We were looking out over the famous Cliffs of Moher outside of Galway, when I happened to observe they reminded me of a similar coastal view we had visited in Dyrholaey, Iceland looking for puffins. The ocean sculpting of the cliffs themselves, the height, the variegated layers of rock and the complete lack of puffins both here and in Iceland struck me as remarkably similar. Carol disagreed. “There was only one cliff in Iceland,” she noted.

  “Well, how many do you need?” I asked. 

Okay, maybe Moher is better

  We had seen both sights on cold, windy days and with intermittent rain. Still, Carol thought Moher was the more impressive geological formation, and when I discovered Moher came with a spacious and warm café with a wine bar, I subsequently agreed with her. Though, had Dyrholaey yielded just one puffin, it and not the wine bar would have tipped the scales – for me anyway.

But to earn a legitimate check mark next to an attraction, there needs to be an acceptable distribution of time between sitting versus wandering about and appearing awestruck. I don’t know what that acceptable span of time is, but I do know what isn’t.

  My own feeling is that sightseeing is what I do in between sitting in pubs (Ireland, Great Britain), cafés and tapas bars (France and Spain) or anywhere within the scent of mozzarella and oregano (Italy). It’s also a question of time management.

  For instance, how long do you have to stand and admire the Cliffs of Moher before you can check it off as “seen.” This is a calculation, which in part, should factor in how much time you’re going to spend at the wine bar afterwards. (Teetotallers may substitute “gift shop” for “wine bar” in their calculations.) But to earn a legitimate check mark next to an attraction, there needs to be an acceptable distribution of time between sitting versus wandering about and appearing awestruck. I don’t know what that acceptable span of time is, but I do know what isn’t.

  While time spent at outdoor attractions can be circumscribed by weather (the ten minutes we spent at the Giants Causeway outside Belfast was wholly justified by a level of wind and rain that would have been given its own name by The Weather Channel, it’s a trickier calculus when the venue is already indoors. I’m talking about the dreaded museum visit here. 

As close as we’ve gotten to a real one

  I do believe that my traipse through the Louvre in under an hour back in the 70s is a record that will stand the test of time, I’ve learned that the length of enjoyable time spent in a museum, castle or cathedral tends to be relative to seating availability, while Carol matriculates through the paintings and sculptures, towers and bedchambers, apses and naves. The offset, as I’ve sadly learned, is that the longer I’ve been able to sit through a museum, castle or cathedral visit, the less I can justify sitting in a café afterwards. (“You’ve been sitting for the last two hours, Reid!”)

Our first café, and still the only way to travel

  Here’s my ideal sightseeing trip in a nutshell: a wicker chair in a corner café in Paris with a coffee table book of France before me. Substitute pub, tapas bar or the smell of mozzarella and oregano, together with the appropriate, geographically appropriate coffee table book, and you have my perfect tour of Europe, without having to get anywhere near a Viking cruise.