The Road to Sligo

There was great drama in Dillon’s Bar & Restaurant last night, when some fool called urgently for a doctor in the house, and demanded a 999 call for an ambulance.  Unfortunately there was no doctor available for comment at the time.  In short order, two Gardai arrived on the scene but an hour later an ambulance had still not arrived - Crossgar hospital was 40 minutes away and other emergencies were taking priority.  By that time, Nigel was back with us, and declared the whole episode a false alarm.  Nevertheless we all returned to the hotel by 9:00pm, rather tired and emotional but completely sober.  The wild women of Mayo were safe for another night.

This morning we are all in better spirits despite the forecast of rain all day, and wind speeds of 25-30 mph.  Before we have even left Ballina, we stop at the harbour to inspect SS Crete Boom.  This is a concrete boat built during first war and it was designed for bringing back iron ore from Spain, as there was a shortage of the metal at that time.  Surprise, surprise, the concrete boat was not a success and it was sunk in the harbour, later to be cleared out of the mud which had accumulated and become the home to thousands of eels.  It has now been left resting in the harbour as it acts as a groyne, and does a good job of directing the flow of water, protecting other vessels.  While this all sounds like a piece of early 20th Century lunacy, small tug boats made of concrete did operate around Ireland quite successfully at that time.

Pretty soon we have crossed into Sligo and we stop to investigate the small seaside resort of Enniscrone, a place where I spent a fortnight on a family holiday nearly sixty years ago.  My father was a mystery to me at times, and I can’t really fathom why he chose this place for a treat.  The highlight seems to be the baths, which feature some kind of hot seaweed experience, but I’m quite sure we didn’t use them at that time.  There is also a fairly ghastly caravan site, run by Michael McGowan a local man who had big plans for a glamping site, featuring old planes and helicopters as well as more standard pods and tents.  Sadly the only remnant of this business plan is a discarded Boeing 767, which is still sitting unused on the field, presumably rusting away.

Soon we arrive at the O’Dowd stronghold, which is right next to one of the best surfing spots in Ireland.  The information board claims that the perfect waves are there because of the rocky beach, but I figure that’s just another unnecessary hazard.  Today, covered head to toe in neoprene, there is a solitary surfer looking for the green room.  It doesn’t look like he’ll find it.

In no time at all we’re at Aughris head, where there is a delightful thatched cottage, that’s been turned into a beach bar serving excellent lunches.  After refuelling we make for the finishing line, stopping briefly for tea in Strandhill.

We have been thoroughly briefed on Sligo beforehand by our expert research assistant.  It gets its name from the Gaelic for “shelly”, as in there are lots of shellfish here.  It also has two famous sons.  The first is reported to be Bernardo O’Higgins who, as you probably know, liberated Chile.  However, further digging reveals that Bernardo was actually born in Chile and, although educated in London, he may never have set foot in Sligo.  On the other hand, his father Ambrosio was born in Sligo and he became the Marques of Osorno, Viceroy to Peru, as well as Captain General and Governor of Chile on behalf of Spain.

The other notable person born in Sligo was W B Yeats and I attempt a recital of The Lake Isle of Innifree but can’t get beyond the first two lines without looking it up.  The group don’t seem to have much interest anyway but, when we get to the hotel, we discover that today is the first day of the Yeats festival.  So lots of music venues busy all evening.  Better get ready for some entertainment…

Bundoran