In the northeastern corner of Ireland, just outside the town of Sligo, is a small cemetery with a number of old, mossy gravestones. One of the gravestones reads “IN LOVING MEMORY OF MARGARET DAVEY” in faded white lettering, and signifies the life and death of my great-great-grandmother. Just a few minutes walk from the cemetery is a quaint house surrounded by a thick, green hedge. Here lives my great-aunt, Stella, who has been living in Ireland all her life. During the summer of my fourteenth birthday, I was fortunate enough to travel across the Atlantic to visit Stella, spend two weeks in the beautiful Emerald Isle, and explore graveyards containing the bodies of relatives I did not know existed. I never before realized how surreal the feeling
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During the trip, we climbed Skellig Michael and walked through the monastery that some of the earliest Irish Christians lived in. The different personalities we encountered on the whiteknuckle boat ride over were as enchanting as the stories our tour guide told us about the Christian monks that lived on the island. As we climbed the precarious stone steps coated in slick green moss, I could not help but imagine how difficult it would be to build the monastery, especially considering the primitive technology that would have been available. Experiences like this have stimulated in me a great interest in the history of Ireland, a desire that I wish to further pursue in the near future. By visiting multiple castles, diving headfirst into traditional foods (aside from blood pudding, my fear of which I have yet to overcome), speaking to locals, and trekking all over the different hills and plains, I got a broad sense of Ireland’s culture. As I write this, I cannot ignore the excitement I feel thinking about the prospect of being able to revisit this amazing country. I would love to get another chance to interact with and take in the culture of Ireland, while also leaving my own mark on the people I meet. To me, Ireland is more than an amazing country with great people, it is a place my family has called
During the trip, we climbed Skellig Michael and walked through the monastery that some of the earliest Irish Christians lived in. The different personalities we encountered on the whiteknuckle boat ride over were as enchanting as the stories our tour guide told us about the Christian monks that lived on the island. As we climbed the precarious stone steps coated in slick green moss, I could not help but imagine how difficult it would be to build the monastery, especially considering the primitive technology that would have been available. Experiences like this have stimulated in me a great interest in the history of Ireland, a desire that I wish to further pursue in the near future. By visiting multiple castles, diving headfirst into traditional foods (aside from blood pudding, my fear of which I have yet to overcome), speaking to locals, and trekking all over the different hills and plains, I got a broad sense of Ireland’s culture. As I write this, I cannot ignore the excitement I feel thinking about the prospect of being able to revisit this amazing country. I would love to get another chance to interact with and take in the culture of Ireland, while also leaving my own mark on the people I meet. To me, Ireland is more than an amazing country with great people, it is a place my family has called