Donegal

The morning after we spent the night at Enniscoe, I tried blood pudding for the first time. It was completely different than I thought it would be. The exterior had a nutty, crunchy texture while the interior resembled crunchy hamburger meat. I think it’s an acquired taste.

Later that morning we drove to Crossmolina where a nine-year-old with a strong resemblance to Opie pumped gas for us. His father taught him to make change, and his chest stuck out with pride. He was a sweetie–I could have spread him on toast.

Anyway, we drove to Ballina where once again angels sang and hosannas rang as we drove onto the N26 to the N17. A real highway! With passing lanes!! There was great rejoicing throughout the land. We put on the Riverdance soundtrack and drove through the mountains with the lightness of heart that we weren’t going to die a fiery death off a cliff or be eaten by sheep.

When we arrived in Donegal, we drove through the town from one end to the other three times before we found our parking area. The town is incredibly small and you can walk the entire length, surprisingly. My husband wanted to shop at Magee’s, a store famous for its tweeds. How can you go to Donegal and not buy tweed? We bought our son a pie-pan cap, but didn’t find one for my husband.

We drove along the coast toward the fishing town of Killybegs and were thankful that our B&B was closer to Kilcar. Killybegs was very industrial and the harbor view was taken up by large ships. Near Kilcar, the scenery is peaceful and coastal with a gorgeous view. We made it to our B&B Inishduff and discovered that the boat tour of the Slieve League (the highest European coastal mountains) was booked. It meant we would have to drive on our own instead.

Our hostess recommended the coastal road, but in retrospect, it’s only fitting for suicidal goats. The road hangs along the cliff edge, has one lane, and parts of it go straight up where you can’t see oncoming traffic. It was terrifying. After missing the turn-off once, we found ourselves in the Gaeltacht where all signs were in Irish. My meager one semester of Irish wasn’t helping, so we turned around and eventually found the path.

We opted to drive to the top, once again risking life and limb. Although my face turned ten shades of white and green, it was well worth it in the end. The granite gray mountains have deeply carved ridges, and they plunge directly into a green-blue sea. The waves sound like a heartbeat as they crash against the rocks, are sucked into an inlet and are forced out again. Brilliant purple heather lines the mountainside and sheep grave above death-defying drops. Only a thin wire fence separates you from certain death.

There’s a stunningly beautiful quality to the Slieve League. Rugged, jagged, and fierce, the mountains stretch sunward. Seeing that cliffside is well worth the trip to Donegal. Even if you don’t find the perfect tweed cap.