Of Sheepdogs and City Walls: A Day in Derry/Londonderry
- Tiffs Travels
- 4 days ago
- 6 min read
We left Galway this morning with our bellies full, our playlists loaded, and our sights set on the North. There’s something bittersweet about leaving a place like Galway—it’s full of charm, color, and that slow-rolling rhythm that makes you feel like you’ve stumbled into a storybook. But our journey into Northern Ireland was calling, and we were ready.
There’s something deeply magical about crossing invisible lines. One moment you’re in the lush, wind-swept wilds of the Republic of Ireland, and the next, you’re rolling through the gentle hills and dramatic coastlines of Northern Ireland, sipping tea and absorbing tales that seem to echo off every stone wall and sheep’s bleat. Today, we traded the cozy charm of Galway for the complex beauty of Derry/Londonderry, a city with not one, but two names, and about a thousand stories just waiting to be told.
We left the Republic behind early in the morning, our coach weaving its way north under skies that alternated between moody gray and brilliant bursts of blue. Ireland was showing off, as usual. As we drove, our guide Hannah and coach driver Eric kept us entertained with tales of Irish customs, accents, and quirks. You haven’t lived until you’ve heard an Irish person explain the concept of "the craic." Hint: it’s not what it sounds like.
As we drove, sheep dotted the hills like woolly marshmallows, and stone walls crisscrossed the land like patchwork. I started to wonder: who’s keeping track of all these sheep? Turns out, the answer would become very clear later in the day.
We arrived at our hotel in Derry, dropped our bags like hot potatoes, and hopped back onto the bus. Our destination? A local sheep farm tucked into the countryside just outside the city. It was here that I had one of my absolute favorite experiences of the entire trip.
The visit began the way all great things in Ireland should: with food. We were ushered into a warm, homey room and presented with a meal that could have brought a tear to any carb-lover’s eye. Irish brown bread slathered with Kerrygold butter (truly the nectar of the gods), hearty potato and leek soup that warmed the soul, and finger sandwiches that put all my tea party childhood dreams to shame. We finished the meal with hot tea and homemade cookies, preparing ourselves for the real show to begin.
Enter Jamsie, our host for the afternoon and a fourth-generation sheep farmer with more charisma in his little finger than most people muster in a lifetime. If he ever decides to leave farming, Broadway better watch out. Jamsie welcomed us with the kind of hospitality that makes you feel like you’ve just come home after a long time away. He launched into stories about his life on the farm, including a gripping saga about convincing the local shepherd's staff maker to finally craft him a crook of his own. Sounds mundane, right? Wrong. The way Jamsie told it, I was hooked. I laughed, I cried (okay, not really, but I came close), and I’m still half convinced it deserves a musical adaptation.
But the true stars of the afternoon were the dogs.
Jamsie introduced us to three of his trained sheepdogs, and let me tell you—they were absolute marvels. With a single whistle or word, they sprang into action, rounding up sheep with precision and grace. It was like watching a ballet, only dustier and woolier.
Each dog had a different role, and their obedience and skill were nothing short of miraculous. My job in all this? Gatekeeper. Once the sheep were rounded up, I had the honor of closing the gate. It was, without question, my proudest farming moment.
After our hands-on sheep herding adventure, we wandered into the barns where we met the farm’s newest residents: puppies and baby lambs. I repeat—puppies and baby lambs. Cue the collective melting of hearts. We got to cuddle, coo, and ask questions about different breeds of sheep that Jamsie has collected over the years. The experience wrapped with a sheep shearing demonstration that was as impressive as it was fast. Jamsie made it look easy (spoiler: it’s not).
Of course, we couldn’t leave without hitting up the gift shop. Wool socks, handmade crafts, and a few lamb-themed souvenirs later, we left with full hearts and maybe a little bit of sheep smell clinging to our jackets.
If you’re ever in Derry, do not miss this experience. Not only is it adorable and educational, but it also supports local, family-run businesses—what The Travel Corporation calls "making travel matter." And I couldn’t agree more. When travel connects you to people, their livelihoods, and their stories, everyone wins. As part of The Travel Corporation’s "Make Travel Matter" initiative, we got to contribute to the sustainability of small, local businesses. It’s one thing to tour a place; it’s another to know your tourism is doing some good.
Back in the city, we met up with our local guide Ronan for a walking tour of Derry/Londonderry. The dual name itself is a reflection of this city’s layered identity. Nationalists (mostly Catholic) call it Derry, while Unionists (mostly Protestant) refer to it as Londonderry. Our group quickly learned that in this part of the world, names matter.
Ronan was a living legend. A true local, he grew up in the Bogside neighborhood during the height of the Troubles and brought the city’s history to life with a blend of humor, passion, and hard-earned wisdom. We began our tour in the Bogside, home to a series of powerful murals that document the civil rights struggles of Northern Ireland’s recent past. These massive paintings are sobering reminders of a conflict that, while mostly in the past, still shapes the present.
One mural depicted the Bloody Sunday massacre of 1972, where British soldiers shot unarmed protestors. Another showed a young girl in a gas mask during a protest. Standing in front of these images while Ronan shared his firsthand memories was like stepping into a history book—with pages stained by real people's pain and hope.
We moved on to walk the historic city walls, built in the early 1600s and still entirely intact—the only city walls in Ireland to survive in full. From atop the walls, we had a panoramic view of the city below: the Catholic Bogside on one side, the largely Protestant Fountain neighborhood on the other. Geography here isn’t just about land. It’s about identity, history, and healing.
Along the way, we passed the now-famous Derry Girls mural, a colorful tribute to the hit comedy show that captured hearts worldwide for its honest, hilarious take on teenage life during the Troubles. Many of us were fans of the show, and seeing the mural felt like spotting a celebrity in the wild.
At one point, Ronan shared my favorite trivia tidbit of the trip: the origin of the term "hillbilly." Apparently, it comes from Protestant supporters of King William of Orange—"Billy"—who lived in the hills of Ireland. Mind. Blown.
As the sun began to dip behind the rooftops, we returned to our hotel for dinner—an Irish take on American favorites. Chicken wings and lasagna, but with a twist that only Irish kitchens could manage. Over our meal, our group talked about what we’d seen and felt that day. The weight of recent history, the echoes of division, and the work of reconciliation. We reflected on the divisions we see in our own countries, communities, and hearts. And how travel—when done thoughtfully—can peel back layers, foster empathy, and plant seeds of understanding.
Today was full. Of laughter and learning. Of sheep and stories. Of heritage and hope.
And as I drifted off to sleep in a city that has endured so much and still stands proud, I felt thankful. Thankful for storytellers like Jamsie and Ronan. Thankful for soft lambs and hard truths. And thankful for the chance to walk these old roads with new eyes.
Next stop: Belfast. But Derry, you’ve left a mark on us.
And probably a bit of wool on my coat.
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