Greetings from Arcadia,
Alright Ireland, listen up. I know it’s been a while since we’ve gotten together and had a chat, and that’s my fault, but I need your full attention now.
I need you to take it down a notch. You’re achingly, ravishingly beautiful; lush, verdant fields, windswept heather-covered hills, twisting country lanes lined with ancient stone walls, and (I’m looking at you here, Donegal) rugged cliffs, sparkling turquoise waters with waves crashing in slow motion, beaches that put the Caribbean to shame. I mean, the whole Emerald Isles thing, I thought that was a marketing tactic?! Why are you SO green?? Like, over-the-top green.
And, what’s with the whiskey? I thought that Scotland pretty much had that game sewn up, and now I’m inundated with all these fantastic whiskies to try, and the food – don’t get me started on Irish stew (actually, please don’t, I can’t stop). On top of that, your people are so friendly, laid back, welcoming to the tourist hordes, and they have the most charming, lilting accents. They could be screaming obscenities and I’d find it adorable. And all the clothing and crafts made of beautiful, homespun wool. If your people made a Big Mouth Billy Bass out of wool, I’d probably buy it.
Are you with me, still? I need you to pull it back, let the other countries play a bit. You can’t be this great. You’re hogging the ball. It’s not fair to everyone else who doesn’t get to breathe this fresh air all the time and for God’s sake, there are fluffy little newborn lambs all over the place! Why are there baby lambs frolicking in the road so I have to stop and watch them be cute? That’s just spiking the ball. You’re showing off and it’s unnecessary, and I’ll tell you what else, it’s not fair to the poor sods like me who don’t get to live here. I mean, I can take it, I’m made of sterner stuff than the average tourist. But really, can you leave something for the rest of the world? I don’t want to have to share you with everyone and you’re making it really hard.
I just got good at driving on the wrong side of the road and then it’s already time to say goodbye again. Just do me a favor and keep your head down, stay humble, and stay under the radar until I get back. Ok? Thanks. That was a good talk. Clear eyes, full hearts (or whatever coaching people say when they need to wrap it up – thanks for indulging me as I pretend to know what goes on inside organized sports).
Ok, where was I? Ireland is kind of like a really good painting, each time you look at it you experience something different, and it gets better and more interesting with each look. I was in Ireland with Dan in 2015, but we were only there for five (really great) days exploring the Connemara area, and that is not nearly enough time to see Ireland for real. This time around I got to spend two full weeks drinking it in, and diving deeper into a country that really tugs at all my heartstrings. I’ll be back, without a doubt, this is a country that demands you take another sip…then another.
I hadn’t actually planned on coming to Ireland for my round-the-world trip, since I’d already seen a bit of the country previously, but I got hooked into a website which matches you with people that need their house “sat” and animals looked after. You get to stay in their home for free, they get free house sitting, and you get to experience life in another country (or city) like a local would.
So, cue the pipes and lutes or whatever it is they use to make celtic music, after an interminable red eye flight where I was surrounded by chatty teenagers from Boston on some sort of fancy field trip, I landed in Shannon ready to sit a house in the countryside near Kilkenny. What I was unprepared for is that the house was more of a manor, built in the 1700’s, filled with gorgeous antiques, a fireplace in every room, and a pair of lovely people to greet me warmly and make me a badly needed cup of tea.
They spent the next day showing me the ropes, introducing me to a sweet, easygoing Rottweiler/Boxer mix named appropriately enough, Roxer, who could sense a patsey from a mile away and developed a habit of flopping over for belly rubs whenever I entered the room. There was also “Famous Cat” (stage name Vinyl Cat), but her closest friends and family call her Furby. She evidently made quite the splash on YouTube by “scratching” on her owner’s record player, and even had her own cat agent at one point. She now enjoys an idyllic feline celebrity early retirement, wherein she follows people around the garden and gives sad kitty eyes to anyone who has access to the cat food. Her son, Turbo, was less interested in my friendship and kept a very wary eye on me throughout, though he could condescend to be in the same room with me so long as I dished out extra food for him. There were also a bevy of chickens, guinea fowl, and geese (who hissed angrily whenever I was around but thankfully kept their distance). The house was surrounded by bright green fields, ponds, old chestnut trees, a garden and greenhouse, and if you were not previously a country-loving person, this place would turn you. In my case, it was a little slice of heaven that I got to call home for a week.
In between caring for my little zoo and fighting some really, really strong jet lag (which I suspect was made worse by the head cold I contracted before I left), I had the afternoons to explore the area around Kilkenny, and ventured out to see ruins of an ancient monastery called Kells Priory, toured Kilkenny Castle and a nearby boutique whisky distillery, visited a reconstruction of an emigrant famine ship, went to a food festival in a small town on the southern coast, and even found time to have a nice ride around a beautiful estate (which is really like a country club) on a big, black mare named Misha.
Returning to the house every evening, I would walk Roxer around the fields behind the house, make dinners on the old Aga range, and enjoy the slow pace of life, which includes weekly milk deliveries and neighbors who stop their tractors to say hello. Surrounded with beautiful antiques, sometimes it really felt a bit like a Beauty and the Beast kind of place, where the 18th century clock and the ornate candlestick would burst into song at any moment. Which, I think, makes me the Beast. But just when I felt I needed to clear my head, all I had to do was hop back in the car and take my life into my hands driving the Irish country lanes (sorry Mom, but I have to say something about the driving here, because it’s a major feature of Irish country life as viewed from an outside perspective). They’re every bit as narrow as I remembered; they would only count as two lanes if both vehicles were bicycles. Somehow the Irish people go hurtling around blind corners and over steep hills, and they live their lives and go about their business without accidentally murdering their friends and neighbors. Driving on the wrong side was actually very easy to learn and I quickly got the hang of the (many, many) clockwise roundabouts, but the narrowness of the roads was very intimidating at the beginning. So, once I learned the fine art of steering my little car into the bushes in the nonexistent shoulder to let oncoming cars or tractors pass, I actually really started enjoying driving down winding hedgerows and around the coastal cliffs.
By the time I was really starting to feel like a part of the place, it was time to go (before I actually did start talking to the candlesticks). I said a sad goodbye to my new friends, gave Roxer a long belly rub, and started on the road trip phase of my Irish adventure.
As I headed up through the middle of Ireland on my way to see the northern coast, I stopped at Clonmacnoise and toured the nearby Kilbeggan distillery, which claims to be the oldest licensed distillery in Ireland. After touring Walsh Whiskey the previous week in their brand new distillery (with a hilarious tour guide named Paddy), it was interesting to see the contrast with the 200-year-old distilling equipment that is still at work at Kilbeggan making small, boutique batches of whiskey, including the only steam-powered generator in Ireland that still functions.
My next stop was in County Donegal, on the northwest coast of Ireland, and before I go on I have to note that I stayed in Airbnbs all along my road trip, stopping at a different one each night, and every night I thought “it can’t get better than that.” But it did. Every host was so warm and welcoming, the homes were charming, clean rooms and comfortable beds, and good conversation. If you’re considering a trip to Ireland, Airbnbs are great value, and especially great if you’re traveling alone, because the people are SO nice and you can feel a bit more like a local.
So, after my first night in Donegal, I headed out to tackle Slieve League. These are the highest sea cliffs in Ireland at just over 1,900 feet, and I had read about some of the treacherous climbing routes to the top. Given my ongoing hate/hate relationship with heights, this seemed like both a crazy undertaking for me to do alone, but also an unmissable sight that I couldn’t let pass out of fear. On my way there, driving some of the most narrow, twisty roads I had yet encountered in Ireland, the foreboding skies overhead made me wonder if I should come back tomorrow so I didn’t have to climb it in the driving rain. I stopped at a tea shop to kill some time…and then the skies opened up and started pouring hail. I waited it out for 10 minutes, and just as I was ready to turn around the sun peeked out and I decided to give it a try. I’m so glad I did, because by the time I reached the parking lot it was starting to clear and I ended up with really great hiking weather and a clear view of the cliffs. This is a worn out old clunker of a truism, but in Ireland it’s actually true that if you don’t like the weather, you should wait 10 minutes. I really needn’t have worried about Slieve League, because it turns out you don’t have to go the scary route called One Man’s Pass to see an unbelievable view. I was able to enjoy the hike up and take in the gorgeous views without getting the panicky “too high” feeling that sometimes hits me when I’m really far up there.
Feeling good after my successful hike at Slieve League, I made my way along the coastal route, driving through some serious sheep country (you really have to watch out for sheep in the road, especially in spring, the newly born lambs can easily escape the fencing). The strand beach at Malin Beg, which is out on the far point of the peninsula, is stunning. Beyond stunning. It’s a perfect crescent of fine, white sand, surrounded by green cliffs and turquoise waters that rush up the beach and crash silently into the cliffs further out. I climbed down the many steps to the beach and sat on a driftwood log and watched the waves come rolling slowly in.
I had the beach all to myself for a little while, and a sense of total peace came over me that I sometimes get when I’m alone, outside, and feeling both fully, spine-tingly alive and strangely calm all at the same time. There’s always a bit of melancholy in those moments too, that these places and the moments I have in them seem too good to last. In order to tear myself away and move on, I always have to give a little pep talk and promise myself that it won’t be the first and last time I stand there and breathe that air and feel that particular kind of peace.
The next stop was Ardara (pronounced like ARRR-dra), where Donegal Tweed is both a major local industry and a major reason that my credit card was trembling with fear. I visited a shop that still hand weaves every piece of wool on an antique loom. They showed me how the weaving works, and how every single one of the 1,500 threads must be tied onto the loom by hand. The patterns are beautiful, and the clothing they make is of the highest quality. I needed every single shred of self control not to walk out of there many thousands of dollars poorer. This quaint little town is also where I had the best Irish stew in Ireland (Nancy’s – on the main street that runs through the center of town).
Next day I set out for more hiking, this time in the national park, Glenveagh, which had some spectacular scenery despite the misty weather and generally dreariness of the day. Much of the forest in this park is thick with moss and covered in a tangle of ancient trees that make them look like fairy groves. It makes the belief in fairies (whether benign or sinister) seem more real, and I could see how these myths became a part of the fabric of old Celtic legends.
Maybe I was overdoing it by pushing myself every day, or maybe it was just homesickness, but I really wasn’t able to enjoy the beauty of Glenveagh. I walked a long way, and listened to music, and walked around the castle grounds that sit on the edge of the lake, and walked even farther into the park. But I just couldn’t get into the mood to enjoy this beautiful place, so I finally left feeling disheartened that I hadn’t loved the park as much as I really should have.
Just the thing to lift my spirits…my best Airbnb yet, in Portstewart (after crossing over into Northern Ireland), and the sweetest hostess a homesick girl could ask for. Sheila greeted me with a cup of tea, a smile, and a beautiful room to rest my weary feet. This would be my base for the last leg of my journey, and it turned out to be the perfect spot to explore the Causeway Coast, which has a lot to offer beyond the main attraction – the Giant’s Causeway. Finally in a spot that felt very home-like, I was able to relax and look forward to returning there every day after I ventured out to sightsee.
My first stop was Mussenden Temple, which is so lonely, and interesting, and beautifully picturesque that I could not stop taking pictures…seriously, I have a LOT of pictures of this place. It was originally built to house the library of the Earl of Bristol. It is, without a doubt, one of the most breathtaking spots that books have ever had the great privilege to live. Built on the edge of a cliff overlooking the beautiful beaches below, the windswept islands offshore, and the incredible green-blue Atlantic waves, this man took his reading seriously. It was built to replicate a Roman temple with vaulted ceilings and soaring columns, there was a 24/7 fire burning to keep the books dry, and an inscription in the stone that reads “Tis pleasant, safely to behold from shore/The rolling ship, and hear the tempest roar.” The entire Downhill Demesne property was a joy to explore, and though it’s only a ruin now, it still reflects the rugged beauty of the coastline on which it sits.
Next up was the Giant’s Causeway and the North Antrim Cliff walk. The Giant’s Causeway is worth seeing, the hexagonal columns of stone that were shaped by volcanic activity and create a pathway out onto the sea are fun to hop around on. However, even early in the morning it was fairly mobbed with people, and if there’s one thing that can be counted on to turn me off, it’s a crowd of obnoxious, pushing tourists. So, I quickly escaped to the relative peace of the the cliff walk above, and was treated to another clear, sunny day and some of the most beautiful scenery in all of Ireland.
When they call it a cliff walk, they’re not kidding around. The path runs right along the edge of the cliffs, and while it’s a fairly wide walking path, I was always keeping one eye on the fence to my right, wondering if I could hurdle myself over it if I started to feel the ground give way underneath my feet. The path runs along five miles of cliffs along the Causeway Coast, and if the views over the ocean are spectacular, then the views inland, looking over the patchwork of fields and little villages are also a sight to behold. The cliff walk is becoming much more popular these days, so as the sunny day wore on, I passed more and more people headed along this treacherous route. But I was still able to find a quiet spot of fluffy grass to rest and watch the gulls chase each other, and soak in some sunshine on the top of a cliff.
My final day of sightseeing on the coast started out early in the morning at the Dark Hedges, a now-famous tree lined road that has become a major tourist attraction after being featured in the show Game of Thrones. While I’ve never seen the show, I love a good tree tunnel as much as the next person, and had a nice walk amongst the towering, gnarled beeches (that are now over a hundred years older than their normal life span of 150-200 years), marveling at the interlocking branches that create a maze overhead. I think it would probably have been a lot more atmospheric and impressive if it was a dark, cloudy day or covered in snow or something other than the bright sunshine I encountered there. It was a bit sad to see how much graffiti has been carved in their trunks and even though I was there early, it was getting really busy with tourists by the time I left.
My next stop was to take in yet another incredible beach, at White Park Bay, which was surprisingly not swamped with people. It actually reminded me a lot of some of the beaches along Lake Michigan. Who knew Ireland had such a treasure trove of perfect beaches? The dunes and waving grasses were calming and the sun was shining for a third day in a row, which is pretty unusual in April in Ireland. The final stop on the Causeway Coast was Dunluce Castle, yet another structure perched dramatically over the edge of a cliff. It’s a beautiful ruin now, but they give guided tours that tell the history of the place and people that called it home once.
The next morning I left Portstewart for my final full day in Ireland I was going to explore the capital city of Belfast. I’d heard from numerous people that the Titanic Museum was something you can’t miss when you’re in Belfast, so after getting myself hopelessly lost on the city’s highways, I finally found my way and spent a few hours looking around this fascinating museum (which is really something incredible to behold from the outside too). The weather wasn’t cooperating with my plans to explore the city on foot, so I shivered my way around for a while, then gave in, dripping wet, and had a delicious dinner at the funky Made in Belfast restaurant before packing to leave. The next morning I was on a flight to my next stop, France, and saying a sad “see you later” to one of my favorite countries, Ireland.
I’ll wrap it up, but first, if you’ll indulge me once more for a few thoughts about solo travel…I have a lot of people (usually other women) that tell me they think it’s brave, what I’m doing. I don’t mention this because I want to propagate that notion, I truly, honestly never feel brave (often very much the opposite) when I’m traveling, and I don’t think that’s a particular virtue of mine. I say it because I think that a lot of people don’t understand why someone would do what I’m doing. The moments when I am alone, on some windswept coastline, or staring up at dancing northern lights, or wandering down a deserted backcountry lane, I feel empowered with something else. I don’t think I have a word for it. But there’s something incredibly freeing about seeing something so beautiful with only your eyes to witness it. There’s a little battle that goes on in my brain during those times; I always wish fiercely that someone was there to see it with me, because it’s so special and I want to share it, but at the same time, I think that maybe that incredible feeling is something you only get when you’re not sharing it. When it’s all yours. And you have to just stop thinking and worrying and take it all in, and store it up in your head so you remember that moment. It’s not bravery, but it takes some other kind of fortitude to resist the temptation to always have someone else along for the ride. Because it’s a strong pull, which I am by now very familiar with, to have the comfort of someone by your side to navigate, make decisions, share the load, and take in the sights with someone else’s eyes seeing it right alongside yours.
But sometimes that difficulty leads to moments that I think are only possible when you force yourself to go it alone. I won’t sugarcoat it too much, sometimes it’s 99 percent terrible and 1 percent amazing, but other times, those glittering moments make the struggle, the time away from my home, and my family and friends, and all the money spent and time wasted, worth it.
Sláinte mhaith,
Sarah