almost plowed headlong into oncoming traffic and had to squeal to a halt, the car juddering to the side of the road and scraping against the hedgerow. Keira held a hand up to apologize to the driver of the other car but they just smiled kindly as if it were no bother at all, and reversed a little in order to allow the space for her to pass. Back home in New York City, such an incident would have resulted in Keira being loudly cussed. She was already getting a feel for that infamous Irish hospitality.
Her heart still pounding from the shock of the near miss, Keira managed to slowly inch forward past the car.
She continued onward cautiously, feeling more terrified of the roads than she had before. She hoped the scrape against the hedges wouldn’t be visible on the paint work – she wasn’t sure how the company would feel about her coming back with a huge bill from the car rental place for damage!
Any residue of excitement she’d been feeling before the treacherous drive had begun started to wane. Running on adrenaline and coffee had only gotten Keira so far. Now instead of being in awe of the beauty of nature, she saw her surroundings as sparse and somewhat bleak. The only living creatures she saw were sheep. There were old stone farmhouses dotted around that were abandoned, crumbling. Up in the hillsides, Keira also saw a derelict castle nestled within a smattering of trees and wondered how such a historic old building had been left to decay.
She began mentally taking notes for her article, remembering the cynical angle Elliot wanted her to take. Instead of seeing the beauty in the coastal view, she focused instead on the gray clouds. Instead of seeing the vast view over the ocean as miraculous, she instead decided to cast her gaze to the bleakness of the distant craggy mountains. Though it was stunningly beautiful on one hand, Keira felt that debunking the romance of Ireland wouldn’t be that much of a challenge. She just needed to know where to look and how to twist things.
She passed through a handful of small, stone-walled towns. One was called Killinaboy and she laughed aloud, quickly texting a picture of the town sign to Zach, who she hoped would appreciate it.
She was so distracted by the amusing road sign, Keira almost didn’t notice the next obstacle in the road – a herd of sheep! She slammed on the brakes and came to a halt just in time, stalling the car in the process. It took a long time for her terror to abate. She could have mown down a whole family of sheep!
Taking a moment to calm her heartbeat, Keira grabbed her phone and took a photo of the crowd of sheep’s backsides, sending it to Zach with the caption: the traffic here is a nightmare.
Of course, she received no reply. Frustrated with his complete lack of interest, she sent the same pictures off to Nina and Bryn in turn. Both responded almost immediately with laughing emojis and Keira nodded, satisfied to know that at least someone in her life found her escapades interesting.
Keira revved the engine back to life and slowly overtook the convoy of sheep. They watched her pass with knowing expressions and she almost found herself apologizing aloud. The sky was starting to darken, making the drive feel even more precarious. It didn’t help that the only buildings she saw were churches, with solemn statues of the Virgin Mary praying by the roadsides.
Finally, Keira arrived in Lisdoonvarna and was pleasantly surprised by what she saw. At least it looked like a place where people lived! There were streets where more than one house stood side by side, which gave it the feel of a town… almost. All the buildings, houses, and shops were so small and quaint, many barely a couple of feet away from the road, and they were painted in bright rainbow colors. Keira was glad to finally be somewhere that seemed like a community rather than just single dwellings connected by roads.
She slowed her car, following the street signs until she found the address she was looking for, the St. Paddy’s Inn. The B&B was right on the corner of two roads, a three-story, dark red brick building. From the outside, it looked very Irish to Keira.
She parked in the small lot and leapt out, grabbing her bags from the trunk. She was exhausted and ready to get inside and rest.
But as she approached, she realized rest was not something she was about to get. Because even from here she could hear the sounds of merry conversation and rowdy debate. She could also hear the sound of live music, of violins, pianos, and accordions.
A bell over the door tinkled as she walked inside to find a small, dark pub with old crimson wallpaper and several round wooden tables. The place was filled to the brim with people, beers in hand. They looked over at her as if they could tell right away she didn’t belong here, that she wasn’t just a tourist, but an American.
Keira felt a little overwhelmed by the culture shock.
“What can I get yee?” a male voice said in a thick accent that Keira could hardly understand.
She turned to the bar to see an old man standing behind it. He had a wizened face and a tuft of gray hair sprouting from the center of an otherwise bald head.
“I’m Keira Swanson,” Keira said, approaching him. “From Viatorum magazine.”
“I can’t hear yee! Speak up!”
Keira raised her voice over the live folk music and repeated her name. “I have a room booked here,” she added when the man just looked at her with a blank frown. “I’m a writer from America.”
At last the man seemed to understand who she was and why she was there.
“Of course!” he exclaimed, a smile spreading across his face. “From the paper with the fancy Latin name.”
He had a warm aura about him, very grandfatherly, and Keira felt herself relax again.
“That’s the one,” she confirmed.
“I’m Orin,” he said. “I own the St. Paddy. Live here too. And this is for you.” Suddenly, a pint of Guinness was plonked onto the bar in front of Keira. “A traditional St. Paddy welcome.”
Keira was taken aback. “I’m not much of a drinker,” she laughed.
Orin gave her a look. “You are while you’re in County Clare, my lass! You’re here to let your hair down just like the rest of the locals. And anyway, we have to toast your safe journey! Thanks be to the Virgin Mary.” He crossed his chest.
Keira felt a bit shy as she accepted the Guinness and took a sip of the strong, creamy liquid. She’d never tasted Guinness before and the flavor wasn’t particularly agreeable to her. After just one sip she was certain she wouldn’t be able to finish the entire pint.
“Everyone,” Orin called out to the patrons in the pub, “this is the American reporter!”
Keira cringed as the whole pub turned around and began clapping and cheering like she was some kind of celebrity.
“We’re so excited you’re here!” a woman with frizzy hair said, leaning in a little too close and smiling a little too widely for Keira’s comfort. Then in a lower voice she added, “You might want to wipe off your Guinness stash.”
Feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment, Keira quickly wiped the suds from her top lip. A second later, another of the pub’s patrons had wedged her way forward, barging elbows with others on her way – not that anyone seemed to mind. Her drink spilled a little as she stumbled. “I can’t wait to read your piece!”
“Oh, thanks,” Keira said, shrugging. It hadn’t occurred to her that the people here would want to read what she’d written about them. It might make the whole cynical angle a little harder for her to pull off.
“So
