Irish countryside. I saw it as my reward for successfully waking up at 6:45AM.

Then, at 8:30AM, an older man came up the sidewalk, calling out to the tours for the Cliffs of Moher. Finally, we would have the comfort of a tour bus! I would have my reward for the drowsiness that was still cast over my eyelids!

Unfortunately, comfort was not immediately given. On the bright side, a crude form of entertainment was!

We waited in line at the bright green, leprechaun decorated tour bus, muttering about the seating arrangements, the weather, the time. It was a smooth transition from street to bus — until one lady was denied access! Her name wasn’t on the guide’s list, and so her party of three stepped to the side. She wasn’t ready to give up just yet, however, quickly pulling out her phone to make a call to the Paddywagon office…

What a sucky start to your morning, I thought as I stepped onto the bus with no problem.

We were all seated, ready to go, already 40 minutes past the departure printed on our tickets. I looked out the window to the sidewalk with a tired glance and realized that the rejected lady was… well, about to fight her way onto this bus, even if it was the last thing she would ever do. Our Paddywagon appointed tour guide — who we quickly found out was your run-of-the-mill cranky old man — was growing frustrated, even more so when the lady handed him her phone and said, with a certain air of cockiness, loud enough for the whole bus to hear, “your office is on the phone.”

My mom and I exchanged a look of intrigue. Public drama? Making a scene? It may out us as Americans, but that’s quite the draw of entertainment.

With a customer service change of tone, the tour guide spoke into the phone and confirmed that the (now smugly smiling) lady was indeed on this tour. He practically glared at her. She tilted her head in defiance. It was a duel of pride, and the tour guide, by the code of keeping his job, was forced to relent. He showed her to a seat in the back, mood soured and stress levels high, muttering insults as he came back to the front of the bus.

Finally, finally, he sat down at his driver’s seat and prepared to start the tour.

Well, he started driving at least, which seemed to be a good sign–

Until people started to talk over him. Which, in his defense, he had warned them not to do; sometimes, people just don’t listen to their tour guides until they threaten to end the tour 12ish hours early.

Yep! That’s right! Our tour guide, in response to chatter from some guests while he was giving us a rundown of Dublin, stopped and said, “how about I just don’t give the tour, then?” A stunned silence followed. He grumbled under his breath and continued, “you don’t have to drive this bus, I do. I dropped seven people off at the police station last week…”

My mom and I gaped at each other. Jamie was blissfully unaware, playing Final Fantasy VII on his Switch while the bus was held in a state of shock.

A couple of minutes of silence passed. Was he really not going to give the tour? It seemed like a likely possibility.

“I’m sorry for my temper tantrum,” he finally said, his voice holding an essence of tired frustration that made him sound more like a frazzled school teacher rather than a tour guide. “But sometimes, I just have to put my foot down!”

There was no audience response, and with a few more comments to how important his own focus was (understandable, of course), he continued with the history of Dublin as we drove closer to the city’s end.

At least this makes for a good story, I thought, with an air of humor that the rest of the bus did not seem to share with me.

The tour was truly kicking off now as we drove northwest towards a pit stop. Our guide began to get into his own flow, pointing out historic monuments and explaining the rich history of them. These monuments were mostly assorted castles that had been destroyed by Oliver Cromwell, the brutal and widely despised invader of Ireland. His conquest began in 1649 and ended in 1653, becoming known as The Cromwellian War. During this War, he killed 41% of the Irish population. The visual proof of his terror is shown in the broken castles that had become hollow shells of the grandeur they once represented.

While giving us this miniature history lesson, our guide spoke of the Williamites (the British) and the Jacobites (the Irish and Scottish). My mom and I were very excited about this, because we indeed already knew a bit about the Jacobites — how? Through our favorite show and series, Outlander, of course! We hadn’t been aware of the involvement of the Irish in the Jacobite cause, but it made sense; wanting to overthrow the British isn’t a singular thing in Europe, after all.

After a couple hours of driving and a power nap, the Paddywagon tour bus arrived at its first destination of the morning: the sea port village of Kinvara.

Kinvara was a beautiful and calming town, and a wonderful spot to stretch our legs for the half hour that we were allowed. It was the perfect day as well, because there was a farmers’ market happening on the street that our bright green tour bus had parked next to! Before Kinvara, I don’t think I had ever seen a real farmers’ market. I had seen the San Diego farmers’ market that hosted many booths of expensive clothing and shiny jewelry that you’d see in the local Macy’s, but at Kinvara? It was much different.

First of all, I loved the man that was selling books AND eggs. He was surrounded by plastic crates of old books that were something along the lines of €3 each, and then, right in front of him sat multiple cartons of fresh eggs. Now that is what I call a business.

There was also a stall of farm fresh vegetables, which is not something you usually see in the California area! Or, in the areas I’ve lived, at least. They had about five types of potatoes — something that my mom pointed out with envy, since in the States, there’s only about three popularized types of potatoes. They have a much better variety out here!

Another highlight of the Kinvara Farmers’ Market was the live music. There was a guitarist performing for the entire time that we were there, and the guitar paired with the chatter of those attending the market gave a calming ambiance.

I actually bought something at this market, making it one of the first purchases I made on this trip! One of the stalls was being run by this older lady, and the wares that were offered were multiple kinds of hand crocheted accessories. She had made caps, earmuffs, flower pins, and the kind of item that I bought: fingerless gloves! I bought the set that had an autumn theme to it, with the yarn fading from green to yellow/brown to red. A gorgeous pair of gloves that my mom pointed out would be useful in my future home, Baltimore. (Woo! Go Blue Jays! I say, having not attended any sort of Johns Hopkins class or game.)

The thirty minutes that we were allowed in Kinvara certainly did not feel like enough. As we loaded back onto the bus, I admired my new gloves and looked to Kinvara with admiration. The picturesque village felt like it was straight out of a fairytale, and I couldn’t help but want to abandon the trip to the Cliffs and spend my time in the (albeit touristy) town.

Alas, I sat back down on the bus and watched as the town flew by, until we returned to the beautiful scenery of the Irish countryside. Our next destination was more than exciting: the gorgeous Cliffs of Moher.

Before I gush about the beauty of the Cliffs and how they resonated with me with their musical history, I must share the many cows that I saw on the drive there, because let me assure you — there were many.

As you can see, there were many cows! Many… many… cows. Everywhere. This isn’t so shocking when you take into account that there are 7.2 million cattle in Ireland, a fact given to us by our tour guide. Speaking of tours, let’s get back to that silly little retelling…

After an entire day spent across Ireland, learning history I never could have imagined and seeing a myriad of cows, we finally arrived at the star destination: the Cliffs of Moher. For the second time that day, I felt like I was stepping into a storybook, or into a setting straight out of Middle Earth. The wind was strong and there was a faint sprinkling, the air tinged with that smell hinting at rain, but it was gorgeous.

I could hear the faint swells of violin music coming from the stairs that led to the top of the Cliffs’ viewpoint. Jamie, my mom, and I made our way slowly up the stairs, our eyes turned to the left where the iconic cliffs stood. They towered over the white crested ocean, the clear sky allowing for a beautiful view. The music grew stronger as we walked further up, creating an ambiance that truly felt pulled from a film.

Making the trek back down from the viewing areas was easy, each of us taking long strides as the wind picked up and the sprinkling became more apparent. Our hoods were pulled up as we walked back to the bus, hunger in our bellies although our minds were satisfied with the beauty of the Cliffs. As we sat down on the bright green bus that marked our ticket to dinner, our tour guide announced that it was a mere 5 minute drive to the Paddywagon branded restaurant, The Frantic Chef.

As the cold fell away from my body on the drive to dinner, and the hunger really only grew, I could feel the drowsiness of the day begin to wear me down. It had been an eventful day from start to finish — now all I had to do was survive the four hours left.

(Spoiler alert! I did.)

I shall leave it there for now. Overall, I would give that tour a solid 6/10. It wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t the worst! It was certainly entertaining. The cows were a big bonus, too.