U.K. Trip, Day 22

Carrowmore megalithic cemetery with Knocknarea in the background, Co. Sligo

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Our last full free day in R.O.I. After a late breakfast--tea and toast for us both; we've wearied of fries, despite their almost magical ability to sustain us on our feet for a whole day--we set out southward, toward Sligo Town. The further south we went, the lusher the land grew. The great headlands around Glencar and Benbulbin rose on the horizon, forbidding steeps, cliffs scarred by erosion channels, dropping sheer over grey escarpments to fields below. The fields, though, were green and verdant, unlike the highland country we'd seen yesterday.

Our first stop was Knocknarea, said to be Queen Maeve's tomb. We drove through Sligo Town and out, around the headland on which Knocknarea sits, skirting its western edge, and then winding back up past houses, down a narrow lane, to the car park. From there we hiked up a very gravelly path and then scrambled to the summit, weaving our way across erosion ditches, beside a pasture where cows gazed curiously at us. 

Up and up, up and up. The slope is long and steep. The view below expanded to reveal pastures, woods, and the ring of mountains/hills all around the east: from Benbulbin above Sligo Town around to the Ox Mountains, ridge after ridge, like the vertebrae of a dragon. All green below. To the south, clouds flowed up a broad, flat valley, covering the far hills with fog. To the north, more clouds marched inland above Sligo's broad bay, like the cavalry of an army.

When we reached the top, we found the enormous cairn. It stands with its satellites nearby, feet buried in heather. An eerie, eerie place. To one side, the dark clouds approaching from the sea; to the other side, the pastures, woods, and towns abruptly fenced by the mountains, and in the middle of it all, the great cairn, silent, undisturbed, holding its secret. Down the slope seaward, a black sheep wandered through the heather alone. We wandered there ourselves, and heard church bells tolling from far below, as though from another world.

After awhile we scrambled down and drove up the lane to Carrowmore. Here our good fortune began (or continued), since first Wednesdays of each month are free. So we were given a laminated self-tour map in the visitors' centre and set loose to view the cemetery ourselves. They all stand out in a deep pasture, a lovely lush hillside of purple-plumed grass, yellow buttercups, daisies, and red-and-purple clover. When the breeze blew, we seemed to stand in a mauve feathered sea, starred with yellow and white. In this the rings and dolmens and lone cairn were nested like jewels in velvet. The whole scene was weirdly overshadowed by Knocknarea's distant cairn. That cairn in its enormity dominates the landscape for miles; nearly everywhere we went today, we could see it, black against the sky. We made the circuit of the cemetery, stopping to inspect each grave. The massive, jagged stones are mostly undisturbed and make strange, rather ugly objects in the landscape.

After lunch, we braved Sligo Town. We stopped at the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, a gorgeous space, painted blue and cream inside, with vivid but simple stained glass. Many arches. Silent but not dark. From there (the church bells sounding the half-hours followed us), we walked down to Sligo Abbey/Friary. On the way, we arrived at a not-very-favourable impression of the town, which seems to be ill-kept and not well inhabited. 

The friary rose suddenly out of the mess of shops, terraces, and narrow streets. We poked around it for awhile with another laminated self-tour map. A beautiful ruin. So much of the nave and tower still stand, from the tomb slabs in the walls to the quatrefoils in the windows. Some of the tombs were beautifully carved, especially the one of the Elizabethan couple above the stone altar. The altar itself is noteworthy, with its filigree of roses, grapes, and pointed arches, as it is one of the only stone high altars extant in Ireland. Stooping, we left the nave for the partly buried chapter house, where the 13th century stone weighed above us. Down the cloister, where bits of detail remain--a carved ram's head, columns carved with spirals or checkerboard patterns. Up a staircase to a pulpit overlooking the cloister, and to the dormitories. 

Standing there in the ruins, I saw a pair of wild swans flying east, white against the aquamarine sky and dramatic cumulus clouds, against the grey tower. Afternoon lay golden and quiet on the stones. Tombstones everywhere, flat in the ground, leaning against the walls, or fragmented. Partially-burying one's local friaries and then using them as cemeteries seems to be much in vogue here.

Once we'd made our way back to the car, we drove to Parke's Castle on Lough Gill. A winding road through thick forests. We emerged suddenly round a corner to see the long silver expanse of loch, with the castle showing a modest white shoulder on its green promontory. Again, a laminate map, and again we wandered alone through the old stone buildings. These, though, have been recently restored. The foundations of the original tower house still sit in the courtyard (to Scott's chagrin, since he wants to live in one), but the stone from that house was used in the 16th century to build the now-renovated manor house that encircles the old courtyard. None of the eerie loneliness of the cairns or the peaceful pathos of the friary; here, the proximity to everyday life via restoration made it all seem much more normal, even cozy. Sunshine through deep embrasures. Crenellations outside. The re-thatched forge. Swallows darting under the eaves. 

We followed the R286 up through the glens, back to the N15. The evening was gorgeous. Light lay like fine onionskin paper over the glens, light through which we saw lush trees, grey waters, and barren cliffs to the north and south. We drove through a valley where flat-topped cliffs cascaded down over grey and green slopes, all sharply cut in the evening light. Blue shadows veined them. The flat, reed-rimmed loch in the valley contrasted with the high cliffs. And before us, very far away, the sea. The quiet loveliness of it all.

We drove back to Donegal after two stops, one by the loch in Glencar to admire the lake and cliffs, and one at a shop on the N15 for groceries. Ahead of us on the highway rose enormous cumulus clouds, like the crowns of a magnificent forest, dark below, brilliant above against the vivid green hills and aquamarine sky. The scene changed as the road wound as though we were inside the facets of a flashing Faberge jewel.

At our B&B, we ate one of the best meals we've had all trip: floury buns, creamy French cheese, salami, and Australian shiraz, with salt-and-vinegar crisps and an apple for good measure. Something so comforting about that plain, straightforward food that we'd found ourselves. We listened to music for awhile and chatted and planned our route for tomorrow.