Holing up

Fifty degrees outside, non-stop rain, wind gusts up to 25 mph. We’re in Falcarrick (Falcarragh, in Irish, meaning The Crossroads, and that’s about all it is) in northern County Donegal for three full days. Our solitary goal: to spend one day at Glenveagh National Park. The other two days are weather buffer. Turns out, we may need them.

Day One of sitting out the weather: Marcus made a nice coal fire in the fireplace to keep us toasty all day. Removing slippers and socks for yoga practice is now possible. Yoga in front of the fire. Sounds cozy, doesn’t it? By the end of our practice, I am sweating profusely. Does this qualify as hot yoga?

A day off every now and again is a good thing. Even though we just took one three days ago, also because of the weather? In the deluge in the southern part of County Donegal. Waiting for an opening in the weather window so we could hike Slieve League. We eventually prevailed, but it was our last day in the area. That’s cutting it a little close. If the weather hadn’t cleared, would we have hiked it in the rain? I don’t think so.

And now we wait in northern County Donegal. I pay the bills. Do laundry. Start this blog. Send some emails. Read a little.

Marcus goes out for pizza. He drives ten kilometers to the only pizza restaurant in northwest Donegal. It’s only open Friday through Sunday. Today is Thursday. On the way back he stops by the grocery store, which is smaller than most 7-Elevens. Buys some steaks and salad fixings. Cooks at home.

Overall, Mother Nature has been very generous with us on this trip, as long as we’re patient and don’t demand perfect weather on any given day. She appreciates a window and has, so far, complied. The rain is now blowing sideways. It looks like we may lose this one.

Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

Slibh Liag

Slieve League Mountain

Slibh Liag, or Slieve League in English—Mountain (Slibh) of Flagstones (Liag). The highest cliffs in Europe at 1972 feet above the sea—yes, higher than the Cliffs of Moher, which, gorgeous though they are, are only a paltry 390 feet above sea level. The cliffs here are the entire mountain, and, just so you know, the vertical layers of rock really do peel off in flagstones.

We waited through two days of soggy weather in County Donegal* for a good hiking day. And then, on the way to Sliabh Liag, I twisted my ankle doing something as simple (stupid) as walking off-trail at some minor ruins (so minor there were no trails) that I really had no interest in seeing to begin with. I was just passing time. The ground was very uneven and the grass so long I couldn’t see where I was stepping. The sprain wasn’t bad, and we were able to hike a bit up the mountain with the help of supportive hiking boots, but not along the ridge to the summit as I had hoped.

As the Irish might say: Come along with us so and enjoy the walk. It’s a grand day to be outdoors!

* Bonus Irish/history lesson, for those of you learning Irish along with me: County Donegal is named after Donegal town, or Dún na nGall (dune-na-GALL), which means Fort (Dún) of the Foreigners (Gall) because the town had a Viking fort back in the day (8th century?).

When we were in Cork, we met a retired teacher of the Irish language who was fascinated to hear where we were going on our three-month tour of the island. When I mentioned Donegal, I pronounced it DON-a-gull, like the Americanized surname. He quickly corrected me, out of habit I’m sure, and explained the meaning of the name. I am so glad he did because 1) I find the historical derivations of the names fascinating, 2) the breakdown helps me understand the names of other places we are visiting, and 3) saying it the correct way is so much more fun.

We’re deep in An Gaeltacht (the Gaelic/Irish speaking part of Ireland) now. Go on, give it a try!