Day 117: No wonder why they all emigrated to America

Day 117 - Wednesday, August 1st 2018: Gallarus Oratory to Dunquin 12 km / Total 2405 km, 17°C, rain

Heavy rain. I mean it's like my tent was right under a shower. 8 am, I tried to get out. Almost wet. Let's stay inside, not too many kilometres to walk, the pub for lunch is only 5 km away, so more than one hour of walk and it doesn't open before 12:30 pm. I took my time and waited. But the rain didn't stop and I had to pack my tent, completely soaked, and with water, it's always heavier to carry. In addition to the rain, there was a strong wind, other tents were shacked. 

As I started my walk, it turned to soft rain. It was better, but I couldn't see the landscape. 

As I arrived in the pub for lunch, I discovered that all the library in my Kindle was gone. Disappeared. Empty! Including the guide book I was using. Another technical issue...

In the afternoon, I walked for two hours. The weather was slightly better, no more strong wind, still soft rain, but I could see a bit of the landscape. At least I could see the coastline, the sea and some rocks and cliffs. Until I reached Clogher Head. There, it was like I had climbed into a cloud : fog all around me. The only thing I saw was the road, that I strictly followed. And in that moment, I was happy not to be walking the Dingle Way, because I was not sure I could see the path and the marks along the way (not to mention how wet it could be), so I'd be afraid to get lost in that fog.

As I couldn't check-in at my hostel before 5 pm, I dropped my bag there and went to visit the Blasket Centre. It's been very interesting to learn the story of these islands. They were living a hard life, most of the inhabitants emigrated to the United States, and in 1953, there were only 21 people remaining on the island, 4 women and 17 men, who were all evacuated and forced to settle on the mainland. When you see pictures of the way of life in the island, children without shoes for example, and pictures members of their family sent them from America with cars, you understand why they chose to emigrate. Despite this, the island produced many writers, who told all the country, in Irish mostly, the story of the life on their Island. 

Later in the evening, at the hostel, I shared my dorm room with a French woman from Britanny, biking the Wild Atlantic Way. As I listened to her, talking about the wind, the rain, the road climbing, etc., I still thought that it was easier to walk. Even if it takes longer.