To continue with our road tour of Ulster...
Once we had passed through Enniskillen, where my grandmother was born, we continued westward towards County Donegal, back in the Republic.
The weather being what it is in Ireland, the relatively sunniness we'd experienced travelling up the west side of Lough Erne became the moodiness of the rugged west coastal areas. Below are views of Ballyshannon (and vicinity), about ten minutes west of the border.
Once we had passed through Enniskillen, where my grandmother was born, we continued westward towards County Donegal, back in the Republic.
The weather being what it is in Ireland, the relatively sunniness we'd experienced travelling up the west side of Lough Erne became the moodiness of the rugged west coastal areas. Below are views of Ballyshannon (and vicinity), about ten minutes west of the border.
There's a road called Single Street that hugs the coastline in the extreme southwest of County Donegal. Larry drove us along the road and showed us an impressive establishment called The Great Northern Hotel that looked like a small castle, flying the flags of the province of Ulster (not to be confused with that of Northern Ireland), the Republic of Ireland, and the European Union out front.
Below is Single Street, passing through Bundoran westbound.
An interesting point here: the shot below represents, more or less, the furthest west I ever got in Ireland (at least on the ground). I didn't realize at the time that the roundabout we're at in this shot is within a mere matter of yards of Country Leitrim — which, unlike Donegal, is in the province of Connacht. Had we driven west just a few more moments, I would have technically visited three of Ireland's four provinces. Here, like me, you can glimpse Leitrim and Connacht without actually being there. So close... so close and yet so far. :) [Note: below the shot is a screen cap from my photo geotagging software that displays routes using GoogleMaps... you can see just how close we were.]
But, at this point, we used the roundabout to swing back east and then north, and headed up towards Donegal Town itself.
But, at this point, we used the roundabout to swing back east and then north, and headed up towards Donegal Town itself.
By the time were were in Donegal Town, it was in the evening, and Larry had been driving for hours and hours. He found us very reasonable lodgings at an agreeable bed and breakfast called The Water's Edge. Dave introduced me as a Canadian and our hostess remarked that she'd just "got rid of" a party from Calgary (yeah, I think I know what you mean, missus :) ). Dave and I engaged a double room on the second floor and Larry took a single room on the ground floor. It was at this point that I twigged on one of the attributes that has helped Larry in his successes in business. He spoke gregariously with the owner of the B&B, a pleasant and helpful woman, and solicited her advice on where we might find a good meal after our long road trip. She recommended a place just down the road called The Harbour Restaurant, so he thanked her and we headed off, parking the car beside a tidal inlet of Donegal Bay just across the street from the restaurant...
(Below, shots of the area at the end of the inlet — none, I'm afraid, include the B&B, which is near its mouth.)
(Below, shots of the area at the end of the inlet — none, I'm afraid, include the B&B, which is near its mouth.)
...and on arriving at The Harbour Restaurant, Larry made a point of letting the staff there know that we were there on the recommendation of The Water's Edge B&B. And I realized that part of Larry's character was to make contacts in this way; to build up commerce and working relationships between businesses wherever he could. There was nothing in it for him to do this; he didn't make a cent out of re-enforcing the connection between these two businesses. But by so doing, he forged another link in the chain of local commerce in Donegal Town. I was impressed by this; I took note.
Below, Dave and Larry at The Harbour Restaurant, Donegal Town.
Below, Dave and Larry at The Harbour Restaurant, Donegal Town.
We ate well and settled up. We drove back up (and down) the hill to the B&B and Larry, understandably, excused himself to retire for the evening. For Dave, the night was young, and he suggested going out for "a jar". I took this to mean grabbing a bottle of something at one of Ireland's ubiquitous liquor stores and settling back in our room over the RTE news and a few sailor's tales, but discovered that "a jar", in the local vernacular, is actually a drink in a pub.
As a result, we wandered up the road up the rise beyond the restaurant to the centre of Donegal Town, called "the Diamond". At the edge of the Diamond was a tiny little hole-in-the-wall pub called O'Donnell's, where we settled in amongst a dozen or so other 30- and 40-somethings (locals, I assume) for a couple of hours.
At one point Dave excused himself to wander out back for a smoke (I gather Ireland has the same sort of anti-smoking laws for such establishments as most of North America), and I ruminated there by myself for about ten or fifteen minutes in the glow of the television and the bits of conversation around me. I do recall hearing snatches of Irish Gaelic, "Gaeilge", which left me feeling a bit akin to times I've been in Northern Ontario or in the vicinity of the Quebec border, picking up on the French around me and feeling, if not foreign, at least culturally different from the people I was among. Ireland is a real place, not just some romantic notion in books, and for all the general similarities, still, it's a little different from Canada in particular and Anglo-America generally.
We'd had a snootful by 'round about 11 or so and I was really starting to feel the wear of the day. Dave and I paid up and wandered... not quite staggered, but something not altogether unlike it... back to The Water's Edge and let ourselves in. We made our way upstairs to our room and got ready to crash. I don't remember clearly the things we talked about, but I do remember having the distinct impression that it was a lot like the days back when you'd have a sleepover in the living room when you were 10 or 11, staying up way past what you were used to, to the point that the conversations, as the brains of you and your friends slowly undertook a forced shutdown, would take on an increasingly surreal air until there was oblivion and suddenly, dawn was there.
You know, I wish I'd actually taken pictures of the room. It was all done up in white, with only a few dark wooden accents; it was really beautiful. I'd love to show it to you — I'd love to be able to show it to myself again! — but it was one of those blind spots on the trip that I just didn't happen to photograph it. A friend of mine here in Toronto has a way of elevating this sort of shortsightedness by referring to it as a "Zen moment". Yeah, why don't we go with that.
I woke up before Dave, and I decided to go out and photograph the cemetery beside the B&B. It was in the churchyard of a glorious ruined Franciscan abbey dating back to the 15th century, overlooked by our room, as you can see in the first shot...
As a result, we wandered up the road up the rise beyond the restaurant to the centre of Donegal Town, called "the Diamond". At the edge of the Diamond was a tiny little hole-in-the-wall pub called O'Donnell's, where we settled in amongst a dozen or so other 30- and 40-somethings (locals, I assume) for a couple of hours.
At one point Dave excused himself to wander out back for a smoke (I gather Ireland has the same sort of anti-smoking laws for such establishments as most of North America), and I ruminated there by myself for about ten or fifteen minutes in the glow of the television and the bits of conversation around me. I do recall hearing snatches of Irish Gaelic, "Gaeilge", which left me feeling a bit akin to times I've been in Northern Ontario or in the vicinity of the Quebec border, picking up on the French around me and feeling, if not foreign, at least culturally different from the people I was among. Ireland is a real place, not just some romantic notion in books, and for all the general similarities, still, it's a little different from Canada in particular and Anglo-America generally.
We'd had a snootful by 'round about 11 or so and I was really starting to feel the wear of the day. Dave and I paid up and wandered... not quite staggered, but something not altogether unlike it... back to The Water's Edge and let ourselves in. We made our way upstairs to our room and got ready to crash. I don't remember clearly the things we talked about, but I do remember having the distinct impression that it was a lot like the days back when you'd have a sleepover in the living room when you were 10 or 11, staying up way past what you were used to, to the point that the conversations, as the brains of you and your friends slowly undertook a forced shutdown, would take on an increasingly surreal air until there was oblivion and suddenly, dawn was there.
You know, I wish I'd actually taken pictures of the room. It was all done up in white, with only a few dark wooden accents; it was really beautiful. I'd love to show it to you — I'd love to be able to show it to myself again! — but it was one of those blind spots on the trip that I just didn't happen to photograph it. A friend of mine here in Toronto has a way of elevating this sort of shortsightedness by referring to it as a "Zen moment". Yeah, why don't we go with that.
I woke up before Dave, and I decided to go out and photograph the cemetery beside the B&B. It was in the churchyard of a glorious ruined Franciscan abbey dating back to the 15th century, overlooked by our room, as you can see in the first shot...
I even made a friend as I sat there beside the churchyard. She was a friendly little charmer, and made me miss my own two cats at home.
I went back to the room to collect Dave, who was up by then. He remarked to me, later, that that night in Donegal represented the first night he had spent apart from Mary since their wedding. I was moved to learn that my visit was the signal for such a sacrifice.
We went downstairs and linked up with Larry. Breakfast was served in the common room downstairs. We ate amid some foreign tourists who sounded as if they were from Eastern Europe. I can smugly say this because I wasn't technically "foreign" when I was in Ireland. ;) The food was good, and of just the right amount; neither skimpy nor wasteful (or waistful!); a nice combination of "Continental" and "English" style breakfasts; the former being available at a separate table and the latter brought to us by the hosts.
We paid up and headed out, driving back up to the Diamond. Larry had spotted a gift shop and offered to drop me off to look for something special for my mother and to circle around till I re-emerged. I found a nice pendant for a chain; a tiny shamrock carved in Connemara stone and set in silver. But when I opened my wallet to pay for it, I noticed (with what I might characterize as "calm alarm") that I was missing my last €50 note. Fifty euros is no small thing, at least to me; at the time, it was about $80 Canadian. I thanked the woman and left with my purchase and, having gotten back into the SUV, told the guys about my awful discovery, whereupon Larry drove us back to the B&B to look for it. I informed the hostess and she graciously bade me to search the common room where we'd had breakfast, and our room, which had not yet been serviced. I did, but no luck. She asked me if I'd care to leave contact information in case the bill were turned in, but I told her we were heading back to Dublin and I'd be on my way back to Canada in the morning in any case, so, sadly, there wasn't much point. Clearly, it was my own hard luck. She made some kind commiserations, and with that, I left and let her get on about her business.
True Confessions time (if you're reading this, Dave)... Not long after I got back in the SUV and we headed out from Donegal Town, I recounted the math in my head and realized I'd already blown through my last €50 bill. I'd put everyone through half an hour of nonsense. I felt like an idiot, but I kept the news to myself... till just now. Sorry, guys. :)
Below is the southeast side of the Diamond, in the heart of Donegal Town. The shop I went to is just out of frame at the left side; the pub Dave and I went to, out of frame on the right. Nice how that works out, huh?
We went downstairs and linked up with Larry. Breakfast was served in the common room downstairs. We ate amid some foreign tourists who sounded as if they were from Eastern Europe. I can smugly say this because I wasn't technically "foreign" when I was in Ireland. ;) The food was good, and of just the right amount; neither skimpy nor wasteful (or waistful!); a nice combination of "Continental" and "English" style breakfasts; the former being available at a separate table and the latter brought to us by the hosts.
We paid up and headed out, driving back up to the Diamond. Larry had spotted a gift shop and offered to drop me off to look for something special for my mother and to circle around till I re-emerged. I found a nice pendant for a chain; a tiny shamrock carved in Connemara stone and set in silver. But when I opened my wallet to pay for it, I noticed (with what I might characterize as "calm alarm") that I was missing my last €50 note. Fifty euros is no small thing, at least to me; at the time, it was about $80 Canadian. I thanked the woman and left with my purchase and, having gotten back into the SUV, told the guys about my awful discovery, whereupon Larry drove us back to the B&B to look for it. I informed the hostess and she graciously bade me to search the common room where we'd had breakfast, and our room, which had not yet been serviced. I did, but no luck. She asked me if I'd care to leave contact information in case the bill were turned in, but I told her we were heading back to Dublin and I'd be on my way back to Canada in the morning in any case, so, sadly, there wasn't much point. Clearly, it was my own hard luck. She made some kind commiserations, and with that, I left and let her get on about her business.
True Confessions time (if you're reading this, Dave)... Not long after I got back in the SUV and we headed out from Donegal Town, I recounted the math in my head and realized I'd already blown through my last €50 bill. I'd put everyone through half an hour of nonsense. I felt like an idiot, but I kept the news to myself... till just now. Sorry, guys. :)
Below is the southeast side of the Diamond, in the heart of Donegal Town. The shop I went to is just out of frame at the left side; the pub Dave and I went to, out of frame on the right. Nice how that works out, huh?
We headed out of town heading northeast. These shots below are from the vicinity of Barnesmore, not far from the border with Northern Ireland. These shots, by the way, were taken from the back seat. Dave had sat in the back, leaving the shotgun seat to me, all the previous day, and had mentioned in passing that it felt good to get out and walk around because his legs had grown cramped in the back. Fundamental justice dictated to me that I yield the front to him for the trip back. The unfortunate upshot of that was that I had fewer opportunities, and less inclination, to take pictures on the way back, but it did lead to more "Zen moments".
The video below captures the rugged beauty of the area; aside from the scarcity of trees, it reminds me of the Applachian Mountains region of the western spine of my native Nova Scotia. You may notice that the road markings you see are essentially the reverse from what you'd expect to see on such a road in North America... generally, the shoulders would be indicated by solid lines, and a dotted line (indicating the legality of crossing into the other lane to pass) would run up the centre.
Below, pretty much the last shot I took in County Donegal (roundabout Ballylast), right along the border (according to the map, the trees on the right hand side just might actually be in Northern Ireland). Just beyond: County Tyrone, Northern Ireland.
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