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We’re in Dublin for only two days before heading to Italy (though we’ll be back here for our final week), so let‘s:

1. Finish breakfast.

2. See the Irish sea. Which, from Geraldine and Eamonn’s driveway, is right over there.

Oh, and by the way: the model name of that cute Citroen of theirs?

(Ger has taken up oil painting.)

So: the sea. It’s just down the road a piece.

Hmmm. We live in San Francisco, just a few miles from the Pacific, and how often do we see it?

Geraldine, by contrast, takes a walk on the beach several times a week, often with her daughter Niamh (pronounced “Neev”; yeah, I know) and Angel.

Christine does not need a second invitation.

Is that a castle in the background, you ask? It’s a Martello tower. A most interesting item, more on which is over here.

It’s a glorious day for a walk on the beach in Ireland.

Sunshine!

No, wait; clouds!

No, the sun is back out again!

Sprinkles!

Rain!

Sunshine!

Clouds!

After many years in San Francisco, where we often go six months without a drop of rain . . . I like Ireland.

So does Eamonn, even though the man commutes, on his BMW, every single workday, through rain about as often as not.

3. While Eamonn is at the office, Geraldine takes us into Dublin for a first look-see. With not enough motorcycles to go around ha ha, the three of us flip a coin to choose between Picasso-ing it or DART-ing it into town.

This morning, Irish green prevails over French burgundy.

Oh; and we take umbrellas along.