Landing in Ireland is always a little magical. I always know there is a fine misty morning awaiting. The first shiver of cool air and a breath of soil and sea welcome me home. Ireland is in my dna. I have never lived here, but if memory can be passed down through generations then something lingers strong and true.

It is a short walk to the rental car lot. As we approach the car and notice the scratches along the sides, I suddenly have flash backs to narrow roads, hedgerows and rock walls. Driving is no joke here and I am running on little sleep. The thought of navigating the opposite side of the road and unfamiliar traffic patterns induces a spike of adrenaline. Luckily, (actually more planning than luck), we don’t have far to go. We are spending one night in nearby Ennis before heading to points North.

We make the brief trip from Shannon airport to town without incident and park next to the Ennis friary. Outside the lot, there are numerous signs to pay and display. Inside the lot there is no sign and no pay meter. We take our chances and head to the friary. It is not yet open.

Thwarted, we aimlessly walk the streets of Ennis. People are walking to work and sitting in coffee shops. The stores are just beginning to open. This is not a tourist town and it is fun to get lost in local life. We pass murals and walk along the river. I giggle as I hear Irish slang and the constant presence of lilting curse words.

Tired of walking, we find a small visitor center attached to the Clare County Museum. We have to try three doors and walk down two different alleys to find a working way in (signage is not really prevalent or all that helpful in Ireland…just ask and someone is always happy to send you along).

We are warmly greeted by the attendant and treated like long lost relations. She has suggestions for food and wants us to try a variety of walks. Maps are supplied for the days to come. She also suggests that we visit the small museum. It is a treasure trove of random objects. In pride of place, is a car that belonged to Eamon de Valera (former Irish President). There are artifacts from the Neolithic era, a door from a Spanish Armada ship, a wooden jar of “bog butter”, sports jerseys and a lot of other objects. By the time we look over everything, the friary has long since opened.

We are admitted to the friary without having to pay. It seems that bees have swarmed in the transept and the caretakers don’t want us stung. So we are free to roam the other areas of the friary, as long as we agree to just look through the glass at the bees.

The friary, which once would have filled me with awe, now seems familiar. It is very similar to a number of other sites. I have committed to memory the shape of the monastic churches and the feel of the old stone. There are remarkable carvings and corbels that stand out at this site. The wet stone is home to birds and plants. It seems ancient and alive.

We wander for a while. Until the adrenaline has worn off. Eventually, we need food and sleep. We have arrived safely and I am already feeling relaxed. Somewhere a bowl of stew and slice brown soda bread is calling my name.