One day I took a train from Dublin to Galway to see a bit of the west coast and the Cliffs of Moher. To pull this off in a day, I had to catch the 7:00 a.m. coach from Dublin to connect with a tour leaving for the cliffs at 10:30 a.m.

The cab arrived early and the driver was annoyed that I didn't know he was waiting. He told me his ordeal and I could hear the irritation. I apologized. When he heard my American accent he asked if I worked in Ireland. When I told him I was visiting friends and that I was traveling to Galway for the day, he brightened. He began to explain how beautiful the west country was. The more he talked the more gregarious he became, his brogue deepening and becoming almost impossible to understand. He pointed at landmarks left and right as we passed through Dublin neighborhoods. And then he said, gesticulating wildly, "I've lived here all my life and I never think of Dublin as a place you would visit just to see the sights, but I see people standing on the bridges taking pictures and I think to myself I ought to stop and look too. One day I will."

I left the cab feeling optimistic. I'd been on the fence about the trip, for having to travel alone in a place I'd never been and for how long the day would be. I didn't want to be exhausted. After that man's enthusiasm, I felt excited for the solo adventure. And then, just inside the station was a Butlers Chocolate cafe. Somehow, knowing that I could grab breakfast for the train made everything all right.

From the train I watched the daylight rise with the rural country. Suburbs dissipated to be replaced by countryside and farms. Sheep and cattle and mud. Big pigs—hogs. Tidy little whitewashed cottages presiding.

At Galway I walked out of the station and around the corner to the tourist office, where I swiftly paid for the tour. Outside, several scenicruisers waited and beside them a huddle of people. There weren't enough tourists for the buses so they gathered all of us up into a cozy little van. Even then we couldn't fill it.

I didn't know it when I signed up, but there was an option to depart the van to take a hiking tour of the Burren. The van pulled over, the driver said, "Who wants to hike?" and I got off. There were just four of us: an Italian guy, a woman from New Zealand, a guy from Michigan, and moi. Our guide was a biologist who had previously lived in Alaska. Now he was leading tours from his ancestral home up into the Burren, where his family still ranges their cattle.

We trekked up from the pasture onto the rock, eventually gaining a vista of a distant blue sky, an old tower, and the ocean. We learned about the rock walls striping the mountains of the Burren, created during the Potato Famine. It was part of the busywork the English created for the Irish that would allow them to labor without building infrastructure that might make Ireland an economic competitor to England. The four of us kind of bonded on the hike, being the only ones on the tour interested in walking. Afterward, we hung around together at the other stops. I loved meeting other travelers, curious and a bit adventurous!

The Cliffs of Moher were amazing. Giants gently enduring the ocean's tempests of surf and wind. The gusts were so frequent and strong you could hardly stand to be in it long enough to fully comprehend the view. I felt under constant threat of being blown over. The van driver warned us not to cross the guardwall (wall, not a barrier!) to try to get a better view because sometimes people are blown off the cliffs. I couldn't imagine anyone willing to risk it, given the strength of the winds.

Windblown, we left the cliffs for Doolin, where I had the Best Guiness Ever. Fresh as spring water, as an ice-cold Coke on a hot day. It wasn't that good the next day in Dublin and I know it'll never be that good again. Even Alan said, when he heard, "Ah, well, it won't be better than in Doolin!"

It was already tending toward dusk when we left. Somnolent from the beer, I relaxed into the seat and watched the cottages and tower homes of County Clare go by.

Even though the train ride home was long, I felt exhilarated back in Dublin. I couldn't believe I'd been ambivalent about going out on my own and was glad I decided to go for it.

(I took a bunch of photos with the Lomo, but the camera came apart mid-trip. When I processed the film, it came back entirely blank.)