Eugene and Anne had our breakfast ready for us when we arrived to the dining
room this morning, traditional Irish: eggs and sausage and another kind of
sausage and ham and tomato and toast and brown bread and cereal and juice, tea
and coffee and enough of everything to make you think that the traditional must
be to take a nap right after the morning meal. Anne looked over Chris's
shoulder as he looked over the map of Donegal and suggested some routes for us
to take today, including the Atlantic Coast drive and a stop at a wee castle.
We headed out mid morning, Chris again behind the wheel and again keeping us safe, and went north from Letterkenny towards Rathmelton where we made our first stop. It's a tiny river town and there's a river walk we enjoyed. Archeological evidence shows that there have been settlements there since the early stone age and in the 12th century it became the stronghold of the O'Donnells, the ruling clan of Donegal. There's a lot of lore about castles and rebellions and such, but now it's sleepy and sweet.
We continued north on R245 to Carickart, a holiday town, where we stopped again and headed to the public garden. Signs for it took us to the shore where a few families romped in the water and for those who wanted only to sit and enjoy the vista there was a landscaped rose garden with benches. There are birds everywhere, and today we saw dozens of oyster catchers at the shore, which are black, white and blue and have very long beaks with which to... catch oysters. In the distance, we could see the big top tent from the traveling circus which had come to town and it all made it hard to remember the century. People say hello and comment on the weather and then--when they hear our accents--stop and chat and encourage us to see what they love about this place. In Carrickart, we spoke with a woman with two small children in tow, both with ice cream treats they held up high to show me, who had been in Chicago six years ago and was impressed by how clean it was. Like Anne, she said we couldn't miss the Atlantic Coast drive and particularly not on a day as fine as today. We took her advice and our leave.
The Atlantic Coast drive is breathtaking. It is undeniably lovely. There are houses scattered through the hills. Cows and sheep graze. Donkeys stand around. There are sprays of fuschia and lemon yellow flowers at the roadside. There is crag coast which you might expect, and there are sand beaches which you might not. It feels like the edge of the world. And the road is a single lane that the Irish consider a two-way drive, so at times it also feels like the end of the world.
We stopped again near the village of Creeslough, on Sheep Haven Bay, to visit Doe Castle—just a wee castle that Anne told us about. This stronghold of the MacSweeney clan dates from the mid-16th century and also served as a refuge for ship wrecked sailors from the Spanish Armada in 1588. It’s surrounded by water on three sides and was protected by a moat on the fourth side when it was in use. Now it sits at the end of a lane and the neighbor next door has sheep grazing in a field leading up to it, which is scenic to say the least.
Chris occasionally shows his Smith and today he was all about stopping for brown signs, which he remembers hopping out of the family camper for as a kid when his parents hoped there would be something educational and free if they followed the arrows. So we followed the brown signs to the Ards Pier, a Franciscan friary that turned out to be not too much of anything. It is in the Ards Forest Park and may have been more heavily populated due to the public washrooms than due to any sort of holiness. We kept on to Dunfanaghy, a little town that reminded me of Saugatuck, Michigan for its charm and art galleries, and had lunch there at a restaurant called An Christin. At the next table, the family was speaking a mixture of English and Irish so I only understood a third of what they said, but I did catch it when a young girl said, “I say tom-a-to and you say tom-ah-to” to which an older gentleman at the table said, “You say rubbish and I say Limerick” which got a laugh all round. After lunch, we walked in and out of shops and discovered it was a surfing town, as much as anything. At the water’s edge was a surf shop, with a surfer playing his guitar out front waiting to offer lessons. We saw a number of wet suit stores; I imagine it isn’t often warm enough in the North Atlantic to surf in shorts.
We returned to Letterkenny from Dunfanaghy and had naps before going out for dinner. I haven’t seen too many of the foods we think of at home as traditionally Irish—other than fish and chips—at the restaurants we’ve been in to eat or look at menus. Perhaps corned beef is an American construct? And shepherd’s pie, too? Every single town we have stopped in has at least one “Oriental” restaurant and an Indian one, so we went to an Indian place called ChilliShaker this evening for biryani and matar paneer, which was good but bland by Hema’s standards.
We’re back at the B&B now and most recently Chris has been practicing his fiddling but soon we have to decide whether tomorrow we will drive another section of the coast or head into Northern Ireland to visit Derry.
We headed out mid morning, Chris again behind the wheel and again keeping us safe, and went north from Letterkenny towards Rathmelton where we made our first stop. It's a tiny river town and there's a river walk we enjoyed. Archeological evidence shows that there have been settlements there since the early stone age and in the 12th century it became the stronghold of the O'Donnells, the ruling clan of Donegal. There's a lot of lore about castles and rebellions and such, but now it's sleepy and sweet.
We continued north on R245 to Carickart, a holiday town, where we stopped again and headed to the public garden. Signs for it took us to the shore where a few families romped in the water and for those who wanted only to sit and enjoy the vista there was a landscaped rose garden with benches. There are birds everywhere, and today we saw dozens of oyster catchers at the shore, which are black, white and blue and have very long beaks with which to... catch oysters. In the distance, we could see the big top tent from the traveling circus which had come to town and it all made it hard to remember the century. People say hello and comment on the weather and then--when they hear our accents--stop and chat and encourage us to see what they love about this place. In Carrickart, we spoke with a woman with two small children in tow, both with ice cream treats they held up high to show me, who had been in Chicago six years ago and was impressed by how clean it was. Like Anne, she said we couldn't miss the Atlantic Coast drive and particularly not on a day as fine as today. We took her advice and our leave.
The Atlantic Coast drive is breathtaking. It is undeniably lovely. There are houses scattered through the hills. Cows and sheep graze. Donkeys stand around. There are sprays of fuschia and lemon yellow flowers at the roadside. There is crag coast which you might expect, and there are sand beaches which you might not. It feels like the edge of the world. And the road is a single lane that the Irish consider a two-way drive, so at times it also feels like the end of the world.
We stopped again near the village of Creeslough, on Sheep Haven Bay, to visit Doe Castle—just a wee castle that Anne told us about. This stronghold of the MacSweeney clan dates from the mid-16th century and also served as a refuge for ship wrecked sailors from the Spanish Armada in 1588. It’s surrounded by water on three sides and was protected by a moat on the fourth side when it was in use. Now it sits at the end of a lane and the neighbor next door has sheep grazing in a field leading up to it, which is scenic to say the least.
Chris occasionally shows his Smith and today he was all about stopping for brown signs, which he remembers hopping out of the family camper for as a kid when his parents hoped there would be something educational and free if they followed the arrows. So we followed the brown signs to the Ards Pier, a Franciscan friary that turned out to be not too much of anything. It is in the Ards Forest Park and may have been more heavily populated due to the public washrooms than due to any sort of holiness. We kept on to Dunfanaghy, a little town that reminded me of Saugatuck, Michigan for its charm and art galleries, and had lunch there at a restaurant called An Christin. At the next table, the family was speaking a mixture of English and Irish so I only understood a third of what they said, but I did catch it when a young girl said, “I say tom-a-to and you say tom-ah-to” to which an older gentleman at the table said, “You say rubbish and I say Limerick” which got a laugh all round. After lunch, we walked in and out of shops and discovered it was a surfing town, as much as anything. At the water’s edge was a surf shop, with a surfer playing his guitar out front waiting to offer lessons. We saw a number of wet suit stores; I imagine it isn’t often warm enough in the North Atlantic to surf in shorts.
We returned to Letterkenny from Dunfanaghy and had naps before going out for dinner. I haven’t seen too many of the foods we think of at home as traditionally Irish—other than fish and chips—at the restaurants we’ve been in to eat or look at menus. Perhaps corned beef is an American construct? And shepherd’s pie, too? Every single town we have stopped in has at least one “Oriental” restaurant and an Indian one, so we went to an Indian place called ChilliShaker this evening for biryani and matar paneer, which was good but bland by Hema’s standards.
We’re back at the B&B now and most recently Chris has been practicing his fiddling but soon we have to decide whether tomorrow we will drive another section of the coast or head into Northern Ireland to visit Derry.
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