Almost a decade ago, I had a disastrous RyanAir experience. They’d charged my card for a flight to London, but never sent a confirmation or booking number. I ended up spending an hour and a half and nearly $100 dollars in a teensy payphone in Paris (ah, pre-smartphone days) trying to talk to a human, gave up, and rebooked on another British Airways flight. Obviously RyanAir emailed me about 10 minutes later with all the info. I swore to never fly them again!!

Well, not a lot of flights fly between Cologne and Dublin, so RyanAir I went. It was remarkably smooth and I got to walk on the tarmac like Jacki O, so maybe I can let the whole 2012 debacle go.

After a stressful push to get out of the craziness in Cologne, and fully expecting to lose my luggage or something from RyanAir, I was a bit shellshocked when I was suddenly in DUBLIN. In the RAIN! My ancestral homeland being all adorable and misty and magical!

I had big plans for the weekend. I was taking a belated Veteran’s Day Friday, and was going to hike about 30 miles over three days along the Wicklow Way, an 80 mile hiking trail that starts at Marlay Park in Dublin and crosses through Wicklow National Park. I wasn’t roughing it- I would stay in B&Bs and inns along the way- but as it was shoulder season, I had a lot of layers and emergency gear… and with Covid, I had packed enough food to last me just in case shops and restaurants weren’t open. My bag was heavy… Mistake #1 of the Wicklow Whoops.

I hiked a lot last year. Like, a lot a lot. But this year I’ve basically been drinking celebratory vaccine margaritas and eating oysters. In my head, though, I’m still totally in hiking shape, which was Mistake #2. But I’m getting ahead of myself!

I landed in Dublin and got to my amazing hotel, The Alex, around 9. I had booked at their cheaper sister hotel, but it was closed for renovations so I got a free upgrade to this spot… then the super kind concierge upgraded me AGAIN to a California King room when he saw the absurd amount of shit I was carrying. The decorations made me swoon to the point that I took photos and am recreating the vibe in my future reading nook.

I digress. I was in Dublin. I had never been to Ireland before, and it was a significant moment. I am 50% Irish (thanks Mom) and grew up steeped in the music and culture. I think I actually broke my Riverdance VHS set from overuse. I did competitive Irish Dance for years as a kid. As an adult, I’ve gotten very into playing, listening, and dancing to Celtic music, and have done so in Boston, Cape Breton, and at Pinewoods every summer.

So. This was a big moment. I was in Dublin! And it was 10pm and I had to hike like 14 miles in the morning, but I couldn’t just be in Dublin and go to bed. That’s ridiculous. So out into the world I went!

I was going to find some fiddles, have one Guinness, and go to bed. I didn’t find fiddles (a trend that would sadly continue), but did find some kid with a guitar singing Killers covers, so that was close enough. I grabbed a Guinness and looked for a spot to chill. I found a spot at a table with some locals… and didn’t chill. What can I say?? The Irish vibes got the best of me. I had to make up for 200 years of lost time, OK?

I had more than one Guinness. And a celebratory shot or two for returning to my homeland. And I hadn’t really eaten dinner due to all the scrambling to catch my flight. So when I woke up the next morning, my first thoughts were: “Oh no.” Mistake #3 of the Wicklow Whoops: a vicious hangover!

Filled with regret about my life choices, I packed my bags and prepared for the hike. I choked down some oatmeal and took a taxi to Marlay Park, the start of the Wicklow Way in Dublin. I passed by many walkers and day hikers, many of them shouting out the sweetest things to me. “I truly wish you the very best on your adventure.” “A million happy trails for you.” And my personal favorite, “You’re a very brave woman!” More like “a very shortsighted woman who should have gone to bed,” but thank you kind stranger! Imagine if we said encouraging things to each other in Boston? Nahhh that will never happen.

The trail left the city and wound up the hills outside Dublin, offering some beautiful views of the coastline and inland towards County Wicklow. The Way crested a hill near Fairy Castle (actual name, can you believe) and I got whipped with serious wind and chilly mist. It was incredibly beautiful.

At this point I was feeling revived and really enjoying myself. I bounced along the exposed ridge and dipped down into the valley.

I stopped for lunch, and then started a long road walk section. This was where the trouble began. I started to feel my feet. It was too early to feel my feet; I was only halfway through the day. But feel them I did…

The Way wound downwards through adorable villages. The views and the weather were awesome, but my mind could not get off the hot spots that were starting to form. The trail then climbed up again, a cardio push that required a lot of stops for my Guinness-sweating self. I did have a great little chat with a bikepacker (love fellow crazies!), but after that, the headphones came on. Another bad sign. It was turning into an aesthetically pleasing sufferfest.

Finally, I came to the trail turnoff to Enniskerry at 11 miles. I knew there was a bus that could take me the 3 miles of downhill pavement to my inn… but I missed that bus by about 10 minutes (Mistake #4).

Sun was setting, and I was getting cold. I knew walking another hour would suck, but standing around in the cold would suck more, so down to Enniskerry I went. My feet were definitely blistered, and were getting unbearable. My chipper attitude from Fairy Castle was fading with every step. By the time I hobbled into the inn, I had made my decision: call it and head back to Dublin.

I was so, so, so stiff that night, and my feet were absolutely trashed. I was staying above a pub, but even the Friday night partying couldn’t keep me from sleep. Before I konked out, I changed my reservations and checked out the bus schedule back to the city. I was super bummed… but also super hurting. I couldn’t imagine hiking back up those three miles to the trail in the morning, never mind traipsing through the mountains.

I woke up the next day to sunshine and birdies and felt surprisingly fine(ish). My feet were definitely f’d, but I think a lot of the other physical and mental pain was hangover induced. I was fully kicking myself for not sleeping on the decision (Mistake #5), but the damage was done.

Enniskerry was a filming location for Enchanted Part 2 this summer, and it looks like it’s out of a fairy tale. I grabbed a delish yogurt bowl and a latte from Poppies and sat outside to wait for the bus. Poppie’s was a Saturday morning hub for cyclists and families grabbing snacks after Irish Step class next door (seeing little girls running around in ghillies = me crying a little).

I noticed during my doomed night out that I seemed to be garnering more… male attention than usual. I don’t think I’m a hag or anything, but back home my pasty white skin and vaguely ginger vibes don’t attract, you know, a crowd. But here. Here was different. I think I fit some ideal Irish archetype, and then when I opened my mouth and people realized I was American, it went into overload. Add in the Irish “gift of gab” (which IMO is a very on-point stereotype), and hilarity ensued.

I was innocently sitting waiting for my bus of shame when I was approached by a cyclist. “Hello, are you single?” “No.” “Well, can I buy you a drink anyways?” “Right now?” “Yes!” “It’s 10am.” “So?” “No thank you.” *proceeds to chat about my failed hike, etc.” “Well, hope you have a nice trip. I think you look very healthy.”

Healthy! Strangers never tell me I look very healthy in America! Watch out, Chris. I regretfully left my little fairytale town full of Irish suitors, and headed to the bus stop. I avoid buses when I’m traveling because I get motion sick sometimes, and bus logistics make me anxious. There’s passes involved that I never have, I rarely have cash on me, and I’d rather just walk. Well, I wasn’t going to walk 14 miles again, so I sucked it up and got on the bus. I had cash, I had a card, should’ve been fine. NOPE. Needed some sort of pass, and the driver legit tried to tell me I couldn’t get on the bus without it. Then some heroic lad said, “I’ll pay her way!” And the dude wouldn’t even take my cash, just said “Welcome to Ireland.” Can you even? Screw you Mr. Bus Driver and thank you Mr. Bus Angel!

I made it back to the city by lunch and had an unplanned day and a half to kill. I found my second giant antivax march of the trip (I guess it’s a Saturday thing in Europe, cute) and walked around the city to get a lay of the land. I made my way to Trinity College to see the library and fulfill my need to wander around pretending I was Marianne from Normal People. If I could bottle up the smell of that library and wear it, I would…. mmmmmm old books.

I also visited EPIC, the Irish Emigration Museum, which brought me to tears multiple times, especially in the Riverdance room (which, for those of you keeping tally at home, is two Riverdance crying jags in one day).

In the evening, I grabbed some quick food and made another attempt at fiddles. Once again I only found random dudes playing American covers. I was officially getting lonesome and took it easy on Saturday night snuggled up with the new Sally Rooney book.

The next morning I got up nice and early for something I hadn’t done in a hot minute……. A BUS TOUR!! I know I just said I don’t like busses, and I don’t, but I generally do OK on a coach bus as long as I sit near the front. And I had a full day to kill before my conference buddies would arrive to save me from my solitude and hiking shame.

I perused Viator and decided on the “Titanic Belfast Experience, Giant’s Causeway, Dunluce Castle Day Trip from Dublin” with Wild Rover. This would satisfy my Leonardo DiCaprio, Ireland Landmark, and Game of Thrones needs in only 13 hours!

I had considered renting a car and checking out Northern Ireland myself, but was a bit unsure what the border crossing deal was, especially with Covid. And, there’s pluses to bus tours. It’s a great way to actually learn about the landscapes you’re seeing, and there’s often some other solo travelers to buddy up with. And, you don’t have to think about anything (except for making it back on time to the bus. Never be late for the bus).

I learned a shit ton about the history of British occupation of Northern Ireland on the tour. I knew a little bit… but not really. Britain has done a lot of really not cool things. Not cool, Britain! Back off!

I chose the Titanic museum which was very new and cool. In retrospect I wish I did the Belfast black cab tour, but once again, motion sickness scared me off. (Also, I think I might be afraid of motion sickness more often than I’m actually motion sick). We then stopped at Dunluce Castle which was House Greyjoy in Game of Thrones!!!

Lunch was at a yum little roadside restaurant. I accidentally sat with a bunch of bus drivers and lamented to them about my failure to find fiddles. One of them gave me a lead that he said was “off the beaten path”… you wouldn’t think it would be so hard, huh?

Our final stop was the Giant’s Causeway. The rock formation was cool, but I especially enjoyed the little hike involved to get there! Took some of the salt out of my hiking wounds.

From there it was a long slog back to Dublin, but when I got back, my pals had started to arrive! My friend Margot and I got dinner at a place that looked promising for fiddles but it was, once again, one dude with a guitar singing American cover songs. What the hell!!

After dinner, I repacked my voluptuous bags and prepped for Day 1 of the Textile Exchange conference. I hit the hay early after my big “this was not part of the plan” weekend feeling simultaneously very satisfied and very regretful. I like a nice chaotic weekend with some funny ha-ha stories, but that hike was just SO beautiful and up my alley.

Wicklow Way, I will be back for you. We have unfinished business.

wicklow whoops

in pursuit of fiddles

eifel und köln