When Two Adventurers Come Together...

When two adventurers come together, there aren't many things that can hold them back. They become explorers, risk takers, and pioneers. They become discoverers, builders, connectors, and wanderers. The world is at their fingertips, and together they are an unstoppable force. 

                                                           So it is with Madeleine and Sarah. 

I can still remember so clearly back to that cold winter morning in Rome when I sat by myself on a hard church pew surrounded by a body of believers, yet feeling so completely alone. (Read the blog about it here). And yet even with an eagerness in me to meet people and make new friends, it took every ounce of courage inside me to approach that group of young people standing in a circle after the service and try to somehow introduce myself and integrate into their conversation in the most natural way possible. The awkward edge of that moment still makes me uncomfortable to think about. 

But there in that group of young people was a girl I never had a clue would end up being a lifelong friend, a partner in endless wild adventures, and a support to stand beside me in all my ups and downs of life over the next few years. 

Madeleine Wilgus. 

She was edgy. She was risky. She was completely spontaneous and independent. 

And our worlds collided that day, introducing me to a zeal and passion for life that only needed a little prodding and inspiration to be released. 

In the course of our friendship over the past two years, we have only seen each other face to face a handful of times. The rest of our relationship has grown thanks to the convenience of modern technology, but that still means that when we do get to see each other, it's a very special time. 

One might have picked up on this if he had observed the cinematic reunion of two friends torn apart for over a year when I exited my bus in the bus station of Portland, Maine. Our dramatic greeting with a running start and a lengthy embrace accompanied by squeals and tears was nothing short of theatrical, and already Madeleine's passionate zest for life was flying off from her in contagious sparks. 

And that was just the beginning :)

Each day of our week together ended with new stories to laugh about, new moments to remember forever, and new memories to tease each other about and new experiences to gawk at. There's probably enough to fill a whole book, but this is just a blog, so I'll just tell you the best :)

Day one began with homemade blueberry pancakes with real maple syrup, a wonder I had heard about but never actually tried myself. It was everything I've ever been told it is. The afternoon found us taking a long walk along the sunny beach, several miles from our car. When we finally arrived at the halfway point where we were ready to turn around and head back, hunger and fatigue (must've been from the exhausting sun) overtook us and we concluded we would have to find an alternative way back. Our solution? Ask one of the cute ranger boys working the beach grounds to give us a ride in their golf carts. Rather than responding with the no we expected, they informed us they would be returning shortly and then came back a few minutes later with their nicest truck and a pre-prepared piece of paper with their name and phone number written neatly on it, which they made sure to suavely leave with us when they dropped us off at our car.

Day number two brought us to the quaint coastal town of Booth Bay where we spent our time wandering around the shops and restaurants, and basking in the sun on one of the docks out by the harbor. While I was off taking photos, Madeleine encountered a woman she knew, the mom of one of her friends from high school, who was loading up a little motor boat to take for a spin in the harbor. All smiles on her face, she joyfully offered to take us out on the boat and have us come visit her love nest cottage on a tiny island right in the harbor where she's staying for the summer months. It didn't take long for us to accept her offer. We spun around in the motor boat, just a short way across the water to approach a unique round house that Madeleine had always seen as a kid and dreamed about living in. Thanks to the wonderful hospitality of Madeleine's friend, we spent a few relaxing moments enjoying a tour of the beachy and bright house with the cool ocean breeze blowing on our faces as we sat on the sunny balcony overlooking the sparkling waters. Madeleine and I spent the rest of our afternoon in a lengthy and uplifting conversation over our fish and chip lunch, and then concluded our day with our Bibles and a glass of wine at dusk out on the dock by the lake behind her house. 

dominating gelaterias.

Day three's adventures got a late start but with no regrets about the relaxing and slow morning we enjoyed. By late afternoon, we had meandered through several coastal towns on our way to the city of Portland, where we set out to explore the Old Port section of town, specifically on a hunt for an Italian grocery store or gelato. After being temporarily sidetracked by a happy hour special, we stormed the streets boldly (and loudly) crying out in grammatically incorrect Italian any thought that came to our minds, particularly and frequently referring to our insatiable desire for good Italian food and/or gelato. We found the gelato and some pizza, and convinced several innocent passersby that we were actually from Italy. I'm certain  it was because our loud use of Italian words and gestures was so convincing and that it had nothing to do with Madeleine telling everyone we are from Italy. She sometimes forgets that our meeting in Italy doesn't quite constitute true ethnic connections. To conclude our evening, we met for birthday celebrations for Madeleine's older sister and experienced the wild nightlife of Portland on a Wednesday night (along with the three other people who had decided to go out that night).

The Portland Lighthouse

somewhere in the middle of yelling out random Italian phrases on the street

Celebrating with Madeleine's sister, Geneva, for her birthday

Day four's plan for an early morning departure didn't exactly pan out as expected when the early alarms went off and Sarah and Madeleine's hands hit the snooze. Finally on the road by eleven, we began our three hour drive to the tourist famous city of Bar Harbor. Not one hour of the road trip went by without our little Corolla's speakers blaring our favorite Eurotechno dance tunes - windows down, sunglasses on, and dance party happening with every pounding beat of the bass drum and scratch of the dj's tracks. As soon as we arrived in the breezy beach town of Bar Harbor, we went straight away to the bike rental and set off on an adventure through Acadia national park. After a few hours zooming around below the tall pines trees and gazing out at beaver dams and a glistening lake, the heat of the sun started to beat down on our backs. Eventually the bike path led us to a bridge, where we pauses for a moment to take in the view. I reached into my purse to grab my camera for the photo op, and before I knew it, Madeleine had disappeared down a tiny path that led down to the creek flowing beneath the bridge. I delicately made my way down the rocky trail in my sparkly silver sandals and called out after Madeleine with no response. I followed the trail deeper and deeper into the brush (all the while trying not to break my shoes), and all the nearer to the trickling water I heard, not knowing what to expect when I found my friend. Naturally, once I cleared past all the brush, I looked around and spotted Madeleine's bright blue shirt dangerously close to the waters that she was giddily splashing around in up to her thighs. "Let's go swimming Sarah! Come on!" she enthusiastically yelled out to me. I reminded her that we didn't have our swimsuits (or maybe that was just my excuse for not wanting to swim in questionable waters) but she even more excitedly suggested we just go skinny dipping. I'm pretty sure she was serious. Another gentle reminder that we had an audience on the bridge above us seemed enough to stamp out that idea, but not enough for me to completely stand up against her continual pleas that I join her in the refreshing (and dirty) water. 

And there we were, splashing around, hopping on the rocks, forging through bubbling waterfalls.

 Adventuring, exploring, living...

The night ended perfectly when I finally got to eat my Maine meal - a lobster roll with chips, blueberry ale, and mouth watering blueberry pie a la mode for dessert. Every bite was succulent. 

Day five was the last and greatest adventure, the biggest and grandest so far for the week. But you'll have to read the next blog to hear about that one :)  

Up on the Mountain: Part 1

I have had some astounding moments with nature while here in Ireland. I'm in a country that is known for its landscapes and natural beauty, and I am fortunate enough to see and experience this beauty on a daily basis. No matter how many times I drive past the sparkling harbor in Schull or the green rolling hills in the countryside, I never cease to appreciate the incredible sights around me. Over the past few weeks, I've had plenty of opportunities to visit some popular tourist destinations that are well-known for their spectacular views and gorgeous environments. Since I have so many great experiences to share with you, I will be posting this blog in two parts, so stay tuned for more stories in upcoming days!

My first tourist visit, a few weeks back, was to Mizen Head, the most southwestern point in Ireland and the most western point in all of Europe. However, it's not necessarily the significant location that makes it so famous, but rather the incredible terrain and landscape that mark this unique point. As one Irish woman told me, a visit to Mizen Head is almost a spiritual experience. After a visit, I would definitely agree.

It was a bit of a drive, but I thoroughly enjoyed zooming down the windy roads and feeling like a master of the Stick Shift. :) When I got to Mizen Head the area was about to close, but they let me go through anyways, telling me I was the last person to enter the park for the day. That meant I had a quiet walk down to the bridge by myself, only passing a few other people who were already on their way out. Luckily, the guard at the entrance told me to take my time, so I didn't have to rush through it. I walked through the park down a path around the side of the mountain and came to a fork. One side of the path went up a steep hill and the other side was about a hundred steps lining the edge of a cliff and leading down to somewhere I couldn't see. Since most people were coming from up the stairs, I decided to go that way and began the long journey down the steep flight. Out to my left, the ocean stretched out as far as the eye could see. As I descended, I came across a nice old couple who stopped and offered to take my picture in front of the sea and cliffs we were walking on top of. We snapped a few photos and I continued on my way to the bottom.

As I rounded the corner, I finally saw the view that everyone had been telling me about. The famous Mizen Head Bridge floated gracefully in the air, stretching out its white shining beams from one magnificent cliff edge to another. Below, turquoise water rushed in from the ocean, crashing against jagged rocks and forming a small pool at the cliff's base. The wind blew fiercely as I stepped out onto the bridge. I gazed out at the massive cliffs before me and in a moment knew exactly what the Irish woman had meant about this being a "spiritual experience." I felt completely overwhelmed by the strength and majesty radiating from this grandiose terrain and considered the power and might of the God who created them, painting each stripe on the rocks by hand and stirring the sea to form each wave as it collided with the land below. No other word could describe how I felt except "small."

Growing up in Arizona, I climbed mountains all the time. Living in Texas, I saw unbelievable storms that ripped apart buildings and destroyed sections of cities. Still, none of that even slightly compared with the true majesty that exploded in front of my very eyes. All I could do was stand still, letting the wind whip through my hair, the sea breeze spray across my face, and the monstrosity of the great cliffs consume me. It was stunning, breath-taking, awe-inspiring. It was God's power and the most beautiful demonstration of His splendor and glory.

I continued across the bridge and ascended back up another ramp on the mountain I had merely been looking at a few minutes before. I briefly toured the signal station (like a lighthouse, but not as tall and not nearly as cool) and walked past it to get to the very tip top of the mountain at the very farthest edge. The farther I walked, the windier it got, until eventually the wind was so strong I could barely stand up. I reached the top and stared out over the edge, making sure to do a full 360 in order to get every angle of the view in.

Someone told me a few months ago that one of the places I needed to visit while I was in Ireland were the Cliffs of Moher, the famous location for The Princess Bride's Cliffs of Insanity, the sixth Harry Potter film, and the proposal scene in Leap Year. I had been determined to go to the tourist destination because I knew how magnificent and beautiful those famous cliffs are. In the moment I stood at Mizen Head and looked out over the sea, I lost every desire to go, because I knew that what I was seeing was just as spectacular, if not even better.

I took a deep breath and took in the beauty of the green, rocky cliffs triumphantly projecting from the foaming sea below. My attempt at taking pictures completely failed. A camera with a limited lens cannot possibly capture beauty that is so grand and so huge. As I tried to snap a picture of the monstrosity of nature in front of me, I realized that this would be a moment I would not be able to specifically share with the world through the art of photos. I guess you'll just have to take a trip there yourself ;-)

Another memorable place I visited was Garnish Island, a small island right outside of Glengarriff Harbor, not too far from Bantry Bay. Meg and I, plus two of our friends, loaded up in the car and drove out to the town of Glengarriff to take the 15 minute ferry over to the island. On the ferry, we passed a tiny place called Seal Island, but the tide was so high when we passed that Seal Island really just looked like a rock in the middle of the water with two or three seals on it. I still enjoyed seeing the funny creatures lazily basking in the sun, taking an occasional dip in the water to cool off. 

When we arrived at the island, we realized we wouldn't have much to do unless we visited the botanic gardens covering the whole of the island, so we bought tickets and entered in. Before beginning our walk through the gardens, we sat down in the Cafe to have a quick lunch and some tea, and then continued on our way. The map showed us areas around the gardens called Happy Valley, the Jungle, the Walled Garden, and Martello Tower, so I knew we could be expecting to see some exciting places.

We started out walking through somewhat of a forest, fighting our way through the trees and shaping our own path as we went. Not sure where it would lead us, we finally found our way back out into open air, only to find ourselves looking straight up at an abandoned old house hidden at the back of the wood. One of the girls commented on how it was the perfect setting for the beginning of a horror movie. Nevertheless, we had no fear and explored all around the property, even enjoying the nice view from the private pier at the end of the road.

After taking our jaunt off the beaten path for a bit, we had to climb back over a fence to get back into the gardens. Once there, we followed the manicured paths and walked through the well-kept gardens traveling all the way from Happy Valley through the Jungle to the famous Italian Garden. We enjoyed several different areas including rocks and trees that the girls fearlessly climbed, a hidden cove with waves splashing at our feet, a gazebo on a hill overlooking the countryside below, a garden of roses surrounded by a wall, and beautiful statues and buildings in the Italian gardens. After wandering around each garden and appreciating the diverse charm of each one, we all collapsed onto a green stretch of grass outside one of the buildings and basked in the sun until it was time to catch the ferry back.

A week or two later, I visited a well-known location in the Bantry area called the Bantry House. I had seen it on my very first trip into Bantry, the first day I arrived in West Cork, and I had been wanting to go ever since. My schedule could never match up with anyone else's to go (or the weather), so I ended up driving over on my own one day while Meg was at work. When I arrived, there were tons of tourists outside the house taking pictures, relaxing in the sun, and enjoying the beauty around them. I went into the main entrance and bought a ticket to enter the house.

The Bantry House is a historic house of Ireland that was once inhabited by the White family as a second home, starting in the 17th century. Over time, the house was expanded by its inhabitants, including Richard, the first Earl of Bantry. Even now, descendants of the White family still live in the house and are kind enough to lend part of it to the public for tours, concerts, weddings, and special events. As I was touring, I felt like the house was awfully small on the inside for the size it looked on the outside, but now I quickly figured out that we weren't seeing the whole house, only a small part. I absolutely loved what I saw though! I wandered up several grandiose staircases and pondered what it must have been like for the families that had actually lived there. All the historical furniture had been left exactly in place, so walking through the house made one feel like they were walking right into the 17^th century. As I ascended one of the staircases, I heard beautiful music flowing through the halls. Searching around for the origin of the sound, I came across a library with closed glass doors. Inside, a young man about my age was magnificently playing the clarinet. You can imagine my ecstasy.

As a clarinet player of at least 10 years, there is no music more exciting for me to hear than that of my very own roots. I awkwardly stared at the guy playing, just listening to him practice and run through his warm-ups. Even from that, I could tell that he was good. Eventually, I got up the courage to open the door (completely disregarding the sign that said not to disturb the musicians) and give him my compliments. He was from London, was 22 years old, and has been playing clarinet for 17 years (you can do the math). He was at the Bantry House preparing for an ensemble concert that evening that was put on as part of the West Cork Music Festival. I had originally been planning to go to that concert, but tickets were a bit expensive so I had started to reconsider. After getting pretty much a private concert from this guy, I figured I didn’t really need to pay the money anyways! He continued to play and I listened to the whirl of notes and wondered how he could possibly play so fast and with such good tone, and then I moved on to see other parts of the house.

Since the house was small, I headed outside to the gardens and walked around there for a while. It was later in the afternoon, so most people had gone home already, leaving me as one of the only people in the gardens. After walking through the rose garden and the stables, I made my way to an impressive line of stairs leading up from the garden, so high that the top was almost out of sight. I saw a sign that marked the upward path as 100 Stairs, and was immediately up for the challenge. Taking my time, I made sure to pause on each landing and take a picture of the incredible view. Nothing compared with what I saw from the top though. Once I arrived to the very top stair, I turned around (panting and puffing of course) and looked down at the Bantry House below me. You could still almost hear the faint tunes of the clarinet drifting upwards towards the forest behind me. The house stood sumptuously at the bottom of the stairs, eclipsing the sea and mountains in the distance behind it. It was a lucky family who got to see a view like that every day.

I trudged on into the woods behind me with the intent of having a nice hike and some thinking time. Plodding through some mud, I followed signs to a lookout point. Unfortunately, when I got to the lookout spot, all I could see were trees and a tiny window to Bantry Bay below. Instead, I took pictures of the sheep that were glaring down at me from a hill beside me. I wandered all over the grounds, finding a tree from 1789 (it was labeled) and a hiking path that led to some office buildings (I guess I went a little too far outside the gardens…). Eventually I returned to the Bantry House, went around to see the gardens in the front of the house, and then went home for the evening.

For a few more stories about my Irish adventures, check back in a couple days to read Part 2!