|Westport on a Sunday morning||I rise at around 7:30 AM and shower. The kitchen purportedly opens at 8:00 AM, but the doors are shut so I walk out to try and find The Times and some orange juice. I find the streets deserted and the shops all shut, the silence pointedly reminding me that it is Sunday in rural Ireland. I decide to wander until something opens. As soon as I pass a shop with its lights on, I dive in and buy a paper. |
We eat a leisurely breakfast, with plenty of opportunity to pore over the diagram of the mistakes leading up to the Stockwell tube shooting of Jean Charles de Menezes, until we're kicked out so that the kitchen can be cleaned. We have some time to kill before the bus, since it doesn't arrive until a quarter to three. We walk down to Westport House, which is something like an Irish Disneyland. We are glared at by a lot of tourist families with children. I guess they don't have Bat's Day at the Park in northwestern Ireland just yet.
We're only too happy to get the bus to Donegal Town. It's a long ride, but I have Roddy Doyle's Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha to keep me busy for most of it. (The bookshop owner in Westport charges me five euro instead of six for the book. I win.) We have to hike from the bus stop to the hostel. The proprietress, Linda, is amazingly friendly. We eat dinner straightaway and sanity returns.( Collapse )