Ireland!

I just returned from a magical winter trip to the Emerald Isle. My friend Erin and I picked up our car from the airport and just started driving while chanting "stay to the Left because the Right will kill you." The guy at the rental company told us that we'd get a red car, "Red for Danger, so they can see you coming."

The wonderful thing about the natural beauty and history of Ireland is its accessibility. Natural wonders can just be as they are, unlike our approach to name it, fence it and then make you pay to be told about it. With the exception of the Cliffs of Moher, the beauties of Ireland I saw are there for the experiencing. The whole country felt like our misty Catholic playground.

The history, both recent and of centuries and millennia ago, is alive with all the people. They are neighbors of ancient huts and stone markers left from the Neolithic era. People are quite comfortable not understanding exactly what they were first built for, in fact there's a kind of respect in not demanding an explanation from the noble stones.

There wasn't much conversation about Catholicism, which kind of surprised me. But I suppose that the crumbling grandeur of church and abbey ruins—so common it verges on ubiquitous—speaks loudly enough.

More recent history is present over every cup of tea. It's not long into a chat with an Irishman that you'll start to feel the tragedy of the famine or the oppression of the occupation. I was told over and over how during the height of the famine, Ireland exported more grain than it had all century via England, while the farmers of Ireland starved. The Irish are so connected to their land, but they as a people have suffered so much to maintain that connection—bittersweet to say the least. They are quite generous in sharing the beauty of Ireland with visitors but it's clear to them that us Yanks and other foreigners will not ever live in the connection which they have earned.

Enough of me attempting to explain, here's a taste of what I saw in 7 days.

The Burren, Co Clare.

Ballintuber Abbey, which has been continuously holding mass since 1216.

Driving during dusk in Co Galway.

The Famine Memorial, to commemorate all those who died while trying to emigrate. Their ships became known as Coffin Ships because so many starved on the journey.

Croagh Patrick, just outside of Westport.

On the way up Croagh Patrick.




Stopping to feel the wind in the Dubh Loch Valley of Connemara.



Ancient "bee hive" hut.


On Slea Head, the Dingle Peninsula.

Tom Horgan reading a grave by abbey ruins in Waterville, Co Kerry.

Tea time.

Jackie on his farm with Davy and Pharaoh.

On the Ring of Kerry.

Above are selections from my digital photos on the trip. I also shot some black and white film in Connemara, which I’ve posted on it’s own.