"Ireland is Where Strange Tales Begin, [but] Happy Endings are Possible."

Making last-minute decisions that require a large amount of commitment - a habit of mine that is going to get me into trouble one day, if it hasn’t already. Last Friday, at approximately 2:30 in the morning, I booked a weekend trip to Ireland and by 8 A.M., I was sitting on an Aer Lingus regional plane to Dublin.

Now, allow me to preface this post with a bit of warning. Those who know me would attest to the fact that I am not one to generalize normally. So in no way should the following blog post be taken as a fully accurate representation of Ireland and its people. My experiences last weekend were insane (in both positive and negative ways), but in the end, they are unique to me because noone experiences the same thing in the same way. And furthermore, because I want my updates to be as sincere as possible, this update, by nature, can’t be all about finding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

I want to make sure that in the coming words I don’t offend the Irish people and those who’ve lived in and traveled to Ireland and had the most positive and incredible of experiences. Ireland is a magnificent place; I am forever thankful that I was able to visit in the first place and I’m sure that whenever I should get the pleasure of returning, I’ll have a different story to tell. For now, I’ll be telling my story out of order to save the most entertaining parts for the end.

I should start off by saying that regardless of how good or bad my trip ended up being personally, one thing that’s absolutely undeniable is the breathtaking landscape that surrounds you, as far as your eye can see, as soon as you’re on Irish soil. On Sunday (primarily to get myself out of Dublin City for the day, if I’m honest) I booked myself a seat on a #PaddywagonTours trip out to the Cliffs of Moher, which was the highlight of my entire Irish experience. Not to mention that the cliffs were unmistakably one of the most surreal natural wonders I have ever laid eyes upon. I’ll never forget the color of that water - the most unbelievable turquoise blue. As I was standing on the edge of the second-highest cliffs in Europe, feeling the intense moist ocean breeze blow my hair in every which way, I felt like I was on top of the world and I never wanted to come down. But the cliffs weren’t the only exquisite sight to be seen across the vast Irish countryside. As I traveled throughout the 4 days I fell in love with all the green - yes, just like you would imagine, in Ireland you’re practically drowning in a sea of green. And furthermore, each little town and village I came across looked like something from a travel magazine or post card - untouched and quaint, like a capsule to a time not so long ago. The land tells a detailed recount of Ireland’s history with every square foot - a history that many have no idea even took place (myself included until this trip), but for the Irish people, the tragedies that that ground once saw are impossible to forget. There’s a reason that so much of the world is known to be descending from Irish blood-lines and if you ever get the chance, I recommend you spend just a few minutes looking into it - I know just hearing my tour guide discuss everything from the great potato famine to the civil war was an enlightening experience to say the least. I am honestly proud of the Irish people for all they have been able to overcome; I’ll never look at Ireland or my Irish roots in the same way again.

Alright, now that my #IrishPride soapbox is over, we can get to fun stuff. So, you might be wondering how spending a weekend in such a lovely place could have left such a sour taste in my mouth. Shall I count the ways? Let’s start with my biggest gripe of them all - the creepy, shady men that seemed to follow me from one corner of the country to the other. I swear, I must have been having a good hair weekend or something because I have never experienced so many moments that could have almost been considered mild cases of sexual harassment in my life. I had old men blowing kisses and making profane hand gestures at me from passing trains, and 2 separate guys kiss me on the head and on the cheek as we were parting ways (men I’ve never met before in my life, mind you). One guy made me take selfies with him and send them to all my friends just so he could document his fleeting and insignificant existence in my life, and another even asked me if I was a prostitute and if I'd go home with him as he was passing me on the street. What was that all about? Many of them cat-called me, danced in front of me, and did everything in their power to get (and keep) my attention for as long as humanly possible - even when I was making my extreme disinterest painfully clear. Now flattering as all of this is, after a few days of being thusly treated, I wasn’t having it any longer as I’m sure you can imagine.

To go along with the overly-friendly (and that’s putting it nicely) people, this trip seemed to be riddled with one epic fail after another. It all seemed to be going nice and smoothly on Day 1, considering I actually never managed to make it to bed that night. I managed to stumble from my dorm to the airport, onto my plane, 2 shuttle buses, a train, and to my hotel in Limerick (a total of approximately 10 hours of travel) with puffy eyes, a caffeine withdrawal induced headache and a 15 pound bag like a champion (pretty much). But once I arrived in Limerick, my good mojo ran out quickly. After that, I found out the hard way that finding a place to have dinner, alone, in a small town, at a late hour in Ireland is literally impossible and had to settle for a pathetic meal of “classic American diner” food, when all I wanted was a real (and what would have been my first of the day) meal. The next day I misjudged the time of my original tour up north and set my alarm accordingly and missed it, which stuck me in town all morning and afternoon with little to do while I waited for the next available train out of there. Snore. When I finally got to Dublin I was the absolute polar opposite of impressed. I hated the city to my very core. To me, it seemed dirty and loud and it completely lacked anything that set it apart from every other metropolitan city in the world. I walked around for a short period of time and gave it a chance to show me something I hadn’t seen before, something that might live up to my (not unreasonably) high expectations, and when I found nothing of note, I headed back to my hostel for the night.

Obviously when you’re young and broke, hostels are the ideal way to stay when traveling. They are about as cost-effective as a diet of #RamenNoodles and #CampbellsSoup, but the phrase “you get what you pay for” truly applies here. That said, there are still some things that can’t be justified or tolerated - even for a bargain price - and my bunkmate for the 2 nights I stayed in Dublin was the textbook definition of intolerable and unjustifiable. He was (pardon my French, but) a compete and total lunatic. Picture this: a short, curly-haired ginger, in ragged clothes and no shoes who never left his bed (except for the terrifying times when I would find him precariously perched in my bed instead) and who flapped his yap to himself at all hours of the day and night spouting dark and sinister-sounding verses while he incessantly and audibly typed away on his iPad. He said he was writing a poem, I think? But honestly, I had a hard time listening to any of the things he said to me because I was too distracted trying to hide under my covers to avoid the stench of his unwashed body that was permeating throughout the room (he said it had been more than 4 days since he last showered for no particular reason at all). I honestly feared for my own mental and physical health living in the bunk below him. After skipping sleep entirely once already that weekend, all I wanted desperately was a good night’s rest, but as you can probably imagine, considering the circumstances, sleep never happened for me then either. Emotionally, physically, and mentally drained by Day 3 I just wanted to go home.

The only things that got me through all the trials, tribulations, and train rides to no-where were the darling people I met along the way. While unfortunately spread few and far between, it was still a pleasure to have crossed paths with the sweet pharmaceutical salesmen dad on the plane, the half-marathon-running mom on the train, the amateur-boxing Glaswegian brother in the train station and the American traveler in the hostel. And a special thanks to the fabulous Aussie girl - Meaghan from Seymour and Ford - that toured the country with me on Day 3 and our adorable tour guide that showed us the way. I appreciate every person that comes into and out of my life - good bad and ugly, because they all have a lesson to teach us, right? (Except for the crazy, smelly guy, I’m not sure what life lesson he taught me other than the importance of regular bathing.)

Getting the chance to go back to my roots and see the country where so much of my history took place was a surreal experience in the end. It may have had some bumpy patches throughout the 4 days, but what significant moment in history ever went down completely flawlessly anyways? Despite the struggles, I hope Ireland and I have a future together, somewhere down the road. After all, 

“Ireland is where strange tales begin, [but] happy endings are possible.”

— Charles Haughey