Au Revoir, Par-ee! {No. 20}

Not pictured:  the chaos, as per usual, of Charles de Gaulle airport and the three outright miracles that had to have occurred for us to have even made our flight on time—which we did, praise to God.  That airport is insane.  I wonder if Orly is better or if it’s just that French people in general do not know how to be organized or expeditious about anything and both airports suffer mind-bending disorganization and understaffing.  They must know it’s chaotic by comparison if they’ve experienced almost any other big city airport in the world and they surely must receive a steady stream of complaints about it but it’s as if they really don’t give a flying…well, you know.  

We had allowed two hours before our flight and traffic put a dent in that so we only had an hour and half and even that was not long enough to get us to the gate without actual messengers of God in airport uniforms waving us through expedited lines at three different stages, none of which we legitimately qualified for.  Word to the wise:  allow three hours no matter where your flight is when flying out of CDG.  And equip yourself with some coping strategies. 

We were both so relieved to land in Belfast.  Exhaling.  Our former home, land of dear friends, tea, wheaten bread, greenest grassy fields, so many sheep, mild weather (I needed a jacket upon exiting the airport—in July—and I was thrilled to my inmost bones) and a complete lack of alarming recent terrorist incidents.  Immediately upon landing I knew the three nights wouldn’t be long enough.  

We normally stay at our former landlord’s vacation cottages up in Whiteabbey which is almost equidistant between our Carrickfergus friends on one side and the city centre of Belfast on the other.  But the Sherlocks were all booked up for our dates by the time we firmed and something about staying in a third city (after London and Paris) did not suit.  I knew we would be yearning for a country feel.  So we found a place a little further afield in Lisburn (south of Belfast) that does weddings and has a few self-catering cottage options if they aren’t booked up by wedding parties.  It’s called Larchfield Estate and I cannot praise it highly enough!!  God save the Queen, it was an outright dream.  We had a one bedroom cottage, beautifully finished, and access to the 600-acre property which was covered in photo ops.  Any bride who chooses Larchfield will have a giddy photographer.  

We checked in, settled and walked around the gardens and property before we set back out to meet our friends, Al & Suzanne, for a pub dinner at The Dirty Duck in a little area east of Belfast called Holywood (one “l”).  Hugs were tight and long, joy was palpable and the seafood chowder and wheaten bread cured all.  There is nothing so wonderful as putting physical arms around dear ones when that privilege is rarely afforded.  Suz and Al were our closest friends during our time in Belfast, which ended 16 years ago.  We met through our church there, Glenabbey, and through the years of having children around the same times and the advent of social media combined with a fairly regular string of visits, we are somehow closer than we’ve ever been.  In the first two minutes of being together, it feels like we never left.   

Northern Ireland, we love you!!

Settling in and exploring at Larchfield.  This is the back of Rose Cottage.

Honey, I’m home.  And never leaving.

The gardens at Larchfield behind the cottages were gorgeous!

Walking past the gardens back into the property we discovered this pond and a few more paths….

This is the back view of the main house at Larchfield where the owners reside.  That smoke coming out of the chimney in the brisk air as we walked around smelled…divine.

Lots of furry llama and donkey friends in the fields leading up the main drive to Larchfield.  The donkeys loved Sir Dean, who always seems to have a special way with the animal kingdom.

One of the old barns turned event buildings at Larchfield.  So charming!!  

Such a beautiful, cozy, happy reunion with our friends, Al and Suzanne Bennett at The Dirty Duck in Holywood.  Love love love these people and loved The Duck!  

Well, we only had to take ~10 pics in order to get one that met dual approval.  Photo creds to Sir Dean!  Bravo, bravo.  So thankful for Suzanne.  After 16 years and pretty regular visits, we are as close as ever.  Were it not for Suz and Al, there’s no way our connection to Northern Ireland and Belfast would still be as strong as it is.  And that connection is such a balm to my soul.

Recording the fact that once upon a time, while East Tennessee was suffocating in 100 degree heat indexes, we actually made a fire and had a cup of hot tea in JULY.  #becauseNorthernIreland  I miss fires so much.  This was one of the highlights of the trip for Lesli.