We’d no sooner got ourselves unpacked from our brief jaunt to Vila do Conde then it was time to pack ourselves right back up for another journey. The last getaway was a near-spontaneous escape from the heat, but we’d been planning this one for quite some time. We’ve told family and friends back in the States that if they make it across the Atlantic we’d do our best to close the gap if they were up for a visit. We were happily being taken up on our offer by Lisa’s sister and her family, who were taking a rare vacation overseas to visit Ireland. Us being us, we plotted a trip that ended with our rendezvous in Dublin and then worked back to include not one, but TWO bucket list items that we could finally check off.

So off we popped on a short flight to Dublin, although for now this was just a waypoint. Directly from the airport we hopped onto a commuter bus that would drop us in downtown Belfast. (Unlike the last time we pulled this maneuver, we did not start at 1AM nor did we arrive in Belfast at 4AM. Go us.) Arriving while the sun was still up, we had no difficulty navigating to the lovely Fitzwilliam Hotel; three cheers for flash sales on booking.com.

It was a wee bit surreal as it turns out that the Open was happening. (Us Americans would call it the British Open, the oldest golf tournament in the world, held over four days.) The City was festooned with golf-related events and experiences, and waiting for us in our hotel room were little party favor / welcome gifts – golf balls made out of white chocolate. Sure! After checking out the room and unpacking a bit, we headed out to dinner at Mourne Seafood Bar. Total yum! It’s a great place for oysters in particular and the mussels were excellently garlic-y and tender. (We did think the dough on the lobster gyoza was a bit too thick.) We slept very well.

You may remember that we enjoyed our visit here in 2022, we ran into . . . difficulty . . . seeing the Giant’s Causeway. If you’re an OG Sasha’s Doghouse fan you may even recall similar difficulties on our honeymoon in 2012. This time we were by gosh and by gum going to succeed! Making it completely easy (and not our usual style) we booked with PaddyWagon Tours for a day trip that would leave all of the planning in the hands of locals. We scored quick breakfast and then let them drive us all around for a day.

We started with the Dark Hedges, which have been made famous by the Game of Thrones TV show, and which we found underwhelming. No matter how atmospheric and cinematic the location may have been on the show, when its swarmed with people and vehicles it’s … just a bunch of trees. Instead, we took this picture about 100 meters away from the overrun hedges. It may not be fancy or featured on the television, but a) it’s prettier in our opinion, and b) we had it all to ourselves.

Much more interesting was the dragon door at a nearby Inn carved from the wood of fallen trees in the Hedges, which has apparently suffered significant losses from immense tourist traffic. There are a few of these doors scattered around the world and you can even get stamps in a little passport thingy to show when you’ve completed your collection. Sorry, there’s probably more lore here to unwind but as you’ve probably gathered by now neither of us are particular fans of the show.

From there we went on to Dunluce Castle, a glorious ruin set on the edge of a basalt outcropping. The views are lovely and it was wonderfully scenic. John had a moment of cognitive dissonance as we grappled with the fact that the vibe was of an incredibly ancient site but the castle actually only dated back to like the 1700s. That’s what being on the Irish coast will do to a place; eek. He got over it and enjoyed the visit immensely.

And, finally, we arrived at Giant’s Causeway! The natural element is interesting and worth seeing, but not during the summer when the rocks are covered with people. Frustratingly, the Visitor’s Center is an expensive 15 pounds and is the easy way to get to a cafe and souvenir shop. However, there is no need to pay the fee, you can just walk through a tunnel (that looks like the way to a car park) and then down about a mile to the rocks themselves. However, there is also a tram for a small fee that takes you one, or both ways. (Good idea, especially on the return trip uphill.) By the by, this was our main gripe with the Paddywagon tour. While an incredibly close reading of the text probably reveals that they never said boo about the visitor center, they go to great lengths to sell you on the idea you were being ushered along to all of the spots. (We didn’t pay an entrance fee at Dunluce, for example.) At the Causeway, however, we pulled up along the curb just outside the place and were dropped off with instructions to meet back there in am hour and a half or so. “Nah, don’t worry about the Visitor Center, who needs to be bothered with that nonsense?” Us. We need to be bothered with the nonsense. Sigh.

It wasn’t actually the end of the tour, as we stopped for lunch at the “Fullerton Arms” which was a huge disappointment. We didn’t get there until after 2pm — so bring snacks to tide you through the many hours between pickup and lunch. The food was bland and very “industrial”. When they drop you off at the Causeway you peruse a terse menu and then you choose fish and chips, shepherd’s pie, ceasar salad, and option four whatever the heck that was, which would then be waiting for you at the inn. The food was “meh” and also not at all cheap, which is particularly irritating when it was not discussed ahead of time and there were no other options presented. It wasn’t terrible, just managed and presented badly which just got us off on the wrong foot. All that being said, the tour accomplished what we wanted it to. It was back to Belfast for us, for a quiet night before catching the Steam Packet the next day? What the heck is a Steam Packet? Tune in next time!

Vignette Um: Cover me!

Like many people, we rely on the insurance provided by our credit card when we rent cars; rental agencies typically have downright brutal rates for coverage, while it’s included in your card. (Always check first, don’t assume you have it!) As we prepared for our honeymoon back in 2012, however, there was a consistent piece of advice we were seeing in various travel forums – get the comprehensive coverage. We were nonplussed, but there was a consistent narrative that the rental agencies in Ireland (Northern or the Republic, it’s not a regional thing) will terrorize you with charges and fees, defining the mildest dings as full replacements and the like. It seemed… well, borderline racist, but even the Irish commenters would say “yes, get the coverage.” And so, we paid a few hundred extra euros for comprehensive accident/collision/meteor strike coverage of our car.

Well. Our honeymoon consisted of a deosil circuit around the edge of the country, scooting south from Dublin and poking around in numerous villages; a new one every day (not something we’d do again, but hey, live and learn). We drove a lot. And when we did it was almost exclusively on the charming back roads. In case you aren’t familiar, “charming back roads” means that two-way traffic proceeds on 1.9 lanes worth of pavement, often with thick stone walls abutting the lane under the deceptive cover of a thick carpet of greenery. Not only that, but some of the most interesting things we wanted to see were on even lesser roads, sometimes of the dirt variety. In short, we were provided ample opportunity to bang up the car and to be frank we took advantage more than once. Most notably were the scratches in the paint from all the vines and such we brushed up against; We never hit a wall but we skimmed along them plenty. Then there was the very deep pot hole that was disguised as a puddle; there’s no way that didn’t bang up something on the underneath. When we pulled into the rental return lot at the Dublin airport you could practically hear the Scrooge McDuck coin-clinking sound going off in the attendant’s mind. We produced our insurance documentation and he noticeably deflated before wishing us a bon voyage.

Get the coverage in Ireland.

Vignette Dois: Google Day-drinks

Let’s get the obligatory disclaimer out of the way: of course the internet has transformed the travel experience, usually for the better. The general reliability of services like Google Maps means, however, that its shortcomings our more noticeable. Less-populated locations, or regions with poor data connectivity, are ripe for difficulties. These troubles happen often enough on our travels that we’ve taken a “ya gotta laugh or you’ll cry” attitude, and so we simply decided that Google often drinks during the work day, perhaps on its lunch break. We have been told to walk down a canal in Venice (blub blub!). We were once sent down an increasingly narrow lane on Naxos (the Greek island) late at night, which eventually ended as the driveway to a home. This necessitated backing up, in the dark with no street lights, for about a kilometer before we could get the car turned around.

Most infamously for us, in the Italian hill town of Orvietto we were sent on a circuitous route to get to what ought to have been a straight-forward destination. We long ago gave up second-guessing the google directions because the times we’ve done it have invariably gone wrong; we were being directed away from a route we knew well because of a traffic snarl we couldn’t see. “Ha, this isn’t the way!” we would say, and then stew in traffic for an hour. No, our faith in these directions is just that – faith. We have no empirical proof that the directions are good, but it often turns out ok. Anyway, we listened to google as the little cobblestone lane got narrower … and narrower.. until finally we reached the last, left, turn that would put us on a proper avenue. However, the aperture for the turn was between two buildings that were, it turns out, 10 or so centimeters tighter than the width of our car. It was only with the jiggling of a 40-point turn and the guidance of some very friendly and helpful locals that we extricated ourselves with only modest damage to the paint of that car. Ouzo, grappa, moonshine… when google drinks, google goes hard.

Vignette Tres: I knew I should’ve taken that left turn in Albuquerque.

Once again, we’re in Italy. This is 2017, and the whole digital apparatus of our lives is far loosey-goosier. (good luck, spell check!) And so we find ourselves navigating through the city of Siena with a cached map that is meant to guide us to some of the veeeeery limited parking in the city. Ah, Siena! A beautiful, ancient city, most famous for the horse race that goes on annually, a contest between the various neighborhoods within the city. Each district has its own livery and symbols, and it is an intense point of pride to claim the prize each year. The race takes place on the piazza del campo, an expansive brick plaza for pedestrians to enjoy; it is a tradition to gather each day in fair weather to watch the light change against the buildings as the sun goes down. People sit in cafes as well as upon the campo itself.

So, we proceeded into beautiful Siena. If you’ve never been into one of these old cities, they are often warrens of twisty-turny avenues; the European aesthetic is often to prefer the retention of old buildings rather than knocking them down to allow for modern roadways. And so we are twisting and turning our way, trying to follow some tricky directions (remember, google drinks!). Fortunately the name of our parking destination begins to appear on directional signs, so we are close! Another couple of turns and it feels like we are almost there. There is an emphatic sign about the left turn we are about to take but… welp, it’s in Italian. So left we go, down a tight little lane but we can see it widens just ahead. Yep, it does.

Onto the campo.

“Oh poop” we both say (more or less). Panicked, we look around. There is absolutely no way we are going to drive across the campo, regardless of the exits that beckon from the far side. It is unlikely that la polizia will accommodate us in any case. Lisa looks to our hard-left and sees a small lane; we make a break for it. Windows down, we are waving people out of the way so we can scoot off this UNESCO World Heritage Site pronto. Y’all… this lane was so narrow and so in use it was crazy. There were cafes that had outdoor seating, and hand-to-gods with our windows down we could pick olives off of the tables. A waiter saw us, shrugged in classic Italian fashion and scooted a chair a few inches out of the way.We were like a whale swimming with dolphins, where the dolphins were the pedestrians who were supposed to be there. We honestly should have turned the engine off and kicked ourselves along like a scooter. We look back and laugh, but we were naturally mortified in the moment.

Believe it or not, despite all of this (and this really is just a sample) we still enjoy the freedom of driving through the back roads of Europe. We did it earlier this year in Scotland with pleasure, and will continue on in the future.

Hi there! While we still think wrapping up the last few days of Dublin into one post makes sense (there really wasn’t that much that actually happened, as you read last time) we still realized as we put the thing together that if we took our usual time with describing meals and lodging that it would make for an extraordinarily long post. And so, since this is a free and gratis blog that can’t get itself in trouble with its advertisers (ha!) we’re going to slow our roll a little here at the end and give a separate look at where we stayed and what we ate in our last few days before returning home. In case you’re wondering just what exactly you’re in for today, here’s a quick summary: two yummy meals and one sub-mediocre hotel stay. So if that whets your appetite, read on!

On the day we arrived in Dublin we scooted right over to our hotel, the Wilder Townhouse. Presumably it was once the townhouse of somebody named Wilder (cool it there, Sherlock! yeah yeah…) but it is now a “Small Luxury Hotel of the World” which is a weird co-op of shmancy lodgings scattered all over the place. We only know about it because SLH may be independent but it has a relationship with Hyatt. Presumably, Hyatt is able to leaven the offerings on their website with these boutique-ish places and the SLH joints get added exposure. All that matters to us is that we get our Hyatt benefits at SLHes (in theory; hang on a sec) and during the pandemic Hyatt was making promotion in their points world obscenely easy. As a result, we are spending at least this year in the peak category, “Globalist”, so Hyatts give us all kind of bennies like automatic room upgrades, late check-out/early check-in etc… Well, the Wilder seems not to have received the memo, because the only way to describe the room we were in is “shoebox.” It was absurdly small, not just for a “luxury hotel” but even for a “Victorian squatter’s hovel”. I assume that’s a category. We have had bathrooms bigger than this room. Which, you know, we’re not totally precious about these things, but this being a special trip and all we had actually splashed out a bit on the lodging, and this is not how you want a special treat to play out. Compounding matters, the staff could not have given less of a crap about the situation, or the breach of policy. We could pay for an upgrade, but as I’ve already intimated the place already wasn’t cheap, so no thanks.

As soon as we dropped our bags off in the Wilder (thus completely filling the room :p) we whipped up a few quick restaurant reviews and made for a neighborhood joint called 31 Lennox. It was midday on the weekend, which meant brunch! One of the strange frissions on this trip has been breakfast – either we’re in a hotel with an at-best mediocre buffet, or else we manage to swing something truly scrumptious in an actual restaurant. This was the latter, and it was really great. Lisa had a buttermilk fried chicken sandwich thing (we first had to ask if we could infer the word “fried” in the “buttermilk chicken” offering, which it turns out we could) and I had a perfect eggs benedict. I actually don’t care for the use of runny eggs in.. well, anything really. The one exception is benedict style. Go fig. It was a great way to reset our day after the bus travel and the less-than-stellar accommodation situation. We could also hear from all around us that this was by-and-large a local joint and not typically tourist fare. It’s a bit two-faced(?) of us to be so anti-tourist when we are being tourists ourselves, but that doesn’t change the fact that we take it universally as a good sign when everyone else in a restaurant seems to be a local. Gods only know what us being there signals to the locals.

We snacked our way through the evening, rummaging together a meat and cheese selection from a local Spar (that’s a 7-11 to my American friends); don’t judge us, you weren’t there. (heh) We compensated for such a meager supper by turning things up a couple of notches the next day at Suesey Street, whose tagline is “A Taste of Home in Every Bite.” This may very well be true, but they cheat by being super vague about where “home” is. I presumed France based on some of the things on the menu and the accent of the kid who was serving us, but Lisa swears he was just Irish of a region we hadn’t encountered. In any case, the food was excellent, the wine list was not extensive but was thoughtfully put together, and the décor & ambiance were nice enough that we had a rare moment of feeling like we maybe weren’t dressed well enough. Still, it was a quiet afternoon and as with any truly good service we were never made to feel uncomfortable with the situation. It was an excellent way to pass a meal.

And that’s what (else) we have to say about the end of the trip. Thanks for following along and we’ll see you next time!

We’re going to wrap up the last few days of out trip a little bit differently. It’s not that we don’t *want* to tell you more about Ireland, it’s just that it (the trip, not Ireland) really isn’t interesting; part of this was by design and part of it was just dumb luck. Fortunately, we can still give you some (hopefully) interesting stories of travel in Ireland. You’ll see, hang on a sec. On the other hand, this covers enough time that even a seriously pruned blow by blow would make for a small novel. True, love means never having to monitor word count on a blog, but still. So we’re going to talk about what went down in the last few days, and then next time we’re going to talk about where we ate, which was notable on multiple occasions.

As I said at the end of the last post, we had a plan to see some last sites before dropping the car off in Belfast. Well, the weather gods had been unreasonably kind to us for this whole trip, and they just couldn’t help themselves any more. It was sheeting rain; windshield wipers were barely keeping up. We gave it until a key highway exit to get better and when it didn’t we just pressed on for Belfast. Naturally, the rain let up, but seriously who knows what direction the clouds were moving? (Anybody with a compass I guess, but … shush you.)

We arrived in Belfast and dropped our car at the airport. I’m not 100% certain that we needed the comprehensive coverage this time, but like all insurance, you don’t need it until you do, and then you really need it. Chalk it up to my excellence at driving on the left. (Ho! It is to laugh.) We scooted back to the same hotel we stayed in last time, not because we loved it so much as that it was a known quantity and after the last few quaintly idiosyncratic (ahem) places we stayed we liked the sound of known. We did have a lovely dinner at a place just down the street, Gnostic, and it truly is worth a visit if you’re ever in Belfast. Other than that, though, it was a laundry day and a reset for Dublin.

The next day was comprised of a bus ride to Dublin, a check-in to a shoebox of a hotel room (we have had the strangest run of hotel rooms this trip, I swear…) and brunch at a tasty spot in the neighborhood, 31 Lennox. (Hold that thought.) Other than picking up an ersatz cheese board in the local SPAR that was it. See what I mean about quiet, almost not worth mentioning? And yet, here you are.

The day following, which was a Tuesday was filled with…. shopping. Here’s the thing: neither of us likes to shop. We did not have a fun, free-spirited romp through the luxe markets of swanky Dublin. No, we needed shoes and the Portuguese seem to have uniformly narrow feet. The Irish are not similarly afflicted, so we knew we could get better-fitting shoe there, and thus we did. A couple of other mundane sundries were crossed off the list, and though it took some time it was once again desultory.

Wednesday, our last day in Dublin, finally had a bit of action to it. We packed up, checked out of our hotel and had them hold our bags so we could stroll across St. Stephen’s Green to the Irish National Gallery. In my limited but growing experience, art galleries come in two flavors (they all have “nice art for people to look at” as part of their purpose, that’s a given): either the gallery exists primarily to demonstrate that its home belongs in the constellation of great place, by exhibiting a selection of work from the greatest artists in the world, or it exists primarily to raise the visibility of home-grown artists for their glory and the reflected glory upon those artists’ home. The Irish National Gallery is definitely the latter; it has multiple floors of art by Irish artists, often portraying Irish artists (authors in the main), and then a capstone gallery of art by “European masters” in which the pieces were created in, or which portray places or people in, Ireland. None of this is to take the piss out of the gallery; it’s well organized and a treat to ramble through. Plus they have a Vermeer so it would never be a complete waste. After the gallery we gathered up our things and took a bus to the airport, thence on to our flight to Lisbon, and a check-in to a literally-one-week-since-opening Hyatt. Seriously. We’re pretty sure we’re the first people in this room, they are clearly still working out some bugs with the elevators and such, and they upgraded us to a pretty amazing suite simply out of gratitude, it seems, that somebody is staying with them. It’s a lovely place and surely won’t be empty for long, but it is kind of weird to be practically alone in a gigantic hotel.

Since we didn’t do a lot of interesting things in Ireland those last few days, we figured we’d point you towards some stories where more happened. Our honeymoon, as it happens, was a little more than 10 years ago and covered parts of Ireland and Scotland. I’ve linked some of these posts below, please do have a look.

Day 1 of our Honeymoon which kicked off in Dublin.

Day 2, when we went to Newgrange and the Hill of Tara.

Day 3, including Trinity College and the Book of Kells.

Day 4, including Hadrian’s Wall and Vindolanda.

You can use the “Show More Posts” function at the top of each post if you want to see more in the series. It’s a pretty good trip… at least, if you’re enjoying The Ramble, it’s more of the same just slightly older.

We’re putting a couple of days together, because we scheduled ourselves a purposeful down day. Thursday was a day of lazy breakfast, strolling the grounds of the lovely place we’re staying, and generally just kicking up our heels. That might sound like a weird way to spend a day on a trip like this, but honestly that’s the reason we moved to Portugal in the first place. When the trip represents a huge investment of resources – not just money, but time off from work (and the opportunity cost of not doing other things with it) – every single day feels precious and requires worthy usage. This trip, on the other hand, was a spur of the moment jaunt to take advantage of a cheap air fare that Lisa found. We’ve kept it relatively inexpensive, and we can poke around the country with the comfort of knowing that, barring catastrophe, we’ll be back. So yeah, rather than run our way ragged, we built in a day to just recharge. Sharpen the saw, if you prefer. Anyway, that was Thursday.

Friday was another story.

The morning began with the breakfast buffet which is probably the best breakfast we’ve had access to in awhile (barring homemade, natch). Scrambled eggs in particular seem to be preferred on the soft/runny side in Europe (gross generalization, but that’s where we’re at to date) but these were firm without being overcooked. The Irish in the building may have been furious but I was delighted and that’s what matters. Besides, they eat baked beans in the AM, their opinion of breakfast options means little to me. (I kid because I love, Irish people.) Lisa had devised a really great, efficient itinerary for us and we hopped to it.

First stop was Clontygora Cairn, which has to be the largest court tomb we’ve ever seen, and (no research done here, but) has to be one of the largest there is – it is massive. Not only are the stones some of the biggest we’ve seen, the thing is largely intact (I smell a bit of restoration, but hopefully only a bit) and you can really get a sense of the thing. It is worth noting that during its active period it was probably covered with stone and earth – you didn’t see these standing rocks on the nearby hill, you saw a mound with a forecourt of some of these stones. It was also interesting because there were a couple of long lines of these big stones that were not a part of the court or the tomb. Amateur us decided that they were an alignment which, let’s be clear, we had learned about roughly four days ago. But no, they’re definitely an alignment. In fairness, I have no idea what distinguishes “an alignment” from “rocks that happen to be in a line”. Don’t wikipedia if for me, I enjoy the romance of learning in the field.

Short interstitial: have I mentioned lately the insanity of the roads? I don’t think I have, because I think we’re kind of used to it now. Here’s the thing: they are smol. Even tiny at times. They narrow from two lanes with a bare skinny shoulder, to two lanes with no shoulder, to “two lanes but if a car is coming you’re both putting scratch marks on the passenger side from rubbing the shrubbery” to “stop pretending, this is a one lane road and keep your eyes peeled.” We spend a not-insignificant portion of our day driving (and passenger-ing, they don’t get off easy) with intense concentration, trying to work the angles on some very sharp curves to see if anybody is coming. Sometimes it really does come down to “let’s go slow and hope that they see us, because I can’t see $%)#.” And yet I really wouldn’t change anything about it – this is the only way to see the thing we want to see, and aside from the fancy megaliths there’s just the gorgeous countryside scenery. It really is great… but also pants-wetting-inducing.

Anyhoo.

Our second stop was at a dolmen. If I have not mentioned before – I am suspicious of dolmens. They are just so fricking odd-looking, and also I can’t shake the idea that they were put there recently to gin up tourism. Except nobody goes to these things. Ok, not nobody, but if you ran the coffee concession at one of these dolmen sites you’d starve once your pastry case ran dry. That said… this dolmen got me. I was in the right mood or something, but I really dug it. It’s officially “Goward Dolmen” but it has been known in the area as “Pat Kearney’s Big Rock” since at least the early 1800s. Nobody remembers who Pat Kearney is, but they know this is his big rock. And fair’s fair, it is a big rock:

I do love these old bits of information, kind of like the Holestone that we wrote about earlier. Researchers show up a couple hundred years ago and they dig up stories that are ensconced as lore by that time. Which means, to my mind at least, that the lore is way, way older than that. Reminds me of the Aboriginal stories about the meteor strike that seem to be 10,000 years old. A tale for another time.

We had a couple of misfires today – sites on the property that have “No Trespassing” signs, for example. I’m not sure how that interacts with Irish law on historical locations, but we aren’t prepared to litigate any such thing, so we move along. Another site didn’t seem to be there, which probably means we couldn’t find it in the underbrush or was way deeper into the farmland than we were prepared to search. We have limits, after all. Not to worry, our last stop was at Tollymore Forest Park, which has been a forest for… well, forever, but was established as a public park in 1955; getting in was not an issue. We were there for some very lovely photo opportunities that Lisa had discovered, but also because the place is just plain gorgeous. Sadly, the water level was so low in the river that the photo ops, which include water swirling around stepping stones, for example, that it just wasn’t worth taking a photo. The park was still lovely, though, and since we hadn’t been on any significant walks since we left Derry it was nice to just stretch our legs for a bit.

We scooted back to the hotel to freshen up and then hit an early reservation at The Spotted Dog. It’s a bistro with upscaled food that gave us Peyrassol vibes. This only means something if you knew us in Seattle, but trust me when I say it’s high praise coming from us. We had some truly spectacular people watching that will probably haunt us for a long time, a really good meal, and a full-tummied drive back to the hotel for a pack-up and a settle down. Tomorrow brings the driving portion of our trip to an end: a last run through some old sites, then dropping the car in Belfast to enter into the denouement of our excursion. (lah dee dah!) And with that, we bid you all good night until the morrow.

Some days, things just line up right. You ate your vegetables, you went to bed on time, you helped an elderly person across the street… whatever, you banked a lot of karma and then it all comes due. Today was a jackpot of a day even if it got cut short in the end. The first place we went was actually a holdover from yesterday (when we were just too tired) and would have to be on any shortlist of most amazing sites we’ve ever seen. The second place we went to, while not nearly as spectacular, would make a shortlist of most interesting site we’ve seen, which may be splitting hairs but dang it these are my imaginary lists and I get to make what I want. And aside from these we also saw an incredibly fascinating stone that would probably make one of those lists, or another one I make up, if I knew what to make of it. I’ve got some reading to do, I think. Then again, so do you! Right now, even!

The morning began at Beaghmore Stone Circles. Y’all. This is a truly amazing site, and the Irish know it. The site has top notch access, with signage and even a significant car park. The picture at the top of the post tries to capture the scope of it, but we would need a fish-eye lens to have a chance. There are 7 circles, 12 cairns, and numerous alignments connecting them all. 6 of the circles are in pairs, with cairns often between them. It’s kind of infuriating, that there are such obvious, intentional patterns within a site like this but we still can’t figure out what they were used for. Hell, there’s a new theory conceived with the help of some astronomers that the site resembles certain comets, and that the creators were trying to create synchronicity between the world of earth and the world of the sky. Honestly, this is one of those times where neither a mountain of words nor a movie’s-worth of photos does a great job of describing the experience. We’re just glad we went.

The second site of note was the Ballymacdermot Cairn, which happens to be a court tomb. The reason I loved it so much was simple: unlike any other court tomb we’ve seen, the top is off of this one. Normally I’m pro-leave stuff in the ground, but…. well, I don’t care this time. Every other court tomb, you see some portion of the court section and you try to imagine the tomb. Here, you actually see the path to the tomb, and the decline into the ground, and the forechamber of the tomb, and the rear chamber where the cremated remains would be interred. I get it now in a way I had only been able to intuit before. It was truly fascinating, and in such great shape that you didn’t have to leave much to the imagination. Trivia time: Ballymacdermot is still in great shape despite the fact that a US tank bumped into it in 1945 while on training maneuvers. Ye gods.

The last and most inscrutable site was the Kilnasaggart Pillar Stone. Yet another access grade is necessary: “E”, when there are cows to circumnavigate + you walk so long you’re sure that you’re in the wrong place. I actually rang the doorbell on the house nearby just to ask if I was in the right place, and also if I was allowed to cross a rope line that was in place in one field. (Turns out there were poisonous-to-cows flowers in that field, the rope line was just a visual barrier that the cows apparently won’t cross.) The Pillar is newer than most of the things we visit, being (almost definitely) an early Christian artifact; expert analysis puts it in the neighborhood of 700 CE. Despite its relative youth (heh) we don’t really know what it’s for. It has an inscription which dedicates it, but doesn’t say why. There’s nothing nearby – it’s in a field all by itself (although the land owners have recently encouraged a hedge to grow up around it, giving it a more overt sacred feel to it as long as you don’t linger on the fact that it’s only a few years old) with nothing to hint at its purpose. It’s literally covered in different styles of crosses, celtic and otherwise, in a far more chaotic fashion than we’re used to seeing in Christian artifacts. It’s a truly odd piece, but will still put you into a contemplative frame of mind, whatever your faith is.

We had a couple more sites on our itinerary, but all this tromping and wall-sclambering left us tuckered out, so we made for our new hotel which, it turns out, is actually located in the Republic of Ireland making this a multinational trip. Woo! We’ll be homing out of this location for the next few days, circling out to see the numerous ancient sites in the area, starting tomorrow with a little catchup from today.

Our day actually began with what might be called duds. Our first site (Dunnamore Wedge Tomb) was completely impervious to discovery, despite google being absolutely sure we were in the right place. And by the way, we joke about google’s idiosyncrasies as much as anyone, but really it’s mind-blowing how well it says “oh you want to go to this obscure cairn? Drive to the red pin, then follow the dotted line and Bob’s yer uncle” and 90%+ of the time it’s spot on. We couldn’t do these trips nearly so well without it. So yeah, we’ll give the occasional “dammit Google you need to stop with the day drinking” but still… The second site (Creggandevesky Court Tomb) we’re pretty sure we found, but the gates you would have expected to be open to access it were locked – private property or not, that’s actually really rare. While I consulted with the nearest farmstead and got some “I think its up the road a bit further” directions, Lisa did a deeper dive online and came up with the news that the site had recently experienced increased flooding and had been closed to public traffic for safety reasons. Oops.

Our third site finally proved to be visible, if only just. It was also on private property and, as far as we could tell, there wasn’t access to it directly. However, it was clearly visible from the road, and so we got a few shots of Loughmacrory Wedge Tomb. A wedge tomb is just that: a wedge-shaped tomb; shorter and narrower on one end, taller and wider at the other. Interestingly these tombs are often on an east-west axis but nobody knows why. It’s nice getting a look at this one, but from a distance, and overgrown like this, it’s hard to get a lot out of the experience. What we did get a lot of though, was attention. From sheep. They’d been out in the field minding their own sheepy business, but when we showed up, it was just too exciting. Best guess, things that look vaguely like us (i.e. other people) often show up and provide the best stuff, like move to a new field, supplement feed etc… cool stuff indeed. So, in very short order we had a whole flock of ’em staring at us with occasional bleats. I’m telling you, if you think your dog can register disappointment when you aren’t taking them for a walk after all, try driving away from sheep who thought you were bringing the awesome sauce. Sad bleats.

The day was getting warmed up, though. Our next stop was the Auglish Stone Circles and Alignments, which were pretty amazing. They were also a great example of the “C” type of access (in my own persona grading system). “A” access is when there’s signage and maybe even a car park; the site is probably in the care of the state. “B” access may or may not have signage but is still easy to spot and not too difficult to access. “C” access, however, is when there is almost no clue that you’re near anything interesting, you have to be in the know. Not only that, but even when you gain access to the location there’s no easy evidence that you’re in the right place and you have to tromp along for awhile. In this case, once we found a gate that would open we still had a climb of a few hundred nettle-covered yards up a fairly steep hill; steep enough that we couldn’t see if anything was up there until we were a fair ways up. We persevered mostly on faith (and the fact that this sort of thing has paid off before) and were greatly rewarded. The plural in “Auglish Stone Circles” hardly does it justice. There are numerous circles, with alignments connecting them together. The circles are pretty intact, with stones of more regular shape than we’re used to seeing. The other cool thing was the alignments which, as I think we explained in a recent post, is a line of stones basically serving the purpose of an arrow before that symbol existed. In other words, to draw your attention in a direction. There’s an alignment here that points you right at a break in the surrounding hills. I mean, it could be a coincidence, but given how hard these things are to make I don’t know why you’d lean that way. The last thing about this complex that caught my attention was the signage. It did exist after all; it was at the very top of the hill, tucked into the corner of two fences coming together, looking down on the complex of stones. Is there a path up there? No there is not. Is there any way you’d know that sign was there without making the long trek up the (did I mention the nettle-filledness?) hill with no sign that it was the right thing to do? Nope, none. I really don’t get it, unless the land’s owner is under some obligation to give access and post a sign and was leaning into malicious compliance with a vengeance. Still, the site is definitely worth the trip; it’s where google says it is, promise.

Our final stop of note was to Ballybriest Dual Court Tomb. It was notable for two reasons. First of all, it’s pretty neat and nicely intact. To refresh: a court tomb has an outer “court” (think “courtyard”) with an entrance to the buried tomb portion. This was a large site; I think the amount of erosion that occurred actually put the tomb portion at what is now ground level, giving you an occasionally foreboding sensation. It’s also in a location that screams “of course you put a sacred place here”, with commanding views for miles in every direction. The second reason… you know my access grades above? I had to invent a new one for Ballybriest: “D” access, where the site is also the occasional home of a real live bull and you just have to keep your head on a swivel. I don’t know what it says about us that we went in but we did. It was, thankfully, a bull-free experience. Our day complete and our survival rate steady at 100%, we made for our hotel for dinner and a pack-up, ready to move on to a new part of Ireland on the morrow. (Meh, not my best, but it gets the job done.)

The trip is starting to have a theme… a not entirely pleasant one, unfortunately. We’ll be having a lovely time, and then hit a pretty serious bump. We regroup, we get back to it, and eventually all is well again, but so far we haven’t really had a 24-hour stretch where everything was going smoothly. Case in point – ever wonder what would happen if you went driving around to the ass end of everywhere and then blew out a tire? No? Well then, my friend, I must say that you lack imagination, because we managed it in record time. Prior to that, though, we saw some amazing stuff. See what I mean? Up. Down. Crap.

Like I said, it began well enough. Leaving London/Derry we first made our way to Drumskinny Stone Circle, Cairn, and Alignment. First of all, an admission: neither of us recalls hearing the term “alignment” before this trip. It’s easy enough to understand, though – it’s a row of stones lined up as a proto-arrow. In other words, it guides your attention towards something. Most times we’ll be darned if we can figure out what we’re being pointed towards, but there ya go. In any case, Drumskinny is a particularly fine circle, largely still intact and the replaced stones are obvious. Not sure if this has come up before but I get reaaaaally twitchy when it comes to restorations. I think it dates back to our first trip to Pompeii, where I marveled over some fantastic mosaics, only to later discover at the Naples Archaeological Museum that the actual mosaics had been removed to the Museum, with replicas fashioned in their place. No mention was made of this, and for some reason this caused me to blow a gasket. Whatever, we all have our peeves, right? Anyway, Lisa doesn’t share my vehemence but she’s still keenly interested along with me as to which bits are genuinely as they were thousands of years ago and which aren’t. At Drumskinny, according to the signage almost everything is as it was, and you can see the supports that have been placed – look at the photo at the top of this post and you should see a vertical bar on one of the stones. Ta-da!

From Drumskinny we turned towards Boa Island – an island in truth but a short baby bridge from the mainland (which now that I think about it is simply a bigger island. Derp.) and a lovely spot in general. Down the main road twenty minutes or so brought us to a pretty rudimentary road that led to Caldragh Graveyard. The graveyard has been in continuous use… hrm, I guess once you bury a body there it’s in continuous use even if you build a bank on top of it… but in any case, they’ve been burying bodies in this Graveyard for roughly 3000 years, give or take. The most famous stone here is also one of the iconic images of Ireland if you go in for the really old bits: the so-called Janus Stone. No, they don’t actually think it has anything to do with the Roman deity, it’s just that the stone has a face on both sides of it and the nickname stuck. Besides, nobody knows for certain what it’s actually supposed to depict. There are stones from what look like medieval times, all the way up to 2021. Somewhat charmingly, no attempt is made for a faux ancient look; the gravestones are clearly from the periods in which they were created. Lisa and I fancied that, with a fairly stable population of people who probably didn’t migrate a whole lot over the years, there was no reason not to think that the newest interred are descendants of the first interred, to one degree or another.

Leaving Caldragh Graveyard, we both observed that the road really was pretty shitty. Then, we turned on to the more modern “A” road and realized that the thumping and bumping had continued. Hurm. We pull off to the side of the road. Sure enough, flat tire. Now, the next series of events is one of those things where there are all kinds of things that happened, and miscommunications that occurred, all leading to the result that we’re about to explain, but honestly: like a lot of stories, the details just aren’t that interesting, plus who wants to spend a lot of time wallowing in the misery of others? (Yes yes, those people exist, but you don’t post pictures of your feet if you don’t want foot fetishists, and you don’t describe your misery if you don’t want to please jerks who don’t like you.) The long and the short of it is that they equip cars with spare tires anymore, the kit that reinflates and repairs tires failed to do either, and the left hand (rental company) and the right hand (the roadside assistance company) did not know what the other was doing, and thus the flat tire that was observed at around 1 PM was not repaired until about 5:30 PM. Insult to injury, the very nice young man who finally arrived on scene swapped in the new, good tire in literally five minutes. The only part of this story that I want to memorialize for my own memory is that at the second place we came to rest, a mile or so up the road when we discovered the repair kit had failed, a lovely man named John came down the drive to check on us. We chatted a moment and he offered for us to come back to his house for a cup of tea. He was 100% sincere in his offer. It was charming as hell. We demurred but asked if he’d fill our water bottles just in case. He drove back down a few minutes later with his family (they were off to somewhere), when he handed back our bottled and his elderly mother added a fresh bottle of their own. I mean, come on. Anyway, the tire was replaced at last. At this point, our irritation spoiled any notion of continuing on to something interesting, and we simply made for our hotel. It’s a nice place with pretensions of being a great place, so that’s nice, but just like in Derry they seem to have no interest in air conditioning so we’ve resorted to fostering breezes through barely-cracked windows.

Nevertheless, it was an easier room to cool and we slept well enough, letting us regroup in anticipation of a better day tomorrow. (I know, right? It’s almost not worth mentioning anymore just how good I am at this*.)
*It occurs to me that some of you don’t know me well enough to know that this ongoing commentary on the nature of writing teases/cliffhangers is making me cackle more and more with each passing day. I certainly don’t mean any of it.

(Full credit to Lisa for coming up with the post title while we walked the city today. We were walking the walls of Old Derry and reading the signs. Lisa noted that one building was described as having been originally a Bishop’s Palace, then a military barracks, and finally a Freemason’s Hall. “What a string of patriarchal powers,” one of us said. “It’s a conspiracy!” I said. “It’s not a conspiracy it it’s on a plaque” my wife replied, leaden with sullen truth.)

We had a lovely day in Derry/Londonderry, sometimes called “Slash City”, unironically, by locals but this wasn’t how it started. Let’s back up, shall we?

The morning dawned warm and sweaty – if you recall our last post (and if not, welcome to the blog!) our hotel room had some atmospheric issues that we resolved to the best of our ability; which is to say, not all that well. Nevertheless we seemed to get a good night’s rest and sprung up with a renewed sense of correcting for the previous day’s stresses. Lisa had consulted a number of restaurant reviews and her eyes set on a spot in “old Derry” called “Born”. First of all, it was located in what I couldn’t help but think of as “Irish Queen Anne”, which will only make sense to Seattle folks. It was a lovely neighborhood with a lot of families and small shops, and the food was quite good. Also, the breakfast was legit, both the Irish and the American-inspired varieties. I know it’s starting to sound like we’re those jerk tourists who just want American food, but really nothing could be farther from the truth. It’s just that, having been divorced from it for roughly nine months, suddenly having access to buttermilk pancakes with syrup is a real treat.

Mildly amusing moment – while sorting out our agenda over breakfast, we had a mild kerfluffle because we were looking for something called the “Craft Village” but google maps kept taking us back to where our car was parked. One of us cottoned to the issue before the other (no reason to name names) but eventually we both realized that we had serendipitously parked right next to the Craft Village without even noticing. Probably, we were distracted by my having to parallel park, on a hill, with everything being backwards. Turned out really well on the first try, by the way thankyewverymuch.

So, breakfast over, we start to head for the sights of old Derry, particularly the Walls. And now let us speak as succinctly as possible about the history of this fine city. (Note: all facts are as recalled by a tourist after reading them once. Writing a paper? Go get a book.) In 1689 James I was about to invade the city. (Ringing any bells? We’ll circle back in a minute.) Thanks to the quick thinking of 13 apprentice boys of Derry the gates of the city were shut before James could arrive and a siege instead ensued. It lasted for 9(?) months before being lifted, James never having breached the city. The city’s relief came in August of 1690. Guilds/clubs called “Apprentice Boys” (not youth organizations, despite the name) sprang up in 1814, and the parades started a little later.

So what’s up for real?

The whole William of Orange vs. James I thing was not memorialized like this for more than a hundred years. However, it was retroactively latched on to by Protestants for the potent symbolism, i.e. “Protestant king beats Catholic king” and since then history surrounding those campaigns has been … well, I was going to say “fetishized” but that sounds judge-y…. on the other hand I can’t think of a better word. Just like the bonfires in Belfast, this Apprentice Boys parade is a huge event that draws plenty of Protestants AND Catholics, who run counterpoint events over in Republican Derry areas. And I told you ALL of that to explain a) why we couldn’t get a better hotel room, and b) to tell you that we saw a bunch of things about the siege of Derry today and a lot of it is fraught.

Before we even did the walls, though, for logistical reasons we first went to “the People’s Gallery” just outside the walls. Numerous buildings in this area have murals depicting pro-Republican images; Bobby Sands, Bloody Sunday etc… The message on the wall in the image, “You Are Now Entering Free Derry” has been there since 1969, dating back to a period of about 3 years when a portion of Derry was barricaded against British soldiers. The neighborhood was then and still is a Catholic stronghold; the median in the street has giant memorials to the hunger strikers (martyred IRA members). Fair warning, if I explain every reference in detail I’ll never go to bed, so I am not going to. There are also symbolic trees from around Ireland and also, more recently, an olive tree from Palestine. (Some Republican Irish relate themselves to the Palestinians and a lot of cross-pollination goes on there.) It really is a striking area, between the memorials and the mural art the place has a real air to it. One interesting note: London/Derry at this point skews widely towards the Protestants and Republicanism, and the Catholics (despite the Apprentice Boys pomp and circumstance) are actually a clear minority in the city. It makes for odd vibes – ostensibly the Republicans are the oppressed people in Northern Ireland, but this is undeniably their town. I have thoughts, but I also don’t assume I can solve an issue that so many have failed to do, so on we move.

After rummaging Bogside for a bit we trundled back up the hill and on to the Walls of Derry. I am not entirely certain how much is original work, well-maintained, and how much is restoration, but they are in great shape. They encompass a relatively small portion of modern Derry, but are still pretty massive. Numerous churches and other important structures were built right up against them, so walking the walls get you both good views of the city and a quick rota of historical points of interest. Once again the Presbyterians rear their most honored heads; Presbyterian leaders were at the forefront of the defense of the city in 1689-90, and were rewarded with prime land for a meeting house as a result. “Oh no, we couldn’t,” would be the response if my elders are anything to go by, before a quick “well since you insist, I can picture the walls going up over here, probably white paint” and so on. Numerous cannons (Note the double nn) still exist from the period and are placed where they would have been, with excellent fields of view in all directions. No wonder James couldn’t take the place. Well, cannons plus he was Cat- never mind, this place is starting to get to me. All in all, walking the Walls is a lovely way to both see the city and get up close looks at some impressive old buildings.

After the Walls we did in fact find the Craft Village, which turned out to be an artist collective where a side street-cum-alley is dressed up like a small village high street. It’s somewhat twee but is also a charming spot full of local craftspeople selling their wares. If you like gathering up a tchotchke or three when you travel I’d say this is ground zero for your shopportunities. Alas, we were visiting on Sunday and many of the shops were closed, but it was still fun to take a stroll round and window-graze. That done, it was back to the car and, double alas, back to our hotel room. Another day older and wiser, we still could not manage the warmth of the room. We did step out for awhile to a lovely dinner at Browns in Town. Capsule review: “A” for inventiveness, “B/B-” for actual fooding. Side note: another parallel parking success! Maybe we should get a right-driving car for forever! (This is very funny humor, hee hee ho ho.) Fat and happy, we got back and packed ourselves up, ready to be out of the hotbox and on to our next adventure.

Dear Lord I’m getting good at these. Even if you don’t call them cliffhangers.

Thrills! Chills! Spills! … Honestly, what kind of trip would that be for two people in their 50s visiting ancient burial sites? The new Jumanji sequel? No, we had your usual placid day of traveling to and seeing interesting stuff, right up until things took a turn, and even then it was mostly annoying. But before the turn, we had a lovely day. We picked up a rental car at the airport (automatic, naturally – we have “some” experience with manual transmissions but combining the stick shift with everything being on the opposite side just seemed like one obstacle more than is necessary. Besides, they offer automatics, why not take advantage?) In any case, we made sure to have total coverage in place despite the cost and hit the- what? Why total coverage? Well.

I’m pretty sure we’ve written about this before, but it was back when this blog was called Sasha’s Doghouse and it had a very different flavor. (More meandering, if you can imagine.) Lisa was doing her research preparing for our first trip to Ireland, and she came across consistent advice on a single topic. She sent me some relevant links and I looked into it as well. What she found was: the Irish are consistently extortionate (good word honey, thanks!) in one way: rental car damage assessments. I know I know, generalizing about groups of people is wrong, but is a stereotype a stereotype if it’s 100% true all of the time, right? :p We found numerous reports in trust-worthy locations of truly awful experiences with rental car returns in Ireland. Invisible damage, over-charging, you name it. On that first trip we got the total coverage and were so glad for it after two weeks careening down one-lane tracks with stone walls on either side. I can still remember the disappointment on the face of the employee as they came out of the office to check us in and then noticed the coverage clause on our contract. And so, with nary a consideration given we upped the coverage on this car. In any other situation we are perfectly comfortable with the typical coverage granted from your credit card. Ireland? Buy the coverage.

Car sorted, we oriented north and made for the countryside. The agenda for the day was to start with a couple of bronze age (give or take an era) stone sites (basically our favorite thing to do ever). First up was, honestly, what may be my all time favorite; certainly top two or three: The Holestone in Doagh. The Holestone is an outcropping of rock in otherwise rolling fields – the topography has surely changed over the millennia but this would have stood out against the terrain for most of that. Very rough steps let you ascend to the top of it, where a “holestone” has been placed. It’s a pillar into which (science tells us) a hole was deliberately bored. The original purpose is lost to time; I note that it is not particularly aligned, for example the sun at a solstice or equinox does not pass through it. What we really found interesting was that a historian in the early 1800s noted that there was “already a well-established tradition” of lovers ascending the stone, whence the female (sorry, the times are the times) would place her hand through the stone. Her partner would then clasp her hand and they would then pledge themselves to each other. Folklore being what it is, if this is “well-established” in the 1800s there’s no reason not to suspect that this sacred place has existed all this time for a very similar purpose. It is also, one observes, a wide enough plateau, and secluded enough, that such a ritual could be consummated with ease. Indeed, the stones are currently covered in foliage of many types and an area one might see as a bower existed to one side. Good for the Irish, I say.

By the by, getting to the Holestone is reminiscent of many sites we’ve been to over the years. The local populace has respect for these traditional sites but they don’t fetishize them. The Holestone has some simple signage, and it’s even marked on the road, but it is in the middle of what is now privately-owned pasture. So, we parked the car on the side of the road (no car park, natch) and wandered up and down until we found the gate in the fence that didn’t have a padlock on it. The gate was a big, 10-foot wide livestock fence, not some pretty entranceway. Once in the field, you are navigating cow patties, and not new ones that hadn’t been attended to – it’s clear that they never are, and it’s walker beware. There’s also no marked path per se, just “look, the big rocks are in that direction.” None of this is bad/wrong in our opinion, it’s just interesting. (We saw a ring of stones on our last trip that was in no way sign posted. Local lore said they existed, we read about them somehow, and followed old-fashioned (non-googled) directions – e.g. turn left at the church, then right at the big tree – to find it.) Anyway, we love and highly recommend going to see these sites, but it’s definitely a special kind of tourism. Upside: there’s never a crowd.

From Doagh, we made our way to Dunloy, home of Dooey’s Cairn. “Dooey”, if you’re wondering, is not the name of an ancient clan or even an archaeologist. In contrast to the Holestone’s situation, the site of this court tomb was donated to the national trust for such things, and was named after the family who generously did so. Still, even at these donated sites they tend to be the land it’s on plus a wee stretch for public access; we were surrounded by cows as we examined the place. In any case, Dooey’s Cairn is actual a “court tomb” which was a community grave site – there’s actually a subterranean portion where cremated remains would be taken, these stones are (as far as I know, I’m still a novice at this stuff) more ceremonial / there to mark the site than they are functional. That said, in the “court” (think courtyard) there are two stones in particular that mark the entrance to the tomb – if you had a shovel and permission that’s where you’d start to dig if you wanted to see what was there. Those things were acquired many years ago in this case and the archaeology has been completed, but the site was still basically intact and so it was re-interred. I’m a broken record if you’ve been reading along for awhile, but it will always be true that what I most get out of these places is that ~6000 years ago humans still had a sense of community and belonging enough to do things like have their version of a cemetery.

By now we were hungry, so we made for one of the numerous restaurants that Lisa turns up in her research; in this case it was Nadine’s Diner. Nadine’s is the best of an American diner bolted onto friendly Irish people and some distinctive food. I had the best hamburger since we left the states (Braga has many proprietors, but they all want to put their own spin on things… JUST MAKE A BURGER) and Lisa had a more traditional small fry up. It was yummy and an interesting change of pace from both Portuguese cafes and Irish pubs. 10/10 would kill my gall bladder again.

This, alas, is where the day began to take a turn. First of all, we got to our next stop at Kinbane Castle, which was both underwhelming and a little more difficult to reach than we were willing to spend on such a little bit of nothing. (The travel privilege is starting to show – “that’s the castle?? we’ve seen better…” but still… we had.) On the other hand, if I’d known how the rest of the day was going to turn out I probably would have pushed harder to spend time here. Alas. Our next stop was going to be at Giant’s Causeway. OOoooohhh neat, right?

So, here’s the thing. We arrived in Northern Ireland for what has been, for them, balmy weather. Sunny, mid 20s (high 70s), just gorgeous. We loved it too for the opposite reason – it’s been in the 30s for a long while in Braga now, so we were enjoying the coolth. Heading out to the countryside, we completely forgot that this is the kind of weather that would draw the Irish out to do all the fun family things that are a drag in the dreary time. Combine that with it being a Saturday (we honestly do lose track of what day it is now…) and the bigger tourist attractions were crrrrraaaaaawwwwwwling with local vacationers. Which is right and natural, of course, but also a total pain in the ass. There’s a visitor center controlling the best access to the Causeway, but passes were completely sold out. Other access points unsurprisingly have car parks grown up in front of them, and all of those were full. Almost unbelievably we had to give Giants Causeway a pass; and thus the itinerary for our next trip to Ireland begins to coalesce. Please note that this is the second time we’ve given Giant’s Causeway a pass.

Sadly, this same sequence repeated itself at the other two places we’d plan to visit that day, Lissanduff Earthworks and Dunluce Castle, and other than a glimpse of the castle as we drove by they were utter failures. Naturally the frustration level was also rising, and we decided to punt on one or two other minor attractions and make for Derry. We made it to our hotel, Da Vinci’s, and settled in… except for the final indignity. Our room did not have air conditioning. Like, at all, there’s no vents or anything. Well, ok, it has these nice big windows… which open about 3 inches. AND, while we can only speculate it feels like a pretty good guess, the hotel laundry is located in the room next door. It’s not noisy, but it’s warm. AND (AND) not only is the hotel completely booked so is the entire city. It’s a thoroughly unpleasant though somewhat manageable situation, and the only reason we didn’t move is that there were no rooms to go to. We’ll get into some Derry history tomorrow, but a huge “celebration” was going on in town this weekend and between that and the “counter celebrations” (my term) the town was bursting with visitors. It was this or nothing. So, we opened the windows as best we could, propped our room door open as wide as it could go (because who doesn’t want to get to know their neighbors in a hotel?) and created the best cross-breeze we could. All in all, the day was a mixed bag, but honestly writing this has been a little therapeutic, going over how great the first half of it was. So thank you all for that, and we’ll talk about a mood recovery day next time. Could that be another cliffhanger? Who is this madman?

(Actually, John, these haven’t really been cliffhangers. Even “teaser” would be generous but it would at least be closer. Yeah yeah. . . )