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There is something elemental about returning to where your predecessors came from, that connects something deep in your soul at a level you didn’t even know existed until that happens. That’s the best way that I can describe what it felt like to spend the day in Cork, our first ever on Irish soil, the land of our ancestors. You imagine it will be one way, but the reality is so much different, better, than you could possibly have imagined. I know that I am changed by this experience — indeed, every experience does change us, some just more profoundly than others, and this is one of the latter.

We made our way off the ship, ’twas a sunny day in Cork, something we learned they’ve had more of this year than they’ve had of a summer in the past 40 or so. Just cool enough to wear a few light layers, that you peeled the outer layer off as the day went on. We had no real plan for this port stop, beyond walking on the land, and letting the universe lead us as it would. We were thinking of renting a car and just driving, maybe try to find Blarney Castle and kiss the famous stone there, but quickly realized that wouldn’t be quite as easy as we’d hoped. That’s when we ran into Trevor.
We was there on the pier, standing by his vehicle, a station wagon, big enough to hold us and the wheelchair. Trevor offered to be our guide for the day, we negotiated a reasonable price for his services, and after weighing a few options of where to let him take us, we chose Kinsale and the Old Head.

The pictures might speak for themselves. It was a wonderful day. Trevor was full of knowledge of the land, the area, and the heritage of the Irish here, and even had a perfect lunch spot, a place with a spectacular view, scrumptious fresh fare, and good company. We learned over lunch that we had a couple of friends in common with Trevor, a couple of fellows we all knew by the names of Bill and Dr. Bob.

Upon return to the ship, once Kathy got settled I did what I always do on port stops, I went back out to do some exploring on my own, of the little town known as Cobh (pronounced “Cove”) which was closest to the ship. Since this was the Magic’s first ever visit to Cobh, Cork, they were having a grand little festival in a little park near the ship’s docking spot, and I joined in with the locals and others from the ship. It was a grand time. Then, I walked the streets and hills, the backstreets and got the feel of this place, letting it be absorbed into my bones and my Irish psyche, the sights, the smells, the deep sense of “home” I never knew before.

’Twas a good day to be an Irishman. Blessed I felt as I made the steep climb up the hill to St. Colman’s Cathedral, then descended that hill and made my way back to the ship, picking up a case of water, a few Irish mementos, and lovingly tucked the memories of this day into a special place, a place I will never, ever forget.

