A drive out to a special place

July 26, 2020

A drive out to a special place

Our friends and acquaintances here will most often start a conversation with us inquiring about where we've been. They know that we'll take any excuse to go on an extended drive to the many spots we've become so fond of in our visits here. Sometimes the excuse is that it's a "fine day" (the most positive descriptor of the weather you'll probably hear spoken). On a fine day we'll see the longest vistas and things will be in sharpest focus - nothing but achingly blue sky and puffy white clouds. Sometimes the excuse is an overcast day with dark and brooding clouds that evoke a somber and melancholic mood. And sometimes the excuse is a misty, miserable, unsettled day serving neither of the above goals, but a day in which we can say, "Ah sure, tis a grand soft day" and pretend we know what the hell we're talking about. For a Google definition - "A soft day is a description of the weather, and is probably very unique to the Emerald Isle. It is a day when the precipitation is a cross between mist and drizzle. The rain does not fall to the ground in heavy droplets, but seems to hover and linger in the air."

We are often greeted with amusement when we recount a five or six hour circuit drive through the Co Mayo or Co Galway landscape. Of course, as you know, it's not five or six hours exclusively in the car. Somehow I'm always able to find a pub, cafe, or restaurant with a superior coffee and an extraordinary crumble. But without fail, we are more than happy to go far afield to see this stunning countryside once again.

Often, our friends, upon learning where we've been, will give a heartfelt "lovely" (sure wish I could convey the lilt and charm of this word as delivered in this part of the West)). But, anytime we let on that we've been to Silver Strand beach, the response is always "ooohh lovely." There's definitely a difference in the verbal expression and the emotional import. We certainly feel that it's an extraordinary place. That opinion seems to be heartily shared by the folks that live in this part of the world. I think it was Padraic who ascribed a sense of deep spirituality to the place. It's remote and untamed. One has to walk fully a half-mile on the sand from the carpark to the water at low tide, drinking in the Connemara hills, the high dunes, the rough grasses, the boundless sky, the abstract patterns on the sand where the sea painted its geometrics, the strident calls of seabirds in frolic, the ever-increasing susurration of the sea as you approach it. It's an immersive experience and if you have the mood upon you, you can see how you might be gently transported to ethereal and transcendent realms. At the very least, you'll certainly feel very blessed and grateful to have found such a place.

On our last visit two years ago, we had set out close to sunrise, with a picnic breakfast in hand, to enjoy the early light and the solitude of the place. It was during a record-setting heat wave and we were sure that we had chosen the day wisely. We set our blanket close to the shore, quite confident we had the place to ourselves. But, as the sun started to crest the hills behind us, we were surprised to see some tents and caravans placed deep in the dunes. And pleased to hear the peals and squeals of delight as children emerged from their peripatetic abodes and headed for a sunrise dip in the bracing surf. It replaced our sense of solitude with an equally pleasant sense of satisfaction that this sublime place was shared, and that it quite evidently served as a place of wonder and enchantment for these fortunate children.