14 Days of Sun.
We sat on the tarmac patiently at first, yet
when the third announcement from the Captain about delays came over the
speakers, the masses have given up. Disgruntled whispers devolved into audible
complaints. The reality of missing our connecting flights shred the last
strands of hope we held on to.
I sat back and shut my eyes during take-off,
saying my usual prayers and wondering if the words are now more of a
superstitious ritual rather than a prayer of protection. I came to terms with
knowing that I would most likely miss my flight from Philadelphia to Dublin, as
it was out of my control, so I drifted off into light rest.
A rough sleepover in Philadelphia Airport, a
stand-by flight to Charlotte before sunrise, an afternoon downtown in the
Southern city, and a six hour flight over the Atlantic later, I stood at the
baggage carousel in Dublin not expecting to see my blue backpack. My sneaking
suspicion was confirmed as the kind Irishman behind the luggage counter
explained that they failed to load the bags onto the next plane departing
Philly like they were supposed to. The small crowd behind me protested in
frustration, yet I had been down this road before. Almost exactly three years
prior, my black suitcase was lost on route to Croatia when I commenced this
soul searching journey.
The other half of the Dream Team, Clare, was waiting in Arrivals for me. We hadn’t seen
each other since Camp Cal Summer 2014, but picked right back up where we left
off. After breakfast in Howth Harbor, we swapped stories of job woes and dating
disasters while visiting Hill of Tara and Trim Castle. Irish banter never fails
to entertain, once again proven by the witty guide sharing the Castle’s past.
The following day Clare introduced me to megalithic
passageway tombs. Nestled in Boyne Valley, a set of passage tombs dominate the
landscape. Older than the Pyramids and built over 5,000 years ago, they have
served as a central place for sacred rituals, burials, and later as a means for
defense. The megalithic art carved into the stones in and around the
passageways are left to interpretation and transport you to another time.
After a surprising night in Dublin, Clare and I
drove west to Achill Island. A new adventure for Clare as well, this quiet
island blew us away. With only 1,000 loyal habitants year round, the summer
months bring 2,000 more mainly for the surf conditions. Graced with clear
skies, we explored the Island, shrieking with delight with every turn. Crossing
the bridge at Achill Sound we carried on to Keel Beach where massive cliffs
rose above calm turquoise water. A crescent strip of white sand framed a
wonderfully picturesque view.
We hopped back in the car and took the extremely windy and narrow Wild Atlantic Way, not knowing where it would lead and stopping along the way to be repeatedly stunned by increasingly impressive viewpoints. Rogue sheep marked the way and paid no regard to vehicles crossing their territory. We reached one summit and looked down upon quaint Keem Bay that rested on the other side of the highest sea cliffs in Europe. Sufficiently satisfied with the day, we returned to the hotel to set up shop at the bar and learn a bit more from the locals.
We arrived a few weeks before tourist season
begins so the island felt desolate in comparison to a bustling Dublin. There
were probably only a dozen other tourists on the island, if that. The only
traffic consisted of tractors crossing to the next field or sheep moseying on
to a new patch of grass. Over the next two evenings during residence bar, the
barman shared his wit, stories of Irish weddings, and knowledge of what the
Gaeltacht on Achill is like. The next day we drove through the peat bogs and
then explored the Deserted Village, brought to silence from visually seeing the
morbid legacy The Great Famine left behind. Afterwards we started to climb up
Slievemore Mountain to find a small Megalithic tomb and a group of
archeologists excavating a Bronze Age farm house. From Slievemore, we looked out over Keel
Beach and directly at the chiseled cliffs of Minaun, then deciding we needed to
stand upon them.
A short drive alongside a steep spiraled drop
off brought us to a plateaued lot of land. The wind was already whipping when
we parked and headed up to the peak. Climbing through soft bogs and scattered
stones we reached a statue of a welcoming Virgin Mary who stood upon a pillar
with an old blessing for sailors engraved on its side. Standing 466 meters
above the sea, we had a 360 degree view of Achill Island and County Mayo with
the wind roaring in our ears. Yet, after passing over the peak and walking
among travelers’ markers, the wind abruptly ceased and we were able to sit and
take in one of the most incredible views of my life. A familiar feeling
returned with the disappearing wind –
whether I am on a cliff on an island off Croatia, atop an active volcano in
Indonesia, looking over the desert in Arizona, or above the tree line in the
Alps, I feel in the presence of something greater than humanity can ever be,
something more deliberate in creation than coincidence.
We stopped back in Dublin on our way home from
Achill Island for Clare’s friend’s comedy gig. I went to my first comedy show
when we were staying at Clare’s apartment and immediately regretted not going
to more in the past 26 years. In both shows I was clearly pegged as an
American, perhaps due to my massive smile while sitting in the front row, and I
became a recurring theme throughout the sets – all in good Irish banter fun.
The weekend had us crossing the border to Northern
Ireland to meet two other Irish friends from camp, Carol and Shelley. We all
have not seen each other since August of 2012 so we knew it would be an
entertaining reunion. We met in Belfast at the Titanic Museum and were
surprisingly impressed by a museum that did not hold any artifacts – holograms,
virtual tours, and rides took their places. Afterwards we continued driving north
to Ballycastle where we would soon explore the Giant’s Causeway.
Over a delicious meal with plentiful white wine, we exchanged the primary updates from the past three years and immediate plans, if any. Traditional music playing at the pub across the street lured us over so we set up shop there for the night. The lock in turned into a session night when fellow patrons sang a few tunes, Clare and her incredible voice included. Over a connection of duets and pints we made friends with a group of guys rowing around Ireland in a small wooden rowboat for Cystic Fibrosis. All the fun from the evening’s entertainment left us struggling the next morning; however we were on a mission.
Headed west a few short miles down the coast we
reached the rope bridge. Although the sun was blazing, the on shore breeze kept
our jackets zipped and tight. The coastal cliff walk offers stunning views of
the bold sea and rocky islands. After meandering through wildflowers a simple
suspension bridge hangs 30 meters above the water connecting the mainland to
Carrick-a-Rede. Once a prime location for salmon fishing, it is now only
frequented by tourists crossing the bridge to explore the island and bird
watch. Looking down over the bridge, vibrant turquoise water swirls in caverns
and lagoons, making you forget you’re so far north.
After our reunion weekend Clare and I returned
to her hometown in Wexford. I was warmly greeted by her parents and just in
time for tea. When I was last in Ireland I visited the Model County, home to
the best strawberries and new potatoes, and met Clare’s family and farm. My
welcoming was just as grand the second time around. Even though I had only
lefts the states a week and a half ago, home cooked meals and a mother’s
attention was beyond appreciated. Being
able to spend the next few days among Clare’s incredible family, chatting about
the farm and life in general, was exceptional and heartwarming.
That’s the thing about the Irish – they are truly the kindest and most hospitable people I have met. Throughout the past 14 gloriously sunny days in Ireland, Clare has introduced me to her friends and I was given the chance to see some old faces. I have enjoyed delicious meals, thirst-quenching pints, and spectacular views – all thanks to my wonderful friend and tour guide, Clare. She is a light in my life, an effortless friend whose company, wit, and charm give comfort like a full Irish breakfast prepared by a loving mom.
That’s the thing about the Irish – they are truly the kindest and most hospitable people I have met. Throughout the past 14 gloriously sunny days in Ireland, Clare has introduced me to her friends and I was given the chance to see some old faces. I have enjoyed delicious meals, thirst-quenching pints, and spectacular views – all thanks to my wonderful friend and tour guide, Clare. She is a light in my life, an effortless friend whose company, wit, and charm give comfort like a full Irish breakfast prepared by a loving mom.
Beautiful pictures! Thanks for sharing your journey. Keep shining!
ReplyDeleteWhat a journey! Love reading your post! Very inspiring.
ReplyDeletebird watching philippines