Cong and Croegh Patrick

Sunday afternoon, we went to Cong,  the location of John Ford's 1951 film The Quiet Man.  By this time, I had begun to adjust to driving on the left side of the road, and only occasionally screamed in terror at seeing cars going in the wrong direction.
Connemara is a beautiful area. To drive through it is like driving through a living painting.  Lazy streams wind though green treeless hills,  dotted with sheep and massive stones.  The effect is at once primitive and genteel,  ancient and young.  When you get close to Cong, the roads takes you by the largest lake in Ireland, Lough Corrib.  I cannot describe it, so I'll have to show it. 

Cong is commerical, but tasteful. There's a Quiet Man Museum there, and a statue of John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara. But it's not too large and does not destroy the simple, genuine charm of the village.  There is an Abbey there, which has roots going back to the time of St. Patrick.  The Cross of Cong is a national treasure, found in the museum in Dublin, which legend says once contained a sliver of the True Cross.  (When you're in Ireland you run into a lot of legends.  Irishmen regard history more as an art form than a conveyor of reality, and every village has a few legends. One can never be sure how much truth remain in them.)  Cong indisputably was the center of Irish government, when the high king of Ireland lived there.  On remnant of those days is found in Ashford Castle, outside of town.
After visiting the magnificent ruins of the Abbey, Joy and I decided to walk to Ashford Castle,  just five minutes away.  It was raining a bit, and Joy's knee was hurting, so it was not an easy walk for her. But in a short time, we saw it across the river. A beautifully restored manor house.

You may note in the picture, that there are cars in front of the castle. That's because it is now a five star hotel. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, as well as rock stars and statesmen stay there. So when we tried to get closer, we were turned away at the gate.  It seem that there is still a gap between the gentry and we lowly peasants, even today.
The next day, we went to Westport. northeast of where we were staying.  Again--a fantastically beautiful drive.  It took us past the Killary Fjord, the only true fjord in Ireland.  Here's a picture.

From there we went to Croegh Patrick, or "Patrick's Pile"  It is a huge, bare peak, next to the water.
There were two reasons we wanted to go there.  The first was spiritual.  St. Patrick was a true spiritual giant. He was a Roman patrician, captured by Irish slavers, and imprisoned fourteen years in Ireland. When he was released,  he returned to preach the Gospel among them, and is reputed to have converted Ireland to Christianity in the Fifth Century, A. D.  On this mountain, he was said to have fasted for Ireland for forty days,  as well as (according to legend) prayed to rebuke the snakes and serpents.  Probably, this refers to pagan religions, not real snakes. One Sunday in July is called Reek Sunday, when devout Catholics walk barefoot up the mountain as an act of devotion. I wanted to see this place. It is truly a devout and holy place.

The second reason we went was not so spiritual. The owner of the local bike store in my town is from Westport. He gave me a free bike jersey if I would wear it in Ireland. I could think of no better place to wear it than at Croegh Patrick.