Travel Notes: Northwest Ireland — Day 8 & 9
Road Trip, Part 1
16 September 2009
Aloha Family & Friends,
It’s Wednesday night, and I’m sitting in the lounge of my B&B in Letterkenny. Martin, the owner, met me at the door and, after showing me to my room, offered an Irish coffee—which I gladly accepted and am now enjoying as I write.
My road trip actually began yesterday… with a train ride! I’ve always loved traveling by train, and I must say, Irish trains are truly lovely. They glide along the tracks past forty different shades of green—fields dotted with cows and sheep grazing peacefully. Anyone who read my New Zealand travel notes will remember my fascination with sheep. I have to say, there’s something equally fun (and funny) about sheep grazing in Ireland too.
Three hours later, I arrived in Sligo and took a taxi to the airport to pick up my rental car. And thus began my adventures driving on the wrong side of the road. Not only is it the wrong side of the road—the driver sits on the wrong side of the car, and you have to shift gears with your left hand. Thankfully, the pedals are in the same place as at home, but it’s still a bit disconcerting! I took a short video while driving that I’ll post to Facebook so you can experience it for yourself.
From Sligo, I drove to Drumcliff, the final resting place of W. B. Yeats. He’s buried in the churchyard there, beneath a gravestone bearing his self-written epitaph:
Cast a cold eye
On life, on death.
Horseman, pass by.
I continued on to Donegal, where I stopped at the Tourist Information Office. They were wonderfully helpful. I needed to call ahead to my B&B for the night and to confirm my boat ride for the next day, and Claire made all the calls for me—then directed me to a lovely pub for seafood chowder and a cup of tea. Perfect.
The drive from Sligo to Donegal was an excellent introduction to Irish driving: two wide lanes, generous shoulders, and room to open up to about 80 km/h (the posted limit was 100 km/h, or 60 mph—but that felt a bit fast for a two-lane road). The road from Donegal to Killybegs, however, was another story entirely.
That stretch looked barely wide enough for one car—yet somehow served as a two-way road, with little or no shoulder through towns. At one point, it was downright harrowing. With no warning signs, I rounded a bend and found traffic coming straight at me. I squeezed left and heard branches scraping along the driver’s side door. That’s why I opted for full insurance coverage!
Eventually, I arrived at Jackie and William’s B&B just outside Killybegs. Their son had turned 21 the day before, and the house was decorated for celebration. Jackie showed me to my room, then offered a cup of tea—served in the solarium, with beautiful views down to the harbor. That tea revived me enough to head into town for a bit of exploring and a late supper.
Killybegs is one of the towns where the MacSweeney clan established themselves, and the tombstone of the MacSweeney chief lies in the churchyard of St. Mary’s Church. For me, this felt like the fulfillment of another small pilgrimage. I also saw the site of St. Catherine’s Well, honoring the patron saint of Killybegs—and visited the fishing port itself. Killybegs is the largest fishing port in all of Ireland.
After a huge breakfast—prepared by Jackie herself—I set off down the coast, following the coastal road through Kilcar and Carrick to Teelin Pier. There, I met Paddy Byrne for a boat trip to see the tallest sea cliffs in Europe: Slieve League.
I first drove to the top and looked down across the Atlantic, then took the boat ride and looked up. At their highest point, the cliffs rise over 1,900 feet. Paddy, a lifelong boatman, takes fishing groups and tour guests out regularly. On the boat with me were a lovely couple from England—and her 89-year-old mother!
The sea was calm, but occasionally Paddy would stop the engine to point out sights: the highest peak, and a lookout built by the English in the early 19th century when they feared an attack by Napoleon. When the engine stopped, the boat rolled gently with the swells—even I got a little green around the gills. I held it together, but I now have much more empathy for those who get seasick.
Paddy kept up a steady stream of conversation, and we talked about tourism in Ireland. Like Hawaiʻi, tourism is down—though you could have fooled me, judging by Dublin! Being from Hawaiʻi makes for easy conversation here; people can’t believe I traveled all this way to Ireland. All told, it was a lovely two hours at sea—slightly queasy, but memorable.
From Teelin Pier, I drove along the coast road through Glencolmcille—the “valley of the church of St. Columba”—then through the Glen Gesh Pass to Ardara, famous for Donegal tweed. Which, of course, explains all the sheep grazing on the hillsides.
I think I’m finally getting the hang of driving on the wrong side of the road. The secret seems to be: drive down the middle until you see another car, then move left, inhale deeply, hold your breath, and pray you don’t clip the other driver’s side mirror as you pass.
I managed just fine… until Letterkenny.
After circling one too many roundabouts, I stopped at a pub on Main Street and convinced the barman to draw me a map. Since rush-hour traffic was heavy, I decided to eat dinner before attempting the final leg. An hour later—hand-drawn map on my lap—I arrived safely at Hillside House B&B, and my well-earned Irish coffee.
Now that my photos are downloaded (the Ring of Kerry photos are already on Facebook) and my travel diary is up to date, it’s time for bed.
Good night—and more later.
Love,
TJ