I went to Ireland for the first time in 2019 and left with a plan to return two years later. Of course, that didn’t happen, COVID being what it was . . .
But when world returned to something akin to normal, a plan was hatched.
Before I get into the second trip, let me tell you about my first. Not the entirety of it, of course. I only want to tell you why I went in the first place.
My family, or a good bit of it, comes from Ireland and England, Scotland and Wales. Ireland, as I see it, is my Mother Country. When I was invited by my writer friend, Clare Campbell (who lives in Northern Ireland), to come for a visit, I accepted the invitation. For ten days we cruised around like two crazy women. Even though Clare is 33 years younger than me, we got along like two old friends. Or young friends. Or . . . okay, let’s just call us friends. For pity’s sake, I’m older than both of her parents.
So, she invited me to return, but then COVID happened and then (hurray!) a lift of travel bans and then . . . a plan was formed.
What would we do (should we do) first, Clare inquired. Tipperary, I said.
Why, you may wonder. Because at some point during the first trip we got lost . . . and ended up in Tipp, as the Irish call it. And what we found was a charming town in County Tipperary. As we drove around (and around) the town (when I say we were lost, I’m here to tell you that we couldn’t even figure how to get OUT of the town we were lost in), I commented to Clare that if I ever returned to Ireland, I’d really like to come back to Tipperary, but on purpose.
So, we did. Even after four years, the town of Tipperary held its charm. This time we drove in with purpose, parked the car, and began walking up and down the streets, peering into shop windows, awed by the Christmas displays. We were also hungry, so we looked for a cafe or pub.
Clare stopped in front of an alleyway, pointed. “Look,” she said. “There’s a wee pub down there.”
Flanagan’s. We walked down the alley and entered a pub decorated with festive Christmas trees and garland. A woman pointed us toward a staircase, saying, “The restaurant is down there.”
The room was small (comparing it to most American dining places) and, with the temperatures dropping rapidly outside, warm. We found a place to sit, awed by the lovely, cozy ambiance. Another woman–one of the servers–approached, but instead of hovering over us, pad and pencil in hand, she slipped onto the bench next to me. How friendly and fun! I ordered the beef stew (the Irish really know how to do beef stew–they serve it over fluffy mashed potatoes!) and a cup of hot chocolate.
Which, by the way, was the BEST hot chocolate I’ve ever had in my entire life, served complete with a chocolate “brick” cookie.
After lunch, Clare and I perused the shops, talking to the locals. This was the beginning of my hearing (quite frequently), “Are you from the States???” (The accent gets me every time!) If I had a nickel for every time I heard this question, I would be fairly rich right now.
Lesson learned in Tipp? Sometimes you get lost . . . and sometimes where you get lost is exactly the place you’re meant to be.
Tipperary: we’d come a long, long way.