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The day began with a fairly sharp start, which is travel-speak for “too early but necessary.” The cure? A Full Irish breakfast—a meal so calorific it could power a small village, or at the very least, keep six tourists upright until dinner.

First stop: the Giant’s Causeway. UNESCO World Heritage, world famous, and—under today’s dark clouds and gale-force winds—world dramatic.

Our guide Philip was cheerful, informative, and strangely comprehensible. Later we discovered why: he was from Yorkshire. That explains it. We marched a couple of miles over, around, and occasionally against the rocks before collapsing gratefully over a cup of tea—proof that tea is indeed the national first-aid kit.

Next up, the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge. Or at least, the path to it. The bridge itself was closed thanks to the wind (and my vertigo sent it a thank-you card). Still, the 1.2 km walk gave us astonishing views and me a respectable photo album to prove I “bravely approached” the bridge without actually stepping foot on it.

By mid-afternoon we were Donegal-bound, showers and all, and crossed back into Ireland just before 3 p.m. Our B&B, Riverside House, won immediate approval… though we only admired it for five minutes before setting off on foot for more pressing business: finding a pub.

The Olde Castle Bar provided a lively pint, another pub on the town square offered a second, and by then our dinner plans had to involve an Indian restaurant—because why not? It turned out excellent. On the stroll home we passed “Pub Number Two” again, and, well, resistance is futile. A whisky nightcap sealed the deal: Donegal, 1. Liver, 0.

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