At a coffee shop in Dublin on Saturday the 25th I met a person travelling from Toronto, Canada. I mentioned that I had only seen the city of Dublin since arriving in Ireland, and that I would like to see some of the countryside. The young woman proposed that I take the train north to a little fishing village on the coast. I recently began actively looking for more opportunities to put the travel advice of strangers to use. Naturally, I soon found myself aboard a train for Howth.
At this time of year beauty is springing up from everywhere in Ireland. Howth is a little town which would be at home on the Oregon coast or in Puget Sound. Once getting there I found it possible to take one of four predetermined hiking routes around the peninsula. An older gentleman warned me that I would need my rain jacket, but that turned out to be advice for another day. Saturday was one of the fairest days I’ve seen in my travels.
While in Ireland I found myself singing wherever I went. Sinead O’connor, The Pogues, and Brett Dennen all provided lyrics for me as I walked about. Ireland leads itself to both joy and melancholy, hope and sadness. A ballad can be in one moment optimistic, and at the next sorrowful. Ireland is going through a decade with a bit of both feelings at present.
I did not come to any great conclusions as I walked along the cliff-top trail. The ocean was the ocean; wild and without master, loud and full of energy. The grasses too were just as they always are; flexible, bending with the wind, beautiful and temporary. And I was Joshua; a curious man without anchor or purpose in this time.
albaniacalling 