Ireland Day 3: Climb against the slime
Even when we're on vacation, we think of our friends often - who would be amused by what. This week, we've been thinking a lot about Rich and Genie who are headed once more into the breach with complications from the odd and evil ooze that invades Rich. We hates it, we do. There's green everywhere in Ireland, and much moss and, well, slime, so we keep taking pictures to send Rich and Genie, hoping they'll provide ten seconds of distraction from the awful and illness.
I took a run from the B&B, around the castle barbican and down the riverwalk to the old cathedral ruins, then back again, stopping to catch my breath and pet the donkeys a last time before packing up. After a last delicious breakfast, we left Trim today. ; in fact, we left Ireland for Northern Ireland - I mean the U.K. - taking the scenic route up the coast from Belfast and into the mountains. Roland plotted out a stop at Glenariffe (genius!) where I put on two jackets and Roland's warm wool hat.
Me: What a great suggestion it was to bring the warm ski hats. I wish I'd listened to myself.
Roland, who did listen to me (marriage points!) and did pack his. Do you want mine?
Me: No, I couldn't. You need it.
Roland rolls his eyes and throws me the hat, because I'm much colder and more pitiful about it at 100 pounds lighter.
We went for a couple mile hike along the waterfall trail and I was grateful for the weekly sets of evil squats and awful lunges and we went down, down, down the glen, played Poohsticks along the bridges (left with the score tired - again, best way to run a marriage) and taking endless pictures of the world drenched in green and punctuated with wildflowers. I froze on the way down and sweated through my layers on the way up, took endless pictures of slime things hoping to amuse Genie and Rich and had a marvelous time.
We left the forest and drove back to the coast road, through sheep and fauna and miles of pink bike sculptures (Italian road race theme) stopping at Dunluce Castle which we thought would take a quick thirty minutes but was an enjoyable hour plus where I again froze to death despite two jackets while the native Irish wandered about in short sleeves enjoying their summer. I firmly said no to climbing 150' cliff trail down to the cave of the mermaid, so Roland, after a three second pout, piled back into the car and went to find our B&B at Portrush.
We're in the Buttercup room, Roland said, having been the one that booked this particular hotel when we spent a long Saturday planning this trip.
I blink. On purpose?
Yes, on purpose. The Buttercup room has a soaking tub, perfect down to the tiny rubber duckie lurking on the rim and perfect after all that climbing up and down today. Shola guest house was just named the best B&B in Northern Ireland, and I've only been here a few hours, but I'll go with that. The host and hostess are charming, organized and completely relaxed. Sharon brewed us two pots of tea to take the edge off our chill and chatted with us over a plate of her aunt's recipe for shortbread and this lovely Bushmill's cake. Dave offered us a ride into town in case we wanted to spend all night at the pub drinking and get a taxi home at our convenience. We declined, because I wanted quality time with that champagne Sharon had left chilling in our room and the soaking tub.
I always thought skerry was a word Neil Gaiman made up for "A Game of You," [Sandman novels. If you don't know them, round out your education immediately.] but there they were, a string of skerries out the window of Bistro 55 North as we ended our day with a credible dinner and a pint of Magner's Irish cider.
[What it is with Irish and the no vegetables on the menu? Honestly, you can hardly get a salad or vegetables with a meal. Potatoes, do not count. The sugar snap peas I procured at the grocery yesterday for snacking came from Zimbabwe.]
Must dash; the squeak of the rubber duckie calls.
I took a run from the B&B, around the castle barbican and down the riverwalk to the old cathedral ruins, then back again, stopping to catch my breath and pet the donkeys a last time before packing up. After a last delicious breakfast, we left Trim today. ; in fact, we left Ireland for Northern Ireland - I mean the U.K. - taking the scenic route up the coast from Belfast and into the mountains. Roland plotted out a stop at Glenariffe (genius!) where I put on two jackets and Roland's warm wool hat.
Me: What a great suggestion it was to bring the warm ski hats. I wish I'd listened to myself.
Roland, who did listen to me (marriage points!) and did pack his. Do you want mine?
Me: No, I couldn't. You need it.
Roland rolls his eyes and throws me the hat, because I'm much colder and more pitiful about it at 100 pounds lighter.
We went for a couple mile hike along the waterfall trail and I was grateful for the weekly sets of evil squats and awful lunges and we went down, down, down the glen, played Poohsticks along the bridges (left with the score tired - again, best way to run a marriage) and taking endless pictures of the world drenched in green and punctuated with wildflowers. I froze on the way down and sweated through my layers on the way up, took endless pictures of slime things hoping to amuse Genie and Rich and had a marvelous time.
We left the forest and drove back to the coast road, through sheep and fauna and miles of pink bike sculptures (Italian road race theme) stopping at Dunluce Castle which we thought would take a quick thirty minutes but was an enjoyable hour plus where I again froze to death despite two jackets while the native Irish wandered about in short sleeves enjoying their summer. I firmly said no to climbing 150' cliff trail down to the cave of the mermaid, so Roland, after a three second pout, piled back into the car and went to find our B&B at Portrush.
We're in the Buttercup room, Roland said, having been the one that booked this particular hotel when we spent a long Saturday planning this trip.
I blink. On purpose?
Yes, on purpose. The Buttercup room has a soaking tub, perfect down to the tiny rubber duckie lurking on the rim and perfect after all that climbing up and down today. Shola guest house was just named the best B&B in Northern Ireland, and I've only been here a few hours, but I'll go with that. The host and hostess are charming, organized and completely relaxed. Sharon brewed us two pots of tea to take the edge off our chill and chatted with us over a plate of her aunt's recipe for shortbread and this lovely Bushmill's cake. Dave offered us a ride into town in case we wanted to spend all night at the pub drinking and get a taxi home at our convenience. We declined, because I wanted quality time with that champagne Sharon had left chilling in our room and the soaking tub.
I always thought skerry was a word Neil Gaiman made up for "A Game of You," [Sandman novels. If you don't know them, round out your education immediately.] but there they were, a string of skerries out the window of Bistro 55 North as we ended our day with a credible dinner and a pint of Magner's Irish cider.
[What it is with Irish and the no vegetables on the menu? Honestly, you can hardly get a salad or vegetables with a meal. Potatoes, do not count. The sugar snap peas I procured at the grocery yesterday for snacking came from Zimbabwe.]
Must dash; the squeak of the rubber duckie calls.