A Love Affair With the Emerald Isle: Part 2

Get in the Water

After being a professional squatter/kitchen cupboard inspector (otherwise known as pet-sitter) for a year, I decided that living near a body of water, be that a lake in the mountains or the sea, is one of my non-negotiables. Not only for swimming, but for the moment of recalibration that occurs when looking at a great expanse of water. I'm convinced that getting into the sea, after doing so (almost) every day for the past six months, and basking in the serenity (or sometimes volatility) of it all, is the most immersed in nature you can feel as a human. You are literally up to your neck in it, and the added element of the cold has a knack of keeping you in the here and now, witnessing every sensation - most notably the retreat of 'los heuvos' and that horrific few seconds after taking the plunge. The impact on your wellbeing is obvious and immediate, and although the effects of a wistful gaze from the shoreline aren't quite so tangible, I suspect they are just as profound in the long run.

Ireland then, with its 4600 miles of coastline and most 'land-locked' point still within 90km of the ocean, is a paradise for those with an affinity to water. Quaint seaside towns and cliffside castles further enhance the charm - think a more rural Cornwall, without all the rich yuppies, and potatoes instead of pasties. If, as a non-native Irelander, you can overcome that 'island fever' - or rather, a sense of disconnection or FOMO - that one can incur when surrounded 360 degrees by water, then it's a winning formula. I'd say I did suffer from this to start with, but that was before I made a few friends, plus I think anywhere will do that do you when it's pissing it down for the 10th day on the trot.

Nowhere Better in Sunny Weather

With six months having flown by in my seaside rental, April rolled around, making way (reluctantly) for some warmer weather. When the sun does indeed show up, there is an aura about the Emerald Isle which I still can't put into words, or for that matter, explain how it differs from other places in the sun. As I crested a peak whilst out on a ride the other day, I entertained that it was the rich tapestry of green, haphazardly stitched across the rolling hills for as far as the eye could see, that makes the country particularly beautiful. Possibly, but then what differentiates it from the UK, who's landscapes share an abundance of the green stuff? Could it be that blissful stillness, in which you can pick out the buzzing of a bee on a spring flower, or the faint mechanical whirring of a combine in the valley below, that can only be truly appreciated after being battered by the elements, like how city streets appear so quiet and still after a gig, or the moment of calm after turning your Pro Series, 1000 watt Nutribullet up to 11 (blog post, nay, blog series, about my love for blending shit incoming).

A friend offered a different explanation over a few Guinness' the other day. She said it was the good vibes that resonate around town when the sun is shining. I guess this just an extension of my 'optimism amongst the Irish' point which I touched upon in my last post, in that if they can reserve such cheer and warmth during the harshest of storms, best believe they're on top form in a pub garden in June. When your ancestors endure years of hardship, I suppose it's inevitable that they pass down the line a certain 'in this together' outlook, where you don't waste time feuding with your neighbor, and you help the lost tourist with genuine passion and gusto. Of course you can't speak for an entire nation, and there will always be guys like the one who followed me into a Tesco carpark the other day just to call me a 'gobshite', for supposedly cutting him up at a roundabout 2 miles back (for the record, I didn't - I suspect he was incited by GB number plate or the Corsa's sick spoiler and body-kit combo), but they are definitely fewer and further between here. Certainly not the crabs-in-a-bucket, 'if I can't have it then neither can you' phenomenon that I've witnessed all too often in the UK, which was particularly rife during the pandemic.

Staying Put?

So thanks to it's natural beauty, and the little network of natives that enrich my life here, you could say I've found a stop-gap solution to that existential, 'where do I belong' angst that burdens large swathes of my 'namby-pamby', 'entitled' generation, who are faced with unprecedented opportunity in life, but whom struggle to find things in which to place meaning, or indeed places to feel content. Don't get me wrong, I'm not sticking my flag in the ground and staying put forever. While I can, I'll continue to work/travel and soak up cultures a little further afield than Ireland. The opportunity to live anywhere within 4 hours time difference of London, is something I think I'd kick myself for squandering when I look back on my death bed, or rather, as I hurtle towards a cliff face during my 'oldest man to do a base jump' world record attempt. I'm just saying that Ireland is a place I'll cherish coming back to for the rest of my life, and a definite front runner for the northern hemisphere contingent of my master plan, i.e. to never see another winter again.