During the planning of this trip, we agreed to keep strict plans to a minimum, having a loose list of recommended places and sites we could go, but each choosing one thing our hearts were absolutely set upon doing. My choice was the aforementioned private tour to the Cliffs of Moher, and my sweetie chose Glendalough, a monastic site in the local mountains just south of Dublin.

There were tons of Glendalough tours offered…one with a hike, another with a stable visit and horseback ride, something about sheep and sheepdogs, and yet another with a stop in a nearby village for lunch…but my sweetie just wanted Glendalough…to be in this place that, even through pictures, felt ancient and holy. To soak in the energy of true connection to God on Earth.

So, after weighing all options, we found a tour that was just Glendalough. No frills, no stops to Braveheart and Game of Thrones filming locations, no dropping off for 40 minutes to quickly look around before heading back to the bus for the next thing on the schedule…this tour was a half day drop off, and two hours to soak it in.

We’ve had plenty of recommendations from folks we’ve met here on where to go and where not to go. For example, we have learned unanimously that Temple Bar, the area where our hotel is located, is a universally known tourist trap, where price gouging is rampant and most locals avoid. Everyone says go to Guinness and Jameson, everyone says Trinity College is magical. And whenever we’ve mentioned Glendalough, people have kinda quietly said “Yeah, it’s really beautiful there, very special.”

I took that to mean we could take it or leave it. Our cabdriver mentioned on our ride from the airport that there was so much to see in the Wicklow mountains, it was best that we book a private tour or rent a car, that there’s just no way a commercial tour bus would do it justice, and then he suggested we cancel our reservation and handed us his card for a private tour.

So I didn’t know what to expect for this one stop tour…but that was probably for the best, because without expectation there is absolutely no room for disappointment.

We woke up earlier than usual to walk to the central meeting point on O’Connell Street. We walked by the River Liffey, as we’ve done now most days we’ve been here. Grabbed a coffee…mine was small but mighty.

And then we got on the bus. Our driver reminded me of a few Irish folks I remember hanging out with in my Jersey days…fun, animated, devoted to family, a little crass, a little edge, “If you’re not back on time, I’ll leave your ass in the mountains”, a great storyteller. For posterity, I shall include that we lost track of how many times he said “all the way across.”

He spent the hour drive up telling us about what’s it’s like to live in Ireland, how much houses and cars cost, taxes, how to tell where your meat comes from, etc. “all the way across”. Then he went into a pretty thorough historical overview…the Celts, the Vikings. the British, the famines, the politics, the division… “all the way across.”

We got to Glendalough right as it opened, parked the bus, and went straight to the holy site. There was a spire and a churchyard and a chapel…but the vibe could not have been more opposite from The Rock of Cashel we visited the day before. Where the energy there was defensive, protective, and disconnected from nature and the town around it, Glendalough in contrast felt sacred and quiet and holy, as if it were built upon something much bigger.

We learned that the guy who built this place back in the day was named St. Kevin. He loved animals and building stuff, but seemed pretty intent on avoiding people as much as he could.

The site is nestled between mountains on all sides and feels like a sanctuary. It was peaceful and welcoming. It didn’t feel haunted, it felt like a divine portal….that’s the only way I can describe it.

We stayed in the churchyard for a few minutes and then made our way to the two lakes nearby. That’s what Glendalough translates to: two lakes. And we walked through the forest quietly, listening to the birds and the wind through the leaves on the trees.

For those who may remember some of my earlier posts , about a year ago I wrote a piece about what PTSD feels like called “Meadows and Minefields”. It was about being safe in a meadow and then hearing a noise and being transported in mind back to a battlefield, fighting a war that I was no longer fighting.

And the strangest thing happened while I was in Glendalough…I looked to the south of the trail and there was the exact same meadow I’d imagined while I was writing that piece…a meadow, safe and serene, mountains on all sides, and this rush of feelings, like I’d been here before in my mind and my spirit.

It was a feeling I’ve never before experienced. One far too significant for me to put into words right now, without time for careful reflection. But it was absolutely spiritual and validating and mystic and other- worldly.

We found the lakes, St.Kevin put a few deer and birds in our path along the way and we soaked in every moment of this beautiful place.

I should note here that I struggle sometimes with anxiety. And it comes up like a wave or a seizure, sometimes out of nowhere, this fear of failure and perfectionism. Its something I am actively working on, because it is something I dislike very much about myself, but it is still incredibly inconvenient and embarrassing and disappointing when it happens…especially in beautiful places.

I know that it affects my sweetie, and even though I am working on communicating what I’m feeling in those moments during the waves, I still do not have a magic formula to prevent them.

So I did have a brief moment of anxiety when we were near the upper lake regarding the inconvenience of me having to make a 200 meter walk to the nearest restroom and not wanting my sweetie to miss out on one moment of magic because of nature calling me out of serenity and into a parking lot. Ridiculous. I know she was bothered by my unsettled energy. I encouraged her to forge ahead without me and I’d meet her at the lake once the business was done. She insisted she wait. And it took much longer than I’d wanted and I felt guilty for having her standing at the visitors center for 15 minutes when she could’ve been enjoying the sites. It compounded for me, my guilt, feeling like I’d taken away from her experience, and then my grumpiness and guilt actually manifested into being a pain in the butt….again.

I asked for a minute alone by the lake to neutralize my stirrings, find my peace, and a few minutes later, we snapped a picture. But I could see from her face in the first few, she was still a little irritated and skeptical, wondering if the wave had passed or if the day was ruined…we are still working on how to navigate how my intensely personal battle with anxiety doesn’t trigger her decades long natural inclination to fix all the things, even those out of her control. So I saw her smiling through her irritation and made a funny face to get her to laugh and reassure her I was out of it. So, all day long we’ve laughed at this picture.

When we got back to the city, we headed to the oldest bar in Dublin called The Brazen Head for a couple pints, seafood chowder and more fried things to nibble. This is one of the many Dublin landmarks mentioned in James Joyce’s Ulysses.

And then we headed to the room for a nap after a surprisingly strong tiredness overcame us both. We’ve found ourselves walking nearly 20k steps everyday, and frustrated that our hearts tell us to go on “no sleep till Brooklyn” style, while our bodies are nagging, “slow it down, grandma!”

We headed out a few hours later to a locals bar my brother recommended called The Long Hall and then were called into a really fabulous Indian spot called Diwali on the same street for a late dinner of naan, saag paneer, and a really delicious bright and spicy green lamb curry served with jalapeños and colorful pillow rice.

Every single day on this adventure has had its charm and highlight moments. One of our favorite things has been discussing what the best moments of the day were, since each one seems to have a component of spontaneity and flow. And every time we discuss, it feels like there’s more than we can count. What a blessing, truly.