We left the Black Bull Inn as the misty sky was changing from the dark grey of night to the light grey of morning. I threw my windbreaker over my backpack to keep the misty drizzle from soaking everything I had before the sun had a chance to come out.
Strolling out of the flower filled town my feet were feeling better than they had at the end of the previous day. Two pairs of socks to keep my feet warm had been a bit too tight. I could feel it near the end of the day, but thought it was no problem until I did some wash that evening. The blood in my right sock was evidence of the damage done. In the morning I used a little antibiotic ointment and wrapped the toe in toilet paper to prevent additional damage. Lesson learned.
After walking a mile or two on the frontage road for their freeway, M22, the rain had stopped and I was able to drop my dampened hood to hear and see both my travel partner and the country we had come to see.
With almost no traffic, and the pink and blue highlights peeking through the thinning clouds, it had become a painting in my eyes. The idyllic setting was a quintessential North Ireland farm morning. At least for me. Kit didn’t seem to mind too much either, when I mentioned how I was enjoying our walk.
Approaching the city of Toome there was a pedestrian overpass at the freeway. As we crossed over, there was a man and his dog sitting at the far end. We chatted about our adventure, and he acknowledged knowing about our ship and the situation. After discussing the multiple dialects and accents in the area, Adrienne and Milo continued their walk with us into town.
By this point a coffee break sounded in order, so we spotted a convenience store across the street from a small park and went into the shop. Paying for our two cups of coffee to go was the first time someone hadn’t heard about Villa Vie Odyssey being in Belfast. Maybe we had walked far enough to become inconspicuous. The young man took our money and we crossed to the little park with the lavender bush surrounded by a circular bench.
Kit was on her phone checking something when a grey haired couple stopped along the park fence and looked in at us briefly. The gentleman leaned his hiking poles out to either side and asked if we were enjoying our walk to Derry. I guess we hadn’t walked far enough to be inconspicuous.
We invited them to come and chat. John was a local and Mary Ann was from the upper peninsula of Michigan. He said he reads the newspaper and recognized us from the photo in the Telegraph. He went on to say that a few years back, when he turned seventy-five, he had walked the length of Ireland. He admitted a slower pace, but he still had my respect. And he understood what we were doing, and what we were experiencing.
Conversation turned to where we were going. Our next stop would be in about eight more miles. Magherafel. At this point our lodging was discussed. After a bit of arm twisting they admitted they knew some folks that had a lovely Bed and Breakfast dedicated to a local poet, Seamus Heaney. Not sure if they were still running the place, they suggested we find out and stay there, if we could.
The Laurel Villa does not show up on most booking apps, but persistency paid off and I found their website. https://laurel-villa.com/services/guest-rooms/
The booking procedure required a bit of information and they would contact you with details. The data submitted, we continued out of Toome and on towards Magherfelt, crossing the River Bann.
The road out of town became busier than we like. And there was almost no shoulder, requiring us to step up onto the berm. The step was anywhere from 6”-24” onto irregular grass or mud surfaces. As soon as we had the opportunity we elected to take a side road, which added miles, but was the peaceful walk that we both enjoyed.
One surprise was on more than one occasion having a biking club pass by in formation on their Sunday route.
The roads we were on had hedgerows of blackberries that went on forever. If I wasn’t worried about getting diarrhea from something, I could have eaten them for miles. The roads got to be so deserted that there was moss growing in the center of the lane. With tired feet and sore muscles we just laid in the grass on the side of the road and recharged for a while.
Eventually we were forced back onto the main road again and did the traffic dance for the last few miles to our destination. As we crested a rise I saw an old church on a hill. The hillside almost sparkled with the hundreds of black marble headstones placed shoulder to shoulder for eternity. It was beautiful, somber, and thought provoking at the same time.
I checked my email while we were still a few miles from town, but no response was there yet from the Bed and Breakfast. There was a regular hotel in town, but John and Mary Ann’s eyes lit up when they talked about this place. We were going to at least try to get there.
I don’t know if it was really that stunning, but when the full sun shown on the houses and fields they almost seemed to glow.
Church street was where both the hotel and bed and breakfast were located in Magherfelt. We turned right on Church street and passed the flat black fascade of the hotel and continued to the Laurel Villa. Risking our lives to cross the busy street with tired legs Kit arrived at the red front door first.
We were met by the smile and Irish blue eyes of Gerardine, the owner. She acknowledged receiving the request and said they had two rooms for us. On further discussion we found to be aware of our situation for both the ship and our walk across Northern Ireland. When we mentioned John and Mary Ann to her, those eyes lit up with familiarity of long time memories about the couple who we only met earlier that day. Her husband, Eugene, came out shortly thereafter and said how he also had seen us in the newspaper that morning. This just helped confirm my belief that those wisened with time are more likely to read their local news and be aware what is going on in their hometown.
I must admit that I feel some of what is special about this place is lost on me. It is dedicated to serious authors of poetry. Many of the artifacts are unique and would drive a real poetry geek to tears. In spite of my ignorance of the art we were both treated like family. The kind of family that likes each other.
Gerardine recommended a wonderful restaurant across the street and we risked crossing the road again to get there. After eating pretty low on the hog since taking to the road this evening was a bit different. I will let the pictures speak. And yes, I had the beef and cheesecake.
When we returned to our lodgings we were invited to the back room where Gerardine’s sister, brother-in-law, and mother were sitting around a large table with some crackers, chocolate, and cheese. Gerardine came out of the kitchen and offered wine for us and to refill other glasses on the table already.
Her mother is 93 and a little hard of hearing. She had no trouble understanding me. Her brother-in-law was a very experienced mechanic. And he had no trouble understanding about my 1968 Mustang, although everyone else at the table had no clue. Kit asked about rec for where to stay the next night. After deciding everything was too far to walk in one day and that we weren’t going to cheat with a car ride down the road our mechanic had a brilliant idea. We could walk to the mountain pass to the west and they would come and pick us up. Come back for a second night here and then drop us off the following day to start walking again. No cheating and we could keep on our merry way.
While Eugene was going over the route and logging options I chatted with their son in the kitchen. He was an electrician and the different companies coming to Ireland gave him plenty of good opportunities. He mentioned having no hearing in one ear. As an audiologist I had worked with a number of patients with the same condition. Since my days at Purdue I had done an unconventional treatment called Transcranial CROS. Most haven’t heard of it, and it isn’t always successful. But for many of the patients I had fit they swore their hearing was restored and they could now tell where sound was coming from. I shared a link to more information about it from my phone and after that it was up to him.
So…
John and Mary Ann saw us in the paper. Their old friends had a Bed and Breakfast (called Laurel Villa and we were from Villa Vie). Their son has a deaf ear. I am an audiologist with experience in just that condition. Was this all serendipity? God? Luck of the Irish? You decide. Or not. I’m just enjoying every day.
The only thing wrong, if one could say it was, we had such a lovely time dining and chatting that my blog had to wait a day. I hope those reading this don’t mind, but a good time trumps a blog deadline any time.
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