It was an impromptu decision that brought me to Ireland. I had always planned on visiting; it was one of the destinations on my "list of places to see before you die", but I hadn't planned anything more than that. If someone had told me at the start of the new year that, on a whim, I would be visiting four countries before the year was out, I wouldn't have believed them. Well, maybe.
I had the pleasure of spending a glorious sun-filled week on a beach in Santa Clara, Cuba in February then visited Spain, Ireland and France for an extended Thanksgiving trip. Though I fell in love with each destination in a different way, I was most impressed with Ireland. I knew little more about the country than the stereotypes visible in pop culture, and perhaps that's one of the main reasons I was left awestruck. I traveled to Ireland from Spain, and while waiting at the airport to board, I found myself mesmerized by a young Irish boy conversing with his father. I'll admit, I have always felt a little weak in the knees listening to the Irish accent, but hearing it from the mouth of a child simply made me melt. They bantered over Euros and the boy's wish to purchase chocolate before the flight home. After some teasing, the boy ran off to the store and the father and I shared a smile. This warmth set the stage for the entire visit.
The Aer Lingus flight from Spain lasted just under two hours. My friend and I sat in the very first row and played travel scrabble for the entire flight. The game prompted a conversation among the flight attendants (apparently it's rare to see people playing non-computerized games these days) and the Irish businessman who sat beside us eventually joined in. All were friendly and warmly welcomed us with pride to their homeland.
We landed in Dublin on a chilly October morning, just after midnight. Not dressed properly for the weather, we hopped quickly into a taxi and chatted with the charming driver all the way to The Grafton Capital Hotel. On the way, we passed the lighted Dublin Convention Centre and the awesome harp-shaped Samuel Beckett Bridge and vowed to find our way back to them on foot. The hotel and its staff welcomed us with old-world charm; it was spacious, clean and excellently located.
The next morning, with our trusty map in hand, we wandered down picturesque Grafton Street and peered into the many shop windows. We soon found ourselves browsing the shelves of a small bookstore, as locals lined up around the back anticipating a book signing and staff handed out chocolates to those who waited. The feeling was so comforting, I didn't want to leave. I felt the same in the Fixx Coffee shop down the street whilst I sipped my americano and shared a delicious lemon poppy seed muffin with my friend.
We walked for hours without noticing the time. We toured the majestic Dublin Castle (where I promptly fell in love with the soft sound of the tour guide's voice), we walked across the many bridges (including the lovely Ha' Penny Bridge where at the foot lay a bronze plaque to James Joyce). We enjoyed a fresh pint in the amazing Guinness Factory, stepped silently through the grand library in Trinity College and then made our way back to the sites that first attracted us, near the heart-breaking Famine Statues. Dublin's hospitality extended into the wee hours, when we browsed the night life in the Temple Bar district. I felt more than safe in Dublin, I felt at home.
The next day, we left Dublin and made our way west. Soon after our bus left the edge of the city, Ireland's beautiful landscape began to unfold. Words cannot describe the lush green pastures, the rolling hills, the simple majesty of the trees. The writer in me was left both inspired and dumbfounded. Our tour bus stopped on the side of a curved road at the top of a hill so that we could see the magnificent beauty of the green hills below. Soon after, we stopped again in the heart of the Burren, surrounded by rocky hills and ancient monuments. Our bus traveled along narrow roads, passing cozy cottages, rock fences and grazing sheep.
Within an hour, we arrived at the Cliffs of Moher. My friend and I walked along the edge, awestruck. It all seemed a dream; the lush green hills on one side, the cliffs and the crashing waves below on the other, and the foggy view of the Aran Islands in the distance. The hours we spent at the cliff's edge didn't seem enough to soak it all in. Soon after we left, our bus stopped again at the side of the road so that we could walk along a rocky edge and see The Cliffs of Moher from a different view. It was this rocky expanse that struck me the most. As I stood at the edge, letting the wind tussle my hair, a school of dolphins swam by; it was surreal.
I felt at home in Dublin, but I left my heart in hills of Ireland. As the bus made its way back to the station, I vowed to return and rent a cottage in the hills, so that the writer in me could engulf myself once again in the muse that is the Irish landscape.
Debora Marino - Debora is a freelance writer (and aspiring novelist) whose passions include travel, delicious cuisine, fine wine and the written word.
