A Visit To Bunratty Ireland

I grasp the handle of my luggage firmly and manage to squeeze through the crowded airport terminal. Once I'm outside I take a deep breath of fresh air, allowing my lungs to fully expand in my chest. It's so wonderful to be on solid ground again, breathing real air. I mentally squeal. Irish air! I scan the parking lot, looking for a place to sit and call a taxi.

In the taxi I peer out the window and think. I'm out of my mind excited! I'm half Irish and have wanted to travel to Ireland forever. But now that I'm older, 18, I have been obsessed with Irish castles. I've read at least a hundred books and articles, on the castles here. And I've finally saved up enough money to visit before I start college. And I'm going to be visiting Bunratty castle in County Clare! I gaze out the window. Everything looks pretty normal. We're driving on a two lane highway, the sky is blue, there are some electricity poles, and the grass is a dark, rich shade of green. We pass a long brown building with a row of normal looking cars. Out front is a small brown sign that reads —FOOD SERVED ALL DAY—in white block letters. I squint to see that it also reads in a smaller font: THE OAKWOOD MOTEL. And: NEW LUNCH MENU AVAILABLE.

“Do you know how long until we arrive in Bunratty?” I ask Ed who is driving upfront. A short elderly man with a ring of gray hair around his mostly bald head.

He sighs, like just having me breathe the same air as him is an enormous burden. “About ten minutes.” His accent makes the word about sound more like a-boot. And despite our mutual dislike of each other—for no reason whatsoever—I can’t help but enjoy the rolling lilt of his Irish accent.

We pass a Tara gas station with a bunch of red and peach flowers growing out front. Across the street is a cute little fairytale style cottage, motel? I think it’s a motel, but it might be someone’s house.

And when we turn onto the gorgeous tree lined, Old Bunratty Rd, I gasp when we pass right by the Bunratty castle! A beautiful medieval castle made completely of dark gray stones. It sticks right out of the ground in a tall square-ish shape. I crane my neck to stare at it in awe. The gothic style windows are relatively small and are seemingly randomly placed along all sides of the castle. It takes all I have not to scream, but I keep it in, knowing that Ed would surely throw me out of the taxi if I did. I spot a mustard yellow pub with black and red trim. It is decorated with hanging baskets of purple and pink flowers. It's so beautiful! A sign painted on the front reads DURTY NELLY’S. I can’t believe I'm actually in Ireland!

“Silly American Lass.” I hear Ed mutter under his breath at my excitement. I didn’t say all that out loud, did I?

Before I even realize that we’ve arrived, Ed slams on the breaks in front of a low white building with a long driveway. It’s at the end of a dead end road and all around the back is a field. And of course just across the street is another B&B, but that one looking a little more “Irish”. With a stone wall two feet high and a rustic looking tree beside it. I'm amazed at all of the landscaping in Ireland.

Ed turns his head and frowns at me. “Well, aren’t ye goin’ to get out?”

“Aye.” I say, testing out my Irish-ness.

But Ed just looks at me like I'm weird. Maybe it’s just a Scottish thing? I kick open the door and pull out my suitcase.

“Yer goin’ to leave without payin’ me? And what good service I did provide for ya, too. That’ll be twenty Euros, lass.”

I roll my eyes at that comment and dig around in my purse for the blue €20 bill.

I walk up to the house and knock on the door. A plump woman in about her sixties, wearing a bright blue blouse opens the door. “Hullo! Tis a grand aul day, isn’t it?”

“Umm…Yes.” I say.

“Well, come in love.” She moves aside for me to come in.

We enter the entry room where there is a wooden counter in the middle of the room.

“How many days will ye be stayin’ for?”

“Two weeks. My name’s Erin, by the way.”

“I’m Cait. And it costs €73 per night.” She smiles and motions for me to follow her. “I'll show ya to yer room. Come this way.”

***

The next morning I wake up to the sun shining on my face, and momentarily blinding me. I sit up quickly and when I glance at the clock I realize it’s not morning at all. It’s twelve-thirty-one in the afternoon. I lurch out of bed. Realizing that half the day is wasted, and I missed out on my first breakfast in a bed and breakfast. I quickly unzip my suitcase and pull out one of my rolled up outfits. An idea I saw on Pinterest, before I left for Ireland. I swiftly change into my rumpled clothes and frown, because rolling them was supposed to keep them from getting this wrinkled.

Then I burst into the brightly colored, but still dusty hallway. I run down the stairs. Where Cait is standing cutting off the bottoms of rose stems at the front counter. “Ah, you’ve finally awoken, Erin. I thought ya must be dead up there!”

I laugh. “No. It's the time difference, plus all the traveling.”

“You must have been very knackered to sleep for so long. Where are you from, love? I can't place yer accent.”

“New York.”

“A city girl? I must have been mistaken. I bet that you were from the country, and now I owe Ed a tenner.” She says regretfully.

“No I'm from upstate NY. I live in a small village. And you know Ed? The taxi driver?” I ask curiously.

“Yes, I've known the lad since we were both knee high to a grasshopper.” She smiles and clips a rose stem.

“Have you ever been to America?” I ask.

She frowns deeply and shakes her head. “No. But, I have a daughter who left me for New York City. She went to university and never came back. The lass broke my heart.”

“I’m sorry.” I say, solemnly.

“No, don’t be. I've been minus craic all mornin’.”

I raise an eyebrow, clearly looking confused because Cait says. “Oh, I always forget that the Americans can't understand our slang. Craic (pronounced crack) means fun. And when we say minus craic, it means no fun at all.”

“Oh,” I say. “How long does it take to walk to the village of Bunratty?”

“About ten minutes, if you leg it. But mind you there’s no foot path, so you’ll ‘ave to walk on the road.”

“Ok, thanks.”

“But, you can't be leavin’ yet, love.” She arranges the flowers in the vase and sets them on the counter. “I've been keepin’ a plate of breakfast warm for ya. Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” I place a hand on my aching stomach. “I’m starved. Thank you so much for keeping me in mind!”

“No problem dear. Now go in the dining room.”

***

After breakfast I walk to the village of Bunratty to explore. The breakfast was great. Cait said it was a ‘full Irish breakfast'. And it consisted of fried eggs, toast, sausage links, ‘bacon’, (which looked more like ham) hash browns, and baked beans. Cait was disappointed when she saw that I had left the ‘bacon’ and sausage on my plate and asked me if it was undercooked. And I explained that I was a vegetarian. She nodded understandingly and fed the meat to her dog, a cute Labrador retriever named Biscuit. Which I thought was a little weird once I realized that she practically named her dog cookie.

I’ve been walking for twenty minutes and haven't reached the main village of Bunratty, because I keep stopping every, like, two minutes to stop and look at everything. The road is very thin and a little overgrown by beautiful trees and bushes. I feel like someone from a fairytale. Past the trees lining the road are fields. And really there is like nothing on this road, so I don't know how I stopped so many times. Well, I did take a lot of pictures to show to my friends and my parents. And I've been stopping to breathe deeply, the air here is so fresh. Probably cause all of the trees and flowers.

But I know I'm nearing town when I see a beautiful house on top of a small hill, fenced in with a dark wooden fence.

When I enter town I spot a gift shop across the street from a bus stop and a parking lot. I go in the shop and buy some post cards. Then I keep walking on the sidewalk, which is lined by a short stone wall and overflowing with trees and greenery.

And when I reach the outskirts of the charming village my breath is taken away when I see the Bunratty castle for the second time. I pull out my phone and snap a ridiculous amount of photos. Across the street I see the mustard yellow Durty Nelly’s, and I enter the park. Which includes a village from the nineteenth century. I pay ten euros and walk on the gravel, flower lined path.

The village is made up of white washed stone buildings that have straw—at least it looks like straw—roofs. And there are a bunch of little old time-y stores. The tiny gravel road in the center of the old village is lined with stone sidewalks—or as Cait would say, foot paths—and there are wooden picnic tables to sit and eat at. All of this is so cool that I don’t know where to look first! There’s even a younger woman playing violin, or maybe fiddle, on a corner. It’s a fast paced tune and sounds SO Irish! Must be in the key of D major, I joke too myself. I play a little guitar, and once the music theory is in it doesn't come out. There’s the smell of some kind of fried food cooking and the sound of tourists talking in the air. I spy magical looking tree lined paths that would be perfect for a hike, if I didn't just walk for half an hour. I head to the castle where I see some people walking up stairs into an open doorway. I follow them inside. It's damp and cool inside. And dark. It's amazing. And it’s hauntingly beautiful. Or is it beautifully haunted? There's a difference you know, I just don't know what it is. Ahead of me is a woman and a little girl who’s talking extremely fast in her little Irish accent.

“I'm hungry Mam. Ooh look at that! Can I touch it Mam? I think I have a stone in my runners. I wanna be a princess and live in this castle! Uh oh, I think I need to go. Mam, where are the jacks?” The little girl says briskly.

The mother sighs tiredly and steers the girl toward the bathroom.

I smile and keep walking in the castle, my fingers trailing along the cold stone wall. There are some rooms that are roped off with old furniture and things set up like they would have been in the fifteenth century.

I find a room and reach over the rope and touch a pretty vase gently.

“Hey! Can’t ya read ya bloody melter? It says no touchin' on the sign.”

I glance up, startled. It’s a tall man who’s about thirty and looks angry. He’s wearing black pants and a grey sweater—or here they’d probably say trousers and a jumper! And he has a strong Irish accent so I know he is no tourist.

“I'm sorry.” I squeak.

But the man just glares at me, then stalks off.

I stand there for a second breathing in dusty air and willing my heart to slow. Unfortunately my cheery attitude is faded.

After I finished touring the castle, I head out to explore the nineteenth century village that is part of the Bunratty castle and folk park. I sit at one of the wooden picnic tables to rest my legs. There was a ridiculous amount of stairs in the castle. But it was fun, besides that angry guy. I also thought it was very cool that all the staff inside the castle wore clothing from the time. And I was happy to find out that they all spoke in easy to understand English while I asked them a truckload of questions. Questions I had wanted answers to for years! I contemplate pinching myself. Because this feels like a dream!

After a few minutes, I walk on the 'footpaths' wasting a bunch of my storage space in my phone taking pictures of everything. I come up to a fence where there are two scruffy looking dogs. A sign on the fence explains that they are Irish wolf dogs. Whatever that means. I woman looking to be in her late twenties has an adorable white, little puppy. And she's holding it up to the fence so that it can say hi to the Irish wolf dogs, while a man takes pictures.

“Aww, your puppy is so cute!” I say to the woman, who turns to me with a smile.

“Thank you. His name is Levi and he's only thirteen weeks old. You can pet him if you like.” The woman says in a very mild Irish accent.

“Thanks.” I say, stroking the puppy’s long soft fur.

“Oh, he just loves people.” She says, fondly.

“So are you from around here?” I ask, slightly grossed out and delighted that the puppy is licking my hand.

“Yes. Born and raised in Bunratty. My name’s Heather. You're from the United States right?” She glances at her boyfriend or brother or something, who is wandering off.

“My name’s Erin. And yes, I'm from upstate New York, in America.”

“Oh, yes. Have you been to New York City?”

I shake my head. “It's really overrated in my opinion.”

“Oh. I still want to go though. It's always been my dream to one-day see the statue of liberty.” She says dreamily.

“I get it. It's the same for me, but with Irish castles.”

“I'm sorry. I've got to go find Jamie.” She says, picking up her puppy and walking away.

I look at the goats and pigs then I head to the center of the little olden style village. Where I go into a Café type place called Mr. O’Regan’s. Inside it’s pretty modern looking and there is sausage hanging from the back wall, and pastries stacked on a counter. Then I get a pastry and some coffee, honestly a little worried about all the money that I've been spending. I hope my savings will last!

***

By the time I arrive back at the B&B it's dark, and I am exhausted.

“Did ya have craic?” Cait asks when I come in.

It takes me a minute to understand. “Oh, right. Yes I had fun.”

“Grand to hear, love. Y’know you remind me of my daughter. Aisling was always so sweet, before she left me, that is.” She smiles sadly, and rests her arms on the wooden front counter.

“Cait what’s your last name?” I ask, out of the blue.

She raises an eyebrow at me. “Cait Collins dear, why?”

“My mother’s name was Aisling Collins!”

“Are you slagging me Erin?”

I must look confused, again, because she goes on. “What do the Americans say? Messing? Are you messing with me?”

“No.” I pull out my cellphone and open up the gallery. “See, this is a picture of me and my mom, when we went to The zoo last year.”

She squints at the picture and reaches for a magnifying glass from the counter.

“You can just zoom in,” I take the phone from her and zoom in with my two fingers before handing it back. “Here.”

“Oh, she’s so auld. I haven’t seen my baby since she was about yer age.” She states, her eyes wet with tears.

“I'm sorry.”

She shakes her head. “Naw, I'm just being emotional. Crying over spilt milk.”

“Maybe my mother will want to see you again. Now that she’s older.” I suggest.

She shakes her head again. “If she wanted to talk to me all she has to do was give me a ring. I've had the same number for forever. She’s had my address too, she could have sent me a letter, or even came back to visit me.”

I just stand there, not knowing what to say.

But then Cait smiles. “It just dawned on me, love. If my daughter is your mam, then I'm your grandmother. You can still call me Cait if you like, or you could call me Nana.”

I smile sadly, a little angry at my mother. “My mother never even spoke about me having a grandmother. I just assumed that she died.”

Cait—or Nana—gives me a hug and I inhale a toxic amount of lilac perfume.

Suddenly Ed bursts through the front door and sets a bag of groceries on the counter. “I got the messages for ya. What? Did I get the day wrong again? Is it Irish hugging day again, already?”

Cait examines the groceries and turns to Ed. “Oh, Ed quit slagging us. I just found out that Erin is Aisling’s daughter.”

Ed’s face gets serious. “What? For real?”

“Yes,” Cait says. “Erin’s my granddaughter.”

“Oh, this is mad!” Ed exclaims.

Ed’s right, this is crazy.