Ireland is fantastic. What else could Ireland be? It's Ireland. And now that I've said the word Ireland three (four) times, I should probably stop. But, I can't get over how familiar and same parts of this country feel. I don't mean that in the boring way. I mean, everywhere I go, I see buildings, bits of scenery, and just things that seem like they're from somewhere else. A lot of the time, it's like they're from the homes I left behind me. The mountains make me think of Vermont. The graffiti reminds me of Burlington. The twistiness of the roads are kind of like Boston. There's this one tiny, tenement looking building that seems like it was shot out of Hey, Arnold! There's Ben and Jerry's.
And, when we went to Howth, a little sea side village north of Dublin, everything was different and the same all over again.
What's beyond this gate could be Cape Cod.
This rocky beach could be Little Compton, Rhode Island. And that old man? He'd be from some really sad, period piece about coastal New England.
Other parts looked like South America, or, at least, somewhere hot. There were palm trees. Lots of them. I didn't take any good pictures of them, though, so here are some flowers. Blooming in the middle of January.
But then, there were spots that couldn't be from anywhere else but Ireland. I loved those the best.
Really, I love it all. Even the weird palm trees.