February 7th

Day Fifteen: Glendalough

What and where is Glendalough ? Great question. You sound like me, 3o minutes before I boarded the bus to accompany my classmates to the countryside for the majority of the day.

I didn’t realize how nice it was to be outside of the city until we were passing through these rolling hills of great, green, grass covered pastures, littered with rams, small houses, and sheep. Though the mood for the day had initially been foggy like the weather, I was optimistic. 

The ride was nearly an hour. We arrived at the Glendalough Visitor’s Center, where we were greeted and directed towards an interactive space to learn the history of monasteries within Ireland. There was also a brief film that gave indication as to what to expect when we began our voyage on foot.

We had to cross a bridge in order to get to the cemetery, where the monasteries and 3o meter tall round tower had been built in the 6th-century, and I made a poorly timed “tole troll” joke that I enjoyed much more than others. 

Taking the first few steps within the monastery, our guide mentioned how individuals chased by the law would claim sanctuary within the moss covered and weathered walls. They would become monks and devote themselves to looking after the Celtic headstones, the Irish round tower, and everything in between. 

The cemetery was cloaked in a razor thin layer of mist. It hung just above the trees. Walking amidst the stones and the grass, the air was rich and clean.

We made our way through the densely crowded trees by a dirt path. By the time we got to our rondeau for lunch, we were standing before a lake. The sheets of rain pelted our backs but the mountains that stood on either side of us framed the landscape perfectly. You almost didn’t mind the rain.

It came and went in waves. However, we were lucky enough to make it to the lookout point of one of the mountains, a 3o minute hike from the lake, at a time when the rain was scarce and the fog sparse. The view looked onto two lakes with trees reaching in every direction. The color scheme was pale and somber compared to the vibrant hues of the forest (a combination somewhere between Narnia and Lord of the Rings), but the spectacle was well worth the trek. 

The day was soon over and before I knew it, I was inhaling a Boojum burrito bowl back in Dublin. After a much needed nap, we left for Cobblestones, a very famous pub in Dublin, and squeezed through the door to the ambience of string instruments, laughter, and beer glasses clinking. 

It was everything I believed an authentic Irish pub would be. After accidently ordering the wrong drink but getting to pour it myself, I decided I liked Cobblestones very much. Soon our laughter and loud voices joined the chorus of others, and the remaining hours of the night ticked away.