For the first week of our honeymoon in Ireland, we successfully avoided tourist traps. We didn't kiss the Blarney stone or pay money to take a picture with a strategically placed leprechaun in a town square. Our trip was so off the beaten path.
And then we visited the Cliffs of Moher.
We were waiting in line behind five tour buses to pay eight Euro for parking when Y got grumpy. "Look at all of these tourists," he muttered, as I leaned out the window to take a photo of a sign written in Gaelic (or something equally not touristy). As we parked and followed the herd of people exiting their tour bus, his mood grew worse.
At that moment, we hit our first married milestone: the first time I referred to Y as Mr. Grumpy Pants.
There's a reason tourists (ourselves, of course, excluded, we are wanderers) flock to the Cliffs of Moher: they're beautiful. Really, really, beautiful. It's worth finding a quiet spot, if you can, and just taking it all in; letting the unrelenting wind, um, have its way with you.
Which brings me to my first travel tip: if you're going to be visiting a windy shore, maybe don't wear a maxi dress?
Once I found my quiet spot to enjoy the view of the Cliffs, the wind had other plans. My maxi dress, which I'd so carefully chosen for its effortlessly chic vibe, was anything but effortless at that moment-- the wind was hurtling it against my body, leaving absolutely nothing to the imaginations of the five buses full of tourists.
Below, the one PG photo of me from this part of our journey:
I was horrified. Y thought it was hilarious. The tourists got back on their bus and headed off to wait in line to kiss the Blarney Stone
To this day, during an especially windy moment, you might hear me tell Y "Shit, I'm Cliffs of Moher-ing right now" as I frantically pull fabric away from my skin.