Following Ballynahinch, we spent two nights at Cahernane House Hotel (a lovely, lovely place built as a country mansion in the 1870s) just outside of Killarney town. It was a wonderful respite and I twice treated myself to room service so that I could sit by my spot of garden (see 4th photo) and read and write (I bought a journal in Dublin on Day 1 and diligently pressed flowers and leaves between the pages I wasn’t writing on) and rest.

Day 5 had us driving the Ring of Kerry and Skellig loop. The former is a circular route over the Iveragh Peninsula of southwest Co. Kerry that takes in a variety of towns - Kilorglin, Glenbeigh, Cahersiveen, Waterville, Caherdaniel, Sneem* and Kenmare also feature on the Wild Atlantic Way (an itinerary that winds from the upper reaches of Donegal down the Western coast and around to Cork). The Skellig loop takes you to the mainland point offering the best visual of Skellig Michael (aka Great Skellig), an abandoned 7th century Christian island monastery built on the furthest out of the Skellig Islands. You actually can visit it but doing so requires clear weather, a multi-hour boat ride, and a solid amount of physical fitness.

*Sneem is one of my favorite place names ever.

As an aside, skellig derives from the old Irish word sceillec which translates roughly to splinter of rock.

Star Wars fans know Skellig Michael as the location at which Rey finally finds Luke in The Force Awakens. I was dying to see it and take photos for the boys. What a marvel it is; to think of 7th-century folks schlepping way the hell out into the Atlantic, surely in somewhat rudimentary boats with, at best, minimal life-saving equipment. And THEN they decided to build and live on the furthest thing from land that they encounter. Closer to god, I imagine. Seriously, it is a nearly-miraculous accomplishment and place. Google it and peruse the photos of its sheerness and remoteness (then add a freezing, dark winter day to the mix) and its trails, buildings, and so forth. I very much want to hike it one day.

Anyway, what was supposed to be a day of incredibly gorgeous views was dashed by constant rain. It was our first such day, and although the fog and bluster were often beautiful in their own right and surely made for an authentic Irish experience, it was a shame to arrive back at Cahernane with a relatively empty camera roll.

But that is travel for you. And the wind made the county flags whipping in the wind all the grander. Just a few days hence, Co. Kerry (whose colors are green and yellow) would play Co. Galway (maroon and white) in the All-Ireland Gaelic Football final. Kerry would win.

And, the chilly rain made my lunch of beef-and-Guinness stew with champ potato at The Blind Piper pub even more satisfying than it already was. Divine. If you’re ever in the area, do stop at The Blind Piper! It is a pub extraordinaire!

Although Covid is everywhere and, apparently, Monkeypox is gaining ground (I literally have zero bandwidth for another pandemic, epidemic, endemic anything), it was with the utmost thrill that Tom and I left the States on July 10 and headed to the Netherlands. Anyone not new here knows that Nederland is a very special place for us. We lived there for the summer after we got married and have since returned several times. Having not been since 2017, we were due, and, per the usual, it did not disappoint.

For the first time we stayed in the canal district, on Keizersgracht (emperor’s canal). We lived just off the Vondelpark (think Central Park for Amsterdam) in ‘04 and have since stayed near that area, in Museumplein. But the canals are so beautiful and romantic and vibrant, and we really enjoyed our hotel. Amsterdam is very flat, so it’s especially easy to walk miles and miles with little effort. It also takes little effort to eat and drink well and to have fun. Truly, if you don’t enjoy Amsterdam and the Dutch, the problem is you. It is a marvelously functional, happy country and it is beautiful and friendly and everyone is trilingual at the least and their quality of life is epic.

We took day trips to Haarlem (new to both of us) and The Hague (new to Tom), and while Haarlem was undoubtedly gorgeous, it was too perfect and quiet for our taste. The Hague, however, which I fell in love with in ‘17, is extremely cool, and I was pleased that Tom liked it so much. We had a scrumptious brunch upon arrival, went to Mauritshuis to see Girl With a Pearl Earring and the Goldfinch (neither ever gets old; nor does the ceiling in the home/museum; even Tom appeared taken with Girl [he is a sucker for Vermeer]), and then participated in a food-and-drink walking tour. Our guide was a born-and-raised local, and our tour mates were an absolutely delightful three-generation family who were all, originally, from South Africa. Four now live in Sydney, two in Utrecht, and one (the matriarch) remains in Cape Town.

During the hours we spent together, some of us stomached the skin-on pickled herring (I did it, and I never need to do it again), we met a French monk who has long lived in The Hague but who did a stint in “Be-tesda,” just down the street from my house, we learned just how much beef any one of us wants to ingest in a day, and the ex-South Africans shared why they’d emigrated. Honestly, their reasons sounded sadly familiar to the thoughts I often have. Not the same -their main issues were rampant crime, lack of jobs, and a feeling of no future- but similar in the sense of thinking that they’d best cut bait while they could.

Every person we met in the Netherlands (and that I met later in Ireland) expressed the greatest sadness and horror about the state of the US right now. Guns, women’s rights, trump, Fox news…to a T, everyone was enormously well informed, wholly horrified, and vexed. I cannot tell you how freeing it felt to not worry, ever, about being shot.

One of the S.Africans, now in Sydney, runs an amazing travel company for safaris and trips into Africa. If anyone is interested, let me know. I am hoping to do a multi-generational family trip via his group in the not-so-distant future.

Perhaps the thing I love most about travel are experiences like these. Downing slick fish with strangers while being admonished to keep one eye peeled for scavenger gulls who will, with no hesitation, steal the fish from your throat. Meeting monks who have been called around the world and who now brew a wide variety of ales from their monastery and retain the most delightful twinkle in their eyes. Speaking and listening to folks like the man who drove me to the airport in Amsterdam and was, I learned, from Somalia but orphaned as a young teen, arrived in the Netherlands alone at age 15, and is now married and studying for an advanced degree in psychology so that he can help children who have endured trauma.

The world is such a remarkable place, and I have missed it these past couple years. It is humbling and inspiring in the best ways, including hard ones that force growth and make (most of) us better.

On July 18, Tom flew home, and I flew to Dublin for a solo adventure across a good bit of the emerald isle. Having been warned repeatedly about hideous delays flying out of Schiphol, I arrived at 9:30a for a 1:40p flight. At 2:30, FIVE HOURS AFTER ARRIVING, I finally got through the security scanners and passport control and then ran roughly three quarters of a mile to my gate. Keep in mind that one Aer Lingus rep had told me at 10am that the flight was already canceled, but another said she had heard of no such thing, and no one could every confirm anything.

So, heaving and sweaty, I was, as you can imagine, infinitely thankful to arrive at the back 40 of Schiphol to find the plane waiting for everyone else stuck in the lines I’d only just been freed from. A ridiculously handsome Irish flight attendant told me with a winning smile that I could “relax now,” and it’s the first time in my life that anyone has told me to relax and I didn’t immediately want to stab them.

I would like to again applaud those who love travel and will deal with a lot of shit to do it as well as those who make it happen with a smile or at least good spirit. Not ONE person in the five-hour line with me got angry or even peevish. The group of Aussies behind me watched my bags when I went to find out if there was any help I could get because my flight was leaving in 40 minutes and we were not even close to security (No!) and only complained that there was not a bar available to people in line. A darling couple trying desperate to get to Israel (they were Palestinian, and honest to god, I hope they are always safe and well and not removed from their land) just kept embracing and laughing, and even when you could tell they were terrified about missing the only flight out, they stayed zen and smiling. I realized anew how much negative energy is saved by having perspective and gratitude and staying calm. What were any of us going to do but wait? So why not wait with peace and appreciation for the fact that we were waiting to safely and freely go somewhere of our choosing?

I landed in Dublin, successfully caught my €7 shuttle to College Green, and walked my giant bag and self to my hotel. No one has taken a faster shower and gotten cute so as to immediately head to a bookstore before closing as did I. I bought seven damn books of Irish lit (I have a problem), took myself out to read one of them at a Lebanese restaurant, and while there befriended the Spanish waitress, Georgina (surely that cannot be the Spanish spelling of Georgina, but I have not yet looked it up), who moved to Dublin ten years ago and loves it, despite the insanity of rent costs wreaking havoc on the city right now.

The next day began my tour, but I’ll tell you about it in a later post. For now, I love you NL and IRL and cannot wait to visit you again.