Ireland and I got off to a rocky start. It wasn’t love at first sight by any means. There were several moments that I spent wondering if I had made the right choice, if maybe I had romanticized Ireland a bit too much.

You can do that; you can romanticize a place to the point that it can never meet up to your expectations. I know I’m guilty of it.

I had pictured the rolling green countryside, quaint thatched cottages, postcard perfect villages; okay, perhaps I have watched The Quiet Man a few too many times…

Dreams Collide with Reality

My Dad used to say that battle plans never survive first contact with the enemy. The same can be said for travel plans – our perfect plans collide with reality and we have to fall back for a little regrouping.

Ireland, Dublin specifically, was a good example. It started with a very late van. I had booked a self-catered apartment that looked lovely and included a van transfer from the airport to the doorstep.

Two hours standing in a cold drizzle (in June). My calls to the rental agency were met with indifference – hey, the van driver said he’d been by and there was no one at the stop. Persistence paid off and the driver finally showed, contrite. He had gone to the wrong stop.

The apartment was another disappointment. The location was great, in general, the entrance was off an alley that was poorly lit and felt a little sketchy. Inside, the pictures had failed to capture the cracked and worn appearance of the leather furniture, and the last occupant had filled the dishwasher with dirty dishes – but never turned it on.

Never mind that I had left sunny, hot and wonderful France that morning and arrived in cold, wet and less than welcoming Ireland that afternoon. I wanted to sit down and cry, to be honest. In fact, I was ready to throw in the towel and leave.

Dublin Steps Up its Game

Then morning came. Sleep often brings perspective with it! I was up and out of bed early. I had four days in Dublin ahead of me, and I wasn’t going to give up on Ireland without a fight.

By 10 am of that second day I was in the Tourism Office on Grafton Street. I admit that I found the place completely by accident. A happy accident it was, as there were lots helpful people who wanted me to have a good visit. One woman in particular seemed determined to make sure that I had the best visit possible. This is why I love tourism offices; always look for the “TI” signs (traveler’s information), they are pure gold.

Because of this lovely woman, I found a small tour company called “Over the Top Tours” and booked a trip with them for the following day. That was just the beginning! She loaded me up with a map of Dublin and marked some interesting and off the beaten path places to check out. I left the TI with a different attitude.

Soon I found the postcard pretty streets I had dreamed of, I crossed the Ha’penny Bridge like I had always wanted to, I wandered through St. Stephen’s Green and sat in a little coffee shop for some people watching and some truly excellent coffee.

I relaxed and let the day, the place and the people wash over me. Ireland was wooing me, and I was ready to let it!

Day Tripping

The next day sealed the deal. My small group tour (there were 12 of us, if I recall correctly) were whisked into a world I would have missed had I given in to that urge to leave.

I saw an ancient Celtic Cross rising out of a misty field at Monasterboice. This beautiful stone cross, mossy and grand in a picture perfect setting. We visited an iron age tomb that sat in the middle of a field. It was dark and mysterious and I felt that fairy folk must be nearby, watching us.

Then there was the magical moment when I stood on the Hill of Tara all while being regaled with grand stories by our able and affable guide. I still remember his name – Paul. He may be the best guide I’ve ever encountered, his words drawing wonderful pictures of these places.

Putting a Cork in It

I hadn’t planned on where I would go after Dublin. After two tours with Over the Top, I knew I wanted to see more of the country, I just didn’t know where. So back I went to the Tourism office on Grafton Street.

There were options, lots of options. I left with brochures and advice and no clear direction. Ireland may be a small country, but it has a lot to offer. Honestly, I was a little overwhelmed with the choices.

Oddly it was a waiter at the Guinness Brewery and Museum who decided my next destination. An offhand comment about Cork intrigued me. It had to do with beer and a rivalry between Guinness and Murphy’s. Yep, beer was the deciding factor – sort of.

That evening I secured a hotel and a train ticket. I was going to Cork.

There I fell in love all over again. Cork is very different from Dublin. Dublin is business, from financial towers to the business of tourism, Dublin is a bustling metropolis. In contrast, Cork is all about the sea and the land.

It is a big city, but it feels like a small town. From the River Lee to the Loch Mahon, I felt surrounded by water. With that much water, it is small wonder that the town itself is surrounded by farmland.

Ireland, oh Ireland

I wandered and explored, and was never disappointed by what was around the corner.  Everywhere I went, I met the loveliest people, had wonderful experiences, heard some great stories and generally never wanted to leave.

What started off on a rocky footing became a full-blown romance. Dublin flirted with me, coquettishly showing me hidden charms. Cork was the bouquet of wildflowers lovingly picked and bundled together – Cobh and Kinsale among the blossoms.

It wasn’t a perfect trip, far from it.

Still, I fell in love with Ireland, with the people and the history and the culture. Even in the rain, even with inconveniences and miscommunications. Despite the unwashed dishes and the terrible couch, I was smitten.

At the end of the day, isn’t that part of being in love? Loving in spite of – or even because of – the imperfections?