331/365 One misty moisty evening

One of my favorite memories of travel was when my fellow hitchhiking college friends and I crossed the River Barrow in a fishing boat because we’d missed the ferry. We met the fishermen at a pub after asking around if someone could get us to to the other side of the river to our hostel. They could indeed and refused to take payment. On the other side we walked from Arthurstown to the hostel along a dark and misty lane and met an elderly Irishman along the way. He shook our hands and wished us well.

Reminded me of this.