Northern Lands

Alexander herding sheep on the road to Glencolmcille.

Galway is about a week behind us now, and we struggle to fit in as many good times as we can before we are back to the states. Our journey has taken us from Galway County to currently Londonderry (Free Derry) of Northern Ireland in which we find ourselves typing by the pound in a county library.

Our first night out of Galway, after missing the last ferry to the Aaran Islands, found us pitching a tent in a tiny Gaelic-speaking village outside of Rossaveal at the mercy of a hardworking elder Irish lady. She was toiling with lawn-mower and rake when we confronted her about the possibilities of sleeping in the field adjacent to her home. This, she found quite absurd, and had us instead parked on her freshly manicured lawn just on the other side of the road. By night's fall, the whole of the village had come to take in this spectacle conversing back and forth in amused tongues. We were able to successfully make a nice meal of cous-cous and produce from the Saturday market, despite the onslaught of pestering mites (hence the photo from within the tent).

Up through the bog fields of the lush Conemara region, we rode to the quaint and monastic old establishment of Letterfrack. It was here where we used some of your monetary donations, and indulged in a three-course gourmet meal that left us in thorough honeymoon bliss. Alexander had a mushroom and (Irish) beef stroganoff, and Susan, the Monkfish with pad Thai noodles. We shared a bottle of good wine and finished with lovely desert mousse and espresso. (incidentally spelled "expresso" on the menu). We thank you. We took our lodging in the Old Monastery Hostel where we slumbered in the "African Room" as the French labor force partied outside amongst the flesh-eating midges.
The next day was a tough 70 kilometer ride up to Westport. The ride was stunning, and we gathered wool donations from the roadside, hung on fences and nettles. Susan was battling a sore throat and stomach ache the whole way through, which made for a slow ride with frequent stops for tea. Finally we descended into town and found the Abbey House-- a first-rate hostel. While Susan fell into a fevered delirium, Alex set out to get medications at the local pharmacy, and a preventative measure of Guiness for himself. The next morning found no relief, and the downpour outside helped the decision to hang around Westport for one more day, staying put in our bunk bed suite, sipping tea and beginning a P.D. James novel. As the rain subsided, we got some fresh air on a walk to the well-acclaimed historical Westport House where we had high hopes of a relaxing stroll and a private picnic. What we found , once through the shady grove was in fact the equivalent to a kiddy-park. Walking past lazer-tag, pitch and put, and archery games we felt a bit let down, especially as there was a 12 euro cost of admission just to walk the grounds of the House, (which featured a bouncy castle, log-flume and Swan peddaloes). The latter of these attractions, did make for a good laugh from the other side of the lake. Before heading back to our home, we made an essential stop at the SUPERLOO.
One Hundred Km took us the next day into Sligo--the home of Yeats. The duration of the ride was highway, and it seemed to last a life time. We had plenty of time to figure out the world's problems as well as take videos of each other along the way. In Sligo we stumbled into a cute little hostel run by a German gentleman who'd been living in Ireland fifteen years. He accommodated us in an affordable little suite for two with towel to boot. Sligo was a bit of a depressing place, and it was here that we were greeted with a rain that would accompany us for the next five days.
We swam to Donegal from Sligo, Alex's bushy beard acting as an impressive, but unhelpful sponge on his face. We arrived exhausted and waterlogged into town, after enduring a mighty six hours of downpours. We got a B&B for the night in Donegal, and strung out wet clothes from all sorts of nails and hooks and twines in our room. We treated ourselves to a warm prawny Italian meal, and took in some traditional Irish dancing at a nearby pub. It was raining when we left in the morning when we began our ride out west to Glencolmcille. Another soaking ride, we stopped along the way in Killybegs for fish and chips, then in Kilcar for a tweed hat from the famous Donegal Studio. Through the breathtaking coastal landscape where we herded sheep by bicycle and gathered a small chunk of peat for our upcoming Oregon winter. We descended into the gorgeous and secretive valley of Glencolmcille, famous for it's sky-scapes. We trekked up a steep hill from the village to a hidden hostel built into the land and overlooking the strand below. As the hostel's rooms were all booked, we pitched our tent on the grounds nearby and buckled down for a wet night.
Due to time restraints we have to cut this short, though it is really anything but short. Thanks for reading along, and posting your comments, which we love reading. Be sure to try out the links for our videos as we had trouble posting them directly. Will write from you next possibly from Dublin. XOXO