TRAVEL NOTES
Things I learned, loved, figured out, and would happily do again.
THE PHONE STAYED IN MY BAG
I barely used my phone. GPS, photos, video, a little FaceTime with home. That was about it.
No scrolling. No social media. I didn't know what was happening on the other side of the world, and
honestly, I didn't miss it.
The days felt longer. Quieter. I noticed more.
TAKE THE SCENIC ROAD
I had a route. Of course I had a route. I had researched the area, looked at the roads, knew where I was going, and had GPS running. I like knowing what I'm doing before I do it. That's just me.
But somewhere between Leenane and Westport, somebody suggested a different road.
Leenane → Louisburgh → Murrisk.
It wasn't the route I had planned. My first thought was, But I've already got a route. My second thought was, So what? And that became a little theme for this trip.
I took the road.
It was beautiful. Winding roads, water, ruins, little places I hadn't planned to see. At one point there were sheep in the road, and I wasn't in a hurry anymore either. I stopped. I watched them. I took pictures.
There was a little coffee stand, too. And then there was the gas station.
I couldn't figure out how to open the fuel door on the rental car. A woman noticed, came over, and helped me. Then she pumped the gas for me. We stood there talking for probably ten minutes. She told me about her daughters; one in Nashville, one in Boston.
I had stopped for gas. I got a conversation and a story. That's what happens when I stop trying to get somewhere. I think I learned that I don't actually have to throw away the plan. I just need to leave a little room around it. I was once told, "It's a stroll, not a sprint."
The plan can get me there. The scenic road is where I might find something I didn't know I was looking for.
WHAT IF I GET LOST?
I am a planner.
My husband jokes that once I have a trip planned, he won't see me again. I'll wake up, get my coffee, and start figuring out where we're going and what we're doing. He's not wrong. I become a little obsessed. Emphasis on "little"!
Before Ireland, I had lists. Places to eat. Coffee shops. Fish and chips. Desserts. Ice cream. Addresses. Hours. Things I had read about and thought, Oh, I want to see that. But I didn't have to do all of them. They were options.
And that was different for me.
Several times I would be driving and see something that made me think, I can't turn around now.
Then I'd look at the clock. I'd have hours before I needed to be anywhere.
So why couldn't I turn around? I could. And then another thought would come: What if I get lost?
Well...what if I do?
I had two GPS systems. I had a full tank of gas. I knew roughly where I was. And if all else failed, I could ask somebody. And I started realizing that getting lost in Ireland didn't sound all that terrible.
Because I could walk into a shop or stop somebody on the road and ask for directions, and there's a pretty good chance I'd get directions and a story. I like that. I like hearing people's stories.
So somewhere along the way, all my research stopped being a script and became a menu. I can be flexible!
I could pick something. I could skip something. I could change my mind. And for somebody who likes knowing what's going to happen next, that felt like a pretty big thing.
FOLLOW CURIOSITY
This one started happening all the time. I'd be driving and see something. A shop. A road. A sign.
Something I had read about.
And my first instinct was usually, Keep going. That's not on the plan. But then I'd think, Why?
I had time. So I'd turn around.
That's how I ended up at Joyce's Craft Shop. I had driven past it, seen the yarn and the giant statue, and gone maybe thirty seconds down the road before my brain said, Wait a minute. So I turned around.
I didn't even go inside that first time. I came back the next day. And I bought three yarns because they reminded me of things I had been seeing—mountains, gorse, the buildings around Clifden.
That's the part I love. The things I noticed became things I brought home.
But curiosity isn't always a green light. There was another place on Inis Mór where I wanted to explore some ruins. I think it may have been St. Ciarán's Well, although I'd have to check the name. I started toward it and suddenly my whole body said, No.
Not nervous in the normal way. Just a very strong, physical feeling that I did not want to keep going. So I turned around. And I left. I still don't know what that was about. I don't need to.
That may have been another lesson I brought home: curiosity is worth following, but I don't have to override myself just because I was curious.
Sometimes I turn around because I want to see what's there. Sometimes I turn around because I don't.
GIVE YOURSELF TIME
Kylemore Abbey is probably the best example of this. I thought I was going to see it. I ended up being there. I spent four or five hours there.
I walked through the gardens. I followed the water. I listened. I wandered around without feeling like I needed to hurry up and get to the next thing. And honestly, I spent more time outside than inside. (There was a scone somewhere in there, too. Of course there was.)
But what I remember most isn't one particular room or one particular thing I saw. It's how slowly I moved. That was unusual for me. At home, I can go from the minute I wake up until the minute I go to bed with a running list in my head.
I need to do this. I need to answer that. I need to work on the website. I need to crochet. I need to do laundry. I need to clean. I need, I need, I need.
In Ireland, most days were basically:
Have breakfast. Figure out where I'm going. Go. Come back. Eat. Crochet. Journal. Read. Sleep.
Nobody was waiting for me to accomplish something.
And after a few days, I started noticing things I might normally miss. The breeze. The smell of peat. The sound of water. The way the light changed. The smell of the air. Even the smell of someone's cigar while I was crocheting outside.
I think rushing had made some of those things invisible to me. Ireland didn't magically make me a different person. It just gave me enough space to notice that I didn't have to rush all the time.
THE SLOWEST DINNER
There was one night at Abbeyglen Castle Hotel when I ate the slowest dinner I have probably ever eaten. It was a five-course meal. There was music. There was wine. There was a window.
And there was absolutely nowhere else I needed to be.
So I ate differently. Tiny bites. Actually tasting things. Chewing. Looking out the window. Listening to the music. Paying attention to what was happening around me.
I wasn't thinking about what I needed to do afterward. I wasn't checking my phone. I wasn't looking at the clock. I was just sitting there eating dinner.
And I remember thinking, When was the last time I did this? Not ate a nice meal. Actually ate a meal.
It sounds ridiculous, but it was one of the moments when I realized how much of my normal life happens at speed. Even things I enjoy. Even things I chose. I'm still a person who likes to get things done.
I'm not going to come home from Ireland and suddenly become somebody who spends three hours deciding what to do next. That's not me. But maybe I don't have to be productive every minute to feel like I'm using my time well. Sometimes using your time well is sitting at a table and tasting your dinner.
THE THINGS I STILL
REMEMBER
It's funny what stays with you. I remember the big things.
The plane to Inis Mór. The roads. Kylemore. The sheep farm. Holding those little lambs.
But some of the things that keep coming back to me are tiny.
The color of the gorse. I'd never really seen anything like those bright pops of color before, and I loved them. The smell of the lambs and straw at the sheep farm. A little bit of poop, because, well...they're sheep. The tiny noises they made. Their fur. Their fat little bellies. Their little feet going clickety-clack across the floor.
I remember the sound of gravel at Kylemore.
That one surprised me because it took me straight back to being a kid, riding around with my dad on Sundays while he drove around the church parking lot. I heard that gravel and suddenly I was there again.
I remember sitting outside crocheting and smelling someone's cigar and thinking it smelled like my grandfather's pipe. They turned out to be Americans. We started talking. And because I wasn't rushing anywhere, I ended up sitting there talking with them for two or three hours.
I remember the man at the little coffee stop telling me, when he saw me crocheting, “You enjoy your crochet?” I told him I did. I told him I was crocheting in Ireland. And he said, “Yeah, it doesn't get any better than that.” I told him I'm living in the perfect dream!
That's the thing about travel I think I understand a little better now. The things I planned to remember aren't necessarily the things I remember most.
It's the gravel. The gorse. The lambs. The conversations. The smells. The little moments that weren't on the itinerary at all.
Those are the things I carried home.
THE THINGS I BROUGHT ALONG
I don't pack for every possible thing that could happen.
I learned a long time ago that if I pack for every “what if,” I'll end up carrying half my house.
What I do pack are the things that make me feel prepared, comfortable, and able to keep going when the day doesn't quite go as planned.
THE BACKUP THAT
SAVED ME
I'm a big believer in a backup. Not because I expect everything to go wrong. Because when something does go wrong, I don't want to spend the day figuring out what to do about it.
My original phone charger died on day two. My phone was nearly at 5%. Fortunately, I had packed a backup charger. Problem solved. (This story would've been written differently if I was without. Thinking ahead saved me from freaking out!)
I also decided to check my suitcase immediately at the airport and kept two days of clothes and essentials in my backpack. If the airline had lost my suitcase, I could still function. In 2006, on a trip to Italy, my husband's backpack didn't arrive until 3 days in to the trip. Lots of creativity: washing the same clothes in the sink at the hostel. Never again!
I had printed reservations, copies on my phone, extra crochet hooks, a backup GPS, combination locks, and a little door wedge for the hotel room.
Some of those things I used. Some I didn't.
But being prepared meant I didn't have to think about them once I was there. That's my kind of preparation. Do the thinking before the trip so I can enjoy my well-needed journey!
THE THINGS I
ACTUALLY USED
Some things I packed because they were useful. Some things I packed because I know myself.
And some things turned out to be absolute heroes.
The merino socks were one of them. Best socks I've ever had. My feet stayed comfortable whether I was walking around town or standing outside in the wind.
My Riekers boots were another. Brand new the day before I left, which sounds like a terrible idea until I tell you that they were perfect. Warm. Dry. Good ankle support. No blisters.
And my little crochet market bag went everywhere with me. If I was sitting somewhere, I could crochet. If I bought something, I had somewhere to put it. It became part of the trip.
I also loved my journal. I wrote in it in the mornings and again at night. I had prompts, thoughts, things I noticed, things I wanted to remember. Looking back, that journal was probably one of the most important things I packed.
And my crochet?
That was never really luggage. It was how I settled into a place.
THREE THINGS I WISH
I'D BROUGHT
There were only a few things I really wished I had packed.
Protein bars.
I did not need more caffeine. I needed food and a Guinness (full of iron!!). After an overnight flight and a long travel day, I could feel the difference. Six protein bars would have been plenty to have in a pinch.... and a Guinness...
A waterproof fold-up backpack.
I left mine at home because I had my crocheted market bags thinking they would be enough and handle the Irish weather if it turned on a dime. Then Westport gave me a rainy day.
Those beautiful, holey wool bags were not exactly waterproof backpacks. I wished I had brought it.
My triangle crocheted wool shawl.. (imagine the shawl worn by Claire in Outlander)
I brought a crocheted cardigan as a last-minute packing decision. I originally packed the shawl as it was perfect in Belgium but thought I wouldn't need it in Ireland. I tossed it aside and kept the cardigan. My mistake. The cardigan was lovely on the airplane as a blanket for the 8 hour flight. Walking around? Not so much. It kept sliding off my shoulders. A shawl would have been much more practical.
ALONE DIDN'T MEAN
LONELY
I already knew I could be alone.
I eat alone comfortably. I can spend a day by myself. I don't need somebody beside me every minute to enjoy what I'm doing. But traveling alone showed me something I hadn't really thought about before.
Being alone didn't mean withdrawing from people. I could sit at a table by myself, crochet, listen to what was happening around me, and be perfectly happy.
And then, if I heard music coming from downstairs at Abbeyglen, I could change out of my pajamas and go see what was happening. I almost didn't. I was tired. I was already in pajamas. My plan had been to go upstairs around eight or nine.
But I heard the music. So I changed my clothes and went down. I had a Guinness. I met people. There was music. There was dancing.
I'm very glad I went.
And there were also times when I decided not to go somewhere because I didn't feel comfortable walking alone in the dark. That wasn't failure. That was just me making a decision about what I wanted to do.
I think that's what I liked most about traveling solo. I got to make the decision.
I could be social. I could be quiet. I could change my mind. I could leave. I could stay. I could follow the music downstairs. Or I could go back to my room and crochet.
Nobody else's schedule was involved.
A FEW THINGS I
KNOW NOW
There are things you can research before a trip. And then there are things you just figure out once you're actually there. These are the things I'd tell myself before going again.
Give yourself more time than the mileage suggests. The roads are part of the journey. Twenty miles on a winding road can take a lot longer than twenty miles on a highway at home. I learned very quickly not to look at the mileage and assume I knew how long something would take.
Wear shoes you can actually walk in. I walked a lot. Really good shoes mattered more than having another cute outfit.
If you're driving, learn the roundabouts before you go. And then repeat to yourself:
Stay to the left. I said it to myself constantly at first. Stay to the left. Stay to the left. Look left. Right. Left. Right. Eventually, it stopped feeling like something I had to think about.
Carry a little cash. I used my card plenty, but I liked having cash when I needed it.
Listen when locals suggest a different route. Some of my best days started because somebody told me to go a different way. I didn't always know where I was going. That turned out to be part of the fun.
Leave some room in the day. This may be the biggest one. I had lists. I had reservations. I had routes. I had places I wanted to see. But the moments I remember most were often the ones that happened in the space between those plans. So I'll keep the plans. That's who I am. I'll just leave a little more room around them.
AND THEN I CAME
HOME
I came home with yarn. I could've come home with way more but I tried to show some kind of balance. Next time, I take a bigger suitcase.
When I got back home, a memory stuck with me because it happened near the end of my trip and it still was fresh on my mind.
When I was in Westport, I found the cutest souvenir shop. Inside were trinkets and keepsakes. One caught my eye. It was a glass heart and in Gaelic, there was a saying that went something like, "You can put your feet up by any fireplace, but there is none like your own fireplace in your own home." Essentially, there's no place like home. I wasted no time and bought that cute heart that hangs in my office so I see it everyday.
I came home with photographs, notes, little things I had picked up along the way, and a suitcase that somehow seemed to have gotten heavier.
Though all the twisty roads and meeting new people, I learned alot about solo travel and myself. I still make lists. I still plan. I still want to know where the road goes.
I just think I'm a little more willing now to take the road I didn't plan on.