Tory is a mythological place, the most remote of Ireland's inhabited islands, little more than a peeble if seen from the Donegal's coasts, named to be the place of Balor of the evil eye, for someone nothing less than the celtic god of darkness, a cyclops who could kill with a glance from his single eyea
You'll find a dangerous sea to pass, often with high waves, strong winds and little visibility (during my visit a two-day stop for the boat, and it was summer), but once approached, Tory shows its personality.
A warm welcome from the king itself (Mr. Patsi Dan MacRuaidhrì), an accordion or fiddle playing, two windy roads to take, or a fresh beer to drink near the pier.
West town hosts a circular bell tower, and a rare ancient Tau cross (12th century), and the choice between two directions: more west, or east.
One road leads to the west: a lake, the shores where seals are often at play, and the impressive white-striped lighthouse, built between 1828 and 1832, surrounded by the boudary wall.
A refreshing place often beated by screaming winds, with views over Errigal mountain, on the distant inland of Donegal.
The other road leads to the only shop and to East Town (a little group of white houses), after which it stops, and Balor' Kingdom begins.
A path leads to the high cliffs, where once was Balor's stone fort (Dun Bahaloir)and its prison (basically a steep rock from which his enemies were thown into the sea), and to "the big key". That's one of the most impressive cliffs I've seen, with prominent rocky pinnacles known as Balor's soldiers.
When I got there, it was shining in the blue sky after a storm, not so easy to forget, as it will be impossible to forget this little but great world apart.