However, sitting in the local pub, nursing our club oranges and musing over the backward clock behind the bar (and yes, it really did run backwards), Achill proved to be as warm and welcoming as the rest of Ireland.
The Emerald Isle has an uncanny habit of getting under your skin and creating lasting memories, not only because this trip happened to be our honeymoon. Every trip spawns a long list of must see’s and widens the experience of Irish eccentricity.
This time round it was the old guy leaning against the open driver’s window chatting to his smiling mate, the driver. We looked on, hearts pounding after the slowly unfolding fatal car accident had suddenly turned itself in to a pleasant parle in the middle of a pedestrian crossing with traffic queuing up behind. On reflection, it would seem to be the same Irish logic that flagged us down, jumped into the back of the car, began an interesting conversation about Irish nationality and asked to be taken to the pub.