The Six Levels of Craic

“These are all real Irish men,” Patty said with pride as he swept his arm towards his chums, all sitting in their familiar stools at the Granvue Café bar, sipping their Guinness or other beverages of choice. All of them strong in build and with piercing blue eyes, I immediately felt welcomed by this formidable appearing group. My first full day in Omeath was the beginning of my weeklong stay in the Republic of Ireland. This last-minute decision to stop at Granvue for a beer would proove to be fortuitous; I would leave this modest pub with information that would lead to a string of explorations and other chance encounters, in addition to a handful of jolly acquaintances that I would continue to run into throughout the week.

Omeath pier and view of Warrenpoint across Carlingford lough

The village of Omeath was developed in 1876 with the arrival of a new railway system. After the railway ceased in 1952, the village endured. It’s a modest village housing approximately 600 residents, not including surrounding communities. There are two restaurants, one of which serves food Thursday through Sunday, and a “chippy” serving fried fish with chips, or French fries, that is open all week. There is a market open daily with basic necessities, and a corner shop with soft serve ice-crem, antiques, candy, and oodles of gimmicky Irish souvenirs. The village is nestled between pastures speckled with sheep, cows, and horses, creating a serene and peaceful atmosphere.

View of Omeath from the pier covered in seaweed

What attracted to me to Omeath was the low-cost Airbnb option, and what pulled me in was the images I found online displaying idyllic scenery of rolling hills sloping towards a calm body of water, which lead out to the more turbulent Irish Sea. As I looked deeper, I saw there were neighboring villages and stacks of history to entertain me for some time.

Curious horse on farmland in Omeath near the village center

The lines between fantasy and reality I found to be blurred in Ireland, and Omeath was no exception. From the Long Woman’s Grave to Seamus the blind poet, it took some digging at times to tease out which was which. One character I would continue to encounter was Finn McCool, a man who is said to have existed under a different name, and whose stature and power was embellished over time, morphing him into a giant. Frequently rivaling other giants, I would soon learn how Finn’s existence led to the creation of local natural wonders.

A tantalizing and gripping history, most of my days were spent exploring the local medieval village of Carlingford and taking long walks (or short runs) by the water. At the recommendation of Mickey, one of the locals from Granvue, I ventured into Northern Ireland, a short bus ride away, to attend the annual Fiddler’s Green Festival boasting music, art, food, and leisure activities for families. “It’s good craic,” he would say, assuring me I would have a good time. Descriptions about the outdoor scenery in these locations can be found under blog posts, Where Finn McCool Sleeps and Christmas in July.

Start of the Greenway path in Omeath leading to Carlingford

Despite Omeath’s small size, I felt the heart of Irish culture rested within the pastures and hillsides. With rich with folklore, historical figures past and present, and Irish hospitality, it would launch me into a fulfilling and enlightening journey.