Our return to Ireland was brought to mind by a few things. First, I turn 60 in 2025. I spent my 50th birthday in Dublin, and doing the same ten years later seems somewhat fitting. Second, when traveling to Scotland in 2024 we got stuck in Dublin for about eight hours, so we took a taxi downtown and had a blast walking around and listening to music. While on the flight from Dublin to Edinburgh after our unplanned stop, I considered that my international driver’s license would still be good through the middle of August, 2025, which would span my birthday and our anniversary. Lastly, when we previously spent a week in Ireland, it was in the spring and the island hadn’t turned its legendary green yet. Thus, the desire to see the “Emerald Isle” in the height on summer was added to the mix. It wasn’t too hard of a decision to make a return to Ireland the focus of our 2025 European vacation.
Much like our previous two trips over the Atlantic, we want to mix some old and new. This trip will be bookended by the familiar, staying in Dublin and Doolin, while exploring the northern side of the island, which will be wholly new. We plan to spend our first night, my birthday, and our last night, our anniversary, both in Dublin, which would offer an array of options for celebrating. Bookending the trip with Dublin also provides for not needing to drive far after an overnight flight and also being in the city the night before our flight home. Most of the trip was planned about six months in advance, while a few items were attended to in the month beforehand. With everything settled, we anticipate our trip to complete the coastal loop around Ireland.
Day 0 – Thursday, July 24th (Over the Atlantic with Aer Lingus)
It always makes sense in terms of time and money to take our flights to Europe from Washington, DC. We once again use an alternate route to get to Dulles. Heading northwest from Fredericksburg has proven much faster than driving into the DC beltway and circling around. After dropping the dogs off at the boarding kennel, we head north. The drive takes a little over two hours, which is decent time. We have had good luck with Aer Lingus, a budget Irish carrier, on previous trips. Given we are flying to their hub city of Dublin, it makes sense to use them again. When walking into the main terminal from the garage we know right where the Air Lingus counter is and get in line to check our bags.
We’ve arrived at the airport quicker than planned and are soon strolling our departure terminal looking for a place for a small bite to eat and to sit and kill the time until our flight. The flight departs from gate B75, which is the same gate as last year. It must be the permanent Aer Lingus location. We wind up at the Burgundy and Gold Club, which is bar/restaurant with a Washington Commanders theme. Our flight doesn’t leave until 8:25pm. Because of the late departure and the time it will take to get to cruising altitude, we are unsure if there will be a meal service. Thus, we settle on a light dinner and then play some cribbage to pass the time. We tend to take a table by the outside rail, with a good view of the people passing by. The number of folks at the airport dressed in what amounts to pajamas seems to be increasing every year. Flying used to be something that you would dress up for, like going to the theater. Now people don’t seem to care and class is seemingly a thing of the past. Eventually, we make our way to the gate to board our flight for Ireland. Things are uneventful and the plane reaches cruising altitude without any bumpiness. Sometime afterwards the beverage service comes by and we buy a few mini wines to help us with our sleep. A meal service does come by but it is more or less a late-night snack for us at this point. We enjoy a little bit of it and hope the full belly and the wine will help us doze. Sleep is fitful, but by keeping half an eye on the movies the folks around us are watching I realize I get a little bit more sleep than I thought I would. It is very broken and not extremely restful, but it is better than nothing. This is usually the case on overnight flights.
Day 1 – Friday, July 25th (Dublin)
The flight lands shortly after eight in the morning. Looking out the windows I see the weather is overcast at the moment. Sitting in the same place for six hours is tiring and makes for a sore bottom. We are grateful to be on our feet and moving. The lines at immigration are relatively short and move quickly. We soon have our bags in hand and are heading for the shuttle bus to take us to the car rental garage. We are renting from Enterprise this trip and getting a compact car knowing, having driven in Ireland before, the country roads will be narrow. There are a lot of customers at the rental desk, but plenty of employees are helping out and it doesn’t take long for us to get checked in and escorted out to our vehicle. A light drizzle is starting to come down as we put the bags in the car and go through the final checks with the attendant. Rhonda takes note he uses a “th” sound instead of a hard “t” sound when speaking the word “thirty”. The fellow smiles, chuckles and says he’s not from the west where that affectation is prevalent. It arises from the fact most of the Gaelic speakers are in the west and there is no “th” sound in Gaelic. After mentioning we will be headed to the west, he asks where. I mention a few towns and he perks up when I tell him we’ll be staying a couple of nights in Donegal. He tells us the GAA Championship match of Gaelic football is happening in a few days and Donegal will be playing Kerry in the title match. Says there should be a great atmosphere in the town. We thank him for the help and get settled into the vehicle as the drizzle picks up a bit. I take my time in getting everything arranged on the right-hand side of the vehicle and getting all of the mirrors situated. The car next to me is very close and pulling out soon so I wait and let them go so I have a little bit more of a turning radius. While waiting, Rhonda gets the navigator figured out and loaded with our destination so we can find our way to the parking garage near to the hotel.
Our destination is Buswells Hotel near Trinity College on the south side of the River Liffey. It is a Friday morning and traffic isn’t very heavy. The navigator takes us via a route which has some tolls which we are able to drive through using our tag, or license plate. Our route passes through the dock area and a long tunnel under the river. Approaching the college area from the coastline, we arrive at the underground garage which is cramped but clean and serviceable. Gathering our bags we make our way up to the street. The buildings in the immediate vicinity are tall and fairly non-descript office blocks. There are very few people to be seen and no discernable landmarks. We get a little turned around trying to find the right direction to go to cover the couple of blocks to the hotel. With a little help from Rhonda’s phone we get straightened out and make our way the lobby of Buswells. What did folks do before there was navigation in our cars and phones? We stayed at Buswells nine years ago and are happy to find it is still the same, elegant, old-style hotel it was. Arriving very early for check in we are hoping just to store our bags somewhere while grabbing some breakfast. When we get to the registration desk, they tell us our room is actually ready if we want it. We are very grateful and the congenial bellhop, Paddy, helps us take our bags over to a lovely room not far from the lobby. The room is close, but down a few steps and up a few steps in the awkwardness present when joining buildings that were not constructed as a conducive whole. The room has a tiny entryway with one door leading to the bedroom and one to the bathroom. It is quirky and charming. We ask the Paddy for a couple of suggestions for a late breakfast which he heartily provides. After hanging up a couple of items to get the wrinkles out, we drop the room key at the front desk which they place in a cubbyhole on the back wall. This is an old style of doing things. After walking a few blocks in the direction Paddy recommended, we get into an area which is busy with shops and restaurants and seems to be mostly patronized by the student body of Trinity. Our choice for breakfast is Carluccio’s. The entrance door is on the corner and lets into a tile floored coffee bar area. There is a proper dining room in the back and we have a seat next to a window. Rhonda orders the traditional breakfast, which is essentially a full Irish. I get just an almond croissant knowing I will be helping her with her plate. The meal is flavorful and the people watching in the city decent. We both avoid coffee as a nap is in order before the rest of the day. Since we already have our room, we are able to return to the hotel and do just that. After snoozing for about an hour it is time to get up and shake the drowsiness out of our bones.
The first item on the docket for the afternoon is the Guinness Storehouse. This is our fourth time in Dublin and we have yet to visit the source of all Guinness in Ireland. We decide to save our legs and ask the bellhop, Paddy, to call a cab for us. The cab arrives in short order and we are soon on our way. The driver introduces himself at Paddy, which seems strangely coincidental or a name everyone uses with tourists. He is a chatty fellow, as are most Irish. The conversation during the drive ranges from his wife’s hysterectomy to food to tourists. He points out a few landmarks along the way and gets us to the gates in good time. I pre-booked our tickets before leaving home, so we are able get into the short line and head right into the facility. All of the Guinness production happens here, within these few city blocks. The building we are entering is where the production facility used to be, but that operation has now moved across the street and into other attached buildings. The building is referred to as the Storehouse and now is solely dedicated to entertaining and educating visitors to the brewery. There are eight floors, and the central area is open from the first floor to the top. Viewed in its entirety, the whole of the exhibit space looks like an eight-storey pint glass. The exhibits and other rooms ring the perimeters and a series of escalators crisscross the open atrium in middle. As you work your way up the floors you exploring the different aspects of production and Guinness’ prevalence in popular Irish culture. The tour starts with everyone in a group of about twenty people. The guide shows us out onto the main floor and gives a brief history of the building. He highlights the 9000-year lease signed by Arthur Guinness which is on display under the floor for all to see. The document was sign in 1759 and rests beneath thick plexiglass. The guide explains what can be found on the different floors and we are free to take things at our own pace. Our tour includes a tasting, a full pint, and a stoutie, which will be explained later. We have the tickets for each in our pocket and proceed to ascend the various floors to explore the world of Guinness.
A couple of floors up we come to the area where the tastings take place. The queue is being governed by a jovial and friendly lady. She makes the process of finding and being in the queue enjoyable. Once everybody is led into the room an explanation is given about what we’ll be tasting, though for many of us I’m sure it is a familiar experience. What we are given to taste is probably about half a cup of stout in a miniature version of the traditional Guinness pint glass. It is very cute. The tasting guide explains how to properly experience the aromas and flavors of the stout. Drinks taken from the glass should always consist of foam and stout, which is why the foam is designed to last to the bottom of the pint. After we get to the drinking part, he asks everyone to leave the small pint glasses behind in the baskets by the exit door. However, there is a small glint in his eye. I expect he realizes many of them find their way into the pockets of patrons on their way out. We continue to wind our way upward. I enjoy going through the gallery with all of the marketing items from the past. Guinness has always had a particular style I appreciate. The classic “My Goodness My Guinness” and “Guiness for Strength” posters are the work of Robert Gilroy, who conceived and produced them from the 1930s to 1960s. Their bright colors and slightly cartoony characters pop off the page. It is fun to see the old posters and other collectibles here. We finally ascend to the floor with the small bar where the stouties are provided. The word “stoutie” is a portmanteau of the words “stout” and “selfie”. There are just a few people in line at the door. The space inside is setup like a small bar and looks fairly full. As people wander out the staff let more in. Step one is having your picture taken. Rhonda and I decide to do a couple’s picture rather than individual portraits. After the picture is made then we wander over to the small bar where they’re pouring pints. Our tickets are exchanged for pints. We then step over to two printers. Setting our pints in a small area below a display console, we select our photo from amongst all the recent ones and hit the “Go” button. The pint gets lifted up and a printer using malt extract prints our likeness on top of the foam. It is a little bit silly and fun at the same time. We find a spot by the windows overlooking the city and begin to enjoy our stouts. The foam on a pint of Guinness lasts a long time and thus our faces persist quite a while before we are completely consumed. The portraits do become elongated and misshapen, like a surrealist painting, which is amusing to watch.
We continue to wander our way up the various levels until we arrive at the stairway which goes up to the Gravity Bar. This bar is located at the top of the building and has a 360 view of the city of Dublin and the surrounding countryside. Gazing south you can see the Wicklow Mountains where the water which becomes Guinness flows from. We learned that tidbit from a water curtain down a few floors. The curtain is made of droplets ejected in patterns to spell our words to make designs, like a huge, vertical inkjet printer. Given the view and people’s propensity to linger over a pint, tables are hard to come by. While continuing to sip on our stoutie pints we stroll around the perimeter. There are signs spaced out along the glass walls explaining what you’re looking at. The short paragraphs highlight landmarks in the neighborhood and the different facilities which are part of the Guinness complex. After making a full circuit, we see someone preparing to go and they notice us looking for a table. We swap spots with thanks exchanged. The table lies in the sun which is very warm, but is next to the glass wall which provides a nice view to the south. I finished my pint before Rhonda and take one of our remaining tickets up to the bar to get a refill. While there I fall into conversation with a couple also waiting for a pair of pints. They have not experienced Guinness stout before. They are an older couple traveling with their adult child through the highlights of Ireland. Coming to the Storehouse while spending a couple of days in Dublin was on the checklist for them. At least they’re trying it for the first time in a good place. We chat about travel around Ireland and their planned stops. The busy bartenders finally get some fresh pints up which are taken in hand. With a toast of “Sláinte” we part ways and I head back to the table with Rhonda. She and I enjoy the view and the people watching, making up stories for some of the interesting characters. As our stouts are finished we see other people looking for a table. We spot a likely young couple who only has one pint between them. We offer them our seats and our last drink ticket. They are very grateful for both.
We decide it’s time to make our way towards Temple Bar and see if we can find some music. Down on the street we pause with many other people to take a picture of the famous St. James’s Gate. There are a few horse-drawn carriages parked along the curb nearby. They are taking folks on tours or to a destination of their choosing. On a whim we decide to take a carriage ride down to Temple Bar. There is a young kid driving and an older fellow with him who is guiding and helping him with the hitch. The pair of drivers take us on side streets most of the way so as to keep the carriage off some of the main thoroughfares. The horse seems somewhat unflappable amidst the traffic it does run into. We enjoy the slow pace and are eventually delivered at the edge of Temple Bar. Most of the buildings and streets in this district look the same as they probably did back when horse and carriage were the predominate mode of transportation We make our way to The Quays, which is a bar on Temple Square we visited last year during our layover on our way to Edinburgh. There is live music going on and we take a seat on the far side of the bar facing the room and the music. We have a nice conversation with the bartender about the Guinness proper pour method. Apparently, according to him, it doesn’t make too much of a difference in the resulting pint. However, if a Guinness representative witnesses the proper poor not being done then the bar will lose out on their ability to acquire Guinness and serve it. They will even take the tappers. That would be quite devastating for any pub in this town. The proper pour requires the appropriate Guinness pint glass to be used. The glass will be filled to just above the word Guinness. It will then be allowed to rest until the nitro bubbles have settled and formed the foam. Only then can the pint be finished with the foam raised to the top of the glass by the stout below. We ask how many pints he will actually pour on a weekend. He does some rough calculating by judging how many kegs they go through and he figures they pour about 3000 to 4000 pints per week. A couple of hammered hen parties come through The Quays. It seems pretty early to be as drunk as they act, and we are rather amused to imagine how they will be later in the evening or the next morning. There is another group of mother daughter pairs across the way at a table. You can definitely tell the difference in generations purely by their behaviors. The music is provided by a duo. They play through many of the standards. It is always nice to have live music and while not remarkable, this band is entertaining.
Dinner tonight is at a place called the Vintage Cocktail Club. Rhonda located the establishment and made a reservation prior to the trip. We know the address is just up the street and as our reservation time approaches, we settle up and cross the square to find where we’ll have dinner. The Vintage Cocktail Club is a take on a speakeasy. We walk by the place without noticing it before turning around and finding a nondescript, grey metal door with nothing on it but the letters “VCC”. We ring the bell and someone answers and asks if we have a reservation, which we affirm we do. They invite us in and lead us up a flight of steep steps to the main seating area. The atmosphere appeals to us immediately. The lighting, except behind the bar, is all provided by real candles on the small marble topped tables. The seats are all upholstered armchairs and comfy. The walls are covered with a vintage patterned wallpaper and old framed photos. Dark red drapes are hung and compliment the ornate maroon carpet. The décor fits the name of the club, giving the impression of something from the early 1900s. The atmosphere is subdued and secretive. We will find there is another, smaller space down one floor. There is also another space up one floor which has an open roof. The cocktail book is impressive. They have things organized by different periods of time and many old recipes are still mixed here. We select a couple of likely drinks which turned out to be very tasty. Dinner tonight is just a couple of small plates. They don’t serve anything you’d consider a normal entrée, but that is fine with us as we often eat off of the appetizer menu anyway. Hummus is followed by some meatballs. For a Friday night the place is not very busy and probably about half full. We spent a lot of time chatting up the woman taking care of us, Ann Marie, who happens to be in a relationship with a fellow behind the bar. She is one of the principles here at the establishment and explains they’ve been open since 2012. We were worried about their longevity given the light crowd and are pleased they are still here and going. We discuss travel and other topics. Later in the evening when on our second round, we see her extinguishing candles which are getting too short and replacing them with new, longer tapers. We mentioned to her we appreciate the live flames and the atmosphere they provide. Also, that we are a little surprised they are still using real candles with the prevalence of artificial alternatives which look pretty good. She explains they want to maintain the atmosphere and the expense of the candles is worth it to them. She does mention the candles near to the stairway and on the upper floor tend to burn faster just because of the airflow. After learning it is my birthday and of my appreciation of their cocktail menu, she inscribes one of the booklets with a birthday wish and gifts it to me. All in all, it’s been a lovely dinner at a surprisingly quiet and charming location tucked away amongst the wilder, frenetic scene typically found in Temple Bar.
Even with a nap it has been a long day and we decide to head back towards Buswells. Our route takes us by the Molly Malone statue. We didn’t even know the statue existed on previous trips and had walked within a half a block of it before. This time we know where we’re going and stop to appreciate the statue of Molly with her cart selling her cockles and mussels. It is surprising to see this here because of a popular song. While most of the statue has a patina to it, her bosoms have been kept shiny by uncouth people feeling this metal version of Molly’s decolletage. We enjoy the quiet evening stroll back to Buswells through the grand architecture of the neighborhood near Trinity College. Once at the hotel we proceed through the lobby and restaurant to the bar located in the corner of the building. The pub has an old atmosphere too with plush seats and dark wood. We decide to just get a couple of whiskies and take them back up to the room and relax. We catch up on communications and I take some notes for this journal while sipping our Yellow Spot whiskey at the table by the windows. Our sleep is better than on the airplane, but is hindered somewhat by the noise from the gulls. There are some strange calls which go on through most of the night and get especially cacophonous towards morning. It’s a good thing we brought earplugs.
Day 2 – Saturday, July 26th (Belfast)
We awake ready for a new day and the beginning of our drive into Northern Ireland. Rhonda is first in the shower and has a little trouble figuring out how it works. It always seems to be the case when visiting Europe. It takes a bit to remember how some of the common things work in their different fashion. Once we have ourselves ready for the day and things packed up, we head downstairs to breakfast. The dining room is decorated in lilac and white and has a little bit of a posh Victorian air to it, which goes with the classy style of Buswells. We order a couple of plates and some coffee and have a leisurely meal. I enjoy wild mushrooms on toast which are very good. Rhonda has avocado on toast, so it seems there is a theme to our breakfast. The coffee is very strong and almost needs calming down with some cream or sugar. Once finished we fetch our bags and take the short walk to the garage. The automated terminal at the gate gives us some trouble as it won’t take our payment so we can get out. We fear we’ll get stuck here and unable to back up or get out and become a roadblock. However, our fears of being a hindrance are unfounded and soon the gate is lifted and we are up on the street. I pull over to the curb while Rhonda gets our navigation set since it could not contact the satellite from under the ground.
We have the time this morning to make a stop at the Hill of Tara, which is said to be the spiritual heart of Ireland. It’s not far off of the direct path to Belfast. With navigation ready we hit the road. The weather is overcast, but it is not raining. The countryside is very green now in the height of summer. The fields are lined with hedges and trees of a darker green than the fields and pastures themselves. Small cottages and farms dot the landscape along with the numerous cattle and sheep. It is the classic look of Ireland which has become a cliché, but is very beautiful. After a little less than an hour on the road we are getting closer to the hill and can see it in the distance as it is the highest point around. There is small parking area at the end of the road which is full. A small café and a couple of shops sit next to the parking area. After turning around in the lot, we pull off to the side of the road as close to the edge as we can in order to stay out of the lane. So close, in fact, that Rhonda has to get out of the car before I park it. We grab a bottle of water and our jackets and head up towards the site. In the small parking lot there is an ice cream truck which I find quite amusing. The name painted on the truck is “Mr. Curly Tops”, which makes me chuckle. The fellow has picked a good spot as a lot of families stop here and I’m sure many promises of, “If you behave you can have an ice cream afterwards.” are spoken.
The Hill of Tara has been a significant site in Irish culture since 3200 BCE. That is 4800 years of history we are visiting. There are artifacts and structures here from the neolithic period, bronze and iron ages. A small church is also located here. The current building was constructed in the early 1800s, but there has been a church on the site since the 12th century. This is where St. Patrick, in the first century CE, confronted the pagan King Laoghaire and explained the Holy Trinity to him with the shamrock as a teaching aid. And thus, one of the symbols of Ireland was born. He eventually converted the king and began the process of driving out the snakes, or pagans, from Ireland. The focal point of the site are sets of concentric circles at the top of the hill dating from the Iron Age. The outer ring was an enclosure, and the smaller inner rings surrounded burial mounds. Nearby are also mounds that were the foundation of the Banqueting Hall. The neolithic Mound of Hostages is on the western side of the hill. It is a passage tomb and holds the cremated bones of hundreds of people. The Christian church and graveyard are in a small walled area next to a statue of St Patrick. We wander through this area first and view the graves, some of which are surprisingly recent. The church is still an ordained location of worship and has an active congregation. The berm which surrounds the church and kirkyard has no openings except back towards the path to the parking area. We walk along to top of the wall as it provides some height from which to view the site and the vast countryside. We then cross out towards the top of the hill. The grass is long and lush and makes for a very soft carpet to walk on. The Irish countryside stretches out in all directions, providing wonderfully green and pastoral vistas. The only real noise comes from the wind and we can hear the sheep bleating in the distance. There are a few dogs up here which are having quite a good time running around. Standing in the middle of the more westerly of the concentric rings is the Stone of Destiny. It is at this rock where the high kings of Ireland were crowned between the 1st century BCE through the 11th century CE. Legend has it if a true king touches the stone a roar will be heard. I approach and lay my hands on the tall stone, but all I hear is the wind in the grass. I guess I am no king of Ireland.
We have enjoyed this stop brimming with history and the lovely views it offers. It is time to move on though. It will take us a little under two hours to get to Belfast from here, so we plug the address of our bed and breakfast into the navigator and resume our drive through the Irish countryside. Crossing into Northern Ireland presents and interesting challenge. The road signs in the Republic of Ireland are in kilometers and in Northern Ireland in miles. The car we have rented has a speedometer gauged in kilometers. While the navigator makes the switch, I am stuck doing mental conversions of my speed to ensure I am obeying the posted limits. There is a little bit of confusion once we are in the city proper and are trying to get to The Warren, our bed and breakfast for the evening. The navigator wants us to take an alley which is closed off the traffic. We have to do a bit of circling around and backtracking to finally get on the proper street to make a turn into the alley from the other side. The alley is where some neighborhood parking is located, including parking for The Warren. There are precious few, tiny parking spots squeezed between the buildings and the alleyway. We know our room number and are supposed to park in the spot which matches the room. It will be tricky getting out, but that is a problem for tomorrow. With our bags in tow we walk around the corner and up to the front door. This establishment has no innkeeper on site and I was emailed codes for the front door and the lock box holding our room key before leaving home. We get ourselves in and up to our second-floor room which overlooks the street. It is well appointed, spacious, and has a lovely view of the church across the street and towards Queen’s College beyond. It is obvious the attached bath was carved out of the larger room. The walls separating the bath do not go all the way up to the high ceiling, but are blended in well. A chandelier hangs from the middle of an ornate medallion in what was the center of the once larger room, but now seems offset. Two arm chairs face a TV sitting on a cabinet in the space that was formerly the hearth. The wall is paneled to match the walls built to made the bath. The king bed is decorated with towels laid out to form a heart and flowers. The chocolates in the middle of the designs are a nice, final touch.
It is early afternoon now and we are looking for lunch. There are two pubs I want to visit here in Belfast which are renowned for their history and old style. The closest of these is the Crown Saloon which is about half a mile away. While the directions to The Crown Saloon look simple, I still plug the destination into the navigator in my phone to ensure we don’t go astray. We take to the street and begin strolling northward. Immediately we notice the rough looking nature of the town. We saw a little of this on the drive in, but as our route came in through the college area it wasn’t any worse than any other city. Approaching the city center we notice more graffiti, damaged buildings, and general dirtiness than usual for an urban center. Belfast has always been an industrial town with a gritty reputation. The Troubles loom large in the history of Belfast, as this was one of the epicenters of the conflict. While The Troubles are behind the island now, the city still seems somewhat caught in the past as it strives for the future. As Rhonda puts it, “Belfast embraces its grittiness and is willing to dust off a place for you to sit down.” We will find the people extremely friendly and inviting, and seemingly resigned to living with the urban decay, almost wearing it like a badge of honor declaring they made it through The Troubles and are moving ahead. The streets have plenty of pedestrians on them, especially within the city center. We find the Crown Saloon and enter through the corner door. The place has old world charm with lots of dark wood and snugs lining on the wall. Snugs are small, walled booths with a door where ladies in the old days would sit to drink so they could not be observed. The place is also packed to the rafters with patrons. This isn’t much of a surprise given it is Saturday afternoon. We walk through the pub towards the back and then see a sign stating there is restaurant seating upstairs. Since it is lunch we are looking for anyway, we climb the stairs and find a nice little dining room overlooking the street on the second floor.
After just a moment we are shown to an empty table by a window. Rhonda orders a Guinness and I a cider while we look over the menu. Rhonda makes a comment about her Guinness not having her face on it, so I pick up a fork and draw her smiling likeness in the foam on top. It looks like a kindergarten cartoon but makes us smile. We order a couple of pub classics for lunch which are quite delicious and filling. Rhonda has a beef stew with soda bread and I rabbit pie, which is essentially a cottage pie made with rabbit instead of beef. While we sit, we observe the people passing by on the street below. There’s another pub directly across the way and we notice the same fellow walking with a purpose out the front door towards the back of the pub and then disappearing into a little alleyway behind. We only note this because he does it a few times and we never see him go back so he must be traversing a loop through the pub. He carries a small slip of paper with him and Rhonda posits he could be making drug runs. This will seem less outlandish as the evening progresses. What he is actually doing, we have no certain notion of. Talking to the waitress a little bit about the apparent roughness of the area we ask if it is safe walking at night. She says she would recommend “sticking to the street lights”, as she puts it, but there is no real danger unless you go looking for it. After we have finished lunch, I plot the route to the Duke of York, which is down close to the river. It is the second pub on my list for Belfast.
We walk down the street our lunch table was looking over, turn a corner and find ourselves in a courtyard with some pubs and restaurants surrounding it. Carrying on we walk towards the City Hall and through different neighborhoods on our way to the Duke of York. We notice a lot of Kurdish Barber shops which seems strange to us. Why the declaration that the barber shop is Kurdish doesn’t seem important to us but must be a draw for business. We witness a couple of drug deals going down on the street and a number of hen parties roaming in packs. We pass a couple of gambling parlors and see the evidence of some Pride celebrations which must have been recent since there are still some decorations up. We also pass by St Mary’s Chapel and Grotto which has the significance of being the first Catholic Church in this Protestant area. While things seem a bit seedy, we never feel uncomfortable and there is always a crowd moving along on the streets with us. We eventually head down the small alley where the Duke of York is located and find it hung with colorful lights, flags and banners. As with the Crown Saloon, the place is packed on a Saturday afternoon. We spot a small table for two between the bar and musician which is open and Rhonda quickly has a seat. I stand at the bar to get us a wine and cider which takes some time given how many people are lined up. There is a queue two or three people deep at several points around the bar as the numerous bartenders seem to have a spot they go to take care of patrons. With a couple of drinks in hand I return to the small table and we begin to observe the show. There seems to be a group which is a sports team celebrating something not far away, a couple of hen parties, some parents and adult kids which must be on a tour, and a big gathering gay men nearby. The soundtrack for the show is a lone guitarist sitting not far from us singing through some of the classics of the Irish pub canon. The guitarist does throw in some variety from time to time and we are amused when the gay group sings along with The Bare Necessities. Brown Eyed Girl also gets some rousing voices to accompany the guitarist as he plays along. The pub itself doesn’t seem to have an open space on the walls or ceiling. There is a myriad of memorabilia along with beer and liquor advertising everywhere. A good portion of the beer advertising is from Guinness. Some is quite dated and amusing. We have friendly exchanges with a gay group next to us, and help them squeeze into the adjacent table. After quite a bit of time and a couple of rounds, we are ready to move along. We clue our new friends in that we are on our way out so they can scoot over and take our seats before someone else swoops in.
We backtrack the route that got us here. Along the way we come across a statue of Frederick Douglass. It seems odd to find it located here. The sculptor doesn’t seem too have been very familiar with physiognomy of a black man. It doesn’t look much like the Frederick Douglass we know from photos and seems a bit out of place. As we get back to the courtyard near the Crown we decide to drop into Afton Ave. This place is not as busy as the Crown or the Duke of York but still far from empty. I find a spot at a table and we order a couple of appetizers which will serve as a late dinner. After a short repast we decide to see if we can get into the Crown and have a drink to finish the evening at the proper pub. We have some luck and squeeze into an open spot at the bar as all of the snugs and small tables are occupied. The bar is all old dark wood with etched glass and gilding on the back bar and the columns. It is very lovely and provides a classy atmosphere. A pair of younger men come up to the bar to get some drinks for a group and we fall into a conversation with them. The one fellow is named Liam but we never get the other guy’s name. We find we are able to have a conversation about politics, which Liam brought up, without hostility. We make note of this to them stating things have become very polarized in the US. After quite a while we ask Liam if needs to get back to his party as he’s standing there with a couple of drinks for other people. We part with well wishes, having enjoyed conversation with a stranger and finding once again people are more alike than they are different. On our walk back to The Warren we find most of the shops are closed now. The metal shutters pulled down to protect the storefronts are covered in graffiti. There are still plenty of people out and about. Belfast must stay up late on a Saturday night.
Day 3 – Sunday, July 27th (Donegal via Antrim)
We have two timed events today so we’re getting a bit of an early start. I pre-booked a tour of the Bushmills distillery, but the type of tour I want to take only leaves at two different times during the day and I chose the one at eleven. We also want to visit the Giants Causeway today so we will do that before Bushmills, giving us all afternoon to get to Donegal. I booked a parking pass at the Giants Causeway Visitor Centre for entry at nine. Since it’ll take about seventy-five minutes to get there, while not being overly rushed, we do have to be prompt this morning. While the accommodations at The Warren are very nice, the breakfast is at the opposite end of the spectrum. Since there is no innkeeper on site, a mystery person comes by to unlock the kitchen, which serves as a breakfast room, between certain hours. It is a self-serve affair, which wouldn’t be so bad, but there is little that Rhonda can have for breakfast with her dietary limitations in the morning. I have a little toast and she scrounges up a bite or two which isn’t sweet or comprised of simple carbohydrates. After a short bit we just give it a pass and proceed on our way. Getting out of the alleyway is a little tricky, but doable, and we are on our way north fairly quickly. This sky is thick today, threatening rain. The roads get smaller and windier the closer we get to the coast. There is not a lot of traffic out and when we arrive at the lot next to the Visitor Centre, we see there is maybe a third of the spaces taken up so far. It is nice to be ahead of the crowd.
There is a walk of a little less than a mile to the Causeway from where we are up on top of the cliffs overlooking the Antrim coast. A narrow sidewalk runs alongside a single lane road which passes through a tunnel from the parking lot, slopes down along the side of a bay, around a headland and towards the Causeway. The only vehicle that can use the road is an electric shuttle bus. We are just walking this morning. The bay we are skirting around is beautifully dramatic. The surf is a little high with the weather and a lot of waves are rolling into the bay and crashing on the jagged coastline and over a small island of rock in the middle of the bay. A large flock of birds seem to have spent the night of the rock and as the waves start to come in they begin to scatter towards the cliffs overhead. The sky is overcast and mostly gray with lighter patches here and there where the sun tries to make and appearance. The sea echoes the sky with its dark water and waves tinged with white. The stones along the shoreline are brown, turning black as they are wetted by the waves. The most vivid thing in the landscape are the flowers and grass. Yellow flowers and a bright green carpet of grass run from the rocky shore most of the way up the cliffs. It is as if they reached a certain height and ran out of steam. The wind from the North Atlantic is constant, but doesn’t knock you over. It just adds a bit of a chill to the damp air. As we round the headland and skirt along the next shallow bay towards our destination, we see the Giant’s Causeway jutting out into the ocean.
Waves are breaking wildly on the Giant’s Causeway, sending up ocean spray which outlines the dark rock with white mist. Getting close, we notice the basalt columns with their regular pattern making up all the ground. They are exposed near the water and on the cliff face. A couple of small peninsulas running into the surf are made up by a tightly packed columns of varied heights, like a crazy collection of stepping stones. Nearby the columns are packed tighter together and rise twenty feet or more to create a break between this small bay in the next. It is a startling landscape to take in. Many of lower columns are concave on top where the water has pooled and begun to create small recesses in the stone during the millennia long battle between sea and stone. There are a couple of dozen people spread out over the area climbing up and down and watching the waves come in. The rolling and breaking waves are a flowing feature which smashes against the very angular landscape. It is like the converting analog to digital, flowing lines into geometric designs. The occasional yellow wildflower pokes up from a crack between the columns and provides a small, colorful defiance to the hexagonal regularity of the shore. We explore the Giant’s Causeway and the neighboring bay where the columns continue. I would like to proceed up the path which follows the clifftop back to the visitor center, but that would be quite the climb and we don’t have the time this morning. Instead, we turn back towards the west and retrace our steps to return to our vehicle. Climbing along the final stretch, we realize how steep the road really is. After passing through the tunnel and into the parking lot, we can see things have filled up quite a bit more since we first arrived. Once again, we have arrived ahead of the larger crowd. Our short visit has been enjoyable, but now it is time to move on. The town of Bushmills is just a few miles to the southwest. As we gaze over the landscape from this height, we can see it nestled on the Bush River not far in the distance.
We arrive at the distillery with a light rain coming down. The town is small and quaint. The distillery complex, while a bit sprawling, is not overly large or imposing. There are very few vehicles in the parking lot and we stroll down the path to the building labeled as the tour starting point. We get checked in and then have a seat to wait for the remainder of our group to arrive. Just before eleven Davey, our tour guide, gathers our group, which numbers about a dozen. They conduct a few different types of tours here and we are on the premium version which visits all points of the distillery and concludes with a tasting of six different whiskeys. Davey is an entertaining and engaging tour host and does a great job of keeping people informed and entertained. After I correctly answer a couple of questions he poses to the group during the tour, Rhonda tells me to stop being a know-it-all and showing off. The distillery does not do its own malting here, but all of the other processes in the making of whiskey take place on site. There is a mixture of old and new buildings housing the various operations required by the distillery and we cross from one to the next as we continue along. The distillery is coming up on their “silent season” when all of the maintenance is performed. Thus, there is no actual distilling going on at the moment. Even so, this is still one of the better distillery tours we have taken for its completeness, small group size and very good tour guide. After touring the facility for a little over an hour, Davey leads us to a small building near the entrance.
The building used to have offices in it and was also where the workers would gather their dram at the end of a day’s work on their way out of the distillery. Near the window where the whiskey was dispensed, like a drive-thru window, a bell cord still hangs down through the ceiling. Davey gives the cord a yank or two, sounding the bell that would have signaled the end of the working day. The building is now a space for private functions and tastings. A barrel stave is placed in front of each chair with six Glencairn glasses, each with a small pour whiskey in them, set in holes along its length. Everyone seats themselves and we find ourselves at a table with a German father and son duo. There are three others here at the table for eight and one empty spot. Davey guides the tasting, describing each of the whiskies in front of us. He identifies the one man in the group who stated earlier he liked his whiskey with ice. He has him taste a whiskey before and after adding a single ice cube. The man admits to there being a very distinct difference, which Davey proceeds to explain the chemical reasons for. It is very enlightening. After having tasted through each and while going back to finish our favorites, Davey entertains us with some stories. He also lets people know if there are drams setting at empty spots that folks should just take them if they want them as they’re going to get poured down the drain at the end of the event. He declares that a terrible waste that should be avoided. The 21-year-old whiskey is both Rhonda and I’s favorite and we fetch a couple of those which are left unwanted. As we sit and sip we have a conversation with the Germen gentlemen about proper schnapps and travel. We have a nice chat with Davey after most of the people have left and get a lunch recommendation from him since that will be the next order of business this day. He gives us easy to remember directions and we thank him very much for the enjoyable event and take our leave in good spirits.
Davey’s directions are true and we soon find ourselves driving by the Bayview Hotel. It is in a small town named Portballintrae, a stone’s throw north of Bushmills. There is a light rain falling and we managed to find a parking space on the road which runs between the hotel and the namesake bay. This is primarily a residential area but this old hotel stands sentinel over the harbor and is likely a popular holiday spot. We make our way in and ask if there is any availability. They are very busy and we realize it is midday on a Sunday, which explains the situation. The wait isn’t too long and a table for two is soon cleared up for us. The restaurant has a bit of a posh air to it. The front wall is all large plate glass windows providing a view of the bay. There is piano player tinkling the ivories to entertain the Sunday crowd. We both get some tea to drink. Rhonda orders up the classic Sunday roast and I have the battered and fried cod. Both are classic Sunday staples and the food is delicious. Rhonda especially likes the roast as it is very tender and juicy. It comes accompanied with a Yorkshire pudding, half a roasted potato and a small boat of gravy making for the classic Sunday meal. My fish is served with onion crisps, mushy peas and a generous helping of tartar sauce. Most everyone here seems to be a local as they greet each other and the staff as they pass to and fro. I’m glad we asked Davey for a recommendation as we probably wouldn’t have stumbled across a place this nice on our own. It has been a lovely, leisurely lunch, but it’s time to move on as we still have about two and a half hours to go before we arrive in Donegal.
Back in the car, we begin to head west along the coast road. The small road leading through Portballintrae joins up with the A2, which is the two-lane highway we want. While Rhonda is sorting out the navigation as we move along, I notice a sign for Dunluce Castle. Then we catch a glimpse of it while rounding a bend. It stands on a rock promontory at the water’s edge reached by a bridge from the cliff. We glance at each other and quickly decide to duck in for a look. The parking lot is about half full, which is nice to see. We get parked and follow the walkway over the bright green field to the entrance gate. Passing in we follow the path into the ticket office and shop where our admissions are acquired. We start our exploration by crossing over to the small museum to learn about the history of this castle we’ve stumbled across. As it turns out, the MacDonnells, part of the MacDonald clan, which came from Scotland across the water to the coast of Antrim settled here and were the masters of this castle. The land inward from the coast was farmed by the clan. When in Inverness some years ago we were trying to find information about the Donelsons, which we knew was a branch of the MacDonald clan. The only thing we found at the time was a reference to Donnellson being part of the MacDonalds of Antrim. We fancifully suppose Rhonda’s Donelson ancestors may have passed through this area and even walked to this coastline to pay homage to their laird in this castle. While possibly farfetched, it is not wholly improbable and it makes our visit a little bit more personal to us.
There are some buildings here above the water which acted as barracks and a gathering point for people doing business with the castle. They were also at the heart of the coastal town. We cross the narrow bridge from the edge of the cliff over to the rocky promontory, pass through the gatehouse and into the front courtyard. The castle is a ruin, but it is very easy to imagine how it looked in its heyday. Some of the displays in the various buildings and courtyards illustrate the former look and some areas are better preserved than others. In the main building there is a small tower attached which has a spiral staircase leading to an upper level. We ascend and have a nice view out over the shoreline running eastward. Just as we saw down by the Giant’s Causeway, the coastline is cliff lined and rugged. The waves roll in from the north and crash over the rocks. It is mesmerizing to watch. The castle was built right up to the edge of the promontory and looking out the windows or over walls presents a drop straight down to the shore below. At least the castle would have been very easy to defend. Beyond the Inner Ward, located furthest from the entrance, there is a pathway bordered by a low wall which runs on the very edge of precipice. It is like a balcony looking over the water. From here you can gaze both ways along the coastline and we see an arch rock to the west. The Antrim coast is really very lovely with its ruggedness blanketed in the Irish green of summer. We spend about an hour and a half exploring the castle, grounds and taking in the scenery before deciding to make our way back to the car and onward. This has been an unplanned, but thoroughly enjoyable stop. Happy accidents like these are the reason we leave so much time in our schedule when we travel.
We head westward through the lovely Irish countryside. We pass on through the outskirts of Derry-Londonderry, which was another center of conflict during The Troubles. The name Derry is favored by the Nationalists and Londonderry by the Unionists. Today it goes by a hyphenated version of both names, though the road signs in Northern Ireland say Londonderry. Regardless, not long after crossing the River Foyle we arrive back in the Republic of Ireland and leave Northern Ireland. We are now in County Donegal and turn southward towards the town of the same name. A few days before, our innkeeper in Donegal had asked via email if we could check in after 6:00 PM today. I had said this would not be a problem as long as we could leave our car at the house and then walk into town. The GAA football championship match between Donegal and Kerry is today, and our innkeeper will be with family until after the match. The closer we get to Donegal the more decorated each little town we passed through becomes. The colors for the team are green and gold and there are pennants, banners and all sorts of decorations in town centers, businesses and homes. As you drive into each little town there is often a big sign with a picture of a player from that town wishing them good luck in the match. It is all very festive. We try to pick up the score on our phones and it seems Donegal is not doing too well. As we near the coast again we notice a couple of helicopters. It seems unusual as there is very little air traffic over Ireland, except for the occasional jet too far up to hear. The sun is getting low. The skies are still thick and threatening rain as we get into town. Traffic creeps along slowly from the edge of town until past the town center. The central square itself is packed with people watching the match on a large Jumbotron which has been set up in the central green. We also see people festooned in green and gold pouring out of the pubs and onto the sidewalks. Everyone is engaged in the match and watching as the game winds down. We pass the town center and about half a mile along the water and find our bed and breakfast in a quiet neighborhood off of the main road.
We are staying at The Water’s Edge. It is very appropriately named as the property has a yard which is a grassy slope right down to the edge of the water where the River Eske empties into the North Atlantic. The estuary looks like a long widening bay from this perspective. Directly over a stone wall next to the bed and breakfast are the ruins of an abbey in the midst of large cemetery also on the water’s edge. Ours is the only car parked here. We fetch our umbrellas, don our raincoats and start to walk towards the middle of town to find something for dinner. We realize it may be a bit of a challenge given the events of the day. By the time we make it back to the town center, which is a short walk of ten to fifteen minutes, the match has ended. Unfortunately, the home team has lost to the more favored team from Kerry. We try the Harbor View Restaurant and find they are turning some tables over as people exit the restaurant to head home. The aftermath of the match is still on the TV. We commiserate with the hostess as she seats us at a table back towards the fireplace. We order up a couple of classics. I have a seafood chowder with soda bread and Rhonda fish and chips. The chowder is warm and hearty and the soda bread excellent. Rhonda’s fish is a tad greasy but the chips are good, though we’ve had better in Ireland. It is a pleasant enough dinner and glancing over Rhonda’s shoulder from time to time I get a short education in Gaelic football from the TV broadcast. It is somewhat different than standard football, or soccer as it is called in the States. It seems the Irish throw a couple elements that look like they come from rugby into the mix to make Gaelic football.
After dinner we decide to stop at the grocery we walked by and see if we can find a small bottle of whiskey which will provide a night cap for the remaining nights of the trip. We are able to locate something in the Kavanagh’s SuperValu, which has a sizable wine and spirit department. Continuing our walk home we take the road to the cemetery as we near The Water’s Edge. There are actually a couple of people in this cemetery visiting graves. At first, we worry a bit as we don’t see any way over to our destination. Then we spot a low place in the wall that looks like it lets into the backyard of The Water’s Edge. Indeed, there are some rickety old steps on the house’s side of the wall and we use those to get into the side yard and to the front of the house. Gathering our bags from the car we head in to meet our hostess, Marie. She is very chipper and we have a lovely conversation. She explains the helicopters spotted earlier today may have been people being rescued from the Secret Waterfall or shore caves. We ask about these and she explains they are found by walking along the shoreline and those unaware of the tides can get trapped by the water coming back in. She tells us the tide will be out in the morning so if we want to visit those sites, we should be safe. She has other recommendations for our tour of County Donegal tomorrow which are taken note of. We are indeed the only guests this evening. We arrange a time for breakfast and then part for the night. The room has a distinct style, which is dated. It is decorated in white, black and silver in bold patterns. Definitely something left over from the 1980s. The water pressure for the toilet is pretty low, as once flushed it takes an exceedingly long time to refill, sounding like a fountain all the while. Rhonda and I find some small glasses in our room, pour a dram of whiskey, and then walk down to the water’s edge. We sit on the rock wall at the end of the yard where it drops down to the marshy waterfront. We enjoy the quiet and still evening, muse over the trip so far, and enjoy the landscape and atmosphere of the place.
Day 4 – Monday, July 28th (Donegal)
Breakfast is a pleasant affair this morning. A side board and yogurt, fruit, cheeses and some cold meats is available. Marie asks if we want juice, tea or coffee, which she brings in shortly. She also brings out a small prepared plate with some hot items and toast. We have no particular schedule today, just a notion of some stops we want to make. Marie informs us the football team will be returning to town today and there will be a big celebration to welcome them back. She says the bus will be passing through all the small towns in the county and making stops at each. The team will probably make it to Donegal between eight and nine in the evening. The whole town will be turning out and there will be music and festivities down at the harbor, near the center of town. We thank her for the tip and then get ourselves together and begin our exploration of southern Donegal County.
The first stop will be St John’s Point Lighthouse which is located at the end of a ten-kilometer-long, narrow peninsula. It takes about half an hour to drive to the beach far down the peninsula where a parking area is located. The road down the peninsula hugs the western edge and is very scenic. There are wildflowers blooming everywhere in Ireland at this time of year and the road is lined with mounds of blooms in all colors. The flowers punctuate the green fields, dark green hedges and stone walls which all combines to create a very picturesque drive. The last kilometer and a half of distance to cover to get to the lighthouse lies beyond a fence with a gate on the road on which is hung a sign that declares it is private property. Marie had told us we could drive all the way to the end by just passing through the gate. We pause and consider whether to park here by the beach or drive on through the gate. We opt to leave the car here and continue on foot. Surprisingly, there are several people here at the beach on this chilly and cloudy morning. Some are even swimming in the cold North Atlantic. The sky is overcast but doesn’t threaten rain. There is a little bit of a breeze blowing, especially out here on the peninsula with the North Atlantic on either side of you. The walk out to the end of the peninsula is enjoyable and not difficult. There are cattle in the pasture beyond the fence clustered in a small group and munching away at the fresh grass. Wildflowers in all varieties line the fields and lane, providing splashes of color to brighten the scene The high point of land near the end of this peninsula is occupied by a small concrete structure which looks like an observation post. I will later confirm this is indeed a relic of World War II. The road rolls up and down a little bit and we finally approach the end where it terminates in a small lot next to the whitewashed stone wall which surrounds the lighthouse complex.
In addition to the lighthouse itself there are a couple of buildings which now are rented out as a place to stay the night. There is a vehicle in the lot that we will discover belongs to fellow doing some fishing out on the end of the point. We proceed onward through the field towards the very end of the peninsula. We pause at the top if a concrete stairway leading down to the water where some kayakers are pulled up. The land falls sharply away to the water’s edge in a rocky and rugged fashion. Sticking to the green on the top of the land we continue out as far as possible. We spot the man fishing at different points down on the shore. The waves roll in and crash against a spit of land beyond end of the point. We loiter for quite a while watching the waves rolling in and exploring this remote locale. The kayakers are on the move and pass through the narrow channel and off towards the land beyond. The only sounds are those of the wind, waves and the gulls. We find one of the many EIRE signs out at the end of this peninsula. These are another relic of World War II and spread around the coast of Ireland. The large letters constructed of white washed stone set in the ground declared to any planes overhead that this is Ireland and neutral territory in the ongoing war. We walk the lonely lane back to the beach and our car observed only by the cows and the birds.
Our next planned stop is the Secret Waterfall. It is located along the shoreline across the bay, just west of Killybegs. We drive the coastal road around the bay and make a stop in the town of Killybegs to fuel up the car and gets some drinks and a light lunch. We select a chicken and stuffing sandwich from the deli counter. We also get a couple of bags of Keogh’s crisps in a cheddar cheese & onion flavor and a shamrock & sour cream flavor. Back in the car we continue down the road and find the wide shoulder to one side some folks use to park for the walk down to the Secret Waterfall. There is another parking area further up the way at a bend in the road but we locate a spot here, closer to the trailhead and pull in. We sit and eat our sandwich and have some crisp and watch what is happening on the road. We observe a lot of people walking along the shoulder of the road from the other parking area, some of which obviously don’t understand what lies before them. We see folks with kids in strollers and other little kids in tow, and a group of young women all in dresses. We have looked into what is entailed in the hike to the site. Beyond a half kilometer down a steep sloping path to the water, which you would also have to walk back up, you have to scramble along the rocky shoreline for another third of a kilometer. That is where people can get trapped by the tide. Given how busy things are and the fact we just walked over three kilometers to and from the lighthouse, we decide to give the site a pass. I do walk up to the Largy Overlook and parking area to see what I can see. The parking area is small and packed. I see a small caravan selling snacks and ice cream in the parking lot. They’re probably doing a pretty good business today. The people aside, the view is very lovely. The clouds are breaking up and there is a fair amount of blue sky and sunshine now. The deep green grass angles down to the water and you can see out over the bay to the North Atlantic. It is a great vantage point and I notice St John’s Point Lighthouse across the bay. I return to the car and we decide to continue on to the Slieve League Cliffs.
It takes about twenty minutes along windy roads to get to the visitor center for the cliffs. The only vehicles heading up to the viewing area are the small shuttle buses. You can walk the two kilometers, but is it steep. We opt to wait for the shuttle after purchasing our admission. The time gives us a chance to explore the information in the visitor center and learn a little bit more about the cliffs. There seems to be a friendly rivalry between the Slieve League Cliffs and the Cliffs of Moher as to which are taller. At the current time the Slieve League Cliffs claim the crown. As the time approaches, we walk out to the lot to catch the next shuttle. The driver is animated and talkative. This makes for an entertaining journey up to the small lot next to the viewing area. There are a lot of people walking along the road dodging out of the way of the passing shuttles. The small lot at the end of the road is occupied by a handful of cars and a few caravans selling their wares. Like with the Largy viewing area, they have a captive audience and the ice cream trailer and snacks and drinks caravans probably do some good business. There are a couple of different services that run shuttles up here and the driver explains to everyone getting off how to identify which shuttle they should be looking for when they want to return back down to the visitor center. We thank him and then step out and stroll towards the fence which keeps the unwary, including sheep, back from the edge of the cliffs.
The views are remarkable. We are standing on Bunglass Point, which is on the south side of a small bay. Directly north, across the bay is Slieve League, the mountain for which the cliffs are named. A line of mountains runs westward from Slieve League, marching into the distance. On the southern side where they meet the North Atlantic, they drop sharply into the water as the namesake cliffs. The precipice on which we stand is no less steep and dramatic. The rugged cliffs turn and run south and east from this vantage point. Standing on the edge and looking down you lose your sense of perspective. You can see the water far below crashing with white foam on the jagged black rocks, but the distance seems surreal. The steepness tricks you, but you know in your heart the fall would be lethal and you are thankful for the security of the fence and the comfort it brings. While wildflowers still run somewhat amok along the paths, it is the heather which dominates the landscape. It is blooming here in the height of summer and the innumerable mounds of small flowers create an undulating blanket of purple. We strolled along the path to a little platform overlooking the bay. Nearby there is guitar player busking. His music adds a pleasant soundtrack to the day. Unfortunately, there is a less pleasant sound for a bit. A person is flying a drone out over the cliff to take photos of their group. Most places we have visited have “No Drones” signs posted. When the person finally brings in their drone there is spontaneous applause from the nearby people, letting them know the noise secession is appreciated.
I spot a small hollow a little way up from the path where there is a break in the heather and a little turfy patch. I lead Rhonda to it and we have a seat amongst the heather, taking in the view and watching the other folks enjoying this marvel of the Irish coast. Being on the coast there is always a breeze and we catch the scent of the heather as we sit. I want to climb the rocky pathway up a distance to see how the perspective changes. Rhonda defers and elects to stay seated in the heather. The path follows the top of the cliffs around the bay and up to the further heights and has people scattered all along it. I can see them as small figures in silhouette at the top of the further cliffs. I don’t intend to go that far and instead just follow it along for a couple hundred yards to have a look down into the head of the bay. The path is more or less steps lightly defined between the growing heather and flowers. There are places to step off and gaze back down along the point and up long the mountain line. Being here reminds you of what a beautiful sculptor much Mother Nature is. I imagine her kind of like Bob Ross putting one of his paintings together. She starts with a mountain and creates sharp cliffs on the side. Then decides to put a small bay and rocky shore at the bottom of the highest peak. She then covers these surfaces in green and tops it with purple. She must be in a sad mood today as she has placed a heavy blanket of clouds resting on top of the highest mountains to obscure the peaks from view.
Upon our return to the visitors center we see there is still plenty of afternoon left. Thus, we determined to move on to the next site I have in mind, which is the Glencolmcille Folk Village. It is about twenty minutes up the road on the shore of the North Atlantic, just west of the small town of Glencolumbkille. The Folk village is a small collection of cottages in which typical rural Irish life from the 1700s to the 1900s is represented. The entire affair was the brainchild of Father James McDyer. He started the project back in the 1960s as a way foster community pride and preserve Irish heritage. The little village sits nestled below a heather covered hill, across the road from a bay letting on to the northern Atlantic. It is a scenic little spot and the low stone wall which lines the property is itself lined with flowers in full bloom, standing high above the wall. A more modern building is the entryway into the village where we pay our admission fee and then just stroll about the gift shop and grounds waiting for the appointed time when the tour guide will take us through. We could proceed as a self-guided tour, but we opt to converse with people. There is one other couple waiting, and we exchange some small talk before the guide arrives. The guide is a young, unenthusiastic woman who definitely has a script. As we work our way through the buildings starting from the 1700s and moving forward through time to the 1900s, all four of us try to engage her and get her to break out of her script and talk about things beyond what she has memorized. She seems a tad uncomfortable, but I like to think she enjoyed the break from routine the four of us presented. The tour itself is more of an introduction of the buildings with some explanations to put things in context. Once the official tour has ended, we duck back into buildings we want to have a second look at and wander the further grounds, exploring. It is an interesting look into how things changed and also didn’t change from the 1700s to the early 1900s in the typical living arrangements of the Irish farmer and fisherman. The day remains overcast and cool and we decide to finish with afternoon tea at the small tea shop here on the grounds. We each get a cup of Earl Gray. Rhonda has a raspberry coconut tart and I a scone. Both are very tasty and we sit and sip the tea in near solitude as there are not many people around today. After tea, we exit the Folk Village and climb a small hill beyond the parking lot overlooking the bay. We are once again amidst the purple heather set in the vibrant green grass. The light grey skies are echoed in the surface of the ocean. The waves of the bay below lap the shore and beach with gentle susurration. We take in the views all around for a while before deciding head our way back towards Donegal.
We make our way through the cute towns all dressed up to greet the football team. As we pass through the center of Donegal, we see the preparations going on down at the harbor. A large stage has been set up and already the crowds are gathering and listening to the music and enjoying the festivities prompted by the cultural event of their local team having been in the championship match. We leave the car at The Water’s Edge and walk back into town to see what is available for dinner. We wind up at the Old Castle Bar which is not far from the modest Donegal Castle itself. Things are pretty busy in the restaurant area in back. There is a short wait, but a table in the bar area up front is found which we very much like. It sits by a window facing the street with the old wooden bar nearby. The thickness of the old building’s walls is evident as the bay in which the window is set must be a foot and a half deep. The double windows are comprised of small squares of clear glass set in lead. The borders are bright red stained glass complimented by the bright red flowers in the window boxes. Through the windows we watch the stream of people heading towards the harbor. Traffic creeps along as late comers arrive in town and try to find a place to park. Most people are on foot and festooned in their green and gold. Even the dogs are wearing their Donegal jerseys. The small TV mounted up high behind bar has a live broadcast from the harbor. For dinner, Rhonda opts for just a bowl of mushroom soup and some chips. I have the special which is venison three ways. Both are very delectable and provide good provender on a chilly day.
Sometime after eight the team finally arrives in town and we can hear the introductions taking place over the broadcast. Unfortunately for this charming town, the rain that has held back all day finally lets loose. Perhaps the weather is expressing its sadness at the loss Donegal suffered yesterday in the championship match. Things continue on down at the harbor despite the rain, although the agenda seems to have been cut short as we begin seeing everyone stream back away from the harbor and towards home. A couple pops in door to the pub and we see them looking around for seat. We offer them the two empty chairs at our table. With drinks in hand, we have a lovely conversation about the goings on down by the harbor and the football team itself. Apparently, the teams are all selected from their host counties and the roster will change year to year. Each member is not a professional football player and merely gets time off from work to play in the matches. The couple we are conversing with comes from a town down closer to Galway. The rain continues to come down and the crowds have thinned considerably as everyone has made their initial dash away. Our companions have to drive home tonight and take their leave with hearty goodbyes. We decide attempt to find some music at the Reel Inn, which has been recommended to us.
We don our raincoats and take up our umbrellas then crossover a block or so to find the Reel Inn. It is packed to the gills. I plunge a short distance into the crowd towards the back, but see nothing available and we head back onto the street. There are a lot of folks out here already, sheltering as best they can under the overhang of the building. Walking back towards the town square we take a peek into the Plaza Hotel. However, being as the hotel is the sponsor of the team and this is where the players are staying, things are pretty crowded as well. We have better luck next door at the Central Hotel and make our way up from the lobby to the Central Bar. There we find a most of the tables full, but there are some free seats about. A guitarist is playing his way through his repertoire off to the side. We start by sitting to the side by the fireplace, but when a couple of seats at the bar open up, we move there. We fall into a long conversation with a local woman who has come up to the bar to fetch some drinks for her party. After exchanging some talk of travel while she waits for the bartender, she actually takes the drinks back to her group and then comes back up to talk with us further. The guitarist plays a song titled The Hills of Donegal which is understandably a local favorite. He tosses in a lyric about Donald Trump being a chump which makes me chuckle along with many of the other patrons here. Earlier he had played Wild Mountain Thyme which our companion explained is another song identified as being a tune for Donegal. Between traditional Irish songs the singer throws in other gems like You Are My Sunshine and Folsom Prison Blues. Until you have heard Folsom Prison Blues sung by an Irishman at an Irish pub, you have not heard the song properly. There is a pair of older fellows in conversation with each other and the bartender which we have a hard time understanding. We ask our newfound friend if she understands them and she says, “Sometimes.” It’s been a lovely evening, but after she returns to her table and our pints are finished, we decide to take a walk back to the Bed and Breakast and call it a night. The rain has lightened up. The sidewalks have emptied somewhat as well with everyone taking shelter in a pub or their homes for the evening. The festive lights, decorations, and glow from the windows reflects on the wet streets as we make our way back to our bed for the evening. It is a pretty tableau touched with melancholy.
Day 5 – Tuesday, July 29th (Galway)
We once again have a tasty breakfast served with a side of good conversation with Marie. We begin by inquiring with her about some of the plants growing along the drive. We ask about being the only folks in her establishment. She states she has somewhat slowed down the number of guests she hosts. She doesn’t take walk ups or bookings from some online services. Mostly she only books guests through the means I used, emailing her. It seems the classic Bed and Breakast is a dying breed, which we bore witness to last year in Scotland as well. Our destination today is Galway, which is a little less than three hours away. We are not taking the direct route and will swing west along the southern shore of Sligo Bay before turning south through County Mayo to Galway. While the route is not exactly determined, we know will have plenty of time to get there by early afternoon. Marie informs us this week the Galway Races are being held. It is another cultural event we have stumbled into. Apparently, riders from all over the county descend on Galway for a week of horse racing. The city could be a little more busy than usual.
We get our bags packed up and say our farewells to Marie. With the sky overcast we begin our journey southward. We will be following part of the Wild Atlantic Way today as we circle around Donegal Bay and then Sligo Bay. Despite the overcast skies, the green of the countryside is bright and continues to be punctuated with vivid splashes of white, yellow, orange and blue flowers. Some cows being hauled in a trailer with their nose sticking out between the slats give us the big eye as we follow them for a little while along the coast. As we continue on our way through County Sligo, Rhonda begins to look for some place to stop for a snack in Ballina. We swing to the south away from the water and crossover from County Sligo to County Mayo through the picturesque countryside. Rhonda has found a tea room online which we head for. Ballina sits astride the River Moy at the head of a long estuary. It was, and maybe still is, supporting by fishing. There are lots of murals of fish scattered throughout town. We find a place to park a couple of blocks from our destination. The tea shop is easy to find on the block as it is painted bright blue with the name, Cupan Ceoil, in orange over the front window. Upon entering we are greeted and told to sit wherever we like. It is a very quirky space. Each set of table and chairs seems to be an individual dining set rescued from some thrift shop. The walls and shelves are lined with kitschy artifacts. There is a variety of pillows, quilts, crocheted blankets and cushions spread around that all look like someone’s handiwork. There are just a couple other patrons in here, and they seem to know the two ladies who run the shop. Rhonda has a soda and grilled cheese while I have a scone and tea. It’s just a small repast to get us through the middle of the day. A conversation is struck up in the tea room which has a political aspect to it. Again, we find people here can have an amiable talk about politics without getting bent out of shape. A little while after midday we say our thanks and depart. We notice on our drive out of town how all of the houses take pride in their appearance. The window dressings are always uniform and set at the same height. There are colorful flowers in window boxes and the front gardens, and everything appears very well kept, exhibiting pride in their place of residence.
We arrive in Galway in the middle of the afternoon and have no problem finding the Four Seasons Bed and Breakfast. It is on a main road with a small parking area out front with just enough space for one car per room. It is a tight fit and I wonder how difficult it will be to get out in the morning. We are early and surprised to find our room is ready for us. The room is a tad cramped and the bathroom has one of those dinky showers that looks impossible to get turned around in. We are only here one night, so it is of not much concern. Having set out clothes for the next day, we don our raincoats and take the walk towards the waterfront and town center. Rhonda is looking for an authentic Aran Island woolen sweater. This is the place to get one, so we decide that is our first order of business. It takes about fifteen minutes to walk to High Street, which is the center of activity in Galway. It is a very touristy area, but also very festive. The street runs down from Eyre Park to the waterfront, is full of old buildings and is for pedestrians only. It is strewn with pennants and colorful decorations. There are a lot racing themed decorations along with strings of horses hanging over the street. We find the Galway Woolen Market with ease and Rhonda has no trouble finding what she is looking for in our first stop. She decides to get a couple more sweaters for her doctors as Christmas presents. We have a full shopping bag and decide to take it back to our room so we won’t have to haul the bag the rest of the evening. The walk up along the High Street, through the park and along the tree line street to the Four Seasons is pleasant enough. It is also good to stretch our legs after spending several hours in the car today. Soon we are back on High Street amongst the activity. There are street performers and buskers spread all along the length of High Street down to the water. We make our way down to the river Corb and the Spanish Arch. The arch is the final remnant of an old defensive wall that surrounded the city many centuries ago. The river runs out into the North Atlantic here and the appropriately name Bay of Galway. The view up the river is quite lovely. The water is lined with trees interspersed with a mix of old and new building peeking out between the green. The dome and spire of some large, copper roofed, old municipal building pokes up in the distance. The stone bridge in the foreground completes the scene.
We wander back up High Street and look for a likely place to sit outside and listen to some music. Taffy’s Bar has outside seating and we see there is a table available. Rhonda sits down and I head inside to get a couple of pints. There is a busker finishing up his set across the way in this small square where the High Street splits. Before long he wraps up and is quickly replaced by another musician working the busy spot. The people watching is good and the sun comes out now and again, although at one point a little drizzle falls while the sun is on us. We start to feel a bit peckish as the afternoon wanes. We decide to walk to The Kings Head. This pub and restaurant were recommended to us by the couple who shared our table with last evening in the Old Castle Bar in Donegal. They said the restaurant has excellent seafood and we wouldn’t be disappointed. As we wander down the street I pause to take a picture of the Galway Girl. She is a bronze statue seated on a bench out front of the Quays Bar. The figure is wearing a large shawl. She is the embodiment of two famous Irish tunes and a surprise to see, like Molly Malone in Dublin. Making our way into The Kings Head we are shown to the dining room in the back, which is fairly busy though not packed. There is some outside seating in a courtyard, but with the off and on again drizzle we decided to stay inside. Rhonda opts for the monkfish and I the king scallops. The plates are fantastic. The monkfish is served with some cherry tomatoes still on the vine. These have a balsamic glaze and pair excellently with the light fish. The king scallops are fished off the coast of Ireland and served with boxty, which is Irish fried potato cake. Our acquaintances last evening were right, the seafood here is excellent.
After dinner we move from the restaurant to the pub where a band is playing. A banner hangs at the back of the stage with a logo for The Kings Head stating it was the pub of the Year in 1651. This goes along with the dim interiors made up of old stone walls, red drapes and gaudily framed mirrors and memorabilia scattered about. We read a little bit of the history of the place on the back of the menu. The building has existed for 800 years. It belonged to the Mayor of Galway, but was seized by Colonel Peter Stubbers in 1654. He was the executioner of King Charles I, and thus the name of the pub. It’s easy to forget how long some of these buildings have been around. The band is entertaining in an amusing fashion. Many of their tunes are modern ones they put a decidedly samba lounge style onto. Songs like How Do I Know, Maybe I’m Amazed, Thunder Happens When it Rains, and Manic Monday in a Brazilian lounge style can’t fail to produce a quirky smile. While amusing, we have other plans for music tonight.
Tig Coili is one of the local pubs known for its traditional sessions here in Galway. We had stopped in previously during the early session. At that time seating was scarce and the only available spot was way in back. Knowing there is a second session tonight at 9:30, we determine to get to the pub very early to see if we can snag a good place up front. Much to our delight, as we arrive someone is vacating a tiny little seating area right next to the stage. It is between the stage and the front door. A cut down church pew provides two seats with a small table next to it and another two chairs on the other side. We take the pew seats in the window and I fetch a couple of Guinness. After getting settled in the musicians begin to arrive. The group builds until it consists of two guitars, a banjo, a fiddle, an accordion and a bodhran player. The music is lively, traditional and very good. The window behind us is open, allow the music to flow out to the street and the cool air to come in. The pub has a few tables setup outside which remain occupied as the interior it packed. An older couple is sitting with us during the first part of the session. They are from Northern Ireland. He used to be a session musician himself before his tendonitis became so bad he could not play the accordion or guitar anymore. A few other folks come and go from two seats at our table until a rather elderly couple occupy the space. They remind us of older versions of our friends Kim and Wilf. The people watching this evening has been fantastic with our perspective from the front of the pub looking directly toward the crowd. Being here next to the musicians is also a lot of fun. Eventually about 11:30 one of the staff comes forward and lowers the front window shades to signify last call. Then they close the front door to keep people from coming in. After the musicians wrap up, we walked back to the Four Seasons in the pleasant evening. Our visit to Galway has been brief, but wonderful. There is a good energy in the heart of town. It reminds us of a smaller version of Edinburgh with the very old buildings crowded in next to each other along the street. Dinner has been the best meal of the trip so far and we also the enjoyed the best music so far as well.
Day 6 – Wednesday, July 30th (Doolin)
The breakfast area at the Four Seasons is large and airy. Breakfast is the typical arrangement of a large buffet set with cold items and a hot plate of your choice brought to the table. Today we have just a couple of hours drive to get to Doolin. We have heard from a few folks about the beauty of the area just west of Galway, Connemara National Park. While eating I consider this strongly, plotting potential routes in my phone. The added wheel time is not desirable, plus the weather looks to remain overcast, which would hide many of the mountains. Thus, Connemara is left for a future trip. I get a bit lucky while preparing to leave The Four Seasons. The car parked next to me departs, providing some elbow room to maneuver out of my parking space. We will be following the Wild Atlantic Way almost all day today. The way passes through small towns with very Irish names like Kinvarra, Flaggy Shore, Bealaclugga, Ballyvaughan, Kilmoon and Lisdoonvarna. We wander along the coastline around Galway Bay and into County Clare, then strike south and cut a more direct course towards Doolin. A little light rain comes and goes as we drive along and the sun never makes its way out. The cloud cover is not thick, so the day is relatively bright and the rain doesn’t seem dreary or detract from the beautiful landscape. Oftentimes when approaching a small town, we notice the word “Slow” painted on blacktop. Then shortly thereafter the word “Slower” appears, as if they knew all along people would need reinforcement to check their speed. While passing near Corkum Row Abbey we see some partridges crossing the road, which catches us off guard at first, being an unusual site. Further on we come to Corkscrew Hill where the road is a series of switchbacks as it makes its way up a mountainside. We pull over in a small viewing area at the top. The clouds are low and a drizzle is falling, so not much can be seen of the view. There are a few tour buses on the road as well. They run from Galway down to the Cliffs of Moher for the day trippers that are staying in the city. They have a hard time negotiating some of the turns on the narrow roads and can clog up traffic. We near Doolin a little after midday and decide to drive on through and up to the Cliffs of Moher. We know the back way from our stay here nine years ago. The one lane, two-way road which winds its way up the heights is bordered by mounds of flowers. Unfortunately, the closer we get to the cliffs the more socked in with fog things become. It is like driving through a cloud. When we arrive at the parking area we decide to just do a U-turn and head back to Doolin. With the close fog rolling in from the ocean there would be nothing visible from the cliffs.
Check in at the bed and breakfast is not until four, so we have some time to kill. The town of Doolin is very small and spread out. To the south is one cluster of small houses and shops which overlooks the Aille River as it runs out to the North Atlantic. The more northerly part is another little cluster of businesses strung out along the small highway. We cross the bridge over the Aille River and look for a place to park. There is a small municipal lot up the hill a little way with a free spot. A light rain is falling as we walk down the highway until getting to where the sidewalk starts up along the buildings. The last building in the row, with its back to the river, is a small restaurant called the Ivy Cottage. They seem pretty busy inside, but there are some available tables outside under a large pergola. We place our order at the counter and find a table which is not too wet outside, closer to the building. Soup seems appropriate for a cool wet day like today and what arrives at our table does not disappoint. I have a seafood chowder served with soda bread and it is wonderful. Rhonda has the soup of the day which is a butternut squash curry. It is excellent. A few more the outside tables fill up and we notice a lot of the other patrons ordering the butternut curry as well. There is a large table with a group of older Indians which rave about the curry soup and pass it around the whole table for everyone to try. After the soups are gone, we continue to nibble on the soda bread as I finished my cider and Rhonda her tea. The rain picks up a little bit and some of it comes splashing down the thatched roof and falls not far from us. Eventually we finish up and decide to explore the little cluster of shops along the road here. We duck into a place with a lot of your typical touristy souvenirs, but nothing of note. Strolling by a sweet shop we wind up at a used bookstore. I have a nice time wandering the two rooms exploring what’s on the shelf. There is an old lady who runs the place and I ask her if she has any Oscar Wilde. The small room with overflowing shelves she takes me into has a section of books by Irish authors. We happen to find one with a collection of some of Oscar’s better-known pieces. The price is a modest €10 and I decided to take it home with me as a nice memento and also because I’m also curious to read some of his works. She seems very pleased another old book has found a home.
It's about 3:30 now and we decide to returned to the car and take the short drive down to the ferry dock to get the lay of the land for tomorrow morning. It’s not hard to find since the road ends at the ferry terminal. After having a brief look, we decide to head to the bed and breakfast. The opposite end of the stretched-out town of Doolin is occupied by two pubs, McDermott’s and McGann’s. A little road runs westward from near McDermott’s and up a hill. There is another turn on onto a one lane road spotted with potholes which ends at the Doolin View Bed and Breakfast. The location is lovely as it sits on the top of a hill commanding a view of all parts of the town and country nearby. The views southward and eastward are very nice, though still socked in with the low clouds and misty rain. A younger couple runs the establishment. That’s relative to the age of most people who run bed and breakfasts, which tend to be in their fifties and sixties. Sandy is ready for us when we arrive. She is energetic and talkative. She is polite, but her manner conveys she has a lot of things to do. She takes us up to the William Butler Yeats room which is spacious with a nice view out toward the east and north.
Once settled, we decide to head downstairs to the dining area and play some cribbage. We carefully clear a table taking note of how things were arranged so we can put it back before we depart. There are large windows in the dining area looking out to the cliffs to the south and Atlantic to the west. There is a small coffee bar available to guests in this room. There is also an honor bar with a variety of juices, sodas and spirits. While we’re playing cards Jason, Sandy’s husband, comes in and introduces himself. We have a pleasant chat and then another fellow who is staying here comes in and picks up a conversation with Jason. He is sitting by the fireplace in living room, which is adjacent to the dining room. We can’t help but overhear their conversation and learn he is from Switzerland and had a manual transmission car as a rental. He had driven a manual decades ago and wound up blowing out the clutch. He had to go down to the Shannon Airport to get the new one and it seems to be how he spent his day today. I would have recommended him spending the money to get the automatic instead of being an unpracticed stick driver trying to negotiate the hills and mountains around the country all while trying to operate a gear shift on the opposite side of the driver from what he is used to.
There is a session tonight at McDermott’s and we decide to head down there to get some dinner and settle in well before the musicians show up. It’s close enough to walk, but with the weather and no street lights on these roads we decide to drive down instead. There’s not much space left in the lot, but we manage to get one of the last spaces behind the building. McDermott’s is a stone’s throw from McGann’s. They are on opposite sides of the road separated by a little bridge over Aille River. Sort of the Macy’s and Gimbel’s of Doolin pubs and trad sessions. Once inside we find the place is pretty full already. There are no tables available on the side of the pub where the musicians will be. The wait for a table is about ten to fifteen minutes. Space at a large table by the window near the front door becomes available. I find I am seated right in front of a sign stating this is the “Liar’s Corner”. I remark to the waiter we thought all corners in a pub were the liar’s corner. The table is large and we will wind up sharing it with a few other couples. There will be a pair from Brussels and then two more couples who know each other, one from Scotland and one from Toronto. It is nice to have friendly folks to talk to. We order up some classic pub grub for dinner. I get bangers and mash and Rhonda beef stew. There is definitely a buzz in the pub tonight and one fellow at the bar states we are and for a treat. I then understand the buzz as it is stated that Blackie is going to be here playing. When we were in Ireland nine years ago and in Dublin on a musical pub crawl, I spoke to one of the musicians about where to hear Uilleann pipes. Uilleann pipes are Irish, bellows driven bagpipes with a sweeter, quieter sound than Scottish great pipes. They are the cornerstone of much Irish traditional music and difficult to master. The musician said since we would be in Doolin we might have a chance to see Blackie. Yes, we were in Doolin nine years ago too. Unfortunately, nine years ago Blackie was out of town. Now we have stumbled upon Blackie O’Connell quite by accident. He is one of the top Uilleann pipers Ireland. While the musicians are not visible from our table, we can hear them just fine. On one break I spot Blackie as he heads up to the bar next to us to get something to drink. They’re into their second set when we finally decide to call it a night. This evening there has been an old character up at the bar putting down the drinks and brazenly flirting with the younger ladies in the pub. As we stroll out to our car we can see someone helping him get into a ride home as he has trouble just walking straight. I guess some regulars don’t know when to say when. The dinner, music and conversation have been a nice finish to the day and we are looking forward to tomorrow.
Day 7 – Thursday, July 31st (Inishmore)
We arranged for a slightly early breakfast today since there is a ferry to catch this morning. We sit at the same table we were playing cards at yesterday afternoon. Breakfast is made to order and is quite tasty. Rhonda has egg and sausage with toast while I enjoy some porridge. Once again, it is nice to see a classic bed and breakfast doing a good job with a young couple at the helm. Hopefully the place will stay in business and help revive the industry. Looking out the window, we see some low clouds and fog rolling in from the Atlantic, but it is not thick and you can see blue sky above. Hopefully it will break up today. We also notice the bovine morning shift is up and working the neighboring pasture. We thank Jason for breakfast and then gather our few things and hop in the car for the short ride down to the ferry. We arrive in plenty of time, pay for the parking and walk over to the dock. While waiting on the jetty we can see loads of jellyfish floating in the water around the harbor. There is a nice view towards the beginning of the cliffs of Moher south of here. About 8:45 they begin to load the ferry. A few brave souls sit out on the upper deck, but most are staying inside since the morning is still chilly and mostly overcast. Inishmore is the largest of the three Aran Islands and furthest from the shore. There are few cars on the island and tourists can walk, ride in a horse drawn cart, or ride bikes. We plan to rent bikes to get around Inishmore and are given a small flyer for a rental company as we board. Looking this over I noticed they have e-bikes. This strikes me as a potentially good idea because neither Rhonda or I have been on a bicycle since our last trip to Mackinac Island in 2016. That combined with the wind and hilly terrain could be tough going on our legs. Rhonda hops on her phone and makes a reservation for two e-bikes before we are far out of port. There is a large dog on the ferry riding over with its owners. The dog doesn’t look to be doing too well and it is probably a good thing the ride is not much more than half an hour. It is extended a little bit as the ferry makes a quick stop at the port on Inishmaan, the middle island. They pull up to the dock and a couple of the crew members jump off without tying up. I guess they are here to man the port for the day’s visitors. As soon as they are ashore, we swing around and motor on towards the port of Kilroman on Inishmore.
We are the first ferry to arrive this morning, which was our plan. Everyone heads down the pier with some walking towards the small cluster of businesses on the water, and others, including us, towards the Aran Bike Hire. The business is located at the beginning of the pier. They are efficient and quick. Everyone getting an e-bike has to select a helmet from a large bin, as they are required for e-bikes. Once helmeted, employees take folks out on the road and explain the operation of the e-bike. It is essentially a pedal assist affair where you can adjust the motor to different levels and as long as you’re pedaling it will boost the effort. We experiment a little bit as we get started and find it as quite easy to be back on a bike and the pedal assist makes it more fun. We are taking the coast road the eight kilometers to a bike park most of the way up the length of the island. The coast road is very level as compared to the central road which goes up and down the hills of the middle of the island. While cruising along we notice there are only a few others on the road once out of the small port town. We make a couple of stops to adjust seats and Rhonda declares she is having a lot of fun with the e-bike. She feels like the Wicked Witch of the West zipping along, moving faster than she’s pedaling. After her statement we both tend to hum the Wicked Witch theme from the Wizard of Oz in our head as we bike along. The island is mostly devoid of trees. The landscape is extremely rocky with the soil very thin in places and non-existent in others. The exposed bedrock is furrowed and cracked from constant exposure. A connected myriad of dry-stone walls creates small pastures in a continuing latticework all along the shore and the hillside. Some of the pastures are occupied by sheep and cows who tend to ignore us as we go by. The sun is breaking out of the clouds and the day is turning very fair. We pedal by the Seal Colony Viewpoint, but no seals are in sight. About seven kilometers along we come to Kilmurvey Beach. It is small sandy crescent of a beach located about two thirds of the way up the island. We can see Dun Aonghasa, our ultimate destination, in the distance on the southern edge of the island. We pause and check our directions and see there are a few more people around. Some are down at the beach, but more are coming and going both ways on the road. This is the narrow part of the island and the few roads cross here. We get our directions straight at this intersection and start to work uphill towards a small cluster of buildings where the road ends. There are a couple of shops and a restaurant located here not far from the beach. There’s also a large bike park as this as far as you can take the bikes on the way to Dun Aonghasa.
There are not many people on the trail heading up Dun Aonghasa. The fort dates from the Bronze and Iron Ages. You can see the path all the way up to the top as the land is one continual upward slop and there are no trees to block the line of sight. The walk is a little over a kilometer of rocky terrain. Down by the buildings there are grass and flower filled pastures and some large bushes chock full of fuchsia in full bloom. The variety of the wildflowers growing along the path and in the pastures is quite amazing. As we get further and further up the slope the path becomes a series of steps. We enter the second ring of the three rings which make up the old fort. As you pass through the entryway there is a large sign with a number of pictorial warnings on it. Many illustrate the possible ways you can be hurt like tripping, falling down steps, or bumping your head. There are three varieties of warning all depicting a person falling off the edge of a precipice. I suppose this is to emphasize to be careful up there and not be stupid. Passing into the middle enclosure we find a large grassy field with amazingly long, thick and spongy turf. The dew hangs on the flowers and the blades of grass, sparkling like jewels in the sun. We continue up and pass through the final wall and into the inner enclosure. We follow the inner wall to the edge of the cliff. You can see the whole of the island from up on this height. There are no fences and no warnings other than the sign along the path. Erosion has taken part of the fort away and it is a sheer 300-foot drop from the edge to the water below. You can hear the surf booming against the rocks as the waves crash in, continuing their work on removing the island. It’s a bit unnerving to stand a foot away from a drop that severe. Crossing a short distance over to the heart of the old fort there is a raised stone area where probably once stood a building, but now it is just a stone terrace. We find a place to sit near the cliff’s edge. It’s a little better sitting and leaning to look over as it feels more secure. While sitting down a really stiff gust of wind won’t be able to just push you over. I wonder how many people have taken the fall either intentionally or not from this height. We sip a little water and enjoy the breeze, the sun and the views around us. The cliffs run off both east and west and the rocky ground slopes away to the north. The whole landscape is wearing the stone wall lattice punctuated by deep green and bright yellow. I’m glad we’ve come here first when there are not so many people around. It is quite an awe-inspiring spot. It makes you wonder about the lives of the people who scratched out an existence on this rocky island off the west coast of Ireland and why a fort here was necessary.
The sky has mostly cleared by this time with most of the clouds retreating northward. We finally decide to walk back down the rocky slope to the bicycle parking area and continue our explorations of the island. There are more people present around the buildings and making their way up the trail now. Our next stop is about two and a half kilometers back towards the east. It is the trailhead for the Worm Hole. The stone of the island erodes and cracks and very geometric designs, mostly square and rectangle. This is very evident on the cliff edge because it’s almost a perfect ninety-degree angle where the top of the land falls to the water. The Worm Hole is an unusual natural feature at the bottom of the cliff line on the south edge of the island, not far from Dun Aonghasa, as the crow flies. Back on our bikes we ride by the beach and a little way up the central road before turning south and winding our way through some scattered cottages and farm buildings. At one point we pass a small stone corral where there are a mare and her colt. The colt is adorable and cavorting about very playfully. The road turns into a lane and then a path, and then just to a rocky trail where it finally terminates. There are several bikes leaning against the stone walls here and you can see people picking their way back westward. There is no trail from this point, just a series of blazes on the stones. You can get a sense of where people are going as you can see a few of them spaced out over the landscape, like ants following an invisible trail. Intermittent red arrows painted on stones mark the trail and are fairly easy to see during the first part of the journey. The way crosses over bare rock interspersed with spongy turf and wildflowers. There are deep crevasses in the bare rock which make footing tricky. Eventually, as you get closer to the water the turf disappears altogether and you’re just crossing a stone plateau. The stone has been worn by the rain and has many small depressions. It almost looks like a moonscape. Water settles in the depressions and rusty and ochre-colored algae grows there.
To our right is a cliff face that gets taller and taller as we work our way along. To our left the stone plateau falls off to the surf in a sharp precipice. We are down close to the water though and it’s maybe a fifteen-foot fall down to the ocean from the edge. There are no trail markers now and folks just make their way along knowing there’s only one way to go. Eventually we arrive where the stone falls away to a lower level, just above the waves. There is a large rectangular hole in the stone where you can see the surf churning like a swimming pool on a cruise ship. There are tunnels and channels underneath the stone and the rectangular regularity of the hole in the rock looks man made, though it isn’t. The tide is low at the current time, so there’s not too much activity in the wormhole. The waves from the North Atlantic only occasionally cross the plateau to fall into the opening. While standing on the rock’s edge looking out over the worm hole, if you lift your gaze, you can see the cliffs below Dun Aonghasa off to the west a little way. The landscape seems alien. The angular rock is punctuated by the very irregular channels and holes worn by the surf which look like the surface of a sponge. Cliffs rise to the north and the rock we walk on falls away to the south. Folks scramble around being careful not to take a tumble. Rhonda and I make our way back just a little bit and find a place climb down a little way and have a seat by the water. We watch the waves rolling in and crashing along the rocky shore below us. There are a few seals playing out in the surf reminding us this is not an alien landscape, but one of the unusual corners of the Earth. The walk here has been difficult, more so than the walk up to Dun Aonghasa. After a bit of a rest, some water and snacking on some cookies, we pick ourselves up and begin to head back over the rocky landscape towards the bikes. At one point when we are alone and no other people are visible far ahead to follow and we get a little off track, missing a blaze. Pausing for a moment we look around and see where we went wrong and continue on towards the bikes. While the distance is only about a kilometer, it takes quite a lot of time to cover because you have to watch every step so you don’t twist an ankle in a crack or misstep on a rocky edge and take a fall.
Back at the bikes we decide to ride the main road through the middle of the island back towards the port. It will offer better views than the coastal road, but will come at a price. We find the center road through the island busier and there’s actually a few cars on it. This creates a tiny traffic jam or two where the bikes have to yield and avoid walkers and cars on the very narrow road. We also have to roll up and down a few hills which are pretty big, but the e-bikes help with that so our legs do not seem to be suffering too badly. After having to stop for traffic, getting started while heading uphill can be a bit of a challenge. Eventually we crest the last hill and begin to coast down towards Kilronan, which is quite fun. Just at the edge of town Rhonda pulls over by a bike park across the lane from Joe Watty’s Pub and asks if I want to stop here for a little lunch. I say this would be fine and the weather is good for sitting outside. There is a small table outside on the patio we request and are seated at. The day has turned out very nice, if windy, and most everyone is enjoying the outdoors today. The little pub has some good-looking lunch offerings which are very welcome since breakfast was quite a while ago. I should mention how allergy conscious the restaurants in Ireland are. Most everywhere we go there are a series of allergens listed on the menu and each dish is noted with those which it contains. The wait staff is also always asking about allergies you may have when they are taking your order. The green curry mayo which comes with my prawn wrap is particularly good and Rhonda’s chicken goujons, a fancy word for strips, are crispy and tender.
When lunch is done, we hop back on our bikes and continue to coast down towards the water. After arriving at the harbor and following the coastal road towards the Aran Bike Hire we decide we are having too much fun simply riding the bikes and don’t want to turn them in just yet. We continue along towards Frenchman’s Beach. Passing along the beach we see a series of small structures like tiny, peaked huts. These are rented as a form of glamping. They look kind of odd lined up along the road. As we turn to follow the shore beyond the beach the road itself gives out and becomes more of a rocky path. The riding gets a little difficult. There are a lot of wildflowers growing in large mounds all along here and I hop off the bike capture a few photos. We gaze off to the east where the shores of Ireland are visible in the distance. We decide this is as far as we can go and turn our bikes around and head back towards the harbor. We are a bit wistful as we turn our bikes in and wonder if e-bikes have become a rental possibility on Mackinac Island, where we’ve done our share of bike riding in the past. We stroll back down the pier and have a seat in the enclosure, out of the wind. It is not too long before the ferry returns and people begin queueing for the journey back to Doolin. The 4:15 leaves on time and the ferry arrives in the port of Doolin before five. The day is still very fair and we decide to take the short drive up to the Cliffs of Moher and finish the day there. The skies are still partly cloudy, but as the sun begins to sink the wind picks up even more and it is cold. We make our way up to the cliffs and enjoy the views towards the Aran Isles and over the Atlantic. The Cliffs of Moher are very dramatic and also very popular. There are more people here than we have seen all day. As we stand and gaze out over the cliffs we embrace and kiss. The kiss is observed by a stranger passing by and he comments on what the lovely moment it was and asks if we would like to have our picture made. We hesitate, but then agree. He takes my phone and captures a couple of pictures of Rhonda and I kissing with the cliffs in the background. We thank him and then he wanders on his way, a good deed done. It is nice to have a picture of us together, which we don’t get many of during our travels.
Tonight, we are going to try going to McGann’s for dinner and music. Parking is scarce and the only space is in a small lot across the street from McDermott’s. We then walked a short distance over the bridge and back to McGann’s where we are able to be seated at a table right next to where the music will be. Another couple comes in and shares the table with us. They are from the middle of England and we have a great time comparing travel notes and talking about work. As it turns out, the gentleman is in the same business as I am and he and I have worked on some of the same software before. The music gets going after we’ve had our dinner, but is not as good as the previous night. After about twenty minutes we finish our drinks, say our goodbyes and hop in the car for the short ride up the hill to the Doolin View Bed and Breakast. Our timing is fortuitous because the sun is setting and the sky is looking very pretty over the Atlantic. We grab a couple of the blankets from the basket near the patio door, move a love seat so it faces the west and relax to watch the day end. We sit and sip some whiskey as the sun colors the sky. There is a white horse in the neighboring pasture and it expectantly runs up to the wall when it sees us. Rhonda gets up approaches the wall to greet it, but it is seemingly disappointed she doesn’t have anything to eat and moves off. The wind has lightened up, but it is still chilly. Cuddling under the blankets and the whiskey we’re sipping make things tolerable. The world is amazingly quiet here. We can hear the surf crashing to shore about a mile away. The cows in the field next to us are all laying down as if their shift is over for the day. The sun sets late in these northern latitudes during the height of summer. Eventually the sun lowers behind the horizon and we take ourselves to bed. It has been a fantastic day with wonderful weather and gorgeous scenery at every turn.
Day 8 – Friday, August 1st (Dublin)
We have another great breakfast with good food and conversation. We enjoy banana French toast and Irish rarebit, which is a fancy way of saying cheese on toast with egg. We talk with the innkeepers about business and a bit of their history. Apparently, she is from the area, moved to the city where they met and married, but she had the desire to get back to the country. They run a business online selling some household wares, which supplements the income from the bed and breakfast. When we ask about the letters we have seen in back windows of the cars, they explain the large “L” stands for Learner, and the large “N” stands for Novice. The learners don’t have a license yet and need to have experienced driver with them. The novices keep the “N” in their back window for two years. The learners are not allowed on the freeways. The whole system seems kind of like wearing a scarlet letter, but I guess different systems for different places. We are headed back to Dublin today and have a few hours in the car. It is nearing ten, so we decide it is time to get going. We’ll travel northwards back through the countryside we crossed two days ago until we meet up with the expressway which runs from Galway to Dublin. The sky is mostly cloudy with no threat of rain and some blue sky peeking out here and there. The cows on the morning shift are up and working the pasture as we get things in the car and hit the road.
With the better weather today, the scenery that was socked in with rain and fog last time on the way through County Clare and County Galway is visible. The green countryside is very vivid in the bright day and the parade of flowers along the roadside and in the fields continues still lend the splashes of color which brightened the whole scene up. We pick up the M5 Expressway a little east of Galway and began to cross the island toward Dublin. A little while after noon we come to the town of Athlone where a stop is planned. The town sits on the River Shannon. The destination is Seans Bar, which is located a stone’s throw from Athlone Castle on the west bank of the river. The bar is reputed to be the oldest continuously operating pub in Ireland. Older than the Brazen Head in Dublin. With the help of the navigator, we find our way through the old town and locate the bright blue façade of the pub. The street parking is full on this Friday and we have to park a couple of blocks away. The buildings in town all tend to be painted in very bright colors bringing a festive atmosphere to the downtown area. The block we park on has buildings of bright yellows and greens, pinks, fuchsias, royal blues and reds interspersed amongst each other and it looks like a carnival.
We arrive at the pub and find a few tables are occupied near the front, but there is plenty of space at the bar itself. We pull up a couple of stools and order the requisite two pints of Guinness. What else do you have at the oldest pub in Ireland. The establishment dates to around 900 CE when Luain Mac Luighdeach opened an inn here, at this crossing point of the River Shannon. The town grew up around the crossing and the inn persisted through the centuries. In the 1970s, while doing some works on the building, they found wattle wall, a chunk of which is on display on the wall by the bar. Wattling it is an ancient style of building a wall out of woven wicker covered in daub. When they uncovered the old wall, they also discovered some ancient artifacts which helped date the inn to its origin. We pass a pleasant time in the pub speaking with the staff behind the bar. The space is the classic Irish pub. The wood of the bar, few booths and framing is all dark and aged. The hardwood floor is strewn with wood shavings. The backbar and walls are covered with memorabilia and photographs. The fireplace located in the front room has a dark stone mantel and is over 1,100 years old. You sense the age of the place and you wonder about all that has passed in this space over the many centuries it has hosted guests and those seeking refreshment.
About one o’clock we decided if we are going to get anything for lunch, we had better get to it since we have a 6:30 reservation in Dublin for our anniversary dinner. We ask for a recommendation at the bar, but arriving there we find the menu unappealing. Partway back to the car is an Italian restaurant which looks like it has decent fare. Going inside we get a little table for two next to the window fronting the street where the people coming and going during our lunch can be observed. We eat lightly now knowing we will have a larger meal later and just share a Neapolitan style pizza. We finally get back on the road after two o'clock. It takes a little under two hours to make our way back into Dublin and return to the parking garage near Buswells Hotel where we will be staying again this evening. After checking in, we proceed up one floor in the main building and find the room to be more modern in décor this time, and a tad less charming.
We decide to go out for a stroll before dinner. St Stephens Green is near the hotel and I would like to take a stroll through the large park. The day is pleasant, if a tad cloudy, and getting out to stretch our legs feels good after being in the car for a few hours. After getting turned around a bit we find our way to the green and enter through the rather large gateway at one corner. There is a large wrought iron fence all around the park with grand gates at the corners. The park is very wooded on the perimeter but much more open in the middle where there are some small ponds and other water features. A large pond and fountains dominate the center of the park. The walkways are well populated with many folks out enjoying the pleasant day as it is very nice green space in the city. The crowd seems to be mostly college students, and there is a large number of dogs out for their walk. We exit the park on the opposite side and continue our stroll towards and up Grafton Street. Grafton is a large and long pedestrian street which is lined with shops and buskers. We are headed toward The Bank Bar on College Green. We arrive ahead of our reservation but enter anyway to see if we can be seated early.
The Bank Bar is similar to The Dome in Edinburgh. It was an old Grand Victorian Bank that has been restored and is now used as a restaurant and bar. The marble edifice gives way to an interior which is all Victorian gaudiness. The grand hall where all the banking took place is two and a half stories tall. An ornate bar built in a Victorian style sits in the middle with an upper mezzanine overlooking the whole affair from the back. Stained glass, relief and gilding cover everything. The ceiling is quite amazing and there is something to look at everywhere you gaze. We are guided to a table up on the mezzanine to wait for a dinner spot. We order a couple of cocktails and relax. Shortly after the drinks arrive we find out the restaurant has decided to serve us up here at our current table. There are a few more tables beginning to fill up in the upper space and we just go with the flow. It seems to be a busy Friday. From up on the mezzanine, we have a nice view over the diners below. Things are tad noisy as the sound bounces around this great open space. We enjoy a pleasant anniversary dinner. We decide to share a dry age steak knowing neither one of us could eat a whole one by ourselves. We share our lives and we share our meals. The selected red wine is a nice complement to the deeply flavorful steak. When dinner is complete, we go downstairs and find a couple of seats at the bar. I have an Irish coffee which is done very well and Rhonda a cocktail. We notice the varied attire of the patrons. It seems the dress code posted at the door is not strictly enforced. We continue to take in the atmosphere around us and find the noise is not quite as bad down here in the main level. Also, being almost 8:30 the dinner rush is over and things are generally quieting down anyway.
When our drinks are complete, I declare I’d like to walk up O’Connell Street to the post office. We have been by it before without stopping when we were on musical pub crawls on previous trips. This time I actually want to go and have a serious look at the building that was the center of the 1917 uprising. Even though it’s approaching 9:00, the sky is still very light. The post office itself is still a working government operation and you can hop in and get some stamps and mail a letter. There are a museum and tributes to the martyrs of the 1917 Uprising inside, but the building is long closed for the day. Bullet holes are visible in the columns and front wall, evidence of the attack of the government troops trying to flush out the rebels. Those holding up inside were eventually driven out and arrested. They were hanging in the nearby prison, which made them the martyrs they are and sparked the uprising which eventually established Irish independence. While the damage to the building could be repaired, I think it is left as a tribute to those who died.
We want to finish the evening back at the Vintage Cocktail Club, which we enjoyed so much a week ago. Rhonda had made a reservation before leaving The Bank. We want something quieter and more subdued this evening. We make our way back over the Liffey via the Ha’penny Bridge and into the heart of Temple Bar. It is a Friday night and the crowds are out in force. As we approach the door of our destination, we see a group of about a dozen and a half people all dressed as Robin, Batman’s sidekick. There are Robins from the original comic book, the Batman show of the 60s, the movies and novels. It’s quite a strange sight and they seem to be moving in a pack as if on a tour. When someone comes to answer the door at the Vintage Cocktail Club, we point them out and ask if they know what’s going on. The hostess is just as surprised as we are to see the group all adorned in such an absurd fashion. We are let inside and find ourselves at a small table in the corner of the downstairs bar. The shelves around us are filled hundreds of vinyl records in their jackets which were probably are bought and treasured by people once upon a time. Now we’re just novelty items and décor. We have fun watching the bartender on this level as he is very deliberate and precise in his movements. He has a particular way of cocking his head as he works the Boston shaker and seems to be counting, though we know he is just listening for the tone to change as the ice rattles the mixture in the shaker. As it gets on towards midnight, we decide to call it a day and take the walk back to Buswells. We’ve seen some history today and have had a pleasant and memorable anniversary together here at the end of our trip.
Day 9 – Saturday, August 2nd (Home)
We are in no particular rush this morning as our flight isn’t until almost one in the afternoon. We have breakfast in the dining room again, this time sitting in what seems like a wide hallway which goes nowhere, branching off from the main dining room. Rhonda has some smoked salmon and eggs and I just enjoy the items on the breakfast bar. While sitting in the slightly quieter space, though the restaurant is not noisy to begin with, we take note of some of the interesting music playing through the speakers. We hear solo piano doing Bohemian Rhapsody and Space Oddity which then moves into violin and piano performing Beyond the Sea and then an acoustic guitar playing Van Halen’s Jump. It’s quite an odd mixture and reminds us of the smooth jazz versions of 80s and 90s pop hits we heard at breakfast in Mexico the last time we were there. The rest of the morning proceeds easily between getting packed, returning to the airport, and getting through customs. The flight is long, as it always is going back across the Atlantic. It is daytime for our bodies and only a short nap is possible. Fortunately, the drive home from Dulles is only a couple of hours long and not too trying.
While the weather wasn’t always good on the trip, but we made the best of things and had a great time. Ireland during the summer lives up to the Emerald Isle moniker and I was pleasantly surprised by the effusion of wildflowers everywhere we went. As we found the last time we were driving around Ireland, the people are welcoming and friendly and always ready for a chat. We’ve managed to dine, drink and walk in many historic places which we always take pleasure in doing. The simple act of sitting in a place, soaking in the culture and watching the world go by is often our favorite pastime when traveling.
