A visitor to Ireland, one fluent in Gaelic or the English language, will have little difficulty in their day-to-day interactions with people, businesses or government. Indeed, without exception, conversations with everyone are always pleasant, with most people endeavoring to go out of their way to help us out with a cheerfulness and courtesy not usually so openly offered visitors elsewhere. It’s hard not to feel the connection, like a long parted relative finally come home to begin anew; an Irish lost son, if you will. A recent example in nearby Letterkenny comes immediately to mind.
Our cottage, when purchased from the Fuller family, was in excellent shape considering that it is 300 years old and that in recent days was used as a bed-and-breakfast for students attending Oideas Gael language school in town. There was nearly nothing that had to be done to make it livable. Yet, in order to have that ‘je ne sais quoi’ ambiance and to also regain that agricultural era (1800’s) feel, without the hardships, some fine-tuning was in order. Knowing my own strengths and weaknesses, my good sense told me that this is absolutely not a job for me, but rather, the much more artsy minded and textile talented wife, Lorrie, recently all aflutter with news of allegedly being the town’s only remaining ginger. So, with mission statement understood and Apple maps in hand, it was off to Letterkenny for a recon-without-a-plan for sheets, duvets, and, most importantly, lace curtains for the front windows…the nets.
While only the width of my thumb on a map, the trip to Letterkenny was about 90 minutes with a stop at Nancy’s in Ardara (pronounced Ardra) for lunch and took us through some remarkably beautiful countryside and a spectacularly scary switchback road squiggled tightly through the Glengesh Pass. On arrival to Letterkenny, we were momentarily taken aback by the bustle and urbanity of it all. Being in a Parish, not even a town, of 217 residents tends to automatically slow a person down by wrapping one in the relish of an uncomplicated life. Letterkenny had stores, a mall, and a McDonalds. We had no trouble at all locating the appropriate store, Harry Corry’s, for all our linen needs but we were stymied as to where to find the curtains, the proper curtains, the nets. We tried for hours but were unsuccessful. So, we headed back towards The Glen with bags of sheets, blankets, pillow cases, and some nick-knacks determined to get Glengesh Pass behind us before darkness made it really scary.
With Glengesh behind us, our little VW Polo’s suspension had these Gaeltacht backroads well in hand and we were motoring sportily along R263 west toward home. A rare appearance of the sun this week put it squarely in our eyes, only a few degrees above the horizon. It was a spectacular and blinding sunset but very welcome after several days of nor’easter driven rain and sleet. The Audi A6 came out of nowhere. Actually, he was there the whole time, being obscured by a dip in the one-lane road and the stellar beauty of our sun. The shock wave preceding his twin-turbo’d 4-wheeled rocket was impressive indeed. We remember only, a scream, the word “shit!”, a black and chrome German flash, those little Olympic style rings in the grill set like the little notches on a gunfighters pistol grip, a whoosh, a rock of the springs from the A6’s wake turbulence, and then the sun again. The madman was gone. Holy mackerel, we still don’t know how he missed us. Amazingly, he didn’t even guillotine the mirror. Breathless, we went straight to the safest place we knew, Roarte’s Pub. The adrenaline made me, somehow, get there in no time at all.
The stop at Roarte’s was just what the cardiac doctor ordered. Some liquid manic suppression, a friendly ear, some good intel, and suggestions towards a lace curtain shop on Main Street in Letterkenny. If anything, we are tenacious, so the following morning, Monday, we were off to Letterkenny again, this time in search of Speer Drapery. Apple maps was on the case and we got there in standard time without any near misses along the way. Thankfully. Parking in Letterkenny is a hit-or-miss affair. If you cruise by and a spot opens up, its yours. Otherwise, there is a parking garage a few blocks away, requiring a bit of an uphill walk back which we were not keen on making. Fortunately, we were lucky to get a spot about halfway necessitating a mini-walk up the hill. Following our Apple map in walking mode we arrived directly in front of the store. Emboldened in red above the glass windows showed us that, indeed, this is Earnest Speer Drapery. But, the door was locked, the gate was pulled closed and the lights were off. Not a good sign at 10 o’clock in the morning. Just at that moment a side door opened and a well attired man appeared. Lorrie asked the man, in her most helpless voice, if we were in the right place and if this is the drapery shop we had travelled so far for. The man confirmed that we were in the exact right spot and, “Hello, I’m Lester Speer, but the store is closed on Monday’s.” He told us that in days gone by, the whole town was closed on Mondays. Lorrie continued to talk, and he agreed that we had come so far just to see his store, and he would gladly open up and let us buy what we needed. What?!? So, Lester Speer opened up his store, especially for a couple of helpless looking strangers, clearly Americans, for the sole purpose of selling €40 of the most beautiful lace curtains we have ever seen. The 20 minutes of his time that he gave us will, no doubt, be rewarded a hundred fold over as we all know, a kindness to strangers is always seen as more creditable in our afterlife scoreboard. Thank you Ireland for this man with a heart of gold, Lester Speer of Letterkenny. So when you see our nets in the front windows of our cottage, think of Lester Speer and think of the natural kindness we all have inside just waiting for an opportunity to get out. Slainte.
Our Irish Cottage 