The Dover-Calais ferry is booked, secret Provence awaits. But, before hightailing it to Dover, we have to visit Seán’s parents in Ireland. What could possibly alter this plan?
Our memories of Ireland tumble out on the ferry to Rosslare. The Emerald Isle’s walking trails invite us. Seán opens his laptop; our return ferry in two days is changed to a month’s time.
Seán grins like a cat that’s got the Guinness. A pair of stout walking boots live in the ’van, so I’m all set - sun dress and boots worthy of the sturdiest Irish farmer.
The N11 takes us to the Wicklow Mountains and Glenmalure Lodge, a camperstop on the Wicklow Way. Tucking into smoked salmon and soda bread, just like mum used to make, we watch the house martins swoop. The Avonbeg’s rushing waters are the soundtrack.
Early morning sees us slogging uphill to Seán’s parents in Laragh, but the view makes up for it. The hills are green and brown with furze and fern, purple with heather and gold with gorse.
After a week of family catch-up, we camp in Wicklow’s Roundwood village. The butcher stocks Wagyu beef, fed on
