I saw a man coming, as it were from Ireland. His name was Victoricus, and he carried many letters, and he gave me one of them. I read the heading: “The Voice of the Irish”. As I began the letter, I imagined in that moment that I heard the voice of those very people who were near the wood of Foclut, which is beside the western sea—and they cried out, as with one voice: “We appeal to you, holy servant boy, to come and walk among us.
The Atlantic wind rushes up from the sea at the slieve league cliffs on the west coast of Ireland.
I spent the night at the ANNORApub drinking Guinness with my friend John, his brother Aidan and sister Nora [who owned the pub]. It was raining and cold and we got there late. It was dark and we were somewhere on the northwest coast of Ireland in Narin Donegal, a place and county I did not know. I think the Irish gravity is strange. I was fascinated by the settling of the Guinness in the glass.
I could watch it rather than drink it. The settling took some 5 minutes but it was magic to watch. Very good for the blood pressure. Pure Genius.
Not far from the Giant’s Causeway in county Antrim is Ballycastle, a little town with a racecourse I remember, cause that is where the party was… not necessarily started.. but went on most of the freezing night.
Since going there, the Global Financial Crisis hit and I still marvel at the way Irish people can handle these things, and not get so bothered. I tell you there is something strange about the gravity in Ireland which allows the people and the beer to be so poetic inclined, and to look on life in an unworried way, sensing when humour and craic is required to understand situations without logic.
The Irish world of tourist and locals were passing by in Dublin the day before I left. It was October and everything on sale. I reflected on what a place was Ireland, since Patrick came, and was glad that I had attended a call, albeit a 3 day birthday party across the top end. One of the friendliest weekends ever spent.