After we left Downpatrick Head last night we stopped in Ballina for dinner. This was about a 20 mile drive, into a downtown area, busily bustling and parallel parking. Everything felt a bit worn and damp, like a proper noir film, even though it hadn’t rained today. We walked into Daniel’s Kitchen and Bar, the man working the door took one look at us and told us to leave. I think he actually sniffed when he did it. And what he smelled was America and sea salt. It’s a compelling business model for a new restaurant, one just now barely showing up on the local maps.
We walked down to the corner, to The Junction, which was an American-themed restaurant, but in all of the wrong ways. None of it made sense together. It was a delightful, timeless hodgepodge, an offense to the cultural offenses. The staff were great, though, even as they are in mourning. One of their longtime members just died a few days ago. We had burgers and a chill. The wind had gotten to us late in the day, and it wasn’t the worst kind of cold you’ve ever experienced, but certainly the kind that was hard to shake. We had two pots of tea and then got back on the road to Sligo. It was a check-in, check-out scenario, and today we pointed toward Letterkenny.
The route looked like this.
We got into Strandhill Lodge after a long, lonely drive. There’s less than 2,000 people living in this little community. Almost 40 percent of those people showed up in just the last few years. It all exists because of the sea. A man put in a road in the late 19th century and built a bathhouse and sold lots. If it feels like a seaside retirement place maybe it is a seaside retirement place.
We left there — barely glancing over the retention wall that separated the parking lot next to the beach and the salty water — and set out for Letterkenny. There was a lot to see today. I’ll break it up into several posts again, but before that, here’s a place to start.
We enjoyed some tremendous views, a bit of history, got laughed at by a farmer, and we saved the day. Lets get to it.
