When Exploring Tombs, Watch Out For Sinkholes

I’ve been injured in some pretty fascinating ways. During my adventures around the world and across the street, I’ve tumbled down cliffside staircases, been hit by cars, hit cars right back and instantly regretted it, and fallen out of trees only to land in some asshole moose’s heaping gift to the forest aroma. Suffice it to say, I have some stories.

But now, after my trip through Counties Clare and Galway, I have another cautionary tale for my future children and grandchildren about what never to do on an adventure. I wasn’t injured while posing for Facebook at the edge of the Cliffs of Moher:

For context: The Statue of Liberty could stand on its own shoulders six times over and still not reach my boots.

For context: Placed in the ocean, the Statue of Liberty could stand on its own shoulders six times over and still not reach my boots.

…or while clambering around inside this old shipwreck:

It ran aground carrying a cargo of whiskey and tetanus.

It ran aground carrying a cargo of whiskey and tetanus.

I didn’t receive a lip-smacking amputation from this Irish shark:

Mostly because it's a dolphin.

Mostly because it’s a dolphin.

…or come down with a case of the awwws from this mustachioed horse:

Sir Ed.

The First Duke of Seabiscuit.

I didn’t even suffer from the terrifyingly heartwarming effects of my tin-whistle serenade to the sea:

Performed with my friend and flatmate, coincidentally also named Xavier.

Performed with my friend and flatmate, coincidentally also named Xavier.

Nope. My injury – a sprained ankle and possibly a fractured wrist, along with minor cuts, scrapes, and bruises – came from this:

My doctor says I should never strike more than three long, thoughtful poses a day, but I've already struck five!

My doctor says I should never strike more than three long, thoughtful poses a day, but I’ve already struck five!

Hm? Oh, wait, sorry. I was trying to substitute the real culprit with anything that made more sense. No, I was injured while admiring this ancient portal dolmen:

And I didn't even get to climb it. Rubbish.

And I didn’t even get to climb it. Rubbish.

And by “admiring,” I of course mean “I’ll race you to that cliff over there because I can totally skim over this barren rocky landscape of dubious stability better than you.”

And by "dubious support," I mean "there is honestly a sinkhole between the foreground and the background."

And by “dubious stability,” I mean “there is honestly a sinkhole between the foreground and the background.”

In a plot twist worthy of M. Night I Can’t Spell His Last Name Well Enough To Even Google Search It, I didn’t fall into a sinkhole. I slipped in the dirt and fell onto some rocks. It still really hurt.

But I got right back up and heroically lost the race anyway.

But I got right back up and heroically lost the race anyway.

Characteristically undeterred and uncharacteristically not using my injury to justify getting out of writing obligations, I continued for the next three days before finding out how charmingly old-fashioned and horrifyingly hospital-closure-prone the Irish medical infrastructure can be.

I AM HANDICAPABLE!

I AM HANDICAPABLE !

On another note, this is one of the first posts without my charmingly curmudgeonly travel companion, Brillo. He’s probably off being adorable or posing for another maga…

Brillo!

Brillo!

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4 responses to “When Exploring Tombs, Watch Out For Sinkholes

  1. Further South on the Cliffs of Moher, the earth gives way and tourists are regularly lost to the Atlantic. I knew it was a dolphin. Good try though. Glad you can make it home . You look like you’re having fun. Got to get back to my blog .Bob

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