[Written by mary, edited and published by brian]
Allow me one (final?) rant on our where we woke up this morning (Occupied Northern Ireland), the un-Irish North. We (who?) must finish the comment and expunge the poison. We were in Portrush, much like Newport Beach CA. Surfing championships are held here, etc, etc, etc. We had originally booked 2 nights at a B and B that faced the open ocean. A grand building of 4 stories and part of a row a tall houses, all facing the water. Sadly, maybe 8 of 10 or so of the row were abandoned, in disrepair, and vacant. Waterfront properties at a perineum destination.
Like I said, we had originally booked 2 nights, but I DIDN’T care for the hostess at all, very snarky (and creepy, in a Carrie kind of way), and the bed had a PLASTIC MATTRESS COVER. (Renting to bed-wetters much?). Try sleeping on (rustling) plastic crunch all night. The gentle sounds of the ocean waves hitting the shore in the background DID NOT obscure the unpleasant sound. I, who can rub 2 pennies together, responded HELL YES when Brian suggested we didn’t have to spend two nights. In other words, YES – get me the hell out of here.
Brian here – all that said, the morning view was super grand when we woke up.
So, this morning we went to a place Brian found for us, in the fishing village of Killybegs on the Donegal Peninsula.
Off we go again to the north west coast. The place sounded idyllic, and in Ireland!!!!!!!!!!! The moment we left Northern Ireland, we immediately felt better, had a lovely drive through the country, stopped in Donegal for lunch. Another cute little town. Walked around for a bit, gotta get those steps in and earn our Guinness and Jamesons. Landed on a cute pub for lunch and Brian got the seafood chowder, and that thing was loaded with fish, HUGE chunks of crab, lobster, mussels, and salmon. Of course he ate all of it. The chowders and soups have been a staple for lunch, and don’t disappoint.
We left Donegal and headed west, and this village is on the water, lots of fishing boats, and I mean BIG ones, and once again people are smiling and saying hello, we are in heaven. Had to take an afternoon to sleep off the north. Interesting fact, the city of Derry (in Occupied Ireland) is called Derry by the Irish, and Londonderry by the Brits. As our map was issued in Ireland the town is listed as Derry. With this bit of knowledge you can grasp the meaning that as we drove west toward Ireland, every Londonderry sign had London spray painted out; the meaning of Brits go home. And this is all fresh markings, not from some forgotten past.
Tomorrow, who knows where we are headed I know this.
- we will be heading south, and
- we will be going to Sunday mass. Our souls need a good old mass, and then the nastiness of the north will go away.
Final note; neither of us can reconcile how Budweiser is side-by-side with Heineken and other fine imported pilsners and IPA’s. Odd.
FINAL-Final note: We’re in the pub, just had a couple of pints and dinner. Finished eating and we’re polishing off this post. Anyway, (picture soon, too rural here it seems for perky wifi) the pub is jam packed for Saturday Steak Night. Our seating had room for more so when a family with 3 lassies all under 5 years old went by looking for a place to eat, we waved them in, and didn’t let three hungry carpet-crawlers disturb us. We were starting in on the Jamesons and of course they bought us a round in appreciation. It’s good to be back in free Ireland and God Bless the Irish.
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