Ireland does seem to beckon to us here in the Americas.  She offers to enfold us in her old-world mystique, rolling green fields and crystalline coastal waters if we would only slow down, sit a spell and listen to her warm and affable tales.  If we would kick back and watch as the waves crash against her rugged cliffs and misty shores we might somehow discover the gift of self-deprecating charm or the ability to deliver an amusing anecdote to anyone within earshot. We might even hear a familiar but long forgotten music well up within us while nursing an afternoon pint in a village pub.

Yes, there may be quiet cobblestone streets, fishing boats, thatched cottages and castle ruins to be found. There you may find standing stones, millstones and the timeless and impressive legion of basalt stone columns along The Giant’s Causeway. Fair skinned children may scamper about and red-tressed women perhaps break into song at random moments, transporting a crowded room to another time and place.

You may find all of this if you go looking for what seems a carefully crafted and romanticized version of Ireland, one meant entice the tourists. There are sure to be many such rich cultural moments to experience on this storm-tempered island sandwiched between the North Atlantic and North Sea.  The very fact that I find myself referring to the Emerald Isle as a “she” is proof that like so many others I’ve also been lulled by her siren-song.

Fact of the matter is that while pockets of this cherished version of Ireland may still be well preserved, you will also find a country that is more varied, more interesting and heaps less “quaint” than we’ve been led to believe. The trick is not to look too hard for any particular slice of Ireland. As one writer put it, “Ireland can be that place that you missed as you traveled around Ireland, looking for Ireland.”

Things have changed here as the country modernizes and gets more involved and engaged with European Union membership.  A period of economic expansion and growth brought with it a growing multiculturalism. In that time people from all over the world came seeking opportunities to live and work on the Emerald Isle and the face of the country changed.

Over that time once big farms were transformed into subdivisions and suburbs. Villages gave way to towns while some towns are now no longer recognizable as such.

While Ireland attempts to preserve it dreamy landscapes and proud cultural heritage there are some things that have thankfully remained unchanged. The ability to speak and drink easily and mirthfully is one such thing that, through the years, has never been exaggerated. Doing both skillfully, with a kind of calming rhythm is not unlike breathing here.  Wallflowers will not necessarily flourish here but shyness seems to shed away in this lively and outgoing environment. Nor will braggarts, blowhards or dullards be suffered for long, unless they are local and then they have a bit of immunity. Whether enjoying spirits or not, a gregarious wit and sense of humor are keys to the kingdom here. It is the stock-in-trade in both polite and impolite society. If you can’t sing or play an instrument you can still get by if you can tell a good yarn or speak without sounding like a half- wit.  Wonks, wankers and the witless are unceremoniously shown to the door.

If it’s not your day to be clever it might be better to go somewhere and sit quietly and ruminate on life for awhile, a place where you can enjoy the wind, the sun or the rain and sea-spray upon your face. Sit and listen to the lapping of the waters along the shore while sea birds mock you with their shrill cries. Either way, best not to go looking for Ireland. Spend enough time there and when she’s ready she’ll find you.

I will arise and go now, for always night and day                                                                           I hear the lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;                                               While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,                                                            I hear it in the deep heart’s core.                                                                                                  - W. B Yeats

By Tim Holmstrom

Published in Adventure Traveler Online, June 2011                                                          Ireland Calling