Kara Murphy

I’d happily return to these locations – for their enchantment, for sure, and also because I have special memories there. Some of these memories are what I want to remember here.

My Ireland trip, in 2017, was with my husband and parents. We spent three weeks touring around the country, with my husband (the most comfortable among us with the task of motoring on the left-hand side of the road) doing all of the driving. Apart from the single night I spent in Dublin more than 20 years ago, this was our first trip to the Emerald Isle. Here are a few of my favourite memories – it may come as no surprise that they have to do with my travelling companions.

Music invigorates my Dad’s already charmed, noble, and gentle spirit. At home, he regularly spends hours singing and playing the fiddle, piano, ukulele, and guitar, and I wasn’t surprised at all when one of the first things he did in Ireland was buy a tin whistle. He was soon playing ‘Danny Boy’ on it in our AirBnB near the Gap of Dunloe – inside while looking out the window and outside, giving a concert for me as well as the birds flitting around our accommodation’s lovely hilltop position.

The Gap of Dunloe

This would be enough of a holiday musical foray for many folks, but not for my Dad. After a late afternoon walk in the Gap of Dunloe, we had dinner at 150-year-old Kate Kearney’s Cottage. A three-member band played Irish tunes as we dined; at one point, they invited any musicians in the establishment to join them on stage. As my Mom, husband, and I contemplated dessert, my Dad made his way to the front of the room, his recently acquired instrument in hand. Before we knew it, Dad was playing ‘Danny Boy’ on stage, the musicians on guitar and Irish accordion accompanying him. As he finished, we joined fellow patrons in applause. Just like that, my Dad had realised a dream: performing in an Irish pub.

Kate Kearney's Cottage: the site of my Dad's Irish debut

This was just the beginning of Dad’s participatory stance on Irish pub music. He brought out his tin whistle to join a flutist at a pub in Dingle, and later that evening, at Curran’s Pub, borrowed a guitar to play and sing ‘Isle of Hope, Isle of Tears’. And, though he didn’t perform during the Wednesday song and story session at the 18^th century Rostrevor Inn in Rostrevor, he was so taken with the place that he declared he’d love to return to Ireland one day and spend a month there.

During our travels, my Mom and I indulged in a couple girls-only experiences.

Ashford Castle

Here, we indulged in afternoon tea in the lough-view Connaught Room. Starting with a glass of champagne, we proceeded to make our way through a plate of sandwiches before moving on to scones and an elegant tiered display of pastries.

As I favour savoury dishes over sweets, I asked our waiter if we could possibly have more of the delicious Burren smoked salmon sandwiches, please?

“Are we being too greedy?” asked my Mom, giggly and beaming from the oddity of mid-day imbibing and the exhilaration of the moment.

“Oh, no,” replied our waiter, placing the extra sandwiches on our table. “I’ve seen worse.”

As part of my research, we ascended stone stairs up UNESCO World Heritage-listed Skellig Michael, which featured in The Last Jedi; climbed 1039m Mt Carrauntoohil, Ireland’s highest mountain; looked out over the Dingle Peninsula on the hike up 952m Mt Brandon; walked up glistening 442m Diamond Hill in Connemara National Park; and stepped upon basalt columns along the Giant’s Causeway.

Other walks that didn’t make it into my story included the precarious clifftop amble along the Cliffs of Moher; an attempt up 853m Slieve Donard in the Mourne Mountains (we ran out of time); and the hike up 765m Crough Patrick (‘the Reek’), where St Patrick, Ireland’s patron saint, is said to have spent 40 days fasting in 441 AD.

Thousands of pilgrims hike the latter each year on the last Sunday in July (Reek Sunday). I was there weeks beforehand, but there were still loads of other hikers sharing the trail. This, coupled with the loose scree on the conical mountain’s upper slopes, meant it wasn’t my favourite walk, but I’m still glad we did it. From the top, the views over Clew Bay and the surrounding Mayo countryside are gorgeous. While there, I looked out over the water and imagined the exploits of legendary Irish pirate Grace O’Malley, who once ruled the area.

We didn’t reach enough summits to need them all, so we brought the rest back to the US and had them on mountaintops in Virginia. After the bottles were gone, the tradition was, too, but it was fun to enjoy a taste of Dublin in so many beautiful places.

I’m enormously grateful for these (and other) memories of Ireland, all richer in my heart thanks to the people with whom I share them.

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