The road from Dublin was long and winding but we reached Moville in time for the banquet at McNamara's Hotel. After several courses, including a plate of oysters and a bowl of chowder, not forgetting copious glasses of wine, we had settled into the fourth Foyle Oyster Festival. Outside, the town is decked out in bunting. Inside, the McLoughlin Traditional Dancers, complete with bubble socks and embroidered frocks, give us "A taste of Ireland". As the girls do a treble reel, those of us who are still at the tables, lap up the atmosphere. Some elements of the musical entertainment have the returned Americans on their feet clapping for more. I learn the difference between molluscs and crustaceans. You can't go to the Inishowen Peninsula unless you know your cockles from your mussels, your scallops from your prawns. Lowry Wasson, a local potter, is thinking about opening his "Moville Pottery" shop at the weekend but the festival is on, he muses. Maybe next summer.
In the meantime, as chairman of the festival organising committee, his heart and mind are focused valiantly on the celebrations. Moville parties on into the night to the music of his local band - Zig Zag. Yes, he insists, they were there playing jive and quick-step numbers long before that pair of television puppets from Zog came along.
Cecilia Keaveney, the local TD, is at the banquet. She's hopeful that more and more visitors will visit Inishowen before long. In timemoney, such as that from the Special Support Programme for Peace and Reconciliation, will help the area develop its tourism potential. The natural hinterland of Derry is Inishowen, and its isolation has been seriously affected and compounded over the years by the Northern conflict. But it's not so out of the way, argues Keaveney. On average it's about a four-hour car journey from Dublin.
Saturday in Moville is steeped in sunshine. "Where are ye from?" asks Frank Ferns who knows his way around the place like a local. He's been coming here from Scotland for the past 57 years. "Since I was two," he adds helpfully. He runs tour buses in and out of Moville and Greencastle, connecting Glasgow with all of Co Donegal. Tour buses on their way to see tourist attractions, like Daniel O'Donnell, are big business in this neck of the woods. Frank met his wife, Margaret, in Moville. Ah, so it's the place where love stories begin? Well, now, that's a good question. And so he tells us about St Colmcille's Well. The water from this well will cure any eye ailments and it increases the chances of pregnancy. We head off to find the well. And so we find ourselves on the shore path heading north along the coast towards Greencastle. The well is there alright and we sip some of the water. And my companion dabs some on her belly button, for good measure. Lough Foyle glistens all the way along as we head into Greencastle. The pier is home to over 80 boats. Greencastle has the greatest tonnage of whitefish landed in Ireland, and yet Greencastle is just a village. A couple of pubs, a Bord Iascaigh Mhara national fishery training school, a restaurant or two and a lovely grassy picnic area opposite the post office. Up at the school, there's a seafood cookery competition in full swing. For 14- to 16-year olds, it's another festival event and it's attracted local people who want to see how these youngsters will prepare and present their range of dishes. Shaun Smith, a 14-year old from Limavady, runs away with the first prize for his dish called Aileach's Catch. Prawns, monkfish and pasta. He wins £100 and a trophy. And the other five contestants all get £20 and a trophy each as well. And what with the fresh air, the smell of cod bake, seafood omelette and garlic and spring onion wafting around, our steps turn instinctively towards Kealey's Seafood Bar for lunch. The oysters dripping in salt-water, the wedge of lemon on the side and the Guinness on the counter are there waiting for us. Well, it's just scrummy-dumptious.
James Kealey and his wife, Trish, are there to welcome us all, including their regular customers, like John Hume who lives up the road. It's nice to see one or two people go over just to shake his hand and tell him where they're from and how they admire him. And before he sits down for a quiet lunch, he says hello to a few friends as well. All in a day's relaxed atmosphere at Greencastle.
It's hard to get up and go but we haven't even seen the fjord-like coastline of Lough Swilly on the western side of the peninsula. If you ask which is the more beautiful side, you'll find that loyalties are split. There's a bit of rivalry there between the Lough Foyle and the Lough Swilly devotees. And while nary a cloud appeared in the blue sky and the water just sparkled well into the afternoon, I was inclined to believe James Kealey who swore they'd had glorious weather all summer long. Looking out across to Magilligan Strand, it was hard to doubt him. Further north along the coast is Kinnagoe Bay, where one of the Spanish Armada fleet La Trinidad Valencera foundered in 1588. As the big breakers roll in, you can imagine the weather conditions which were particularly severe when 23 of the fleet's ships were wrecked along the Irish coastline. At the entrance to Kinnagoe there's a bronze plaque which charts the location of the Armada ships along the coast from Co Kerry to Co Donegal. The wreck of the ship in Kinnagoe was discovered by the City of Derry SubAqua Club in 1971.
Five Fingers Strand on the western side of the Inishowen Peninsula is another unspoilt beach. You don't even see a telegraph pole as you walk along the road through the steep rocky outcrops towards the sea. The strand is deserted and we spend almost an hour sitting in the sun, enjoying the light and quiet. If I'm right, the five fingers are more like stubs now but you can see them point skywards against the horizon to the right of the beach. And further along the road, Malin Head, at the very tip of Ireland, is drenched in orange rays as the sun sinks under the sea. It has a mystical feeling. Back at base in Moville, the town is gearing up for a concert with Kieran Goss, who is to play at St Eugene's Hall. There's a collective smirk from the organisers who are well conscious of the irony that Guinness, which has banners and logos covering every bare wall and window, is sponsoring the festival but Goss will play in the town's local temperance hall. He sings a fine selection of songs. "Put that bottle away," he jokes. "I see you." And whether it's the oysters or that peculiar parochial smell in the hall, we all find ourselves singing along to his rendition of a Tom Paxton song. I'm nearly tearful by the end. Moville, it's a strange place, truly.
But before I leave, I decide to investigate the oyster phenomenon. It's an aphrodisiac, right. Casanova ate 60 a day. So Lowry, can you back this up with scientific evidence, I ask. Well, there is proven fact to back this up, the chairman of the local committee, points out. A quick straw poll of the clientele in Rawdon's Bar is conducted early in the morning to establish just how many oysters have been consumed and what the nature of their effect is. Their findings are expected to be discussed at next year's festival.