I distinctly remember my first evening in Ireland. We had just flown a few thousand miles across the Atlantic and used the entire day to complete the long drive from Shannon Airport to the Dingle Peninsula—made even longer by many, many stops for pictures.
After only getting an hour or two of sleep on the plane the night before, I was deliriously tired. My heavy eyes gazed at the bowl of Irish stew before me, my body barely keeping my head from falling in it.
Later at our B&B, I sat at the window looking off into the mountains. The light was failing and the fog was rolling in. I felt like a character in a storybook. For a few moments I was even slightly afraid. Here I was, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, far from home with a mysterious fog slowly swallowing me.
The fear soon left me as I embraced my adventurous side and the glorious uncertainty that lay before me. What was ahead? Who would we meet? What would we see? How would we navigate this new world? Dreaming of these questions, I welcomed the sweet sleep that overcame me.
The next morning, we attempted Connor Pass, a hair-raising road that rewards visitors with sublime views of the ocean to the north and south. Once at the top, our eyes feasted on shimmering lakes surrounded by indescribable Irish green fields and cozy Dingle Town.
I remember not knowing what direction to look. Everywhere I turned was another astonishing landscape. Breathing in that air, standing next to my wife, capturing the views, I could barely contain my joy.
Ireland is a thin place, a place where heaven and earth almost touch.
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