Day 4: Malin Head to Carndonagh (13.6 miles)

My first thought when I woke up this morning was, "What is that noise?" Turns out it was the wind, and it was making a racket.  There was howling and whistling and debris rolling around outside.  I was a little nervous but how bad could it be?

I had a very large breakfast that I couldn't finish (I really wish I had now - more on that later) and got myself ready to go.  I knew that the forecast was for rain and winds a little later on so I debated with myself whether I should wear the warm layer coat or my waterproofs. It was jolly cold so I plumped for the down jacket.  I figured when the rain started I could swap it out pretty quickly. I got myself sorted and paid my bill.  On the way out you had to go through a very small bar.  There was a very old man who looked like he'd spent his life at sea - wild white hair and matching beard, holey woolen jumper and a large bulbous nose perfectly positioned on a ruddy complexion - sitting at the bar having a pint of Guinness. His name was Bill. It was 9:15 am.

"See now, Bill, Do youze fancy a walk with this woman? She's gonna walk to Carndonagh, so she is!"

Bill had never left Donegal.  I know this because there isn't another group of English speakers in the world who would be able to make out a word he was saying.

"Noo? Aye? shebberallhuurudsdksnvxc Carnuh?"

"Aye Carndonagh! You should go yerself Bill to keep her company!"

"Shebberallah reelah Carnuh? Onawok?"

"Aye Bill. A Walk. Right now. See you go ahead and join her!"

"Arroogownma? Onawok? Noi?"

Then they both burst out laughing. I thought the landlady was laughing at Bill's reaction.  I'm now pretty sure they were both (because everyone loves a mad eejit doing something stupid), laughing at me.

The second I walked out the door I was blown sideways. I couldn't keep on an straight course. I struggled into the shop next door.  I needed to buy some water and something for lunch.  I should have realised how the day was going to pan out when half the shelves were empty.  There was no fresh bread and, what must be a bustling deli counter in the summer months, was abandoned completely. I found some water and I wandered up to the counter. "Do you have anything I can eat for lunch?"

"No.  There's nothin' like that at this time o'yer."

"Ah!" I said as I calculated quickly how long it would take to get to the next town along, "Chocolate it is then." And I bought a couple of bars of  choccy to nibble on, to keep me going till I got to Malin Town some ten miles away. I packed these meagre provisions in my backpack and set off again.

I had barely turned the first corner when it started to rain.  It wasn't heavy but my warm coat wasn't waterproof and it was starting to get wet.  I stopped took the pack off again and pulled out the orange poncho.  It would keep the coat and the backpack dry and I'd still be able to reach my water. Putting the poncho on over the backpack was a huge palaver. It was very difficult to put it on and hook it over the backpack at the same time.  Eventually I got it but by now my coat was quite wet.

I decided a few days before that I would take a back road to Lag beach rather that go along the Wild Atlantic Way because, although shorter, the Way was a very busy road with fast-moving traffic. Given how unsteady I was on my feet in the face of horrendous winds that could not keep the same direction for more than a minute, I felt that this was the right choice. The road I chose had no cars on it at all so when I was blown into the middle of it, I didn't die.

What a Google map doesn't really tell you though, is how hilly or otherwise a road is. I got a good idea of what might be ahead a little way along when the road turned inland and started to wind upwards. By now the rain was starting to get heavy and the force of the wind behind the rain made it feel like your face was being stabbed by tiny little knives. I pulled the poncho hood up and pulled its visor down to protect my face, all the while trying to stay in a straight line, which was proving more and more impossible as the winds got even stronger and more unpredictable the higher I climbed. With the visor covering my face I got relief from the rain but it caused my glasses to fog up so I couldn't see where I was going and all the while I climbed up and up and the wind and rain grew stronger and stronger.

The top of the mountain (I know technically it's probably not high enough to be called a mountain but that's what the locals call them) gave a little respite.  I was surrounded by the peaks of other "wee mountains" and for a few small minutes I sat down on a turfy mound and took it all in.  Even in the most horrendous of conditions it was utterly beautiful.  When I turned a corner that started the decent the sea was in front of me again and the Wild Atlantic lived up, once again, to her name.

One hairy moment occurred during the decent when I was blown across the road near a hairpin bend just as a van came around it at a stupid speed. It missed me because I threw myself across the rest of the road and into a ditch. It didn't stop and neither did I.  As I got nearer sea-level the winds began to drop.  It still kicked up some strong gusts but I felt steadier on my feet. By the time I reached the coastal road to Malin Town, I was exhausted and soaking wet and unusually, given how hard I was working, freezing cold. Next time the forecast is for rain I will wear my waterproof trousers.

It was still 3 and a bit miles to Malin and another 2.5 miles beyond to my B&B.  I just concentrated on getting to Malin where I could buy a hot lunch, change my trousers, put on my waterproof trousers and have a pee - not necessarily in that order. With the imminent danger of being swept under a passing car somewhat diminished, the ache in my shoulder began to become more pronounced, still I kept on walking.  I just had to get to Malin and I could take the backpack off.  I'd be fine then. I started to count my footsteps so I could tell how far I'd got and so work out how much further to go. When Malin came into view and I was suddenly walking on a pavement and off the road again, the relief was overwhelming.  There was a teashop there called Lily's where I could go and all would be well again - except it was closed.  There was a pub - except it was an old fashioned, old-man-in-flat-caps pub that didn't do food.  I think it probably only did Guinness. I wandered around. There was a hotel but it too was closed.  I asked a young woman where I could buy lunch.  "Oh there's nuthin' open at this time o'yer. The hotel opens alright on a Friday but that's it.  Mebbe you could get somethin' in the supermarket?" I went to the supermarket, the only business that appeared to be open in Malin and there was nothing that you could buy that would constitute a meal that didn't need cooking.  Like the shop in Malin Head that morning there was no fresh bread - you had to bulk buy everything and it was all longlife stuff. I found a portion of potato salad in the fridge section and a Muller rice and I bought some rice cakes. The woman in the shop, like everyone else I've met in Donegal was lovely and wanted to help as much as she could. She gave me one of the shop's teaspoons so I could eat the rice and a plastic fork for the potato salad and offered me a free cup of tea so I could warm up. I politely refused the tea because my need for the loo was bordering on desperate. I took myself back out to the town square and sat in the rain and attempted to eat my lunch. The potato salad was awful. I could only stomach a few mouthfuls.  The Muller rice was much better and I ate that up. Then I ate a Snack'a'Jack and was nearly poisoned by the artificial sweetness of it. They went into the bin along with the salad. I was very close to tears at this point. I was hungry, cold and wet and in quite a bit of pain.  I needed to get to the B&B as soon as I could. It was another 2.5 miles away on a fast and dangerous road.  It was outside of Carndonagh so I knew that even when I got there I would still have further to walk later on in search of dinner.  But it was OK.  I knew where it was exactly. So, head down, I ventured forward. I started counting steps again.  I could tell it was getting close.  Then I saw the sign for a B&B in the distance. I was nearly there. You have no idea how far my heart sank when I got to the sign and the name was wrong.  This wasn't it. I suddenly realised I didn't know where it was because this was definitely the one I thought it was. I started to get really upset and panic started to rise. My phone still had no coverage so I couldn't call. What if I couldn't find it? I walked on a bit till I got to the next lot of houses.  These were definitely not it either so despite the heavy rain I took off my poncho to get to my backpack to see if my reservation confirmation had any other info on it.  It didn't. At this point I was crying.  What the hell was I going to do next?

That's when I saw an old man in the garden of the property across the road.  When I walked over to ask him if he knew where my B&B was I didn't really think about how strange a figure I presented. Actually I made him jump! But I'll tell you now that man is my hero.  Not only did he know, but he confirmed that the place I'd passed was indeed my B&B and that the name had changed about a year before. Then seeing my distress he invited me in to sit a bit till I felt ready to go on. What a true gentleman!  I thanked him for his kindness but refused, I just wanted to get to my bed for the night and to dry off, The B&B itself wasn't the house that was shown on the internet site where I booked it. It was a far nicer house that was situated a little further along the lane behind that one. It turned out the family moved from one house to the other the year before - same business, different house and so, different name.  The people couldn't have been kinder. When I'd dried off and got changed they gave me tea and home-made brown bread and butter.  I thought I'd landed in heaven.  Other guests arrived soon after me and we sat in the kitchen and had a right old chinwag on the state of the health system. It was an eyeopener to what losing the NHS might look like.  Frightening! By the time I'd gone back to my room and had a shower, the last thing I wanted to do was go out again.  My landlady offered to drive me to the pub or just make me a sandwich but all I wanted to do was put on my PJs and go to bed.  I was a little peckish so it was good that I remembered the two bars of chocolate I'd bought earlier in Malin Head.

Dinner was served.

Total miles to date: 60.4 miles.