The anticipated voyage across the sea from Cherbourg to Rosslare was not the high seas adventure it was expected to be. The James Joyce ferry is mundane and dull and the journey lasts 20 hours.
Finally arriving on Irish soil, all set for my first bike tour in Ireland, a force northerly wind curtails my plans to make Gorey without breaking a sweat. Ireland warns me that, despite its diminutive stature, it will be no pushover.
Steven, a Methodist minister, greets me at his door and bids me to make myself at home while he pops out on some parish business. Soon he's back and I learn of his good works and generous spirit to those unfortunate. Without fuss or fanfare, he helps the needy families with nowhere else to turn. Hero cape required, but he probably wouldn't wear it.
The next morning, there is a fundraising event for the church. It's a lively affair, with a large selection of items on sale as well as the delicious homemade cakes. Choosing a biscuit cake and sitting down to force-fed cup after cup of tea, is a grand way to spend a Saturday morning.
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