The Hills of Donegal

Winter has well and truly arrived with temperatures dropping to zero degrees overnight and climbing to around 8 degrees during the day.  I knew it was officially winter when I slipped on ice and fell down with a bang in the middle of some startled onlookers.  People rushed over to help me up and luckily the only thing damaged was my ego.  I can now add Ireland to the list of countries I have slipped and fallen on ice in.

Michael hired a car so that we could take a weekend trip to Donegal.  We had planned the trip for last year however we both had trouble renewing our Australian driver’s licences.  They finally arrived in the nick of time just two days before we were due to depart.  We had a lovely drive through the countryside, which was covered in snow making everything look pretty and fresh.  WB Yeats was buried at Drumcliff Church, so we stopped there to look at his grave and ended up having lunch at a beautiful café in the grounds.  Then it was off to find our hotel, The Great Northern at Bundoran.  The hotel was very grand, having been built around 1850 and was situated in the middle of a gold course high on the cliffs overlooking the Atlantic Ocean.  It was a vast complex of corridors leading into more corridors and was reminiscent in its faded glory of the Overlook Hotel from The Shining.  Our room was enormous with three beds and two bathrooms and our stay was very comfortable indeed.  It was great to enjoy our evening meal in the restaurant and not have to worry about driving home.

The next morning, we sat in the dining room enjoying our full Irish breakfasts overlooking the golf course watching the mad golfers starting the day with a round.  It was hilarious to see them rugged up in thick jumpers, coats, scarves, hats and gloves and one wondered how they were going to be able to swing their clubs under the weight of their clothing.  I don’t think even Michael’s dad, keen golfer that he is, would venture out in the cold wind like those golfers did.

It was soon time for us to start wending our way back to Dublin so we decided to take a detour to Knock.  I had wanted to visit the National Shrine of Our Lady of Knock as I had read that Susan Boyle had made a large donation (rumoured to be 1million euro) to rebuild the church there.  I have since found out that was untrue however she does visit Knock every year with the annual Legion of Mary pilgrimage.  Michael and I were stunned when we arrived to see two huge car parks capable of holding hundreds of cars and buses. 




There was also a long row of outdoor taps where you could fill your containers with holy water.  The shrine itself is situated a small, modern chapel and it was very peaceful to sit and read the history of the visitations.  One amusing thing happened to us there.  When we stood up to leave, the door opened and a dishevelled, elderly man with white hair standing on end was entering.  Michael and I politely stood aside to let him enter when he snapped at us “come on, come on” and beckoned us to exit all the while muttering and glaring at us.  We left the building and burst out laughing as we both thought exactly the same thing – he was a dead ringer for Father Jack Hackett from Father Ted.