I’ve romanticized Ireland the way others have romanticized France or Italy. I blame it on my freshman year of college. On one uneventful evening, I found myself stuffed up in a tiny dorm room alone and with a heart filled with wanderlust. I began looking up the cost of plane tickets to any country on my bucket list. Ireland happened to be the cheapest ($500 at the time), so in that moment I decided Ireland would be the first place I would cross off my bucket list.
I spent the rest of the school year researching Ireland– well, looking at pictures mostly, of rolling green hills speckled with fluffy, white sheep, ocean waves crashing against steep cliffs, quaint colorful houses, stone bridges over rambling creeks, and delapetated castles that hold so much history. It just seemed like a world out of a fantasy novel or a fairytale, and I wanted to see it for myself instead of through other people’s flickr accounts.
But, I never ended up going, so I’m still living vicariously through other people’s flickr accounts…and Jessie Ann Foley’s Carnival at the Bray, an incredibly heart breaking story so far, and it just happens to take place in Ireland.
Sometimes, I grow afraid that I will never get there. To Ireland, I mean. Part of me feels I will have plenty of time to get there; I’m only 27 after all. But, part of me also realizes that the time of my life when I only live for myself is coming to a close. Things like marriage and having children just seem like they’re right around the corner, and then how does one afford an adventure overseas?
…Plus, who would feed my cat?