This was the first of several castles along the Atlantic Coast that I planned to explore over the next four days, and, too bad for Cecilia, I intended to take my own sweet time doing it. I nodded OK to her but reached for the coffee anyway, admiring the view of the 700-foot-tall Cliffs of Moher through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
"Before the weather changes," she insisted. "Oh, the sun!" Her point sank in -- you mustn't squander blue sky in Ireland -- so I ventured outside dangerously uncaffeinated to meet the proprietor, Declan O'Callaghan. He hustled me up a steep knoll to the remains of a 15th-century fortress.
Ninety-nine limestone steps spiral to the top of the tower, alive with lichens and moss; the uppermost floor, constructed of vaulted stone, has a commanding view of the cliffs and, on a clear day, the Aran Islands, where Irish (Gaelic to Americans) is still spoken. Away from the coast, the tufted headlands give way to a whale-shaped rocky terrain known as the Burren -- sparse home to arctic wildflowers, seasonal lakes, unexplored caves and miles of walking trails.
