Don’t let the golden hues in those pictures or the fact that my eyes are squinting like a cat basking in the sun fool you. Ireland is not really famous for its mellow temperatures, but it is beautiful. And if the wind had all the hairs on my body raised into what egg whites are meant to be when incorporated into cake batter, it also had my skirt billowing in the wind; just like I imagined when I decided to buy the skirt.
My appreciation for Ireland’s green isolated landscapes, its crisp air and ratio of humans to sheep has quadrupled since living in North London where the roads seem to form their own unique pattern of old chewing gum and spit. Every square metre here is to be shared with another human being and I would say fellow human being, but the more breaths I allow my lungs to inhale, the more steps I allow my legs to make; the more people turn into shapeless shapes made of ‘echo-ey’ words, blurry gestures and sideways glances.
Each leaf in Ireland is like a balm for sore eyes, but if you do decide to venture into the green landscapes that the country has to offer, I definitely recommend the thickest jumper your wardrobe contains. Some wellies are also in order , unless you are capable of walking into potholes and marshes in high heels without letting out expletives at every step. This would also mean you are a saint from heaven and probably hover around in the air anyway and do not therefore require heels.
Photography and Editing by Luke Aaron