Two Peas in a European Pod: One Week in Ireland & England — Day 1

Ireland, as seen from the window of our Aer Lingus flight

12:43pm, Sunday — After being strong armed into buying insurance for the rental car, we sit down in the airport shuttle, already two hours behind our makeshift (and, for all intents and purposes, imaginary) schedule.

It was only recently, as in within the last couple years, that I learned just how Irish I am. That sounds odd perhaps, but I’ve lived most of my life believing I was mostly Polish. That may still be true, but according to data from MyHeritage, my maternal grandmother was 94.1% Irish, Scottish, and Welsh, which no doubt means some of that Irish blood runs through me, as well.

Armed with this information, I set out for my newly-realized ancestral homeland in late March 2024, looking to connect with my Irish heritage and maybe drink a Guinness or two. Over the course of a week, my traveling companion and I raced around the island of Ireland, literally and figuratively, and even found time to shimmy over to England for a couple nights in between. The seven-day whirlwind left me awed, exhilarated, and exhausted, with a newfound appreciation for Irish history and the London art scene, as well as a new candidate for the “Windy City” moniker (sorry, Chicago).

1:05pm — I pull out of the rental car lot in our borrowed Toyota Yaris, sitting behind the wheel on the right side of the vehicle and driving on the left side of the road. Look out, other drivers, here come the Americans.

1:34pm — On the hunt for coffee, we pull off on a little street lined with shops in Dublin. Baa Baa, a tiny delicatessen, calls to us.

It began with an overnight flight into the Irish capital, Dublin. While we would visit the city properly later on, the first task upon landing was to retrieve the rental car from the fine folks at Avis so that we could promptly blow that popsicle stand. The reason? To make way for our actual initial destination: the city of Cork.

Prior to our arrival there that night, however, the schedule — again, no more than a haphazard list of suggestions guiding our journey — called for lunch at a famous pub in the mountains south of Dublin. Johnnie Fox’s, the so-called highest pub in all of Ireland, opened at the tail end of the 18th century, making it almost as old as Joe Biden (#jokes). Found in the idyllic village of Glencullen, the pub, originally a small holding farm, served as a safe haven during the Irish rebellion of 1798, during which the country tried, unsuccessfully, to shed the shackles of British rule.

These days, it markets itself as a “19th century home” with “21st century standards”. The menu features such selections as wild Irish mussels, pan-fried prawns, and slow-cooked rabbit. And while all that sounded well and good, there was just one issue we ran into: they were booked solid until 7 p.m., and we had places to be. A quick drink would have to do.

2:53pm — I suck down a Carlsberg Pilsen at Johnnie Fox’s as a gentleman with a “sexist” Scottie sits down next to us. “She’s not good with the males, cause she used to be one,” he says. (Except he didn’t really say that.)

Our first meal in Ireland would be had in earnest in the nearby village of Enniskerry, just a little further to the south. My eyes lit up upon seeing the halloumi burger listed on the menu at The Enniskerry Inn, a quaint little spot just off the village square. They were decidedly less luminary when the server delivered our food and I quickly learned this was not a beef patty adorned with halloumi cheese, but literally a pair of hamburger buns with a slab of grilled cheese in between. Not one to complain (in a public setting, that is), I scarfed it down anyway, sloughing off concerns over what it may do to my digestive system later.

4:07pm — Two hours of sleep on the plane finally catches up with me as we dine at The Enniskerry Inn. As I literally almost fall asleep at the table, it becomes apparent a third cup of coffee is needed.

4:40pm — We take a glance at the paper map the rental car guy so graciously gave us. It takes a minute to realize we’ve only traveled about a centimeter from Dublin.

With a post-lunch espresso coursing through my veins, we then embarked for the long haul to Cork, made even longer by the decision to stick closer to the east coast. We drove around and through several small towns, including the likes of Arklow, Gorey, Ballinacoola, and Dungarvan, all the while opting to avoid toll roads, come what may. And what came, pray tell, was a sh*tload of roundabouts — more than I’ve encountered driving anywhere else, ever. I, of course, being a professional in matters such as these, handled each foreign obstacle with poise and grace, never allowing this driving-on-the-left business to get in my head.

The Enniskerry Inn, found on Church Hill in the village of Enniskerry, sources local ingredients to inform its Irish cuisine

Much more nerve-racking than the roundabouts were some of the super narrow streets we had to navigate while up in the mountains, especially those wrapped around sharp turns with little to no ability to see what might be coming from the other direction. Granted, we’re not talking about the Rockies here — the highest point in the Wicklow Mountains is only 3,000-some feet (compare that to Mount Elbert in Colorado, which rises 14,440 feet) — but still!

8:38pm — Our first Airbnb, in Cork, comes into view just as twilight fades. Gem shows us inside, describing the indoor temperature as “mild”. I nod as I pull an icicle from my nostril.

As the day faded into night, we finally arrived in Cork, which sits roughly 135 miles southwest of Dublin. Our energy reserves, well shot after spending something like 18 hours in transit (adjusted for the six-hour time difference between Chicago and Ireland), only permitted us to settle in and grab a late takeaway dinner from a nearby Chinese restaurant.

Our first full day in Ireland — Easter Monday, as fate would have it — would be another jam-packed affair. Thus it was time to pass away and hope the following morning’s resurrection would have us raring to go all over again.

-LTH