Looking for St Paddy's in County Donegal

Posted Sunday, March 18, 2007, 10:16 PM by Lonely Planet

Lonely Planet author Tom Downs braves some wet and blustery weather in Ireland this St Patrick's day...



My plan had been to take a ferry out to Tory Island, reputed to be a nearly uninhabitable rock off the coast with a notoriously eccentric population. But the sea was too rough, so I stayed in tiny Dunfanaghy on the mainland. There was a parade scheduled on the main street and Brendan Rohan, the owner of the Concreggan Mill Hostel, promised it was one of those 'anything can happen' sort of events. Brendan was wearing a traditional saffron kilt, knee-high socks, and a Scottish woolen coat with a Tara broach pinned to it - a replica, he informed me, as the original was in the National Museum in Dublin. A retired officer of the Irish Army, he looked right proper in this festive uniform.



We were heading out the door when sad news came that the parade was cancelled. A young man from the village had died that morning in a car wreck. Martin McMullan, age 19. We headed into town to see if anything was going on, and express condolences. On Main St the wind was blowing the drizzle every which way and no one wore kilts or green hats. We ducked into a pub and found a lively crowd cheering on the Irish rugby team, which was beating Italy in a Six Nations game. The crowd let out a uniform howl each time the Irish scored.


This had little to do with St Patrick, but it was spirited, and a whisky helped put Brendan and myself into a better frame of mind. During the halftime analysis, we decided to drive to the nearby village of Falcarragh, where Brendan assured me we'd see a parade.



Along the main drag in Falcarragh, people huddled in parked cars, waiting for the parade to roll down the street. A band of marching pipers and drummers came along playing 'The Rising of the Moon' and suddenly people materialized in doorways, many speaking Gaelic to one another. The band was followed by dancers, women dressed in sheep's clothing and children wearing red beards and top hats. The parade went up a few blocks, doubled back down the main drag then was over. The entire town crowded into The Shamrock Lodge to get warm over a pint or whisky. Father Martin, brother of the pub's owner, helped tend bar. Old ladies, bearded children and marching bands all managed to squeeze in. It was pretty damn good craic, after all.

Labels: Europe, Travelsnitch

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