7:15am, Wednesday — The sound of my alarm is not a welcome one. But we heed it anyway, knowing there is little time to spare on our Galway stint.

It wasn’t quite the crack of dawn, but Day 4 in Ireland certainly got off to an earlier start than any of its predecessors. Why, you ask? Well, because a mid-afternoon flight from Dublin to London was definitely going to sneak up on us faster than we would have liked — which meant we had but a few wee hours to see or do anything else in Galway before we had to hit the road, Jack, and not come back no more (no more, no more, no more…).

Two orders of business had to be taken care of before we could leave the cozy confines of Avoca House, however. First up was putting the breakfast in bed and breakfast …by enjoying a quality, home-cooked meal in the dining room downstairs.

8:39am — Kathleen dishes out an immaculate breakfast spread, including French toast, bacon, sausage, eggs, and homemade scones, further cementing her Irish granny status.

Now see here: I am not always one to gush (or am I?), but Kathleen’s breakfast operation is no Red Roof Inn rubbish or Motel 6 malarkey. We’d hardly glanced at the menu, which had about four or five meal options, before our hostess had brought out freshly baked scones and some of the best orange juice I think I’ve ever tasted. Then came the French press coffee, and, eventually, the main affair itself, which was just as delicious as the baked goods. All this, as a stereo stationed on a cart by the kitchen door serenaded us with slow jams. Oh yeah, this was fancy livin’.

9:54am — With the sun shining and the temperature hovering somewhere around 13 degrees Celsius, we pull up once again to Ballyloughane Beach. I spy a large pile of seaweed and half-expect the Sea Creature from Scooby-Doo to pop out and scare the bejesus out of us. Thankfully, no such luck.

After scarfing down our morning vittles, it was time for the second order of business: acquiring the cash money needed to pay Kathleen for our stay (because, of course, as a total BOSS she only takes cold, hard cash). Thus while my traveling companion headed upstairs to get our belongings in order, I sauntered over to the gas station around the way to grab some euros.

Once I’d slipped Irish Mafia Boss Granny Kathleen the dough, we had about an hour and a half left before we needed to hightail it out of there and make way for Dublin to catch our flight. Those 90 minutes were just enough time to make two final stops in Galway.

First up was a return trip to Ballyloughane Beach, because, for whatever reason, I had a hankering to see it in daylight. The sun shone nice and bright during our second visit, and there were certainly more people around, including a child (seen in one of the photos above) risking his life clambering over the slippery rocks and flora covering the beach’s sandy surface. We walked a short ways onto the beach as well, but were nowhere near as adventurous as that young lad.

Our final stop in Galway veered slightly into the fantastical, with a short, 3-kilometer drive from Ballyloughane taking us northeast to Merlin Park Woods, where none other than Merlin Castle waited to greet us. Described as a prime example of a Medieval tower house, this three-story tower ruin is believed to have been built in the 15th or 16th century and has had several owners over the centuries, though none of them have any connection to the mythical magician Merlin.

While that sultry sultan of sorcery was hocus pocus-ing his way into our hearts as early as the 12th century, the castle’s name dates back only to 1731, when Francis Blake (not to be confused with his grandfather, who was also named Francis Blake) renamed what was then an entire estate, mansion and all, in honor of his wife’s maiden name, Merlyn.

Today, the tower sits all by its lonesome in the middle of a small clearing surrounded by woods to the east and south, and by rows of apartments to the north and west. You can’t go inside, but you can walk up to it, if so inclined, and at least attempt to find the tiny sheela na gig that is carved into one of the second floor windows. Had we known it was there — or even what it was — we would have taken a look ourselves. Alas, no “grotesque” carvings of naked women were spotted that day.

2:30pm — Our flight to London on Ryanair has only begun boarding at the Dublin Airport. I am seriously doubting we’ll make our 3pm departure time.

3:01pm — The plane backs out of the gate. Color me impressed.

Over the course of three and a half days, driving on the left side of the road in Ireland essentially became second nature. But after traveling down south to Cork and Cobh, back up north past Limerick and into Galway, and then east once more to Dublin, the time to relinquish the rental car had come. So, after returning to Dublin Airport, we said bon voyage to the silver Toyota Yaris at the Avis rental lot and said hello to the vehicle-less journey we would experience the rest of the way.

Sometime in between returning the car and boarding our flight to London, we decided planning an evening activity for that night was in order. Working with my traveling companion’s suggestion that we dive into the city’s paranormal history (of which there is plenty), we landed on the Ghosts, Ghouls & Gallows Walking Tour (with Boat Ride), which I found on TripAdvisor. Given that we were set to arrive at London Stansted Airport at 4:20 p.m., I figured the 7 p.m. tour start time would be no problem. But, umm, boy was I wrong…

7:13pm — Following a mad dash from the airport to our Airbnb in Westminster, we join the walking tour in Green Park approximately 13 minutes late. Coincidence?! Yeah, pretty much.

What I had failed to account for was the ungodly amount of time it would take to ride the National Express bus line into the city from Stansted, which is about an hour and a half drive to the north. By the time we’d gotten off the bus at Victoria Station and made the 10-minute walk to our Airbnb on Longmoore Street, it was already about 6:50 p.m, so we only had enough time to literally chuck our belongings inside before bolting over to Green Park.

Thankfully, the tour was still at the starting point — no harm, no foul (save for the mild heart attacks suffered during the lead-up). Due to the fact it was a Wednesday night, the tour group was pretty modest, making for a more intimate experience.

8:21pm — Tour guide John (@sychagrid), donning a Chicago Bulls baseball cap, leads us past Big Ben. I keep my eyes open for Peter Pan and pals, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

I don’t necessarily want to get into the particulars of the tour — lest the operators hunt me down and have me locked away in the Tower of London — but it ran about two and a half hours and included stops in Green Park, where we initially met up with the rest of the group, as well as St. James’s Park, Clarence House (home of his Majesty, King Charles III), St. James’s Palace, and the aforementioned Tower of London, among other sites. The experience also includes a ride on an Uber Boat, which I didn’t even know was a thing.

If you ever do the Ghosts, Ghouls & Gallows tour, though, I pray that John and his righteous beard are still leading the way, providing the 4-1-1 on the headless specter of the Red Lady of St. James’s Park, the horrors of the hanging tree in Green Park, and the countless gruesome stories connected to the Tower of London, not the least of which includes the botched execution of Margaret Pole in 1541.

9:42pm — Famished after a day full of driving, flying, busing, running, and walking, we attempt to grab a late dinner at The Hung Drawn & Quartered. They appear to be closed; the death glare from the barkeep through the window confirms as much. BrewDog across the street will have to do.

Fresh off a spooky history crash course and a badly-needed BrewDog burger, we somehow still had enough energy to seek out a nightcap. Eschewing a few other high-key options in the area, we opted for the chill vibe emanating from Dirty Martini - Monument, a below-ground establishment found along the alley-like Lovat Lane.

Save for what appeared to be a gathering of sorority sisters (is that a thing in the U.K.?), the place was mostly empty. And that was just fine, as it had been another long day and all we needed were a couple of stiff drinks and each other’s company.

-LTH