I’m always surprised at, (or forget) just how beautiful Ireland is. Sometimes it seems easier and cheaper just to get a flight outta here.
We stayed in the Gate Lodge of a Castle in Co. Antrim. The Barbican. No TV, WIFI, and a log fire for heating. Each room was decked out with early 20th Century furniture and ornaments.
A spiral stone staircase connected each room, which was tough for Charlie the Dog and his stumpy little legs.
Despite the car breaking down on the Saturday – ‘transmission went kaput’ – and being stranded in the tinniest Village of the Damned, we got to see some real natural beauty.
The car seized up outside a tiny Presbyterian church – and The Deacon (or Wizard, whatever they’re called) was nowhere to be seen. Luckily, he had an outhouse attached to the church, and the softness of the toilet roll he had in there nearly had me converting.
Long story short. House down the road was approached. A kind woman let us use her phone. Car hire company and AA were contacted. They said they’d send a tow truck. After 3 hours of waiting. No show. We had to drive the banjaxed jalopy to the next town over. We abandoned the vehicle in a garage in Ballycastle, then got some grub, and got a taxi back to our accommodation.
We had a very relaxing night, partially through exhaustion, where I lost yet another game of Scrabble. Next day we went to Portrush and Portstewart via the spectacular coastal sea route.
After visiting the Giant’s Causeway, Tor Head, Carrick-a Rede rope bridge and Dunluce Castle, we returned to the Barbican, suitably shattered.