This week I wanted to journey back to Ireland after getting
distracted by out-of-town guests, going to The Bahamas and Thanksgiving.
While Gman and I were in Dublin we decided to take a day
trip out to the countryside. The receptionist/concierge at our hotel, TheKingfisher Restaurant and Townhouse (Gman’s parents go to Dublin often and always
stay here, it’s really lovely), recommended we take the Over The Top tour of
Wicklow and Glendalough. It picked us up in the wee hours of the morning and took
us out and back in the same day. As we left the city center of Dublin
and drove into the suburbs there was a subtle transition into the working class
neighborhoods. The architecture didn’t change, nor did the density of people. The
homes kept their simple, clean lines and were packed in right next to each
other, only now they had tiny gardens.
People were going about their everyday errands, grocery
shopping, filling up at the gas station, waiting in traffic, tiding up the
lawn, and gossiping on street corners. But what changed was the air. It was
harsher, colder, and wetter. Low lying fog swept in and slithered across the peat
moss as we drove further into the countryside. Deep rolling mountains had only patches of
dense forest. I imaged all the battles fought on those grounds. Our tour guide
was good at telling us about significant events while also letting us quietly
look out the windows and take it all in. Gman and I agreed that this was the
Ireland of our imaginations.
Before arriving to the main attraction we drove up to a few
vistas to snap some pictures. We saw herds of sheep scaling the steep slopes on
the side of the road and little towns nestled in valleys. We stopped in one of
those towns to grab a quick bowl of Guinness Stew. The restaurant we stopped in
was not just for tourists; many people were there on their lunch break. I
thought they would have been slightly impatient with our presence, as I’m always in
a hurry for lunch, but they were kind and even pointed out the best desserts
without eye rolls or long sighs.
Over time, Glendalough has absorbed a lot of Ireland’s
history; from its founding as a monastery in the Middle Ages by St. Kevin,
through times of religious and political strife, and nearly becoming obsolete.
Since the 19th century it has been partly restored and is a
destination for domestic and international tourists alike, including historians
and outdoor enthusiasts. The nearby lakes provide great hiking and water
activities for all ages and abilities. It was raining while we were there so we
didn’t venture too far from the bus. The ruins were impressive and haunting. I
felt as if all the events of the past soaked into the ground and lingered in
the air. We were forced to participate in hokey tourist rituals, such as
rubbing a good luck stone, which despite my annoyance towards them, were
actually fun.
Just as we jumped back into the van it started pouring rain
and I napped (I’m a sucker for car rides). Back in Dublin, freshly intoxicated with
the nostalgia of a past we never experienced, we ended the day in some pub,
drinking some local brew, pretending that we lived there. Someday, maybe, someday.
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