December 31, 2017
We drove up the coastal road to Doolin to see the thatched cottage where my grandfather was born, and where my father lived for about a year when he was 12 years old. My sister knew the location.
As we arrived, we chatted with a man who lived across the street who turned out to be my father's cousin (and shared my father's name). He seemed genuinely pleased to see us. He invited us into his home, threw some peat on the fire, told us stories about the family and shared "a drop of whiskey." He is the last of the family to still live in the area and he has no children. We agreed to reach out and visit his sister (who lives outside Boston) when we returned home.
Most of his aunts and uncles (including my grandfather) emigrated to Boston in the 1920s. Back in the day, Doolin was a pretty quiet and desolate place, with little opportunity for my grandfather and his 9 brothers and sisters (1).
After visiting with him for a few hours, we drove south to the Cliffs of Moher (2) at sunset. Due to strong westerly winds, the ocean was rather fierce at the base of the cliffs, and the wind carried the spray from the water up the few hundred feet to where we were standing.
(1) Due to its location at the end of a hiking trail to the Cliffs of Moher, Doolin today is somewhat more vibrant. Although still a small town, it is known throughout the West of Ireland for its lively pub music scene.
(2) My father's cousin told us the cliffs are the second most popular tourist spot in Ireland. Number 1, of course, is the Guiness Beer Factory in Dublin.
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