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| The Olde Castle Bar |
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| Myself and 'Brian McFadden' at the Olde Castle Bar |
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| getting friendly with the locals at the Reel Inn. United Irishmen poster behind us which was a topic of conversation. |
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| the band playing all the traditional Irish music |
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| The Reel Inn Bar - packed on a Sunday night |
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| Curing the hangover with a spot of bodyboarding at Rossnowlagh |
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| Walking the Rougey Cliff Walk at Bundoran |
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| Watching the surfers catching the waves at Bundoran from the cliffs. |
My boyfriend Gerry and I went to Donegal for a weekend here's what happened....
I could spin you a story about how I decided Ireland was as good a place as any to holiday, drone on about how it is so full of beauty, charisma and craic - where else would I want to go? But I’ll not patronise you. As much as I adore the Emerald Isle, and as much as it does possess breathtaking beauty, oozes charisma and is no doubt brimming full of craic, for me a holiday is about getting away to the sun. It’s about getting as brown as is humanly possibly and returning home to lots of lovely compliments where you spend the next few happy weeks responding to these compliments with the obligatory: “Tan? Please I’m as white as could be, sure wasn’t it overcast for the first week.” So let’s be honest, Ireland is a lot of things, but sunny it is not. Therefore, I am not an advocate of the whole ‘staycation’ craze nor, I suspect, is anyone else, but they’re more than likely as skint as the rest of us and are putting a funky label on it to make it sound as though they’re actually choosing to holiday here. A pathetic excuse of a bank balance gave me no choice in the matter; a holiday at home was all I’d be having this year.
And now the dilemma of where to go? Out came the map and so began the suggestions aka bickering session. Kerry, Cork, Limerick, Tipperary, Clare and Waterford were all out because they were too far, so in short all of Munster. All of the southeast was out i.e. Leinster because we heard the west coast had better surf. Practically all of Northern Ireland was out because: ‘sure that’s where we live’ (yes we occupy the entire country apparently), and Galway was a no-no because we’d been there twice in the past year. Finally, our eyes fell upon Donegal and we came to an agreement.
We booked a couple of nights in a cute looking B&B just a short walk from Donegal town, grabbed the wetsuits, body boards and set off for the 100 mile (or thereabouts) drive, arriving just over two and a half hours later and finding our quaint little lodgings without difficulty.
The B&B was a family home, run by a husband and wife team. A large, smiley lady answered the door and by way of greeting said “b’Jaysis aren’t you the double of Brian McFadden?” (She was talking to Gerry of course, at least I hope so) “Paddy!” she bellowed, “Paddy come here ‘til you see this young fella, he’s the spit of Brian McFadden he is.” A short, smiley, round man who I’m guessing must have been Paddy came to the hall, “Jaypers you are surely.” I loved them both instantly.
After we had all calmed down over Gerry’s likeness to Brian McFadden, (‘It’s the eyes’), and learned that the lady (Dorothy) actually knew Brian McFadden, ‘I was a good friend of his mothers, he’s a big gentle, quiet soul ya know’ we dumped our bags down in our small, but pleasant and tidy room and made for the town.
It was late Sunday afternoon by the time we ventured into Donegal for a mosey, expecting it to be a little sleepy, (after all who isn’t sleepy on a Sunday afternoon?) we were surprised to see the place buzzing with atmosphere, especially as quite a few of the shops were closed. Traffic was busy, the car park by the tourist centre was full, the shops that were open had plenty of customers and it goes without saying that the pubs were hiving with tourists and locals having lunch or just enjoying a drink. After a stroll along the town and a look at some of the beautiful merchandise in the shops, we went into The Olde Castle Bar, a traditional Irish Pub in the town centre for a spot of lunch and a much anticipated pint of the black stuff.
They had an impressive menu, lots of fresh locally caught seafood on offer, steaks, chicken, salad, good ol’ hearty meals such as boiled bacon and cabbage and quite an extensive vegetarian option too, I noticed. I opted for the seafood pie and Brian McFadden went for the beef burger. Service was friendly and prompt despite the busyness, and the food didn’t disappoint. My seafood pie was brimming with local seafood fresh from the boat, including mussels, prawns and salmon in a creamy sauce, topped off with a thick coating of creamy cheesy mash. Gerry’s beef burger was more a ball of beef to be honest, a thick cut portion of good quality beef with melted cheese and proper, thick cut chips.
Pleasantly full and a little tired, we went home for a snooze, shower and quick change before heading out to sample Donegal’s famous nightlife. The town has at least 15 pubs (I never did get round to counting them) within its square mile and we started at the bottom of the town working our way to the Reel Inn pub to end the night with a spot of traditional Irish music. The Reel Inn is very deceiving. From the outside it looks tiny and run down, even when you get up close and realise it is a pub it doesn’t do much to entice you in. We had it on good authority (Dorothy) that it was a ‘deadly night’s craic’ and ventured in anyway and boy am I glad we did. The pub is long and narrow and kitted out with flags, pictures, musical instruments and other Irish memorabilia. It isn’t fancy or stylish; it’s old, charming and full of character. By 10.30pm the band had started and the pub was packed and before too long we were chatting to all the friendly locals.
“Doesn’t anybody have work in the morning?” I asked.
“Aye probably.” Said my new local friend. Fair enough.
Something which struck me about the atmosphere was there was a very united, friendly, laid back feel. Plenty were drunk, but none were disorderly, locals and tourists were as one, there was no division. I asked one of the locals who had moved to Donegal from Belfast 40 years ago, why he did so: “To get away from all the bigotry, you don’t get any of that down here.” He then showed me the poster on the wall of the united Irishmen and read the famous quote from Wolfe Tone with particular emphasis on the last line which read: ‘To unite the whole people of Ireland, to abolish the memory of all past dissentions, and to substitute the common name of Irishman, in the place of the denominations of Protestant, Catholic, and Dissenter - these were my means’.
“You see” said the local “People don’t care what you are down here, that’s our mentality; protestant, catholic or dissenter we are all Irish.”
By midnight the band was in full swing and I was having a fantastic time. The music was great, it was a typical Irish shindig, the band enthusiastically belted out all the favourites; Sweet Sixteen, Seven Drunken Nights, Galway Girl and many others all telling the story of Ireland’s triumphs, troubles, joys and heartache. They were paid, and happily so, in pints of Guinness and hearty applause, the crowds sang along, an old man tortured all the women individually for a dance (there’s always one) and eventually people in the crowd took to the mike, thinking in their drink fuelled state they were Christy Moore. All in all it was a great night’s craic.
The next morning, suitably rough and hungover I made my way downstairs for a satisfying and much needed breakfast of freshly squeezed orange juice, tea, toast and the customary fry.
“Where’s Brian McFadden?” asked Dorothy.
“Dying” I said.
She laughed a big bellowing laugh and said “Sure isn’t it great!”
Only one thing would cure us both: an afternoon bodyboarding the crashing waves of the Atlantic Ocean at Rossnowlagh beach.
Rossnowlagh is a short 10 mile drive away from Donegal town and is a blue flag surfing beach which is lifeguarded during July and August from 11am – 7pm. It offers 4km of golden sand which you can access by car without fear of getting stuck. When we arrived there were about 50 cars on the beach, around 70 surfers in the water, four ice cream vans stationed and happily, I noted, there was very little wind yet the waves were huge, hence the large numbers of surfers. We spent a good couple of hours surfing the waves until all the exertion, coupled with a lingering hangover had us leaving in pursuit of chips. We drove less than 10 miles to get to Bundoran, the south’s answer to Portrush, but in my opinion with better surf and a more impressive coastal walk in the form of Rougey Cliff Walk.
The Rougey Cliff walk, affectionately known as ‘Rougey’ is a 4.5 km circular walk offering stunning views of yep you guessed it, the cliffs and the Ocean. Gerry and I took our bag of chips for a walk and perched on the grassy cliffs taking in the salt air and watching the surfers, egging them on when big waves came and laughing heartily when they fell. We sat happily for an hour and both decided that we’d be back next weekend for another go. That’s the thing about staycations; you don’t get the post holiday blues as you’re only a car drive away.
*We stayed at Haywoods B&B 60 euro per night per double room.
Hi everyone, I feel like it has been a long time since I last blogged and I’m so glad to be back. I had a few niggles with my shins a few weeks ago not long after I had completed a 10 mile run. After some investigation and intense questioning of Damien (fountain of all knowledge) I came to the conclusion it was shin splints. I tried to run but it was too painful so I took two weeks off to recover and completely lost motivation. I was gutted that I had to rest and that an injury was getting in the way of my training. However, I persevered, iced my legs, rested and became all the more determined to run the Larne Half Marathon on Saturday 24 March.
