Long, winding road to Tipperary is joy

As we drove the long and barren highway from Galway to Sligo, we contemplated what we might find in Bundoran, a popular vacation resort renowned for its surfing. Our guidebook, after all, labeled it "tacky." But we found its colorful promenade quite lovely, and its residents couldn't have been more friendly.

We'd planned on overnighting in nearby Sligo, but once again we had trouble finding a B&B that took vouchers. So we continued way past dark to the coastal town of Enniscrone, where the kind proprietor of the Tara Farmhouse B&B promised to wait up for us.

And that leads us to mistake No. 3: Irish pubs don't serve food after 9:30 p.m., no matter how pathetically you beg.

So after we unpacked our bags, we headed down the road to Ballina, County Mayo's largest town. A guarda, or cop, directed us to Chungs at Tullios on Pearse Street, where we devoured kung pao chicken while listening to country Musak. It was one of our most surreal moments in Ireland, but totally enjoyable.

On our way to Cong the next morning (the setting for John Wayne's "The Quiet Man"), we passed through the coastal villages of Newport and Westport and meandered across the Partry Mountains, where the butter-yellow gorse bushes were in full bloom.

Leaving Cong, we stumbled upon Asbury Castle, a turreted 13th-century castle that was once a country residence for the Guinness family but is now a luxury hotel (Pierce Brosnan was married there in 2001). An even better surprise was the 13th-century Ross Errilly Friary we spied in the distance near Headford. This medieval Franciscan friary, which stands in serene solitude on the banks of the Black River, is among the best-preserved monastic sites in Ireland — and we had it all to ourselves, save for some sheep grazing in a nearby pasture.

Back in Galway, we celebrated our last night in Ireland with oysters, native salmon and Dingle prawns at Morans Oyster Cottage, a renowned seafood restaurant in nearby Kilcolgan. Afterward, we fraternized with the locals at three of Galway's most popular pubs, including Taaffes, where the guitar and accordion were only slightly louder than the crowd.

As we headed to Shannon airport the next morning, we made one last stop in the town of Gort, where, with the luck of the Irish, I found the oilcloth Irish cap I'd been searching for my father. (A loaf of brown bread and Irish butter also made their way into my carry-on bag.)

Seeing we had an extra half-hour, the salesman sketched out a more scenic route on the back of an envelope via the tiny town of Scariff. We started out with high hopes, but once again we were fooled by the map. Out of time, with more than 800 miles under our belts, we had to settle for the darling town of Tulla.

Next time, we promised ourselves.

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Gretchen McKay can be reached at gmckaypost-gazette.com. Distributed by Scripps Howard News Service, www.shns.com.