The lady at the information center in Donegal is very helpful. She gives me a few paces to call for Tweed Jackets, some numbers to call for Accommodation, bus times and the things to see while I wait for the bus.
Some people in County Donegal take in short, sharp breaths before they speak. It sounds like a gasp.
This lady spoke in such a manner. Talking like her breath has just been taken away at the thought of some of the places in the county. She tells me to see the old Abbey down the road and the Castle in the center of town.
Here lies the ruins of a Church and an Abbey. In the remains of a corridor I found a seabird, sliced open and gutted.
It left me wondering who would have done a thing like that.
The graves are so stacked upon one another, I couldn’t get anywhere without walking on dead men.
I had hours to kill in this town before my bus. There was the large Castle in the center of town left to see…but I went to the Pub instead.
By the time my Bus had pulled out I was tipsy enough.
The sun had gone behind the clouds and the wind was coming up. I still needed to sort a place to stay. I couldn’t even say the name of the town I was going to. The owners of my intended B&B had gone to Dublin. The new numbers I had received were not responding.
I had hours to kill in this town before my next bus. There was a harbor full of large fishing vessels… so I went to a dark Pub and drank with a bar of silver haired old fishermen until something came together.
And that wasn’t a bad day of travel overall.