It was my decision to purposefully go in blind. I didn’t want a schedule in Ireland, and I didn’t want to be tied down to a route. The buses (in their somewhat efficient timetables) would take me from place to place on a complete whim. Overly optimistic and foolish to think it so simple? Maybe a tad. I found it would take a bit more foresight to drift through the land fantastic than I had previously thought. But I have to say, it became a little more comforting balancing organized anal retention with a free-spirited attitude. Not an easy skill mind you.

My original intention was to bike from county to county with the wind at my back and the scenery all around me. Without a doubt, that plan would have killed me. You see, Ireland maintains narrow, winding roads built centuries ago and while they provide absolutely breathtaking views, most have only recently been paved to accommodate more than one vehicle at a time. The green isle also maintained a rainy disposition with the weather for most of my trip. I took the bus, and I learned to greatly appreciate the bus.

The hostel system became the one warm and recognizable comfort throughout the trip. And if I could recommend anything other than the obvious scenery, it would be to travel the way of the poor hostler. The rooms may be half the size of your own room back here and full of six or more like travelers from Germany, France or Spain with no translator, but they are cheap, and they are safe. Home base if you will. I could walk out the door in the morning, leave my things unattended to for several hours while I trekked the countryside, and everything would be as I had left it. Much more adept were the other hikers, however. Learning quickly that I was not nearly in their league I found a solution to who I had been and who I was on this trip; for lack of a better phrase, I was a turkey. Constantly looking up with a wide-open mouth, whether in awe of my beautiful surroundings, or simply overwhelmed with the prospect of being so far away from everything I had ever been complacent with. But with navigating through the streets without a backpack, wallet or any desire to patronize the local tourist trinket shops, I could fool myself that I was blending in.

Killarney was the fourth town after a sidetrack to Kenmare and a small fishing village called Castletownbere where this skill became much more prominent. I subdued my astonishment and kept my camera hidden to not give away a tourist-soaked odor. What the town of 14,000 lacked in complexity, its national park made up for an awe-inspiring capaciousness. Rolling hills and castles on the banks of a large lake could only feed my cinematic imagination. I felt so very privileged. A feeling I had more or less been struggling to express throughout the trip came to me in waves. I felt privileged to be experiencing this exact moment and that I hadn’t spoiled it by playing the game of catch-a-bus, see-the-town, go-to-sleep. This was something more. Mine to enjoy.

The nights were filled with trips to the pub (or several pubs as there’s clearly no stable business like that of one of the dozens of them in any one town). A couple drinks in the corner of the room or a conversation with a local at the counter. One particularly nice Scotsman convinced me to change my route slightly for which I certainly owe him thanks. A few minor acquaintances were all well and good and quite good companions when I may have had one too many pints of Murphy’s one night in Tralee and was helped by them back to my hostel. Quite enjoyable evenings with my thoughts.

It should be noted that by most accounts, this trip was not what I intended it to be. I set out to grasp self-discovery and a little more internal clarity. I don’t think I failed, but neither did I succeed. Too short a time and too fogged a mind, I suppose can be blamed for that. What this ended up being was a rest. A rest from my school, a rest from my town and a rest from my own mental outlook. I looked out the window of the plane and saw a great, wispy blanket of white. Traveling at 30,000 feet as opposed to the 1,500 max I had hiked in the previous seven days seemed so much less significant. What I had done was take this rest and try to turn it into something ethereal or preposterous. But I realized it’s only one part. This was a trip at the beginning of many other trips that would hopefully, in years to come, help me be a more whole person.

I regret nothing from my trip if not that one week is simply not enough. I only managed to see a very small portion of a country known for its grandeur. There will be more trips, more vacations and more explorations. I only hope they can match this initial sense of belittling.