We’re home now and we’re still recovering. We’re re-living every step, almost every swing, definitely every birdie, trying to forget the doubles, thankfully, with Stableford scoring, there’s no such thing as a triple. I can still taste every pint, I can hear the songs pouring out of the shebeens at night and I can feel the cool waters of the Atlantic slapping my hand as we look up at the Cliffs of Moher. I can feel the dirt under my shoes as I run the narrow trail of the Giant’s Causeway. Is that Fungie the famous dolphin of the Dingle Harbor? Are those the goats of Lahinch? Are we really playing with the former Prime Minister? Meet a Dire Wolf? Sneak into the huddle of a Gaelic football match? Eat the lobster we caught? Captain a boat ferry? Sláinte from the Dell hole! Communion at the Mass Hole. Is that clubhouse really a castle?
I’m not sure we could’ve fit any more into this trip to the island of Ireland. Which is to say, we did it just right. And cameras were rolling, especially in the good light.
In our first of two “Journeys” through Ireland, we landed in Dublin and started our golf trip in the Southwest. From a sunrise at Ballybunion to sunset at Lahinch, with Waterville and Tralee in between, we got history, culture, camaraderie and a whole lotta craic.
One overarching observation: The only thing the Irish take seriously is making sure you want to come back. And I’d be gobsmacked if I didn’t say they’re damn good at it.
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