I’ve been living on soda bread and black tea for nearly a week. The sun has been slumbering for twice as long, cradled somewhere behind the wooly gray canopy of clouds. The locals speak lyrically, though, brightening the days. Poetry rolls off their tongues even if they are complaining about growing paler from lack of sun, or grabbing a pint with breakfast today because the tea alone isn’t warming their bones. I am running out of money, and I have no plans of where I’ll sleep. I am beginning a trek 15km between towns, down a dangerous road in the rain because the bus fare was overpriced. My funds are dwindling, and I am anxious, but my heart also beams. It’s all worth it, for I am in love with this place, and love is an emotion-filled ride. I soon forget my human troubles when I am surrounded by a sea of Irish green fields dotted by horses trotting merrily in the distance. Emerald mountains appear, and I feel free as the fae that enchant Ireland. I’m alone in Connemara.
For all my childhood, Ireland was interwoven with threads of wanderlust in my soul. The tune of a tin whistle made me feel home. The celtic music and stories enchanted me like a siren across the sea. At twenty years old with little money and even littler a plan, I bought a one-way ticket to Ireland and threw myself to a chariot of true adventure. My elders scolded my spontaneity, and worried themselves sick, but my courage and passion were brighter than my destitute. I wanted to commune with Ireland’s magic. I needed to experience the faith and bravery that accompanies a lone trip.
On Ireland’s whimsical west coast, I stumbled off the bus onto cobblestone streets of laughter and merriment. In Galway, a festival was unfolding with fiddles, fire dancers, bagpipes and bodhrans. I danced free and wild with nomadic women in skirts that opened like blossoming flower petals. I had angelic conversations with Guinness-drinking prophets over the meaning of life. In the morning, I walked to the sea, where dolphins shimmer in foamy waves. A sweet Galway grandmother made me breakfast in a cafe- eggs, tomatoes, baked beans, and a pot of tea. She tells me of her magical childhood summers spent in Connemara, and insists I wander that way.
After leaving the grand party in Galway, I was alone again. The celebration faded to silence. I was uncertain of this winding path to Connemara Park, and I was lonely. It was my loneliness, though, that brought me to Ireland in the first place. As I began walking, I remembered why I was here. For such a young woman, my situation resembled a midlife crisis. My young, naive, bohemian marriage collapsed. My life had been overwhelmed with ambition of producing my own independent film, and working strenuously under the pressure of a broken heart. I was fragile as a porcelain doll and frightened. My whole idea of what my life would be came undone. I desperately desired to remember what made my heart shine. A blank canvas of freedom lay before me. I wasn’t strong nor confident, but I was courageous.
Here in Connemara, courage greets me. The grass. I feel the poetry in this land. I love the way the misty hues of gold and gray sky settle upon the green. I feel the Spirit of Ireland. She is a tragic yet beautiful song. She is a mysterious fairytale. She is a gentle lullaby, yet a warrior of the forest, a carrier of the flaming lantern, the merriment of men who sit in stone pubs making music. Ireland is where the childlike wind meets the ancient land, to perform a dance in between worlds, painting a picture like an illustration in a children’s story. Ireland is a goddess in a long emerald dress. She will never let the song of the land die, and she will forever preserve the magic within her. Ireland is courageous, even when she has wept. Ireland is courageous, even when she wasn’t strong.
Courage is different than strength. Courage may be as vulnerable as a broken heart and an unknown 15km walk with nothing to eat but soda bread. Courage may not contain clarity, but instead may resemble a muddy kaleidescope of uncertainty. Courage brought me to Ireland and carried me through my journey, lighting my heart’s embers into an inspired inferno, a shining light that has forever been a reminder of joy in my heart. As I walked through Connemara, alone with only the spirited land surrounding me, my loneliness was transformed into bliss. The gentle rain faded, and sunbeams broke through the heavy sky for the first time in weeks. My journey was just beginning.
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