Circumnavigating Ireland

Two weeks, a suitcase of camping gear and a vague plan to travel right around Ireland. 'Doable', according to the the dour passport-stamping guy at Knock airport, who wanted to know where we were going, 'It's not a big island.'  We'd booked our first night camping in Westport, our last night in a B&B near the airport and hired a car for the duration. The rest we left to serendipity, luck of the Irish and all that. Seat-of-your-pants type travel again. Our best thing.
How we got there
We flew Ryanair from Bristol to Knock airport, an early morning flight that meant ubering to the town centre at first light, then coaching to the airport. Negotiating budget airlines and their baggage allowances was a learning curve, fortunately we discovered bag pooling. The flight itself was fine, no frills but not full either so we had plenty of space. Take-off to landing took an hour.

Westport, County Mayo

I came to Ireland looking for connection and ready to fall in love. It's playing hard-to-get, but every now and then we're gifted dazzling moments. As we arrive in Westport the sun shines (briefly) on the brightest coloured buildings I've ever seen. The village is abuzz with music and pubs and all things Irish. Add to that a picture book bridge, cobbled streets and baskets spilling flowers everywhere, and we're smitten. Trying to negotiate parking and the return of the rain kills the mood somewhat. But a day later, in a gap between the mist and the drizzle, we catch a glimpse of real, live, fairytale magic. Westport House, backed by rolling, sheep-dotted hills and fronted by a bevy of giant swan boats. . . even the cold and the grey can't dampen the storybook romance of it.
On the Road
We'd booked a small Polo and get upgraded to a large, shiny, red, brand-new Renault Sport, which quite frankly scares us. Figuring how to drive it and come to grips with the sat-nav is stressful to put it mildly, but we manage, somehow, to find ourselves in Westport.
Where we stayed
Westport House and Gardens has, among many other things, a family friendly campground. We'd booked one night, stay for two, but eventually it's the family-thing that moves us on. Our tiny tent, smaller than our car and secludedly tucked into the trees, gets overrun by the start of the school holidays. 

Wild Atlantic Way, County Donegal 

So now we're really roadtrippin' and it feels great. We're getting to grips with the sat-nav thingy and the radio is playing country music. Drizzle mist that has covered us for the last 36 hours lifts and while not exactly a sunshiney beach kind of day, the world is brighter and prettier and very, very green. We've managed, miraculously, to pack up a dry tent and have added wet weather contingencies in the form of a growing collection of tarpaulins. Feeling more confident and relaxed and easing into the on-the-road zone. . . Why is it, I wonder, that we try to compare the new places we're seeing to old places we know? Always seeking a point of reference: those hills remind me of the Drakensberg, or, there's a New Zealand cabbage tree on the edge of what looks a lot like the Hokianga Harbour. And when we finally arrive at our destination and our host is telling us the upside of all this tent-flapping wind is that there'll be no midges today: 'Oh, so you have those annoying bitey things too? We call them sandflies in New Zealand,' we say. 'We call them bastards here,' he replies.
On the Road
We decide to leave off exploring the wilds of the western coastline and head north, to make up for time spent dallying in Westport hoping for the sun to shine and make us love it again. We take the shortest route through Sligo and Donegal to Dungloe. The campsite is near Crolly, about a 15 minute drive north of that.
Where we stayed
Sleepy Hollows Campground at Meenaleck Village, discovered and booked on the internet (amid a shrieking ping pong game and raucous foosball play-off in the Westport House Campground common room), chosen for its promise of being adults-only. Quiet and as magical as the photos on their website with a nice sheltered communal outdoor area, because ha! yes of course, the rain comes back.
Must-do's
Leo's Tavern, just a short walk from Sleep Hollows. 

Londonderry, Northern Ireland

We're toasty and dry in our tent but it flaps all night long. In the morning we manage to take advantage of the blustery wind between showers to dry everything out and pack it all up - before it rains again. Sheltering undercover in the communal area eating breakfast, we make a decision. We log into wifi and book a night at a Londonderry B&B. Meanwhile our camp neighbours, a hardy, not-so-young couple, are heading off to their next destination on their bicycles, just as soon as their tent dries. . .
The way to get great ratings for your B&B, we decide, is to target bedraggled campers. Our room feels like a palace and the bed is bigger than our tent. We venture out into Londonderry because we feel we should, not because we're keen. A cold wind blows us down the waterfront, across the Peace Bridge and back, then up into the walled city. Even a bubble-making butterfly girl can't persuade us to linger. Dodging showers, we make a dash for our B&B. 
On the Road
We're unsure what to expect when we cross from the Republic of Ireland into Northern Ireland. Are there any border formalities? Do we need to dig out our passports? Apart from a clanging notification on the sat-nav, nothing happens. Except that kilometres become miles and we're having to readjust to different measurements, kind of like being bilingual and switching back to a language you haven't used for a while. 
Where we stayed
Rose Park House, a fab little B&B just fifteen minutes walk from the city centre, but 'burbsy enough to provide parking in a nearby side street. The girl who greets us couldn't be friendlier or more helpful, although we're still coming to grips with the full-on Irish accent. Mostly we understand what she's saying and she seems to mostly understand us. It feels homegrown and authentic.

Belfast, Northern Ireland

We get to Belfast and I still haven't fallen in love. There are times when I'm not sure I'm even in like. Driving through city traffic is not the best way to see a place; glimpses of interesting architecture are marred by the fear of rear-ending something in this big, shiny new hire car. We can't find parking so we park up at our hotel in the university precinct and go walking instead. ​You don't come to Ireland for the weather, I remind myself - it's sunny one moment, wet but too windy for a brolly the next. Sunny as we walk past the super-impressive Queens University buildings where a graduation is in full swing. Still sunny as we wander through the Botanic Gardens and peep into the Palm House Conservatory. Then clouds and rain blow in before we can get anywhere near the city centre. The one must-do in Belfast, we're told, is a black cab tour of the Peace Walls. It's hard to book one at such short notice and we opt to self-drive past as we leave town.
On the Road
We make our way to Belfast along the Causeway Coast, intending to visit Giant's Causeway, then travel down from Ballycastle through The Dark Hedges. Nothing goes according to plan. It's starting to rain, there are coach-loads of tourists and roadworks block the skinny access lanes.  Despite the World Heritage Site status, it gets to the point where we just don't care. We can't find anything that looks like The Dark Hedges, and anyway, it's still raining. Then somewhere along the coast, Ireland turns on the magic. Clouds part, an empty parking bay appears and there's the ruin of Dunseverick Castle atop a cliff, sparkling in the sun, inviting us to explore. 
Where we stayed
The Malone, chosen for its central location and free onsite parking. A rare combo in any city.