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A big thank you to London, Scotland, and Ireland for accommodating us Canadian tourists; I hope we left behind small footprints and a positive impression. Now one last excursion to share....

Just north of Dublin is a peninsula (once a small island) with a fishing community (about 8,000 folks) called Howth (rhymes with oath), a quick train ride from the city.  

This was our second visit. We had something to finish: the cliff walk. Last time it was raining, so we cut the walk short, but this time? Perfect weather. 

About a week before we visited Ireland the first time (2023), we met someone at a wedding—he was studying medicine in Ireland and told us Howth was his favourite place. We asked, why? He couldn't find the words but his body language said much. We are fans of serendipity and places people get emotional about, so we visited and it became a favourite too. Now my turn...how to describe? 

  🤔Let this good man's clip show you what words can't.

  🤔It's a cleansing breath of a place. 

  🤔It's a retreat, a haven, a resting place; I suspect Dubliners request their ashes be spread in Howth.

  🤔Think of a place that has almost everything: (in this case) incredible views, friendly folks, fresh seafood, street markets with huge brownies, colourful boats bobbing in blue coastline waters, rocky beaches with cold water where people swim anyway, playful otters, ice-cream shops, flowers that grow in cracks along rock walls, unexpected palm trees, a castle, and maybe one busker. Note that I said, almost. Why? Some places have too much, their abundance overwhelms and they don't feel...snug. Plus, setting is a relationship—we must bring something to our most cherished places—an impulse to attach to the stream of life.   

  🤔Like all words sometimes, my words are inadequate, so I will offer this final idea about Howth: my heart just endorses this place.

Quick research reveals that a teen-aged W. B. Yeats lived in Howth. He wrote fondly about it, sharing that he snuck out at night (classic teen move even in the 1880s), and also felt his first unrequited love there. Perhaps his famous poem The Lake Isle of Innisfree has clues to Howth? The poem expresses a longing to escape the urban confines and return to nature, build a cabin, plant a garden, live in "a bee-loud glade," seek peace next to the "water lapping with low sounds by the shore" and then even while stuck in the city hear this cherished place in the "deep heart's core." 

Dear friends, our hearts are small, and some places fill them so well. Whether travel is required or not, I hope you get plenty of time in places your heart endorses.

In-between

We ended our trip in Dublin and so we did it right: parks, pub-food, street performers, a craic comedy club and the Guinness Storehouse. Everyone told us this tour is a must-see, but could it match the excessive hype? I enjoy Guinness so I remained hoptimistic.

(Aside: Conan O'Brien says he made his own Guinness once by blending a loaf of pumpernickel bread, burying it in the backyard for six weeks, and then... he got sicker than a dog. LOL, if you've seen Guinness and watched it foam, you might also find his recipe hilariously plausible. 😂😄😆)

So, would I also recommend this tour? 

It's fantastic! It's unexpectedly sensory—sights, sounds, touch, smell, and (of course) taste, and the only negative is that your nervous system may not recover from the prices in the gift shop! But the best part? Arthur's Bar on Floor 5! We visited on a Saturday so maybe we were just lucky? Because we enjoyed a 30-minute concert: trad music, Irish dancing, a harpist. Fantastic! 

After we met some fun Americans on a "divorce holiday" lol, I snapped this photo in-between drinks (3 pints ftw) at the Gravity Bar on Floor 7. I describe this mural as "3-D glasses-inspired" and there are several in and outside the storehouse; google tells me the talented artist is a Dubliner named Aches. (I'd call him the new Chuck Close.) 

Anyway, dear friends, a pea-brain multiple choice question for you: does this mural depict

a. musician Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart?

b. entrepreneur founder Arthur Guinness?

c. the vision of someone who's consumed too many Guinness?

d. who cares? Sláinte!🍺

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During our visit to Galway on Ireland's west coast, we encountered this 3-meter high "Seated Figure" along the Claddagh basin. It had just been installed as a preview for the city's annual arts festival, which we very much enjoyed during out 2023 trip to Galway. 

So who is this big, pensive man?

I have no idea, but if you're wondering, watch this short video about artist Sean Henry and his "Seated Figure." 

As an older white guy with a beard who favours darks colours who also happens to carry a satchel (ha yes, I admit that it's basically a murse), I felt a little too seen next to this dude. But as an art-guy who LOVES how this figure invites curiosity and toys with scale and perspective, I mostly felt giddy. 

This installation reminded me of the artwork of another sculptor: Saskatchewan-Canadian legend Joe Fafard. Renown for sculpting a multitude of multi-sized cows (there's a herd of them in Toronto) he also sculpted his friends and neighbours (farmers, waitresses, artists and teachers). 

Why do artists enjoy playing with scale? Why not? 

In particular, Fafard tells about a dream he once had where he had to confront a fearful figure but instead of escaping he stared the man down and the imposing figure shrunk smaller and smaller and smaller. It seems to me that in a way, artists can subdue, even master ideas by altering their size. 

Plus, similar to Sean Henry's art, I think Fafard invites us to reexamine the extraordinary ordinary and recognize that we average folks (and many other everyday things) might just be works of art too.

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Irish writers? Extraordinary. 

C.S. Lewis...W.B. Yeats... James Joyce... Oscar Wilde...  Bram Stoker... Claire Keegan... Sinead O'Connor... Bono... Dolores O'Riordan... the Irish Rovers... Hozier...

Although Ireland has a relatively small population (about 5.3 million), the country, per capita, apparently produces the second-highest number of poets, writers, and songwriter-musicians (Iceland is number one). 

Why is this?

Clearly, Ireland has established systems for the arts to thrive, but it also speaks to the way the Irish value and elevate storytelling.

So when I saw this whiskey in Ireland, I chuckled, not entirely surprised by the cheeky name. Who hasn't drowned their tears in alcohol once or twice? But I also thought, oh yes, I know the struggle that is writing and communicating as I write and rewrite a lifetime of words like assembling Lego. Does this connect? What's missing? Is this forming something perceptible? Yet despite the struggle, writers gotta write, hoping to bring something into being—an idea, a release, a light in the dark? For creatives, tears (sad and happy) are inevitable. 

Today those tears continue to fall for another Irish singer-songwriter, Glen Hansard. In one of the many tributes occurring in Ireland and elsewhere, someone expressed his admiration for the artist this way: "he operated at the speed of love." Is there a better legacy (or sentence) than that? Tears indeed. 

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Welcome to the Moon the Burren

Canadian English majors typically study Northrup Frye, a prominent literary critic and theorist. (Margaret Atwood would fill that role now.) Regarding Canadian identity, Frye argued that our geography is everything: he speculated that it's less about "who are we?" and more about "where are we?"

My interpretation of his theory is that because Canada is so big, our massive (and imposing) land mass combined with such diverse geography and relative isolation with low populations, makes us Canadians less about being one nation and more about many nations, many peoples. We are regionalized folks, connected but with differing customs and traditions. Our history adds to this notion as we were founded on three nations: Indigenous, French, and English, although in 2026 we are many more diverse peoples too.  

I like to think of it this way: it's as though we Canadians paddle in many canoes, but share the same storms. 

But then what do we Canadians have in common with each other? Lots, but regarding geography, two examples:

1. The Canadian Shield: a glacier-scraped scar of bedrock, lakes, and trees that covers 50% of Canada, not exactly a beach. Add the Rocky Mountains and well, we're basically just rocks, er, we just rock—that's how we roll. 

2. Winter. Snow doubt about it, we put the north in North America. This underscores our survival instincts, again a factor of geography. 

Yes, I'm a geography nerd, and that (finally) brings me to the Republic of Ireland—a country whose geography has also shaped the country's character, in particular, The Burren. It's otherworldly and the geographical equivalent of a cinematic anxiety dream. So sure, why not attempt to live there, right? 

Our Shield is similar to this Irish dreamscape as is Nova Scotia's incredible Peggy's Cove and parts of Newfoundland, etc. I have visited the Burren twice now and I can't help but believe that surviving it helped forge an Irish resilience, a toughness, and when those Irish came to Canada? They brought that grit with them: "many a good tree grew on shallow ground." 

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One last post about Northern Ireland. 

After some shopping in downtown Belfast, we were walking back to our accommodations when I noticed this statute. 

I thought, is that Frederick Douglass? 

I read his pivotal autobiography in 2024, but I had no idea he visited the UK and Ireland (summarized here in a short video). My favourite Douglass quote? "Once you learn to read, you will be forever free." 👏 

Later that day, I read that after his book was published in the US it became widely popular and a big seller all over the world, but it triggered the demented possibility that he could be recaputured and enslaved again. So, he toured Ireland giving lectures on prejudice and liberation—something the Irish certainly know a thing or two about, don't they? 

Douglass loved Ireland and felt "transformed" there, "I find myself not treated as a color, but as a man." Inspired to erect his likeness, the Irish obviously loved him too. His statue, the only one of Douglass outside of the US, is located near where he spoke in Belfast (1845-46) and depicts him gesturing as he speaks to his listeners. Thankfully, his words live on and thanks to the Irish appreciation for art, one can also see his passion for human rights. 

In-between

On the same day we toured the Giant's Causeway, we visited another hot-spot for those fortunate enough to experience Northern Ireland: the Dark Hedges. 

This tree-lined lane and the canopy it forms is captivating. The Hedges reminded me of Robert Frost's mysterious poem, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. Borrowing Frost's words, I definitely found these woods lovely, dark, and deep. 

Planted about 250 years ago, these spellbinding trees are situated in-between flat wide-open fields on both sides, so their roots, trunks, and branches rise into the sky as though they were painted into existence by artists like Emily Carr or Piet Mondrian, whose renderings of nature invoke awe. Yet I did not expect such a rural setting.  

So despite my wonder, the Saskatchewan-raised kid in me couldn't help but think of the farmers on both sides who likely reflect more on the blasted weather as they plant, fertilize, and harvest their crops month after month, likely unmoved, (perhaps stoic, detached, or even irritated) as hundreds and thousands of moved visitors excitedly walk in circles down the road next to their crops. I encountered one walker who was Face-timing her experience. 

My point? Tourism is anthropology too, isn't it? One person's curiosity is another's indifference. Let's be honest, we humans are downright fascinating creatures, arguably batty, but fascinating. 

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Do you know The Giant's Causeway myth? Here's the gist: we men can be big babies and who saves us? 

Yup, it's women—the women who (roll their eyes and still somehow or at least 59% of the time) love us. 

We spent an afternoon hiking throughout this uniquely scenic area along the north coast of Northern Ireland. Although we did not have time for the official visitor centre, we loved exploring this geological wonder. We also hiked to view "The Devil's Middle Finger" whose name reminds me of a favourite dad joke: dear middle finger, thank you for always sticking up for me. 😄

Afterwards, we ate the best scones with jam and clotted cream at The Nook, a pub nearby. I'd never had clotted cream before! 🤯 Dear friends, what is this dream fluff and why is it sooooooooooo good?! Hmm, maybe it's the 643 grams of fat in each dollop? Worth it. 

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No pun intended, but Belfast has many eye-catching murals, all of them invite curiosity. Inevitably, some are political, hearkening back to those historical conflicts between the loyalist Protestants and nationalist Catholics. Although I read the Belfast history book I bought there, I feel I have only skimmed the surface of The Troubles. 

But if you look closely at this particular Belfast mural, made in 2025, you'll see it reflects a smiling child holding an ice cream cone. To me, it feels playful and forward-looking, a warmhearted nod to the Irish children who have inherited this history and might paint Ireland anew. And (to me) it seems to pose a question: who's looking at whom? 

Entitled "The Ice Cream of My Eye," I think the artist, My Dog Sighs, wants us to think about the future. Some quick research reveals that his work is inspired by Banksy: he aims to use street art to engage every demographic, particularly those who never seek art at all, a most worthwhile pursuit, iyam. I still encounter people today who think art is not for them, but art is distinctly intended for everyone. Art is not for intellectuals; art is not supposed to be genteel—art is a human impulse.

Art can be created without any conscious agenda, and although it often feels personal and individual, it can also open space for bigger conversations (discussions that might not otherwise every happen). Moreover it can open a gate and unify diverse peoples. History reveals that sometimes words conquer us, divide us, fail us, but art is a language without words and whether it yells or whispers, sometimes it says it best of all.

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I've shared a few graffiti based travel posts, so I thought I'd do one more, but I'd describe this one as low controversy, high importance. 

Dear friends, although I'm a bit confused by this graffiti artist's phrasing, I say yes, go hug your Nan. (Believe me, I would if I could.)

After taking the ferry from Scotland to Belfast, Ireland, our first visit was to the Duke of York Pub, (apparently) a famous party spot in the Cathedral district. This is not why we chose to wander inside but I'm glad we did. They allow you to write on the walls! 

I might be the only person to ever describe a pub this way, but it reminded me of a time-travel version of my childhood school with the wooden desks (the ones I desperately wanted to write on), albeit with a lot more Guinness than Mrs. Pochipinski's classroom ever had. 😄

Guess who always has a pen with him? Hmm...so where did I leave my small mark? Well, friends of a certain age, some agist pylon wrote "old people are weird," so next to it I retaliated with a stern, "no we're not." Sorted that out, didn't I? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯