This trip, as I’ve said before, is a little sip of some places I’ve visited before but mostly a mouthful to taste many places I’ve never been. So it is with Dublin, Ireland – a place I have heard so much about but never seen. The short journey from London is something I’m not used to, being from Australia where everything outside it (except New Zealand or the Pacific Islands, which are a 3 hour flight ish) is a 7-9 hour minimum. It takes Aer Lingus 45 minutes and I am in a different country, flying over lush valleys. I did not think about why it is so green until I spend the next few days here. One word: rain. Seriously though, it rains a lot but not every day of my stay, but I think maybe the weather is following me here from Iceland? Being the end of September, of course the seasons are changing from summer to autumn.

We land and park among other Aer Lingus planes at the airport gate, with their bright green paintwork and logo. In the aircraft, the cabin crew, full of lovely teal-coloured uniforms and lilting accents, assist me with my cabin bag. I am enveloped by green inside and out. And helpfulness. My mission is to catch the 4 p.m. bus to Dun Laoghaire (sounds like Dun Leary). After buying my ticket, another friendly woman who is going the same direction sits beside me and answers most questions. We chat a long time because, unfortunately, the bus arrives 40 minutes late. We are told that a strike in town is affecting the bus service. And being a Friday afternoon I will be caught in peak hour traffic.

I am fortunate to be staying with my lovely friend Brooke from university, and her sweet husband Jonny, for the weekend. Brooke is meeting me in the village at a café that has wifi so I can contact her. But, once I leave the airport (excellent wifi at Dublin International!), due to my lack of wifi I am unable to tell her of my delay. I am stressing when I get dropped off at the bottom of a long hill of the main street in the most pretty and picturesque village, then find out I need to get back to the top of the hill where the café is. My lower back is hurting a little – probably from the amount of walking I have done over the last few days – but I breathe in a deep sigh, set up my two purple suitcases and set off. It is not raining fully yet, just spattering, so I hope it holds off until I find her. After a couple of rest stops, I almost reach the top of the hill and the café when I see Brooke approaching with a look of concern on her face. I am so happy to see her! After a moment of greeting – it’s been a few years – she tells me her flat is at the bottom of the hill. So we set off again back the way I came. Despite my start, the next couple of days with them in Dublin and surrounding country are wonderful.

That night after dinner we go to the local pub, a great atmosphere and full of memorabilia of James Joyce, the famous Irish author of Ulysses and other works set in Dublin. He lived in a tower not far from here near the beach. The towers were strongholds for armoured guns during the war as they were placed as excellent strategic lookouts around the edge of the wide bay into Dublin port. I find it intriguing that Joyce, as a creative writer, would live in such an odd, draughty place to create his oeuvre and wondered out loud if he were a pacifist and did so out of irony. It turns out that he was. He was also cosmopolitan and urbane, having travelled much during his self-imposed exile. What is interesting is that even though he was elsewhere most of his life, his oeuvre is about Dublin – writing about his home.

Even though I have been reading authors of the country in which I am staying – I was in London too short a time to do so  – I have decided I will not even look at Ulysses. Apart from the fact that I am only here for the weekend, it is an enormous tome. I have started it before; note I said the word ‘started’, not ‘finished’. He wrote it in a narrative style that is termed ‘stream of consciousness’ or ‘interior monologue’ meaning that he was writing it the way he was thinking. Therefore, there were few full stops or commas, I recall, in order to pause your reading. The style was a novel idea and avant garde for the time, but I found it hard going.

Back in the pub, I tell Brooke and Jonny, “I’ve been told by Jonny and Kerry in London that while I am in Ireland I have to try Guinness.” I don’t know if I will like it but I am willing to man-up and have some.  A few have tried to explain what it is and its difference to beer (I am not a big beer drinker; I like lager only because it’s not that bitter and usually easy to drink and light in flavour). In fact, I may have tried Guinness before but I cannot recall doing so, and if it is that one that looks like molasses and tastes like burnt honey then it’s no go,  so I ask for a small glass. I get handed a glass that is full of a dark brown liquid, prepare myself and take my first sip. Yep, it’s that burnt bitter taste. But it is also wet and cool, plus I am in Ireland, so I sit and chat and sip and chat until it is gone. Not a favourite, but I can tick it off as part of my Irish experience.

We walk down toward the beach to see the tower. During the day it is a museum but at night it is lit by a moody blue light – a solid sentinel staring out to sea that I find hard to rationalise as someone’s home. We walk back home along the waterfront looking at the curve of the distant shore lit by streetlamps.

Saturday we are going sight-seeing, and Dublin is full of them. It is such a walkable city. Because I only have a choice between my denim jacket or a thin non-waterproof one, I am given a proper jacket to wear  – one that is almost like sturdy wet weather gear – and it proves most useful. It is not raining when we start but does so on and off during the day, with wind thrown in for good measure. We train it into town and arrive at Trinity College to see the Book of Kells exhibit. I had heard it was stored here and wanted to see it, not because I am religious but out of curiosity for those ancient arts. It is a manuscript of some gospels from the Bible created in the 800s but it is renowned for the illustrations and ornate artistry of the depictions done by monks and scribes. Detailed posters explain the process scribes went through to create the work – from using stripped calf hides for pages, creating quills, pounding minerals for colours to illustrate or write with, and how it was bound, along with accounts of meanings of illustrations. You cannot take photos of the actual book – which is fair enough – but leaning over a glass covered box and staring at such a piece of artistic eloquence made 1200 years ago is something I will never forget.

Dublin is also a UNESCO City of Literature (like Reykjavik) and the number of famous Irish authors and other memorable scholars that Trinity College has produced is astounding. Just walking around Trinity College is walking through Irish history. Built in the 1500s, it is also known for its library, notably the Long Room which we visit next. Being a creative writer and book lover, I am in bibliophile heaven. I soak up the atmosphere. Even if they are behind railings, it takes all my inner strength not to reach out and touch these books.

The Long Room also houses the Trinity College harp, also made in the 1500s, and used as a model for the symbol of Ireland.

I find it difficult to leave the Long Room. There are too many books there needing my loving attention. But outdoors, Dublin is beckoning.

As we walk I find the nearby streets, park, bookshops, bridges, statues, churches and shops are all alluring and charming – in every sense of those words – even in the rain. I am hooked.

I am weary but satiated. When we get home we have some drinks and watch some movies – the first ones I’ve seen since I’ve been on this trip which is weird but very welcome – and we chill out. It is a wonderful idea and great to unwind. My lower back is still annoying me and I am extremely tired. Brooke suggests a trip to County Wicklow tomorrow. Now that I’ve glimpsed the city, bring on the countryside.

On Sunday, I sleep in until about 10 a.m. I never do that, ever. I feel refreshed but realise that am still not 100%. I do some yoga stretches to reduce the strain of my lower back, which helps. I don’t feel unwell, just worn out. I chat to Brooke about it and she understands completely; it dawns on me that I’ve hit a wall.

I have travelled constantly for almost two months, not that that’s the reason. But I have done so much in that time and, apart from falling sick in Toronto, have not had any down time at all. It has been full on and sometimes high stress, because you want to see so much of the place you’re in, and not just because you paid to get there or because you are there for only a short time, but because there is so much to taste. I am loving what I am doing but feeling like this makes me understand that if I don’t have a break as such I may get sick again to force the break upon me. My body is giving me the signs. I should listen.

Today is at an easy pace. The sun is out and the village looks gorgeous. First, Brooke, Jonny, and I walk to the local park. They are setting up food stalls there but not all are ready so we buy a coffee and muffin and stroll out along the seafront to the stone barrier sheltering the inner harbour. As we amble along, we watch some small boats sail out into the bay for a race. It is so scenic. The wind is at its finest here, especially out on the unprotected wall but the view is glorious. On our return, all the food stalls are up and running so we follow with brunch, then walk back home. I feel so relaxed and comfortable.

Not much later, Brooke takes me for a two hour drive in the country, up past the mountain overlooking Dublin and out through County Wicklow. The scenery is breathtaking. I can understand why people love being here, and why many movies and television series are filmed here including Vikings. We drive past an old monastery, through quaint country villages, and end up at an impressive waterfall. As soon as we arrive there, it starts raining. As soon as we leave, it stops.

This weekend I have luxuriated in a small morsel of Ireland and savoured it. When you enjoy what you try, however, it makes you want to come back for another helping. I’ll be back for seconds.