“I find it quite cool, that three friends who basically haven’t seen each other since high school, are not only going to hang out for 11 days, but hang out in Ireland. It’s like Sisterhood of The Traveling Pants on steroids!” ~ Jules Ellis Burke
IRELAND 2019
OUR STORY…
Once upon a time there were three slightly wrinkled and weathered Lasses; one an Irish, one an English, and one a Scottish. They set sail, they did, on a silver-winged flying vessel, bound for the coast of Ireland, and adventures untold.
It was the thirty of April of our Lord’s year 2019 when these Lasses did go, rumbling down the long ribboned blacktop until a weightless lift tugged at the vessels underbelly, gently lifting it above the wind and clouds, sending giggles through the Lasses like school children on an outing to the fair – except permission slips were not needed.
Oh, but to tell their tale, one must go back 50 years, clear back to high school, in the year of Woodstock, when they were wee, less weathered Lasses, finishing their classes before embarking on a brave new world. Yes, this is where they grew up, this is where they became friends, and this is where they would go, each their own way, leaving their footprints upon different hills, and glens, and paths through the woods of life, with just a scattered memory of what was – that is until Facebook.
Yes, Facebook. That ne’er do well social experiment whereby everyone tells everyone what food they ate, what illness they have, and give their unsolicited, somewhat fact-less opinions, of which no one really cares about. But nevertheless, it became a place of reconnection, a place to tell their tales of life, in picture and word, a place to leave traces of themselves, of which these three adventure seekers did so do.
Of course, they became friends again, in a cyber world. Then one day, one of the Lasses posted a picture of a wonderful castle in Ireland, just off the seawall of Dublin. It stood on a rock, yards from shore, and could only be accessed by rowboat. Once to its rocky base, one would have to climb out of the boat and up along rickety steps to a dank and dreary doorway, to stairs unseen and a traverse unknown, until they reached the top. The caption read. “Dublin Castle.” Then suddenly one of the Lasses shouted in cybertext, “I want to see this!” Another yelled, “me too!”, and yet the third said, “me too!” Then the second Lass who had shouted, “me too!” said, “Let’s go!”
And so, it was. The planning began. And as they planned, one of the Lasses got to thinking about that castle. “Hmmmmm,” she mumbled in doubtful tone, for she had been to Ireland not two years hence, and wondered why, given the splendor of such a castle, the tour guide did not stop there. So, she did what any Irish Lass would do, she Googled it. Low and behold, it was a fake. A photoshop of a German Castle and a rock in Thailand. But the idea was too bold now. The Lasses were intrigued about what other castles may be there, waiting among the high and the lowlands of sheep covered pastures and hills that rolled to the sea. “We must go,” said they.
And so, it was that these three Lasses; one an Irish, one and English, and one a Scottish, stepped back into each other’s lives, in the twilight of their years, charting a course from friendship interrupted to friendship reunited, and plotted a grand scheme of extraordinary adventure, driving the highways and byways of the Emerald Isle
Banner Photo - © My Baggywrinkle | The Gypsy Boomer I AGELESS TRAVEL
Clover Hands & Shamrock Border Photos Licensed through Adobe Stock