A pretty day for rambling, with a first stop in Cong and the pharmacy for some cough medicine for Kat. It’s well-timed as we’re just coming out when the Brit team drives by on their way to the airport. We get a last goodbye. Though we all hoped they’d miss their plane and be able to stay longer, we hope it was a smooth flight.

We’re onto Ballintubber Abbey, and stop in the Tourist Office for directions there and onto Ross Errily Friary. Even with them with make a wrong turn quickly, and just as quickly figure it out again.

We pass miles of fields, sun shining most of the way down on the green and the cropping sheep–and the long stone walls. Endless lines of those lovely dry-laid walls that had to take years to build. The result of all that labor is a peaceful, pastoral patchwork I can enjoy as we drive.

I’m having Hunky Dorey crisps and Diet Coke for my on-the-road breakfast. Terrible but delicious!

I love the look of Ballintubber, the land and gardens and art surrounding it especially. I can’t imagine the pilgrimage from here all the way to the distant peak of Croagh Patrick. It would take amazing dedication and endurance.

The place has such a strong sense of time and peace and strength with its roll of fields, slopes, lovely trees. The stones of the graveyard seem settled and content enough here, and the flowers are so lovely.

The art along the pathways is fascinating and a bit odd. Mostly depicting the Stations of the Cross, done in stone. It always pulls my eye and imagination. So abstract and contemporary for such an old place, but I suppose it shows that faith and ritual is a living, breathing thing.

The site representing the Crucifixion is both stark and beautiful, set up on a hill with its three crosses, a shining waterfall flowing beneath, all decked with flowers. Begonias, marigolds, alyssum blooming and tumbling.

The wind’s very brisk, even under the sun, so it’s a refreshing walk around to say the least. There’s a wall, and behind it a little path and glorious garden. Kat comments they seem to have every variety of rose there.

Inside the little church–built two centuries before Columbus sailed–the roof is barreled and the stained glass gleaming.

I light a candle for Laura’s safe journey from North Carolina to Maryland. The quick note I got from her–very late her time last night–tells me she and her husband made it. Welcome home, Laura!

It rains a bit, then stops, and we head out for Ross Errily.

Into villages and out, around the skinny roads and onto wider ones, and not a single missed turn this time. We find the very narrow track I remember from our last visit, and it’s just as pretty with fields on one side, houses on the other–and the one with the stunning garden. Whoever lives there has magic.

The somber gray stones of the friary loom over the green. It’s a large place, and had once been larger yet. Naturally the Cromwellians have done what they always do, and evicted the monks at one point in time. But it still stands, broody, to me, and full of what used to be.

You could get lost in here, with the many low arches, short steps that wind up to the open now. I feel the same heaviness in the air in certain parts I felt before. I have a scene in Dark Witch set here, and wonder: Did I write it as I did because of this feeling, or do I get the feeling because I wrote the scene? I think the former as the feeling’s so familiar.

There’s dark here as well as the light.

I wind my way back to the kitchen with its well and its huge electric fireplace. Look out the narrow openings to the fields, try to imagine living here, find I don’t much want to! This isn’t one of my happy places, for all its strength and pull. A fascinating one, but without the quiet peace of Ballintubber.

And still, shame on those who’ve littered here, in this old power. I hope the monks scared them off for their disrespect to what walked here, and I think often still does.

You could spend half a day here just wandering, even with the chill just under your skin.

I like it out on the hill where the views are forever, and the sheep seem happy enough.

It’s time for a little lunch–past time, really–so we go into Headford, find a restaurant that proves an excellent choice. Beside us are four ladies obviously great friend having their day out. They talk and laugh and exclaim over gossip the whole time we’re there. They add a happy note to good, comforting food.

Then we’re off to Cong, and the way back is as pretty as the way in. We stop off at Galway Woolen Mills for gifts–I think I’ve just about done it there, and must take an hour to organize it all with my list. It rains a bit, stops again.

Up the steep street, poking in other shops along the way. Around again, up again–a nice stretch for the legs, and more gifts. Though I’m definitely keeping at least one of the fragrant local made soaps for myself.

And back to the castle where we book a table in the Dungeon for dinner, ask about booking our hawk walk for today. A little feet up time and wine for me before I change to a warmer sweater.

Dinner’s just delightful. The menu is full of good things that make all of us happy enough to suggest just eating here from now on! But we must go down to Cong at least one night, hoping for music. I get myself a belini that tastes of summer peaches, a lovely contrast to the room decorated with suits of armor and banners.

We go for dessert–too tempting–order four to share. I can only manage one bite of each, but it’s so worth it.

Waddle off to bed.

Hawk walks today! And the sun’s out strong–may it stay. I’m going to do a solid workout to make up for dessert.

Nora