A Living Dream

        A dream is a perfect thing: so divinely obscure that it can seem like you’ve lost your mind, or so unthinkably realistic that it clearly resembles everyday life. Even a visit to a certain location can be described as dreamy, and this is exactly what I can say for my last vacation.

Early last month, my family and I went on a two week trip to Ireland. I had thought of Ireland as a country overflowing with leprechauns, rainbows, and exposed, raw accents. Of course, when I landed, it was nothing like I had imagined; this astonishing country differed from my expectations in amazing ways. Lush, vivid hills framed the choppy waves which cut at the coastline. Tall grass danced as the gusty winds caught it in their grasp. Sharp mountains rose majestically from the earth, casting shadows on the lowlands lying beneath them. It was such a beautiful sight that it brought tears to my eyes. During these next couple of weeks, I would learn to appreciate the deep history of Ireland, to preserve its brilliant environment, to love the amazing flavors of the island, and to enjoy the company of the Irish.

As I discovered soon after landing, Ireland is filled with monumental landmarks: castles, ruins, historical pilgrimages, ancient caves, and much more. At first, I took these places for granted; after all, there are thousands of castles in Ireland, let alone the rest of the world. But then I realized the value of touring these ancient structures and exploring Ireland: I was enjoying myself, yet still learning about the history of the country.

Before I knew it, I wasn’t just reading historical events on plaques, I was watching history play out in front of me, as if it was a movie.  While staying in Ulster, I was plunged into the magnificent Nine Years’ War of the late 16th century, joining Hugh O’Neill in rebellion while attacking the British on the river Blackwater. I never thought that I would experience something as breathtaking as this. I was inside the minds of these Irish countrymen, plotting the battle at Yellow Ford and rejoicing with them after victories. 

Shifting to the 1600’s, I found myself in the small town of Kilmore, fleeing from the many fires burning throughout the village. I gaped, petrified, as Scottish and English women and children were cruelly massacred in public streets. I had never before read about how Ireland was so deeply conflicted; these sudden acts of cruelty seemed savage and completely uncalled for.

While I was exploring the history of Ireland, I became lost in the fantasy of royalty- my people were praising me and gazing upon my bejeweled gown as I stepped out onto my balcony. I experienced the glory of being an important figure, but I also encountered the hardships. I endured the abominable feeling of having my people despise me, and the harsh, crushing feeling when I was expected to make a crucial decision. Realizing that ruling was no easy feat, I developed a new respect for those in powerful positions. My understanding of Ireland was growing vastly. 

Although touring historical sights was a fairly large part of my trip, I also had a grand time discovering the Irish culture, food, music, and people. The atmosphere in Ireland was quite cheery and calm, and everywhere I went, there was the loud hum of chatter surrounding me. The music of Ireland was deep and meaningful, usually in Gaelic rather than English. I thought that the streets seemed quaint and neat, unlike many in the United States. But the food they served was not close to what I had pictured, especially breakfast.

A traditional Irish breakfast consists of the following: black pudding, white pudding, Canadian bacon, toast with jam, sausages, and a fried egg. While the rest of the meal tasted excellent, the black pudding was grainy and metallic tasting! 

Hiding a laugh, a waitress approached me, “Are you from America?”

The question surprised me. “Yes, I am,” I answered, filling my voice with as much patriotism as I could convey.

“It’s almost comical! Nearly every American who tastes the puddings dislikes them!”

“How ironic! I have a fine question: what exactly is in these puddings?”

The kind waitress covered her mouth with her hands, stifling a laugh. “Pig blood and liver,” she responded, laughing. As you can guess, I was mortified. 

A few food-related things that set Ireland apart from other countries was the lack of macaroni and cheese and the abundance of fish and chips. I visited well over 30 restaurants, and none of them had mac and cheese on the menu! Although most had multiple types of fish and chips, which pleased the few million who dwell in Ireland.

I’ve visited almost all of the states, yet nowhere have I found people nearly as friendly as the Irish. They seem always ready to chat or to help out. One day, while I was attempting to navigate to the Tower Museum, a stranger ambled up to me and asked, “Are you okay? You seem a bit… confused.”

Embarrassed, I said, “I’m looking for the Tower Museum, and I really cannot find it. I’ve walked around the entire city and haven’t seen a single sign regarding its location.”

“I’ll walk you there, if you’d like. It’s not too far,” he offered.

“Why, thank you! This country is so much better than home; nobody would ever think of walking someone to a location, let alone actually follow through with that thought.”

“That’s just what we do here,” the man responded, “The Irish are expected to extend hospitality to others, especially visitors.” When we arrived at the Tower Museum, I thanked the man and he told me to have a great trip, and to come back soon. His kindness had shocked me, and I was in a brilliant mood for the rest of that day.

Another time, while staying at a cozy B&B, the owner of the home personally served me a lovely dinner, and the following morning drove me down into Derry for the next few days. Everyone was open to friendly discussion, and even when it touched upon the topic of politics, nobody was offended in any way. This differed much from America; here, when political matters are brought up in a conversation, an innocent chat usually ends with red faces, pounding fists, and deafening tones. 

After I had caught a flight home, I sat down and pondered these breathtaking new experiences for a long period of time. What I had seen and been a part of was certainly no ordinary occasion- for the two weeks that I had spent in Ireland, I had been accepted. I was taken in by not only those dwelling in the current century, but also those from past years. I had dined with their royalty, fox hunted with well-known nobles, fished with kind peasants, and sheltered sheep with pleasant farmers. I sampled many types of food, jostled my way through foot traffic on narrow streets, walked where history went down, and interacted with open-hearted natives. As I reflected on these sweet memories, I became aware of the full extent of what I had just done. Tears streamed down my face as I recalled the names of every castle I had visited, all the cities I had spent fond nights in. These were tears of joy, coming out of my newfound love for Ireland. Everything had been so brilliant that now it just seemed like a splendid dream, something so perfect that it never could have been real, let alone happened to me. But it did, and that’s what is so stunning. I was blessed to be able to travel to such an exhilarating country, and I shall never forget my lovely days spent in a living dream.