Port is the new Africa

So, we’ve arrived in Ireland.  God, what a huge step. Truth is, we’re miserable. We took the long road home from Africa, going , oddly, via Pabbay in the Hebrides. It was stunning, but will we ever get used to chill days, a dark sea and a fickle sun, no matter how wild and lovely the landscape ?

We’ve exchanged the dust and sunshine and enormous landscapes of Africa for daily life in a rambling manor house in Meath. It’s huge and strange – and eerily close to civilisation. Thank  God for Port.

Is that a lion down there?

Is that a lion down there?

All we know for sure right now  is that Port will be our new wilderness and where we find our very lost selves.

We fell in love in Port’s little storm tossed cottage one New Year way back,  under 300 blankets so heavy that we could hardly move, in front of a turf fire that glowed and smoked but never seemed to warm us, washing up with frozen hands in the stream outside, pushing ourselves to the storm-swept beach to scavenge scraps of old heather and driftwood to keep the kettle bubbling.

We felt so free and private in the sweeping moorland and the solitude, the wind howled and we could howl with it – and now we’re back. A lot more howling to come.


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