Oh, yes, we had had lunch in Monaghan and were heading west into Fermanagh in Northern Ireland. Well, we were taking the truly scenic route. When we left Monaghan, we headed west till we got to Clones (which is pronounced to rhyme with “slowness”), and then headed north. We crossed the border into Northern Ireland, but we didn’t head straight for Enniskillen. We headed back east for a bit to take in the sights, and looped back down to retrace our route along the N54 to Clones.
Along the way, we passed through a beautiful little town called Rosslea.
It was during our second visit to Clones that Larry, who was off the main routes he was used to, decided to ask directions of some folks. The first person we asked simply smiled, shook his head, and shrugged. It was obvious that he didn't speak English. Seemed to me he was likely an immigrant from Eastern Europe, the new members of the European Union making their way in a new country. Immediately after that, we managed to catch the attention of a couple of guys in a truck hauling a trailer of loam, half of which they seemed to be slowly leaving behind them like brown bread crumbs for Hansel and Gretel. These guys, too, had heavy Slavic accents, but they managed in English, and told us, more or less, to simply carry on in the direction they'd just come from and we would find our way.
As we drove away, Dave leaned forward and put us all in stitches remarking, "What did he say? 'Follow my trail of shit'?" Which was all the funnier because that, for the next couple of miles, was essentially what we did.
We came to another crossroad in a town right near the border, and asked an Irishwoman for directions. We doubled back down a hill we'd come up, and crossed back over into County Fermanagh, this time bound for Enniskillen.
Below is where we crossed over into Enniskillen itself. A word of explanation... Now, if you watch the video below, after Larry announces that, I say "wow" in such a seemingly lackluster way, I'm embarrassed. But it wasn't like that! I said it in a manner I meant to convey astonishment at the realization: the head-shaking, "I can't believe it" way adults do when they finally realize a long-term goal, but not in the "holy cow gee whiz gosh!" way kids do. I only wish it had sounded like that. :)
But no, I was looking around, trying to imagine the place nearly a century ago... the place where my grandmother had been born, the streets she would have walked down, the shops she would have visited with her mother. All around me was a place I'd come from, the first ancestral place I had ever been to...
You'll also hear Larry say something about "that's where the police are trained", by which I presume he means the PSNI, the Police Service of Northern Ireland... until recently the infamous Royal Ulster Constabulary, or RUC.
But no, I was looking around, trying to imagine the place nearly a century ago... the place where my grandmother had been born, the streets she would have walked down, the shops she would have visited with her mother. All around me was a place I'd come from, the first ancestral place I had ever been to...
You'll also hear Larry say something about "that's where the police are trained", by which I presume he means the PSNI, the Police Service of Northern Ireland... until recently the infamous Royal Ulster Constabulary, or RUC.
Don't ask me what the wiggly lines on the road are all about... "you must be this drunk to drive in Ireland"; I dunno. :) Larry points out a liquor store named Magee... McGee was my great-grandmother's maiden name; a real Ulster name.
We stopped at a couple of places along Lower Lough Erne to take a few shots of the beautiful views.
This view really charmed me... a farmer and his goat. I don't remember actually ever seeing anything quite like this before. Just a tiny little moment from the 19th century still real in the 21st.
And so we left Fermanagh, and headed west towards Donegal, and back into the Republic.
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