We left the hotel at 6:30:02, and until 6:30:01 were terrified that we’d be leaving without coffee or breakfast rolls. But they appeared at the last second in the arms of a sleepy cook and we mugged him, hugged him, and rolled the wheels.

The ferry being not crowded (that whole 7:30 am thing) we took up the entire prow with great seats, and Mr. Fox and Ratsputin made their first appearances—taking aback the dozen or so other people with whom we shared the ferry. Eight Americans plastered across the front windows of the Irish ferry, sure. A fox and a rat spread-eagled in rapt wonder, not so much. Lulu, the ehm mother? Owner? Handler? Of said puppets had a good time recording them shouting Land Ho and other things. And this guaranteed the seats around us remained empty.

We had a leisurely drive across Northern Ireland, hunting small towns to tank and untank. Trying to give the team a morning in a small town, we kept missing roads, or finding the place had no public toilets, etc. No one cared, because we were on the coastal road soaking in gorgeous scenery.

Where we did stop turned out to be charming, even though the lure was a sign advertising “free toilets.” A SPAR shop (think 7-11) a beach, some lovely landscaping, even one sweet little thrift store – the place had everything, including an interesting story about its history. Allegedly St. Colomba established a monastery there and left a guy in charge who kinda couldn’t hold it together. The men reverted to pagan beliefs, and when Colomba came back, the man he’d left in charge was so embarrassed he cut off his own arm and buried it under the defunct monastery.

Uhhh…. Okay….. but it was a pretty town and the harbor was full of flowers. You can see them here (https://ourstoryinthemaking.com/stories/the-one-belonging-to-the-fisherman)  after reading about our adventures. Isn’t it funny how the little unplanned stops like Carnlough often turn into your happiest memories? The sea was sparkling, the sun shining, everyone was happy, Harry was on the mend…. Life was good.

The Giant’s Causeway was (spoiler alert) voted one of the tour’s two favorite places later. I could tell you many things about this place, but in all honesty they’ve been promoting themselves for 250 years, so you can see all the photos and hear all the great stories about this place here after you finish reading about our adventures.

Just one more bit about the Causeway: the first time I went there, as a backpacking student, it hadn’t been turned into a UNESCO heritage site and there was no paved path, entry time, or bus down and up. Just a quiet place for reflection and enjoyment. It’s still beautiful, but it’s also a big international attraction, so some of the fun now comes from people watching. Mix thirty or so languages across 5,000 people all trying to have a spiritual experience with nature, and you’re going to see some fascinating behavior.

The day was incredibly windy, and for some reason female tourists from Asian countries are addicted to those little bucket hats. So a couple dozen hats were blowing around at any given time, and people were rescuing them and waving them in the air for the owners to claim. A lot of bowing and smiling as hats changed hands—some of them to blow off again almost immediately.

From the Causeway we went down to one of my favorite places, Liz Weir’s home. We’ve been friends for decades and it’s always fun to have a ceilidh at her place. Andrea declined to exercise her church music skills, but Maria showed off her guitar lesson progress and of course Lulu (from Zahnke, party of 3) had some fun with a stirring rendition of The Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly. Ratsputin more or less behaved himself.

Jack and I joined the musicians Liz always has in for such nights, Kieran and his wife Jo, in a harmonized full-throated rendition of Good Night, Good Night, Good Night. (You can see some versions of it here after you finish reading about our adventures.)

We talked about the effect of Brexit on Liz getting in barn minders (her home is also a camping barn and ceilidh spot, and she uses interns from across Europe to run things in return for storytelling lessons and room/board.) Short version: Brexit had caused a lot of trouble for everyone looking for workers.

Supper was salmon and Irish soda bread, which everyone loved. Liz is a good cook in addition to her international renown as a storyteller. She told three or four stories over the course of the evening, but my favorite was a personal tale.

Liz loves funny memes and we’d been sharing one about Derry Girls, a program we both found hysterical. Liam Neeson–who comes from Ballymena, a town near Liz–was a guest on the show once, in a side-splitting scene that was so very Irish and yet universally funny. Neeson is the younger brother of a school friend of Liz’s. Since Brexit, Liz had had only British barn minders, which makes what happened one night even funnier.

Liz had a barn minder (call her “Sue”) whose day job was teaching stage fighting to actors, and playing doubles in movie stunts. Liz took Sue along to a pub in Ballymena, to meet up with her school chum. Of course the assembly asked Sue what she did, and when she explained asked what her most famous project had been.

Rob Roy, replied Sue. “It’s got that guy in it, he’s Irish. Really famous. Can’t think of his name.”

The assembly fell silent. Liz sneaked a sideways look at her friend, Liam’s older sister, and tried not to grin. No one bailed Sue out, and Liz never told her what she’d done—blanked on the famous guy’s name in front of his older sister.

And there was finally darkness about midnight, and there was sleep because everyone was worn out from the day at the seaside and the night of song and story, and that was the third day.