BoomerGirl Diary

Dublin, Ireland — We had planned to spend a full two weeks in Dublin. But after four fast-paced days in the city, my husband and I were craving green. We needed a day trip, and a hike.

So on a glorious October morning, we took the commuter train to the small town of Sutton. Our guide was "Walking Dublin," a great little book by Irish journalist Pat Liddy, which had already led us all over Dublin. Liddy mentioned a meandering 8-mile hike along the coast from Sutton to Howth, and so there we were.

We appreciated the book's portable size, but we wished Liddy had made it maybe one page longer because his directions were not exactly precise.

As you shall see.

We started along the beach outside of Sutton and then quickly began climbing a narrow little goat path that ran along the "dangerous cliffs" (so said the signs, anyway) of Dublin Bay.

There were no other people around. The water was blue-gray far below us, the sky was bright blue above and soft green stretched out on either side. This is what we had been craving.

Eventually, the path turned away from the water and climbed steeply through prickly golden gorse. There were no signs, no markers, other than a stone at the top of the hill carved with anarrow.

We followed the arrow. And we promptly got lost.

We ended up at a fork: We could go right, down a little dirt road. Or we could play golf. (A big, sort of in-the-wild golf course stretched before us to the left.)

We chose the road, but it wound back around and put us at the golf course again.

Stymied, we stopped.

And then we heard shouting. "You're in grave danger! Grrraaaaaaaave danger!" in an almost Scottish burr.

Golf course or mine field?

A short, stout golfer rushed toward us. "This is a golf course!" he said, in tones as excited as if he were saying, "This is a mine field!"

We explained that we were hiking to Howth and had gotten lost, and he said that we weren't lost at all. He pointed out a row of small white stones in the distance, which we had thought were golf balls. They marked the trail - right across the fairway.

My husband was dubious. He didn't think this could possibly be right. But the golfer explained that the path had been there long before the golf course, and apparently rerouting the path was unthinkable. So golfers and hikers must coexist. (You'd think Liddy would have mentioned this.)

At his urging, we took off at a dead run (even though, frankly, we couldn't see any incoming golf balls) across the course and ended up in a birch forest that looked just like home.

After awhile, we emerged from the woods and promptly got lost again.

We were now at the intersection of two steep, paved roads, and Liddy was absolutely silent on which way we should turn.

Some workers drove up in a van and stopped. When we asked for directions, they told us that they were lost, too. We laughed, and consulted the Liddy book, which didn't help, and the workers handed us a white paper sack of hard candies and wished us well.

Sucking on the sweets, we headed down the hill. Maybe this would be right ... and it was.

(Here's what Liddy says about this part of the walk: "There are many paths and tracks in the area and it is easy to get confused, but even if you take a wrong path head east all the time and you will re-emerge somewhere along Windgate Road." And that is, indeed, where we were. But then he doesn't tell you which way to go on Windgate Road.)

We'd been walking for hours, our legs were trembly, we'd braved grave danger and goat paths and forests, and we still had miles to go.

What to do? Time for a pint.

We found the Summit Inn, a pub that Liddy mentions as a good place to go for "victuals and repose," and had some lunch.

From there, the walk became more civilized, and less convoluted. We had a wider dirt road, with a few more walkers, and instead of golf courses we passed back yards with laundry flapping in the breeze.

Eventually we came out on the hilltop above Howth, with the sparkling harbor spread out below.

We walked through the pretty town and visited the church ruins and passed a small house that had a picture of Samuel Beckett in the window. We sat in the sunshine and watched the sailboats bob at anchor. And then we found the train station and rode back to Dublin.

This had been one of the most beautiful days of our trip so far. But when we got back to the city, we were still in Ireland, and we were still on vacation, and we still had days and days of leisure ahead of us. And there is no better feeling than that.