Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Ireland!




My trip to the Celtic world began as a quiet night drive from Dublin to the historic Irish city Galway. As we drove across the small island that is Ireland, I peered blindly through my window into the darkness and thought excitedly, “I can’t wait to see what the countryside looks like in the light.” With a three hour drive ahead of us, I turned on the radio and flicked through an unfamiliar broadcast of Irish melodies and accents, until finally reaching a recognizable tune (or at least a tune that that the girls in the backseat agreed to).
After spending the night in a rather stinking hostel, smelling like a conglomeration of body odor, flatulation and mold, we woke up early undaunted to charge Galway on foot. Like God smiling down on our trip, the sun shone brightly overhead, blessing my first real sight of Ireland with happy spring weather. As we walked into Galway’s center, the roads narrowed into pedestrian walkways filled with happy shoppers, bright colors and the occasional Irish tune strumming on a violin. Strangely, I was still recovering from a recent flu-like sickness, yet I remember feeling like my cheerfulness in that moment remedied all lingering symptoms.
We didn’t waste much time in Galway however, as the Cliffs of Moher awaited us less than a few hours away. We jumped into the rental (on the wrong side of the car might I remind you, as they drive on the left side of the road in Ireland and Scotland) and entered the rolling countryside. Instantly the narrow streets of Galway city were replaced with rolling green hills, dotted with crumbling stone walls and fluffy white sheep. One castle and one stop at a particularly scenic segment of land later, we finally arrived at the infamous Cliffs of Moher.
As we walked to the cliffs, the rolling countryside suddenly plummeted into the sea as if Ireland had been ripped violently from a primordial continent and tossed into the ocean. I approached the side and gazed down with the emotions of a curious little boy, marveling at the leviathan scale of it all- there were so many mesmerizing characteristics to take in at once. If I looked far below, I could see hundreds of sea gulls flying in-between the cliffs below with waves of white splashing against the rocky wall. But if I looked further up the cliff sides, I could see multi-layered colors within the rock, like the characteristics of a super decked chocolate cake. My heart swelled as I realized that, surely, as I ran my eyes down the layers of rock, I was gazing back into time, each layer being another million-year-old step backward.
The next 36 hours became a bit of a fun blur. We visited the city of Limerick, ate big meals, laughed outrageously, explored old graveyards, drank delicious Guinness in small Irish pubs, and finally, rode into Dublin on the morning of Saint Patty’s day. We booked a hostel, which compared to our first experience in Galway, was like a fancy condo. However, we hardly spent two hours there before heading to the Guinness factory for an extensive tour of the magic behind the flavor that I so enjoy, followed by a foaming glass of beer on top of the factory. From up here, you could enjoy a panoramic view of Dublin. Looking out over its industrial skyline of smoking chimney stacks and rugged brick buildings while holding a Guinness in my hand (on Saint Patty’s Day might I add), I felt overwhelmingly excited to stretch my legs in the city.
That night, I refused to drink anything but Guinness, which I swear to you, in Ireland, tastes like nectar brewed from the Gods. The first sip is my favorite. It pours across your tongue, soaking your taste buds in the rich flavor of a full-bodied beer, and then quenches your dry throat, which has been made hoarse from shouting across the pub. At last, you lick away the thick white foam mustache that only a good Guinness can give you and let out a refreshing sigh…
On Saint Patty’s Day in Dublin, the streets are filled with painted faces and silly green hats- the pubs are filled with authentic Irish music and singing voices- and on this particular Saint Patty’s Day, I was filled with nothing short of outright intense happiness.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Thoughts from Ireland and Scotland

March 22, 2010

As I write this opening, an overwhelming sense of astonishment seems to confound me…
This past week, I traveled the Celtic world as I have dreamed about since I was a skinny adolescent boy. I drove through the green country side of Ireland, gazed down the jagged cliffs of Moher, drank a beer in Dublin on Saint Patty’s Day, climbed the Scottish Highlands and touched the historic stone of medieval castles. Yet despite my valid effort to describe these things, language has a certain inadequacy, a certain inherent deficiency in translation.
Quite frankly, I am lost for words, not in aptitude, but by the very limitations presented by language itself when expressing the profound. I could never fully sum the accumulation of wonderment, new friendship, and emotions that resulted in this trip. Nor could I fully translate the atmosphere of Dublin in the late hours of Saint Patty’s day, or the way a tiny Scottish village looks in the morning light.
But I suppose that’s why I have decided to wander, as I have never truly believed in the transcendentalist doctrine of some writers, who, living in their cabins stripped away from the bustle of society, suggested that the mind is the only necessary vessel. I argue, as significant as the mind may be, there is no supplement for direct experience- there is no substitute for smelling, tasting, seeing, breathing, hearing, feeling the richness of this magnificent world. And for those sound in mind, embracing the truth of open-mindedness, I believe that wandering can advocate extraordinary things, such as wisdom, tolerance and maybe even, spiritual abundance.
Wow, I’m having some deep thoughts tonight! Perhaps I will leave you with this as my introduction and continue soon with my separate blogs for Ireland and Scotland…