Summertime in Ireland. My thoughts have been drifting back there quite a lot recently. The evenings we'd spend in those dark, yet lively irish pubs, dancing, drinking a Bulmer's and reminiscing on the day's adventures; The afternoons spent exploring tiny irish villages and the enchanting countryside surrounding them; The days we grudgingly decided to ride the bus for hours and hours on end just to see the seaside and the majestic cliffs that transcend the atlantic as if they were a giant fortress. I want so badly to be back there, to be traveling without knowing where my next meal will come from or where my next bed will be; to be living the life of a vagabond --even if temporarily. I can still feel the warm Irish sun beating down on my face, drying up the recent rains. I can still hear the sound of the authentic celtic instruments harmonizing together to create the most wonderous of songs and that laughter, that booming laughter of jolly old irish men having a pint after a hard day's work. I can still smell the sea and feel the spray from the waves crashing up against the coast. Ireland is magical. It's bewitching. Life is simple there. Take me back.
The Cliffs of Moher
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Doolin, Ireland
Pub in Galway
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