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fragments of seashells . People have been eating seaweed and seafood there for over five thousand years .
I continued on my way to meet Maruk , a colleague of a worldwide biker organisation of which I too am a member . Maruk was waiting for me , looking out of the kitchen window . His wife and two young boys gave me a very warm welcome . They prepared a hot meal and gave me a room with a wonderful bed and a fluffy duvet . The next morning , Maruk was in the kitchen preparing breakfast for me and we had a long chat about travel , countries , and life . We said our goodbyes and I headed for Letterfrack , where Robert had recommended a hostel , the most picturesque I ' ve known in these seven years as a nomadic biker : The Old Monastery .
On the drive to Letterfrack , one hundred and fifty eight kilometres , a
four hour ride , under constant rain , I was very careful not to run over sheep , it is plagued with them , and they are the masters of the road ; they sleep on the side because of the heat emanating from the surface of the pavement .
Completely soaked , I arrived and parked in front of The Old Monastery hostel , unpacked La Más , and with my gear still on , I walked to the Clover Fox pub , where Thomas ,
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