After a year from our move to the small town of Nenagh; after countless clicks on the weather site hoping for a good week of sunshine, we made it!
Not with the sunny week of course, we are in Ireland folks!
Direction: Donegal County
We managed to make up for a week to be able to make a first exploration of the vast, unspoiled and rural County of Donegal.
With the trunk full of winter clothes, canned food (because we are tyrants by now you should have understood) and sweets for throat attacks during the hours in the car …Here We Go!
The name Donegal in Gaelic is Dùn na nGall which means “fort of foreigners”; referring to the fact that the town of Donegal was originally a Viking settlement.
It is called by the Irish “The forgotten county” and is the northernmost county of Ireland and is not part of Northern Ireland!
Everything has stopped, time and even infrastructure, affected by emigration.
Scotland is very attached to this part of Ireland as many people have been forced mainly by famine to look for work in the factories of Glasgow.
In the early twenties, when the Partition of Ireland took place (i.e. when the Irish Free State was born) this county was cut off from Northern Ireland.
The British cleverly held on to nearby West Tyrone which contained Derry, the main port of the region; avoiding annexing Donegal which would not have had any interesting resources.
But not only that, in doing so Donegal was also cut off from the future Republic, which would be born in 1949, being connected with her only by a small strip of land.
Bundoran
Our first stop is in Bundoran, a small surfing town just after the border between counties Leitrim and Donegal.
The day is good, windy and cool but nothing that a pair of gloves can not heal.
If we then add a rich brunch based on pancakes and sausages at the Waves Surf Café we are unstoppable.
After the refreshment we go in search of the Fairy Bridges and the Wishing Chair.
The Fairy Bridges
These rock bridges carved by the ocean have been an attraction since the 1800s although it is thought that as early as the 1700s locals believed them to be infested with fairies.
In 1834 G.N.Wright spoke of it as a “single arch, 24 feet open, with a causeway half that width perfectly formed and detached from all non-architectural encumbrances.”
Although it is safely walkable by mere mortals, visitors are recommended to avoid its deconsecrated surface; Fairy troops are heard all the time, and sometimes seen, by those who possess the priceless gift of second sight.
When Bundoran became famous in the 1830s, people are thought to have come more for fairy bridges than for the benefits of beautiful beaches and proximity to the Atlantic Ocean!
Even the “wishing chair” has a story or rather a ritual that must be performed carefully if you want it to perform its magic.
Legend has it that you have to approach the chair with caution to avoid interrupting its powers. Those who wish to make their wish must therefore sit holding both armrests and stop for at least 15 seconds to admire the wonderful panorama.
On “good” days you can see from Mullaghmore (in Sligo) across Donegal Bay to the Slieve League.
In these short and precious moments of awareness it is advisable to dwell on the possible heroes who sat before us in this same place. We must not forget to express the desire in silence and not reveal it to anyone, otherwise it does not come true!
The “desiring” can then get up, but before leaving he will have to touch the seat of the chair twice to prove that his desire is genuine.
Stories and poems from Bundoran
Below is Edward Daly’s 1944 poem “Bundoran”:
The Fairy Bridges where the spirits,In
moon-lit splendour sport and play,Span
chasms dark and lowering where
The lashing waters dash and spray.
And then the dear old Wishing Chair,Where
heart sick maids petitions lay,Where
thousands found each wish come true,And
ever bless the “happy day”.
You know that the Irish are skilled storytellers, so it goes without saying that there are stories about these bridges.
And in fact here is one.
“Once upon a time there were three women from Mullaghmore who were on their way to the Ballashanny fair to sell flax. They carried the linen in large rolls on their backs and had to leave very early, long before dawn, in order to arrive at the fair on time.
As they were walking down the street, one of them said she was thirsty.
But all the windows of the houses were turned off, there was no light that indicated the presence of someone to whom you could ask for a sip of water; until they arrived at Finner.
The woman went to the house where there was light and the others followed her.
When they entered the house they found a man who asked them what they wanted and where they came from.
And when they replied that they came from Mullaghmore, the man began to ask about the people of the country.
This seemed strange to the three women, that a man who lived so far away knew so much about the people of Mullagh.
Suspicious, one of the women told the thirsty woman that maybe it was not a good idea to drink in that house.
So they left and started talking about the man and from what they had heard, they thought that this could be the home of the “good people”.
Then they said, “We’ll put stones to mark this place, and we’ll see what kind of home it is when we come back in daylight.”
They made a beautiful pile of stones on the roadside to find the house and when they returned to check the next day, they found the stones.
But no trace of the house.”
Ops…
On our return to the car, however, we found a nasty surprise; a tire of our poor car is sadly on the ground!
Without hesitation Matteo, as a good fixer, intervened and efficiently replaced the wheel.
I acted as a moral support as well as a valet for tools and screen.
In the light of the shiny wheel just mounted we had to change our plans slightly; take a look at Tullan beach and then look for a tire dealer to fix the breakdown.
The beach is easily reached from the car park near the Murfs Surf School.
Once there opens a huge strip of white sand that today is bathed by huge blankets of sea foam!
I have never seen so much, it seems that someone threw hectoliters of soap into the sea to be able to take a bath in the tub wrapped in foam.
In addition, the wind makes it swing so much that it looks like a living creature, sometimes it detaches some large pieces that are extinguished by rolling on the beach.
After playing enough with the foam and taking some pictures of the view we went to the tire dealer.
We found that “having a punctured tire” is not called “have a flat tyre”, but “have a puncture“.
Unfortunately our tyre did not have a puncture but it was hopelessly broken…
So go with 150€, we changed both rear tyres as the other one was also a bit agonizing.
We looked at the bill with surprise, the labor cost us practically nothing!
In the waiting room I met Mary, a pleasant lady in the flesh, Irish matron style.
This simple and smiling lady listened to me try to remove the rust from what little English I know to converse.
He told me how we would see many Irish people in Donegal with brown hair, dark eyes and burnished skin, so very different from the Classic Irish.
The reason is that in the time of Queen Elizabeth I a Spanish ship was shipwrecked on the coast and the surviving Spaniards decided to stay in the area.
As a result, the children of the children of these Spaniards are Irish a little different from the classic stereotype.
Even in the Gaelic dialect spoken in Donegal there are words that result from the union of traditional Gaelic and Spanish, he told me some but if I do not write them it is impossible for me to remember even one!
I also learned that “going for a car ride in a certain place” is said “have a spin to…”
Happy ending at the Pub, Slainte!
Repaired our Proud we left to reach the hostel: Donegal Town Independent Hostel.
A short distance from the city center is a nice and large house run by a friendly and witty couple, with a kitchen equipped with everything we needed which we immediately took advantage of once we discovered that the pub where I wanted to go to dine only served drinks, no food.
We then warmed up a canned soup, cheap and stomach-saving for some tirchietti like us!
We went to the Reel Inn quite early hoping the music had already started (it was 7:30pm) but they didn’t start until an hour.
There for there I was not sure whether to stay or not, we were both tired from the trip and considering that the next morning we would have to wake up early to see the sunrise at the Slieve League maybe it was better to fall back on the bed.
But in your opinion? Of course not! We gained a comfortable stool and sat and waited for the musicians.
The pub is extremely warm and familiar, similar to many others we have already seen but less “tourist friendly” if we want to say it all; that is, the walls are decorated with prints and photographs of the members of the family that sends him forward and of friends and habits.
Over time it began to fill up and I can say that at nine o’clock we were no longer in it, but we would have sold the leather dearly to protect our stools!
I must add a fact that struck me, while Matteo finished drinking his pint of beer a girl sitting with his he drank like three! It’s not a comment from a perbenista, I simply found myself thinking that if I had drunk a liter and a half in an hour I would have been lying on the ground waiting for the ambulance.
Shortly before nine o’clock a couple of musicians arrived, loaded like mules with instruments: two guitars, harmonica, microphones and mandolin. They started the check sound: “One, two, one, two…” and the huge group of guys near us who continued with a “three, four…” there were about fifteen boys I think of high school, those who drank beer and those who went on with energy drinks, one even took a hot whiskey.
One of the musicians had the classic Irish pub singer’s voice, I know it’s a dis illuminating description but just listen to two songs recorded in a pub and you’ll understand what I’m talking about.
They opened with a series of pub classics: songs about distant loves, about nostalgia for the Emerald Isle or about the pride of being what you are going against what society would like you to be.
Around half past ten we decided it was time to lift our heels, the sun would not wait for us the next day.
Do you want to know how the adventure continues? Click below!