Walking the Bluestack Way: A Donegal Adventure
Eric and I have been looking forward to our walking holiday in Donegal, Ireland ever since I began working with Tailor-Made Tours last year. Having worked on the route notes and info packages for all of their Ireland tours, I was drawn to their Donegal Way itinerary for two reasons. It’s a combination of two lesser-known routes, the Bluestack Way and the Sli Cholmcille, and it’s in a region of Ireland that I know virtually nothing about.
Turns out, Donegal is as extraordinarily beautiful as the rest of Ireland and those “in the know” have been vacationing here for years. Follow along as we explore the mountains and coast of Donegal on foot.
The Bus to Donegal
Most people begin the Donegal Way tour from Dublin, but we go rogue and add a week on Clare Island beforehand. Which makes getting to the starting point of our tour in Donegal Town a bit more complicated. Our day begins with a ferry from the island and a shuttle to Westport, where we hang out at the SuperValu cafe and walk the streets of Westport for 2 hours while waiting for the bus to Charlestown.
Our bus ride is going well until we hit construction, which delays us 15min. I feel slightly panicked when I realize this means we will miss our connection from Charleston to Donegal until we look at the app and it shows that our second bus has also been delayed. We’re lucky this time, but I can see how public transit causes people stress, especially in rural places where large transit stations don’t exist.
Will it arrive on time? Will I make my connection? Where can I hang out with my luggage between connections? Where will I pee? That last one is actually a valid concern. I thought we would have enough time between bus connections, but that isn’t the case today. Eric nearly gets left in Sligo when he takes a potty break. When I see the driver start up the bus, with no Eric in sight, I’m wondering what’s more important at this point — the luggage or the husband. Thankfully Eric arrives and I’m saved from this moral quandary.
Despite the near panic and discomfort of holding my bladder, I enjoy the bus ride to Donegal. This is beautiful countryside, passing the distinctive Benbulben and entering Co. Donegal through the coastal towns of Bundoran and Ballyshannon.
Arriving in Donegal Town, we walk to the Railway Lodge, our home for the next 3 nights. We are greeted at the door by our host Sheila, who is grinning from ear to ear and apologizing for the large bandage covering her nose. She tells us she just had a surgery the day before and “it looks worse than it feels.” The lodge, like its owner, is buttery sunshine and the warmth of hot tea and scones, you just can’t help but fall into the comfort of this place.
Dinner tonight is at Olde Castle Bar and it’s everything you want in an Irish pub restaurant. Lively atmosphere, the smell of old wood and stone, hearty stews and good Guinness. And to my delight, they serve Dingle Gin!
Exploring Donegal Town
At breakfast this morning we visit with Sheila and our fellow guest Paul from Switzerland. Paul is a repeat guest and when I ask him what brings him back, he says he likes that it is familiar. After years of traveling, he finds comfort in places that he has already visited and knows well. Donegal Ireland is such a place for him. Like us, he loves to walk and prefers traveling by public transportation instead of renting a car. He and Sheila share stories of what it used to be like traveling in Ireland by bus and train and how much it has improved in the last few years.
After breakfast, we walk the River Bank Loop which is a beautiful little 1.4mi walk that begins in town. We follow the river through a shady forest of mixed trees (birch, Scott pine, lime, hazel), passing fairy doors and houses, then circling around past farmland and returning to town.
We explore the ruins and cemetery of Donegal Abbey, a Franciscan friary founded in 1474 by Red Hugh O’Donnell and his mother Nuala O’Connor. Only a few walls remain but it’s a beautiful site where the river opens out into Donegal Bay.
Donegal Town is bustling today with lots of visitors, so we count ourselves lucky when we snag a table for lunch at the popular Blueberry Tea Room. It’s a cozy space with quirky decor and a hearty lunch menu, plus an excellent selection of desserts.
I fancy a bit of shopping so we visit Hanna Hats and the St Vincent de Paul Thrift Shop, where I buy a bright green and orange Ireland scarf. We then stop in at the Mustard Seed for tea and snacks.
This is a community tea room that operates solely on donations and acts as a gathering space for the Anglican Church parishioners as well as anyone who walks through their door. There are quite a few people when we enter and they all seem delighted to see us, welcoming us with conversation and cheery smiles. Eileen sits herself down at our table and proceeds to tell us almost all of her life story in less than 15 minutes. If you want good conversation and a place to feel welcome, the Mustard Seed is a true gem!
Bluestack Way, Section 1
We walk the first section of the Bluestack Way today, and it’s an eye-opening introduction to hiking in Donegal. The day begins with full sun, followed by a quick downpour, then sun and hail stones – all within the first hour of our walk.
We don’t mind the light rain and hail, however, as it keeps us cool and gives us beautiful photos as we pass through fields of gorse and old cottages.
Along the way we see a Brachan Pot, which was restored and placed near Lough Eske to commemorate those who died during the Great Famine and to thank those who donated to help feed survivors. I’m fascinated to learn that the Choctaw Indian Nation was one of those supporters. How beautiful that a nation of people still in the midst of their own suffering thought to help strangers across an ocean.
Another highlight of today’s walk is Lough Eske, a serene lake surrounded by rolling hills and the Bluestack Mountains. I’m disappointed that there are no benches or rocks to sit and eat our lunch by the lake, but we make it work. This is why we always pack a waterproof picnic blanket.
After the lake, there’s a steep walk up, passing a wooded area and a village, and then the real views open up. We are now in the Bluestack Mountains and it’s absolutely stunning!
It’s April, so the hills are still shades of brown and dark purple instead of the vivid green that most people associate with Ireland. Bright blue skies contrast with the stark landscape and I max out my Google Photo storage trying to capture every angle of the light.
While we’re enjoying the views, we unfortunately have to rush because we’ve miscalculated how long the walk would take us today. We’re supposed to meet a taxi at 5:00 which will return us to our B&B, so we spend the last hour trail running to get there on time.
The sun is relentless at this point and our feet are throbbing after walking on hard surfaces for 13 miles. We exit the Way earlier than our route notes suggest and cut through a road in order to make up time. Arriving at our pickup point with 20 minutes to spare, we have now walked 15 miles and we collapse on a stone wall and greet our taxi driver with heartfelt gratitude as she drives us back to Donegal.
Sheila makes sure we’ve survived our first day on the Bluestack before sending us upstairs for a hot cuppa and a nap. That evening Eric picks up pizza at Napoli Express, where the owner schools him on all things Guinness. He learns that Guinness is incredibly popular in Nigeria and that Gravediggers in Dublin has the best Guinness in Ireland (his opinion).
Railway Lodge Hospitality
It’s a full house at breakfast today. We visit with a couple from Oregon who are driving the entire northern coastline. Paul from Switzerland tells us he has walked 200km so far on this trip and he is just now “feeling his legs.” An older bloke, who is enjoying his retirement as a driver for Rabbies tour agency, winks at me as he says “I love this job, it keeps me away from my wife.” His smile is full of mischief, I bet his guests love him!
Our host Sheila easily converses with all of us, keeping the conversation flowing. I can see why her place is so popular and why her guests often return again and again. This is not a stuffy B&B where guests sit quietly at breakfast. Sheila runs The Railway Lodge like an old-fashioned boarding house, where guests are encouraged to interact and linger.
Bluestack Way, Section 2
Marie picks us up to drive us to our starting point for the 2nd section of the Bluestack Way. Besides running a chauffeur service with her husband, Marie leads day tours throughout Donegal County and especially loves helping people conduct genealogy research. By the time we reach our destination, my brain is overloaded with the names of her ancestors, her husband’s ancestors, and every family that has ever resided near Donegal Town.
Our walk begins with a peaceful oasis of trees, softly moving water, the ever-present whining of hungry lambs, and a graveyard. This section of the Bluestack Way circles around Disert Graveyard, which is aptly named since disert means “a place of solitude.”
Besides being a beautiful spot, the graveyard has some interesting history and traditions. There’s a megalith here and it is believed that your back pain will be relieved if you walk through the megalith and clockwise around it three times while reciting the Our Father and Hail Mary. I think it has more to do with the fact that walking up the hill to get here is good movement for stretching tight muscles, but who am I to argue with tradition?
I will admit to feeling quite relaxed after visiting Disert. It’s impossible not to with the sun shining down and the wind moving through the grass as we continue through the lonely landscape with not a soul in sight.
We reach an abandoned cottage which has been greedily reclaimed by nature.
I enjoy this last bit of “easy exploration” before the walk gets challenging. Our route notes include an easier alternative at this junction, one that follows a road around the mountain. While tempting, we want to see what’s on top of that mountain, so we continue up, following the Bluestack Way.
Hag Bogs from Hell
Before we even reach the bog I can tell this is going to be hell. The waymarkers lead straight up Cloghmeen Hill with no end in sight and no flat sections to rest cramping calf muscles.
There is no defined trail, this is classic hillwalking where you choose the best footing you can while keeping the endpoint in sight. The waymarkers follow a fence so it’s easy to navigate, until we reach the bogs.
We’ve walked soggy trails before, in mud so thick we thought we’d lose our boots, but I’ve never seen anything like these hag bogs in Donegal. The luminescent moss is our first clue to how wet the ground is beneath us. It’s misleading, looking like a solid surface until you feel cold feet and look down to realize your boots are quickly sinking and your socks are getting wet.
Then you look up to see mounds of dirt “hags” covered in dry heather, rising 4-6 ft above ground and surrounded by black gooey mud. Thus commences our first lesson in navigating hag bogs. Through trial and error we learn how to hop from hag to hag, avoiding the dangerously slick mud and the overly-saturated moss.
By the time we reach the top of the hill, we’re exhausted but feel a sense of accomplishment and child-like appreciation for having experienced a new adventure. Marveling at the beautiful views all around us and glowing with pride at having conquered the hags, we confidently begin to descend.
And this is where we make our first mistakes. We put away our route notes, trusting that we know the way, which of course results in us walking down the wrong way before realizing our error. Retracing our steps back up to the waymarkers, we are now on the correct path when I hear Eric yell an expletive behind me. I whip around to see him rolling down the hill and I’m equally filled with horror and absurd laughter. Once I know he’s ok, I let loose and I’m sure the shepherds of Donegal can hear me cackling for miles.
My comeuppance comes towards the end of the walk, when I take one bad step and sink my right boot into the mud all the way up past my sock line. My mother would be saying a rosary after hearing the words that spring forth from my mouth. Eric just grins with smug delight.
Caked in mud and sore to the bone, we arrive in Glenties, one of Ireland’s “tidiest small towns.” It’s a beautiful little town with gorgeous countryside surrounding it, which is why I feel especially sad as we walk down main street and notice most of the businesses have closed down.
Marguerite welcomes us into her B&B, ready with newspapers to dry our boots and a jug of cream for our tea and coffee. Marguerite and her husband have owned the inn for 28 years, she knows a thing or two about good hospitality.
We eat at Jim’s Cafe, which would not be my first choice but options are spotty here in Glenties since so many places closed down after the pandemic. The fish and chips are good, service is friendly and everyone walking in is local.
The next day, we enjoy a leisurely breakfast with a young man from Berlin who is here to surf. He says Ireland is the best kept secret for surfing, especially here in Donegal. We chat with a woman from Connecticut who visits Ireland frequently to visit family. There’s also a German couple who do not seem inclined to socialize and I don’t think it has anything to do with a language barrier. Their loss.
It’s a rest day for us, so we spend it reading, writing, washing clothes and drinking lots of coffee. I stay in my pajamas all day and Eric orders pizza for pickup. Just what we needed after those bogs kicked our ass.
Section 3, Glenties to Ardara
The day begins with a light rain but it looks to be an easy walk today, so no worries. We came prepared for heavy rain and there are no hags in today’s route notes.
There’s a bit of road walking at the beginning but once we arrive at the river it becomes an absolutely stunning walk.
We cross many bridges and stiles.
Following a river surrounded by thick yellow gorse.
Over boggy terrain with a boardwalk to lead us through the soggiest portions.
Just before reaching town we stop at a hut, which serves as a resting place for anglers and hikers. There’s an interesting bench, carved from stone in the shape of a water bottle.
Leaving the river, we pass through farmland as the skies begin to darken, picking up our pace.
Auntie B's Retirement
When we reach Ardara the sky unleashes a full torrent. Luckily we have just stepped into the local SPAR which has coffee and a place to sit. We wait out the worst of the rain and then walk to Auntie B’s. Owner Barbara greets us, efficiently fitting in loads of information into our brief walk through the halls to our room. We learn that she is a survivor of breast cancer, fighting through it all by herself amidst COVID lockdowns, and now she’s retiring and selling her inn. As she states, “I don’t want to die making beds.”
The next morning, Eric gets his first truly full Irish breakfast, including mushrooms and potato cake. I’m content with my rashers and fried egg and toast. Today is a rest day and it’s raining, and Auntie B’s is the perfect place for a lounge day because she has a large living room with comfortable seating.
There are a few guests here, one woman from Scotland and two men from Germany. I listen to the shared stories of struggle these past few years. COVID was difficult here, with two total shutdowns that restricted residents to remain within a small distance. Many long-term businesses closed, never to reopen. Ireland’s policy for accepting Ukrainian refugees has also had a profound impact, as residential apartments and local inns realized they can make more money housing refugees. In small communities which never had much housing to begin with, this results in reducing options for tourists and raising rent prices for locals. Good intentions with complicated consequences — an age-old story.
The rain lessens so we walk into town, stopping for lunch at the Courthouse Restaurant where I savor the most delicious seafood chowder ever! The restaurant is housed in Ardara’s Heritage Center and there is much to learn about this cultural mecca which is famous for its tweed and artisan craft products. There are scenic walks along the river and an excellent distillery, so it’s a good choice for a rest day.
We’ve completed the Bluestack Way but there’s more to see in Donegal. Stick around, we’ll be posting about Walking the Sli Cholmcille soon!
Changing Our Mindset with a Clare Island HelpX
Eric and I have known for the past year that we would be returning to Ireland, to walk the Donegal Way with Tailor-Made Tours. It wasn’t until recently that we decided to make the trip a little longer. Having spent quite a bit for our trip to Japan and knowing we have another long trip ahead of us, we needed a way to stretch the budget. So we looked on HelpX, a website that matches people willing to work with hosts who offer food and lodging in exchange for a few hours of work each day.
Which is how we found Granuaile House (pronounced Grawn-you-wale) on Clare Island and how we discovered what may be our new favorite way to travel. While I realize most people would scoff at the idea of doing manual labor on vacation, I found it incredibly rewarding and kept a journal each day so that you can get an idea as to why Eric and I loved it so much.
The Long Travel Day
Our plane is delayed so we spend 7 hours at the Boston airport, followed by an overnight flight to Dublin, then a bus to the train station where we wait for 2 hours before the next train for Westport. At the train station, we people watch and I befriend some birds.
The train ride is quiet and relaxing, a much needed respite from all the work it took to get here. Small towns break up the monotony of rolling green fields. A pharmaceutical rep taps away at his computer across from me, every now and then looking up to smile and let us know that he’s still human. A young boy with thick Harry Potter-like glasses entertains his mom with stories that only a young imagination could create. I should be exhausted and grumpy at this point on our journey, but I am just so grateful to be back in Ireland. This is only our second time in the country, but it feels like home.
Exiting the tiny train station at Westport, we stop at a supermarket for food, knowing that once we reach our B&B we will be too tired to go back out and find dinner. Our hostess greets us with that understanding look of someone well versed in welcoming weary travelers, quickly chatting about what time we want breakfast the following morning and then leaving us to our hot cuppa and a much needed shower and nap.
Exploring Westport Ireland
Over breakfast we visit with the B&B owner who is shocked and curious as to why we would be heading to Clare Island. We tell her and I can see that she still doesn’t quite understand the appeal, but she seems intrigued by the HelpX concept.
Westport is a lovely town, nestled on the edge of Clew Bay, an inlet of the Atlantic Ocean on Ireland’s west coast. It’s a designated heritage town, one of only a few planned towns in Ireland. We enjoy walking the tree-lined promenade along the banks of the Carrowbeg River and doing a bit of shopping.
Meeting the McCabe Family
We are staying with the McCabe family for the next 10 days. The oldest son Rory picks us up in Westport and drives us to Roonagh, where we catch the ferry to Clare Island. It’s beautiful countryside with seaside villages on the way to the ferry, I can see why this is a popular destination in the summer. On the ferry, a group of young children are returning to the island after having a field trip on the mainland to watch a production of Beauty and the Beast. The local school kids put on a production every year.
When we arrive on Clare Island, the ruins of Grace O’Malley’s Castle are immediately to our left and Granuaile House is to our right. The inn is perched above a small beach surrounded by soft green hills. I see a tall hill slightly off to the left and back on the mainland we can see one of Ireland’s famous mountains, Croagh Patrick.
Our hosts, Mary and Bernard, greet us as we walk through the door. Mary, lets us choose the room that we want and then proceeds to offer me a hot water bottle “to keep me warm and toasty,” unknowing that I have just started my period and this is the best gift anyone could offer. She then proceeds to tell us that she has hot soup that Bernard has made and fresh bread. I’ve died and gone to heaven.
Granuaile House has been in Bernard’s family for over a century. The house itself dates back to 1901. Bernard never intended to take over the family business but when his brother passed away it was up to him to continue the family legacy. This is an age-old story, one which is being repeated with the eldest son Rory who has recently taken over running the inn for his parents.
Mary keeps us supplied with coffee and chocolates, left over from Easter festivities. She tells us her children call her “a feeder” and that she can’t help herself. It’s what she does, she feeds people. I’m reminded of Sylvia who we stayed with in Montenegro, they have much in common.
There is so much more to say about the McCabe family and Clare Island, but in the interest of brevity I’ll just recommend you read this article in The Irish Times.
Introduction to Clare Island
Clare Island (besides having a fantastic name) is famous for being the stronghold of and final resting place of Gráinne ni Mhaille. We know her as Grace O’Malley, the fierce female pirate queen of Ireland. For nearly 40 years, Gráinne harassed merchant ships along Ireland’s western coastline, exacting tolls and instilling fear and respect. She is buried at Clare Island Abbey and her presence is still felt on the island, 4 centuries later.
This beautiful place is calling to us, and even though we are travel weary, Eric and I head out for our first walk in the afternoon and we walk again after dinner. The afternoon walk is full of sunshine, bright green grass and newborn baby lambs. The evening walk is on fire with a bright orange sunset and a predictable Irish raincloud.
Getting to work
The honeymoon is over and we are put to work, but only after a full pot of coffee and plenty of food in our belly. God bless Mary, she has a plate full of fruit, yogurt, two choices of muesli and perfectly poached eggs on toast. No heavy Irish breakfast here! Our first task is the entry portico, scraping flaking paint and wiping down the walls and baseboards. Prep work so that Mary can give it a fresh coat of paint.
We then head into the living room to give it a good deep clean. This is the old part of the inn so the walls are stone, which means part of our task is using wire brushes to remove calcium deposits from the stone. This is followed with a softer brush and then a wipe down with a towel. It’s quite a process and I now appreciate all of the old inns we’ve visited that have these stone walls.
Of course we take several breaks in between, Mary makes sure of that, enticing us with coffee and a hearty lunch. We have Bernard’s vegetable soup with grilled cheese ham and pesto sandwiches, as well as a salad and coleslaw. I take a nap that afternoon while Eric rambles.
We meet up for dinner that evening with the family. Tonight we get to visit with Alice (Niall McCabe’s partner). Alice is originally from France and is now living here on the island in a geodesic dome while Niall is touring in Canada as a musician and visiting his children. Alice runs Clare Island Oven, a cafe across the street. Eric and I love hearing her talk about her experiences here on the island as a non-islander. Daughter Sarah pops in for a visit with baby Sadie. I’m mesmerized by this little girl’s eyes, she has the biggest bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. Sarah says she is cranky today because she had her shots, but she looks perfectly content to me.
At some point we talk religion, which is when we learn that they don’t have a regular priest on the island so Mary and others often lead services on Sunday. Blessed Communion arrives by ferry. Bernard and Mary tell the common story we hear throughout our travels, that young people are no longer going to church. She doesn’t seem shocked to hear that we’re in that category and she’s very open-minded as to why so many of us feel we have no place within the Church.
After our philosophical discussions, Mary scampers off so she can watch her soaps, the one guilty pleasure she seems to afford herself after a long day of feeding and serving her family. We go for an evening stroll.
Feeling useful
The next day we help Rory and Alice clean out the patio and garden area so that Mary and Bernard have a nice place to escape during the busy summer season. Rory apologizes for the weather, it is misting and the sun just doesn’t want to come out, but we love it! There is nothing better than feeling the salt spray on my face as I work. We’re moving around too much for me to get cold, and there’s always a hot cup of coffee waiting for me inside.
Other days we paint. The old buildings on Clare Island need a fresh coat of paint yearly, as wind and damp play havoc with exterior walls. We revarnish outdoor furniture and window trim. Mary and I begin to repaint her entryway, only to realize it’s not the original color she thought it was. She doesn’t seem to mind. The act of painting is soothing to her and we fall into a quiet rhythm of dip, brush, brush.
Mary shares her experience of walking the Camino a few years ago. She’s excited about walking it again, this time she will be doing the Portuguese Way. We swap tips about how to prevent blisters and I tell her about pee funnels and toe sock liners.
Feeling useful, knowing I’m doing something to bring joy to the kind people who have invited us into their home — this is what makes a HelpX so special. I don’t feel like a tourist. I feel like I’m visiting friends and we just popped in to help with a project. There’s a camaraderie in working together that you don’t get as a paid guest, the relationship is refreshingly different.
That afternoon, we walk to the lighthouse. We won’t actually get to visit the lighthouse since it is now privately owned, and it’s a long walk through a barren landscape, but I love it! We take another walk at night, shortly after visiting with some musicians who are playing at the local pub/community center. Our original intent was to visit the pub and listen, but it’s too crowded and the open night sky and empty streets are calling to us.
Time to relax
It’s Saturday. Mary and Bernard go to church in the morning and for lunch she cooks us boxty, traditional potato cake. Made from raw potato peels, she fries it in a skillet with some butter, then adds more butter and serves it with eggs and ham. Later that afternoon, I pop over to Alice’s cafe for a latte and lemon blueberry scone, which taste like her personality — warm and zesty.
Everyone is out today, the sun is shining and it’s the first chance the kids have had to swim this year. One of the McCabes has a SUP board and there are at least 6 children piled on top of it, gleefully squealing. I see two young girls exercising a horse in the ocean. There’s a lobsterman fixing his traps. This is the heart of the island, where sun and sea are all one needs for a day of simple pleasures.
Eric is cooking dinner today. Mary and Bernard went to the mainland on Thursday for Bernard’s medical appointment. They bought the ingredients Eric needs to make Moroccan lamb stew and lemon squares. He’s a wee nervous cooking in someone else’s kitchen but I know he enjoys it. Watching him with Mary in her kitchen makes my throat catch. Both recently lost their mothers to cancer and I don’t know if she realizes how much her mothering is helping Eric through his grief.
Walking up Knockmore "Hill"
At Mary’s request, Bernard drives us to a starting point to begin our walk today up Knockmore. He has been giving us a hard time about not walking from town, making it sound like we’re missing out on a right of passage, but I know better. We will walk 9 miles up and over Knockmore, which is a hill that feels a lot like a mountain, and I see no point in adding more miles to that simply for bragging rights.
It’s a glorious day, full of sunshine, cerulean skies and impressive views. We can see all of Clare Island and the surrounding islands of Achill, Inishturk, Inishbofin and others. Even the peak of Croagh Patrick is visible today.
We walk through several boggy areas and quickly learn how to spot the spongy yellow sections to avoid. My wet toes can attest to how quickly the wet moss seeps in through your boots if you stand still in one place too long.
At the top of the hill we meet up with Sean O’Grady and a woman whose name I can’t remember. There are no trails here so we ask them which way we should go down. They point in two directions, offering a vague “that way or that way.” Apparently we choose the more complicated route, heading downhill towards a signal tower. We are following tire treads through boggy pasture so it seems like a good plan, but we quickly find ourselves at an impasse. We can see the road we need to reach but there’s a steep drop and nowhere in sight looks passable. So we backtrack about half a mile where the hill levels out enough for us to descend.
We meet up with O’Grady again as we are walking the road back into town. He is now on a four-wheeler with his dog chilling out in the back. Thus commences a 30 minute conversation in which we learn about Sean O’Grady’s horses, famine fields and the entire history of Clare Island. This is one happy farmer, the pride gushes out of him as he speaks about his land and the work that doesn’t feel like work. He tells us of places he’s visited, including America, but it’s easy to discern that his happy place is here on the island.
We meet two more McCabe sons this evening. Ian pops in the kitchen for a quick introduction and then he’s gone again. Charlie joins us for dinner and we have a nice long chat with him. His fiendish looking dog Hades looks like a hell hound from mythology but she’s a total softie who plunges quickly for a belly rub. Sarah and her husband Mike join us for dinner as well, and of course baby Sadie, who Mary refuses to put down even though it means her dinner will get cold. We begin our meal seriously doubting Mary’s culinary choices, she has served chicken curry with chips and bananas, but she wins us over with this odd combination.
Our last day helping the McCabe family is a much slower day. Bernard spends the morning baking scones and bread, Mary is painting in the entryway, I re-varnish windows in the parlor and Eric continues to clear out the patio. We say goodbye to Charlie and Hades as they head to the mainland.
Rory gives us a quick tour of his house that he has been building for the past 7 years. What he has so far is beautiful, a black metal house in the style you would see in Iceland or Faroe Islands, with perfectly placed windows overlooking Clew Bay and Crough Patrick. He’s using reclaimed wood, doors and windows and trying to be as environmentally conscious in his building as possible, which is impressive considering how challenging it is to build on an island.
As he talks about his experience building the house, Rory says something that really strikes me. He says it’s not about the outcome, it’s the process itself that he enjoys, the skills that he learns while doing it. Rory is considered the philosopher of the family and this is just one of several glimpses we have during our short time in which he shows a profound sense of self and the type of discomfiting wisdom that seems to see right through you. His curiosity and ability to sift through complicated issues to identify truths make him one of the most fascinating people I’ve ever met. Like any good philosopher, Rory challenges us to question why we think and act the way we do. He is a wanderer at his core, just like Eric and I and so many other curious souls.
We take one last walk before leaving Clare Island. It’s a short loop from town to an abandoned pre-famine homestead. Ireland’s Great Famine occurred nearly 180 years ago but it is still very much present in modern memory. You can sense the loss when walking the deserted famine fields, once full of potatoes and now simply a geological formation of raised grass beds.
We depart Clare Island, riding in a small van with school kids going to the mainland. Our driver stops for cows to cross the road and he’s listening to the Co. Mayo radio station naming every person who has died and offering details of funeral arrangements. We were only on the island for 10 days but I can tell it has already changed me. With every trip, Eric and I expand our view of the world and of ourselves within this world. That knowledge alters us, so much so that when we return home we feel temporarily displaced. In a room full of family and familiar objects, I barely recognize myself.
We’re not headed home just yet, however. Follow along as we head north to the beautiful County Donegal.
Making Friends in Bar Montenegro
This is the conclusion of our story about Pushing Past Fear: A Journey through Albania and Montenegro, I hope you’ve enjoyed wandering the Balkans with us.
Our new friend Nikola
We have a new guide today who will be with us for the remainder of our time in Montenegro. Nikola is a tall good looking man in his 20s with an easy going personality. I’m secretly nicknaming him Baywatch because he made the mistake of telling us he’s a lifeguard and, well, he’s easy on the eyes. We climb into his tiny red Citreon and temper our expectations for today because it’s raining and windy. I tell Nikola that we’re here to just enjoy the ride. He smiles and responds that Rade (his boss) told him we were chill and this seems to ease any worries he may have had about trying to please these American tourists.
Smoked Meats & Crazy Roads
Our first destination is Kod Pera na Bukovicu, an 1881 family run inn and restaurant famous for its smoked meats and homemade beverages. There’s a large tour group of older French tourists and just after we arrive a small group of military men arrive, so it’s busy. Our host Djuro communicates easily with all of his guests in various languages and he is obviously very good at what he does. An assortment of his best smoked meats, along with cheese, bread and rakija keeps us satisfied while we wait for the crowds to depart so we can get a quick tour of his smokehouse.
We enter a small dark room attached to the inn. Large purple flowers are drying on the wall, Djuro says he makes tea with these. There’s a piece of dried meat hanging from the ceiling that is 2 yrs old and he says can be preserved for up to 5 years. The technique he describes hasn’t changed much over the centuries, basically starting with a good product then patiently giving it months to cure and lots of fresh mountain air which he has in abundance up here on the edge of a cliff looking down at Njegusi.
Njegusi is one of the loveliest old villages in Montenegro but unfortunately the weather is awful and there is no point in stopping to walk around. Nikola takes us along the Serpentine Road which connects Njegusi to Kotor, one of the most scenic and dangerous drives in Montenegro. Nikola has already warned us about the hairpin turns and shares the horror stories of what it’s like to drive this route in the summer. Locals avoid it during the summer months for this reason, but we should be ok since it is the off season.
And we would have been, had there not been a wreck at the base of the road. Our first clue that something is wrong is when we pass two large buses that are precariously parked on the edge of the road. Then we’re stuck in a long line of cars, informed by a man who is stopping at vehicles to tell us that there is a wreck ahead and we are waiting for some large vehicles to pass coming from the opposite direction. He is asking everyone to maneuver as close to the edge as possible so they can pass. We understand now why Nikola brought his small car because we are hugging the rock wall and it’s still a close call when the camper vans squeeze past.
Once past the serpentine, Nikola is able to relax more and he begins to share his thoughts on the coastal towns which we are now beginning to pass through. Kotor and Budva, with their beautifully preserved old towns and exclusive resorts. He doesn’t have to tell me what my eyes can see and I already know before visiting that these favored coastal towns would not be my choice for a homebase. Eric and I prefer less crowded towns with family-friendly neighborhoods.
Making ourselves at home in Bar
We drive past Sutomore where he and Rade grew up. Many Serbians escaping the Balkan conflicts of the 1990s settled here. We arrive in Bar, which will be our home for the next six days. Our apartment is tiny, the size of my college dorm room. I’m not one to complain but I do know it’s not going to be comfortable for this many days so I reach out to Travel Twitch and before I know it we’ve been upgraded to a larger room with a kitchenette and enough space to unpack, relax and unwind.
We’re surrounded by small apartment buildings and residential homes with gardens bursting with fruit. I see pomegranates, kiwi, figs and grapes all from our window. There is construction all around but it seems to be well designed and will be nice once done. All modern architecture, so while Bar may not be the epicenter for Instagrammers, it is certainly a good place to live.
We spend our first day walking the promenade of Bar, watching locals and tourists swimming in the sea and somehow sunbathing on the hard rocky beach. This is definitely a beach where you want good water shoes, because it is nearly impossible to walk on, but there are plenty of cafes with comfy seating and beach chairs for rent. There are shady trees throughout the promenade and a woodland park equipped with outdoor gym equipment.
Nikola joins us for an evening walk around town and adds his personal notes and local perspective. We learn about King Nikola as we pass his summer palace and Baywatch Nikola takes us past the boat docks for the best sunset view. I happily snap photos of old boats and we all agree that we like this boat yard because it’s a mix of small simple watercraft along with large fancy yachts and everything in between. A place for everyone.
The promenade comes alive at night, families with small children are enjoying the delights of roasted corn and carnival games. Children zip past us on electric scooters and toy cars. I even see a toy Bentley, these kids are high rollers! It’s 9:00 on a school night and children are outside on the playground while their parents visit. Just like Albania, these evening walks are my favorite tradition in the Balkans!
Perast & Our Lady of the Rocks
Nikola picks us up for what should be a short scenic drive to Kotor and Perast but ends up being much longer because traffic is insane. We pass through Kotor which is already full of people. In hindsight we should have started there first. But we’re on a mission to see Our Lady of the Rocks in Perast, a man-made island with a beautiful Catholic Church. Just a few feet away on the bay lies the naturally occurring Sveti Đorđe Island (St George), home to a 12th century Benedictine monastery.
Perast is lovely, a little touristy in terms of the shops along the water, but it’s a beautiful boardwalk with gorgeous views of Kotor Bay. It’s easy to find a boat here, there are water taxis and smaller boats for leisure tours around the bay. Nikola has instructions to “look for a woman” which I find hilarious but it’s accurate because sure enough there is one woman taking tickets for a water taxi and hers look like the best options for reaching the island. It’s a quick ride and we don’t spend much time on the island, just enough to wander around and inside the church, to marvel at the intricate artwork. I especially like the silver votive tablets, an art form I’ve never seen before.
It seems people have finally realized the benefits of traveling off season. Parking is a nightmare and it’s Wednesday in late September. Nikola says he’s never seen it like this at this time of year. In Perast we try one parking spot but then realize it’s not the one we want, and I’m glad because I don’t want to give them my money. They charge 2 euro for women to use the toilet while men only pay 1 euro. Sexist thugs. So instead we all use the gender equitable toilets on the island, which doesn’t have running water, so a bathroom attendant pours bottled water over our hands.
Walking Old Town Kotor
As a UNESCO site, Eric and I are not surprised to see so many people in Old Town Kotor, but I guess Montenegrins are still adjusting to the new normal of so many non-summer tourists. We wait in line for 20 minutes for a parking spot to open. It’s not too many people, however, and we’re able to leisurely wander the narrow alleyways and take photos without crowds. We pay the 8 euros to climb the old 9th century fortress walls, grateful that they have steps because the original path consists of smooth rocks so polished to be dangerously slippery.
Nikola points out to us how well designed this fortress is and why it was so hard for the Italians and other forces to conquer Kotor. Walking up these paths with their strong walls full of gun holes and mini fortresses which would have held soldiers, it’s easy to see why the fortress held.
Our original plan is just to walk up to the church, but we continue on and almost reach the top fortress. Heat exhaustion and dehydration prevent me from reaching the top, however. We’ve walked 1300 steps, high enough to have amazing views and I can see the fortress just above me.
We return to Old Town and part ways with Nikola so that Eric and I can wander around to take photos. We visit with a woman in front of St. Tryphon’s Cathedral where she’s demonstrating the art of Dobrota lace, a form of lacework made from the dull point of a simple sewing needle. It can take up to 5-6 hours to craft 1-6 cm.
I get suckered into a conversation with a friendly Turkish rug merchant who is originally from Cypress. He shows us his beautiful rugs and they truly are exquisite. Of course I know we’re not going to purchase one and I’m sure this seasoned merchant knows that, but we still go through the age-old dance of negotiations. We end our exploration of Old Town with a much-needed cafe stop.
The illness that won’t go away
It’s day 4 in Bar and I am feeling defeated this morning. I got dressed and was full of energy, ready to hike up Mt. Vrsuta. I gave myself 3 hours to get ready so that my stomach would have time to calm down, but the violent cramping and chills begin about 30 minutes before we’re scheduled to meet Nikola. Eric is hiking without me.
The consolation is that at least Eric will get to experience it and take photos for me, but this sucks.
I comfort myself with the knowledge that I’m listening to a teacher play a beautiful little tune on a recorder that sounds like something you’d hear in The Hobbit. There’s a school next door to our apartment, the building is painted yellow and blue which should have been our clue that this is a new temporary school for Ukrainian refugees. It’s a joy to see the interactions between the adults and children throughout the day, to see some normalcy, a reminder that the human spirit is capable of overcoming trauma. It also shuts down my pity party, knowing some digestive discomfort doesn’t compare to the pain these families have experienced.
Cafe stop at Old Town Bar
Meanwhile, Eric and Nikola explore Old Town Bar and stop for the best Turkish coffee he’s had on the trip. There’s also fresh pomegranate juice and Eric wistfully thinks how much I would enjoy this. Cafes and businesses in Old Town Bar heavily reflect the Ottoman influence. Vendors are selling olive oil, fresh olives and pomegranate juice on the streets. Not far from here, Bar boasts the oldest olive tree in Europe — it’s over 2,000 years old!
Leaving Old Town Bar, Nikola takes Eric to a hidden waterfall and natural spring. Eric describes the road as “harrowing” with a steep incline and sharp drop-off, which is why they walk the remainder of the road instead of driving it. Nikola describes this little walk as “just a bit uphill, to see the waterfall.” His “just around the corner” is repeated at least four times as they discover new construction has relocated his special shortcut. To Nikola’s credit, it is a lovely hidden gem, well worth the walk.
Leaving the waterfall, they head to the real hike for the day – up Mt. Vrsuta. Google Maps, which Nikola calls “the liar,” gives them some navigation trouble but they eventually find the trailhead. Eric describes this day as “his Montenegro pilgrimage.” He began the day already exhausted from our long journey, so the hike up a steep mountain with loose rock in full sun with bees and hornets the size of hummingbirds is certainly an endurance test for him. They climb 3,450 ft to reach the top, which offers a 360 degree view of the Montenegrin coast and mountains.
Walking Old Town Budva
No hiking the next day, just sightseeing. We’re heading to Budva, where we wander through cobblestone streets within the walls of Old Town, which is over 2,500 years old.
There are artisans next to the church, a painter, a woman making bracelets and a man playing a clavicimbalum (a Renaissance precursor to the piano).
We meander our way back to a cafe on the beach, where we nearly fall asleep over our drinks. Nikola is recovering from a slight hangover from the previous night celebrations when he proposed to his girlfriend.
Nikola stops on the return to Bar to show us the tiny church of St. Sava atop a hill overlooking Sveti Stefan, a private island resort. The homes up here are noticeably bigger and more luxurious, and he tells us this is a community of Russians.
Later that evening Eric and I walk the promenade and watch the sunset. A pair of teenage girls with their rollerblades have stopped beside us to watch this daily marvel and all along the path we can see people of all ages doing the same. Some intrepid people are walking into the ocean for an evening swim despite how choppy the waves look.
I’m delighted when we stumble upon a community choir singing a mix of traditional tunes and what sounds like classical sacred hymns. All this as small children zoom past on their motorized scooters and toy cars.
We spend our last day in Montenegro with Nikola and his new fiancé Ana, who also works for Travel Twitch. Nikola loves sharing everything about his home and culture. My favorite tradition is what he describes as slava. He tells us that each family has a patron saint and they gather each year to celebrate the feast day of that saint. He and Ana’s families share the same patron, St. Petka, protector of women and children. A perfect saint for this couple, especially Nikola who reminds me of my nephew Noah. A fun-loving, gentle soul with a perpetually optimistic spirit who places a high value on family.
We’ve been hearing music throughout our trip but Nikola is the first to introduce us to modern Serbian music. Using Ana’s extensive playlist, we listen to Sanja Vucic, the girl pop band Hurricane, and rap by Grse as they drive us to Skadar Lake. We park, walk under a bridge and walk past a dozen stands that look to be a farmers market but on close inspection I realize they’re all boat tours. Sure enough, there are boats everywhere along the canal, in every shape and size. “How on earth do you choose which boat to take,” I ask Nikola and he smiles with smug delight. We walk to the end where someone is waiting for us and next thing I know I’m shaking hands with Stevo Djurovic.
Mr. Djurovic owns most of the boats here and he’ll be piloting us personally in his beautiful wooden craft with a thatched reed roof. He speaks no English (as far as I know) but is completely at ease letting Nikola translate. He’s been doing this for 36 years and when he’s not giving tours he is part of a team that counts the birds every January. The boat tour is slow and relaxing, especially since we’ve been imbibing Stevo’s homemade wine and rakija, along with priganice and honey.
We ask about the pelicans and he says there used to be only 4 pelicans left but now there are around 300. Water level fluctuations caused pelican eggs to flood so they built floating islands and this is what saved them from extinction within the park. Fishermen hate the pelicans, however, as they compete for the same food and apparently pelicans are bullies to other birds. Several endangered species live or migrate here, like the black cormorant we see shaking its wings in a bizarre manner. Stevo says this is because it has no endocrine system and can’t regulate its own temperature.
After the boat ride, we return to Bar and Ana drives us above the town for coffee at Ranc Mujica, a beautiful little inn and cafe perched high atop the hills overlooking Bar. Sadly it’s closed but we can see why the drive up here would be worth it. The view is excellent and there are cozy swings, a friendly pony and some rabbits. We drive back to Bar seeking a sea-side cafe, but Eric isn’t feeling well so we part ways. It’s hard to say goodbye to Nikola, he feels like a younger brother and he treats us like family. It’s humbling how open-hearted everyone has been throughout this journey, but Nikola especially has the gift. He is completely open with his emotions and is refreshingly candid. He and Ana make a beautifully balanced couple and we feel privileged to have witnessed this momentous time in their lives.
Eric wakes up with a sore throat the morning we return to Albania. Thankfully it is a quiet ride, our driver Marko doesn’t speak English. His girlfriend Ivanka does but she’s not into making conversation. It’s a pretty countryside route, with farms and orchards of pomegranate trees overflowing with fruit. People are selling fresh produce along the road.
All is well until we reach the border. Something isn’t right because the guards aren’t handing back our passports and Marko is arguing (respectfully) with them. Apparently Marko is supposed to have a “piece of paper” that costs 20 euros. Border control tells him he can get the paper at a restaurant just a few feet away. We park at the restaurant and sit while Marko and his 8-month pregnant girlfriend wander around from building to building trying to find where they can purchase this elusive document.
Next thing we know Marko hops in the car, no Ivanka in sight, speeds past the cars in line at border control and runs out of the car to retrieve our passports. We never see a paper in his hand so we still have no idea what happened, other than Ivanka’s direct quote “Albanians always want their money.” Passports safely returned, we pick up Ivanka who has been waiting at the border insurance office. Eric is not looking well and he falls asleep. I zen out, gazing at the mountains but not really seeing them. Focusing one step at a time. Get to hotel. Hope for the best. Everything else is beyond my control.
The morning we’re supposed to fly to Milan for a week on the Italian lakes, it’s obvious that Eric is not well enough to fly. I’ve already canceled the flight and Italy accommodations when I go down to reception to ask for 2 more nights, thinking that buys us time for him to recover and for us to change our flights. When the receptionist tells me they’re fully booked I almost start crying. She must sense it because she looks panicked. I tell her about Eric and plead for any room, just please don’t make me move him to another hotel. She tells me she will do what she can and let me know if a room becomes available. And that’s it, once again there is nothing I can do but hope for the best.
I text Eric, giving him as much warning as I can that he may want to get up and take a shower and be ready to move to a different hotel. I then go to breakfast, find my zen once again while sipping coffee, finding joy in my first American style drip coffee I have had since leaving home and it is a much appreciated comfort at this point. I sneak some breakfast food up to Eric and we look up hotels nearby and begin looking at flights. We have to get to Frankfurt, that’s where our long haul flight back to Houston departs. We decide it’s best if we can get to Frankfurt as soon as possible so we’ll book a flight from Tirana tomorrow. Two hours later, I make my way back to reception and ask if we can have just one night. Some discussion and clicking ensues and they find a room. They have one that hasn’t been used in awhile due to some minor repair issues but at least Eric won’t have to move far. I am grateful beyond measure! The rest of the day is spent changing flights and booking a hotel near the Frankfurt airport.
We spend a night at the Hilton connected to Frankfurt Airport, a splurge for us but well worth our mental and physical health at this point. Eric is still sick but at least he now has enough energy to get out of bed. I unfortunately wake up with a sore throat the morning of our flight home. At the Lufthansa gate, our flight is delayed by an hour because they’ve overbooked and no one wants to volunteer to give up their seats. We hit bad turbulence again on the flight and when we arrive in Houston the line for customs is the longest we’ve ever seen at this airport.
By the time we reach our car, I can barely hold up my head which is now stuffed with congestion and an inflamed throat. Eric doesn’t look much better. It’s another hour drive to his parents’ house, where we crash for the night before making our way home to Louisiana the following day. On top of what I’m fairly certain is COVID, the stomach issues that have plagued me since drinking that milk two weeks prior have not gone away. I spend two days on a liquid diet, followed by an aggressive cleansing regimen prescribed by my doctor that purges my body of everything! It takes a full week at home for Eric and I to recover.
As I look back on this journey from the comfort of my home, it’s obvious to me that my subconscious knew this trip would be challenging. Had I succumbed to that fear, we would have missed a month’s worth of memories, new friends and experiences (both good and bad). The discomforts of being physically ill throughout the trip and pushing us outside our comfort zones allowed Eric and I to grow in wisdom, confidence and self-awareness. That is the very definition of transformational travel.
Does this mean I’m ready to jump back on a plane right away? Hell no! I need at least a month with my familiar foods, a car and the warm embrace of family.
Before I close the chapter on our journey through Albania and Montenegro, I must convey how incredibly grateful I am for the beautifully-crafted itinerary and support that Rade Bogavac and his team at Travel Twitch DMC provided. It’s unfortunate that illness prevented us from participating in everything they planned for us, but if I ever get sick again while traveling I hope we are as well cared for as we were by the Travel Twitch family. Without them, we would have never experienced the true heart and soul of the Balkans.