Too tired to write last night. We arrived at Rosslare in a summer storm about 6:30, but could not dock because of mechanical problems. Then the gangway wouldn’t go down—welcome to Ireland!—and we couldn’t get out until a bit past 7, hot and bothered.Then mass confusion re: rental car and destination. It resolved itself into a free night with a standard transmission car, and a 2-night stay at Hillcrest, Mrs. Margaret Naddy, The Rower, Co. Kilkenny.
Directions we had been give to this were, of course, wrong. Countryside lush and beautiful, what we could see of it at evening and in the rain. As one moves inland from Cork Rd. to New Ross, hills begin. Where we are now at the Rower is hilly, but haven’t really seen much of it by daylight.
When we realized we were lost last night, stopped and asked for directions at a gas station. The helpful and soft-spoken young man had no idea what road it was, but gave us profuse directions to the Rower—where we were not precisely headed. Then we stopped a bit later at a pub, and Steve asked a drunk man watching the Ireland-Holland match for directions. “Sure, I know Mrs. Naddy. Can’t miss the big house. On the left or right.”
Finally, we knew we were lost, A. giving totally irrelevant and compulsive directions—New Ross as New Rock—in the back seat, so we stopped at a b and b far nearby of Jim Prendergast. The son of the family came out—so nice, took me in and called Mrs. Naddy. “The tourists are here, Margaret, and wonder if you’re after giving up on them.” The people have been so lovely, at tourist agency at airport, which booked our b and b, at Prendergast’s, and here (thought have not met Miss Naddy). Now to breakfast.
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