Thursday, October 17

We slept in until 10:30 am, unheard of even for us! After croissants and coffee we headed out for a drive to the Mourne Mountains. The skies were quite changeable, sun and clouds swirling around us the whole day. It was just beautiful. It wasn’t long before we spotted our first rainbow. “There it is,” we cried. “The end of the rainbow that had started at the Syracuse airport.”

Our first stop was Dundrum Castle, the ruins of a 13^th century residence high on a hill overlooking farmland stretching to the bay. In a small hut at the end of the parking lot, the history of the castle was laid out in clever and informative cartoons along three walls, representing scenes and legends from eight centuries. As we took in the view one more time, the sun broke through, illuminating the hay fields to a shade of nearly-white.

Driving closer and closer to the Mournes, the fog and mist that had been covering them lifted, revealing the black mountains behind. They are a range of rounded shapes, resembling the backs of prehistoric beasts. As the skies changed, so did the color of the mountains, becoming mottled in shades of black, brown, and gray. Along the road and crisscrossing the fields were miles of Mourne stone walls. Unlike any stone walls I had seen before, they were constructed from large rounded boulders, tightly packed and, remarkably, level on top. Because of the shape of the stones, holes were inevitable and these allowed the green and gold of the fields beyond to show through.

Our next stop was for a picnic lunch at a park at the base of the mountains. Alison had packed rolls, turkey, mustard and mayo, along with cheddar and relish chips and a cold Pellegrino, and laid everything out on a wee table in the trunk of the van. While Susie sniffed around the field, we ate our sandwiches, talked, and watched the clouds and mist dance around the mountains.

Then it was on to Slieve Donard in Newcastle, a magnificent hotel perched above a long sandy beach, its waves rolling in low and strong. We entered the long brick structure through the main doors and stopped in the rustically elegant lobby, admiring the carved wooden fireplace which roared with a log fire. Almost immediately, a hotel worker in a tweed vest and tie offered to take our picture in front of the fireplace. Then he encouraged us to browse around the hotel at our leisure, even though (maybe because) we were not guests. He even showed us a wall with pictures, menus, and other items from the hotel’s past. We wandered into the dining room, snooker room, card room, and one cozy sitting area arranged below a small domed ceiling.

At one point, I asked the young man how long he had worked there and he said “About a year.”

“Do you like it?” I asked.

“It’s alright,” he said with a smile. “It was supposed to be just a few months, but that was back in January and here I still am.”

“Things happen, right?” I said, and we shared a wee laugh.  

On our way out, he offered each of us a pen with the hotel’s name on it. Our first souvenir.

Arriving back home around 6 pm, Alison and Lucy prepared our dinner of pies (steak or chicken and ham) they had picked up fresh from the local butcher that morning. Along with the pies were chips (French fries) and a bag of frozen peas and corn. There was both vinegar and ketchup for the chips. The pies were hot and delicious. And even though they are not something we usually get a home, they still felt like comfort food. Perhaps it is the air of warmth and hospitality that we breathe in this house that makes everything taste like comfort food.

Once again we lingered at the table, no one in a rush to clear dishes or wash up. More stories were shared, more laughs were had. So relaxing. We are home — over three thousand miles from Auburn.