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us at the bottom. Jim was long gone by now. He and his stick had set off at an alarming and inspiring rate so I was left with Charlie and Cathal as we went into the coffee shop at the bottom. I was in good spirits at this point, as I had accomplished something fantastic, not to mention Cathal and Charlie had just told me how surprised they were that I had actually made it all the way up and down. They thought American women were weak and soft and they held me in the utmost respect for being so tough and displaying my "Irish spirit and blood".

I was treated to two cups of coffee and surprising stories about the Troubles in Northern Ireland. I was in the presence, I soon realized, of two English-hating, IRA-supporting men who told me personal accounts of the British army invading their homes in County Down and shooting people in the street. Charlie told me of a time, twenty-odd years ago, when there was a knock on his door. He was taken into custody by the British army. They put a cloth over his head so he couldn't see where they were taking him and only took it off so he could look at the pictures they showed him of known IRA members. He said he knew every one of them but lied so well about it they let him go. Their way of "releasing him from custody" was to throw him out of a van on the side of the road.

Cathal started laughing and said, "Remember Jimmy, Charlie?"

"Oh Lord, Jimmy!" chuckled Charlie. "Jimmy was a guy in our town, what a trouble
maker he was. He had it out for the police. And the police had it out for him. Every day, Jimmy'd call the police and say, I'm gonna kill one of ya' t'night!' and God love em, he always did. He was a fine marksman, eh, Cathal?"

By the time we had finished our coffee and story telling it was 4:30 and they insisted on giving me a lift back to Westport, and since my bus wasn't for another hour (or more, depending on Irish time), and I hadn't done enough idiotic things that day, I accepted.

The three of us got into Charlie's car. I was looking forward to getting back to Westport, showering, eating, and sleeping. But no, with Charlie it wasn't that simple. He saw the house of one of the hundreds of people he's friends with and decided to stop for a "short visit." I started to get a little uneasy. His friend, Herbert, was a naval captain and his wife, Sally, was the cook on his boat. Only Sally was at home when we arrived and she was very scary. Every other word out of her mouth was "fookin" and I don't think she smiled once in

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