Ireland Unveiled: A Journey Through Historic Pubs and Sacred Sites

Eight days exploring Ireland and all its bounty, with a driver, navigating the scenic rolling terrain and five spirited women with wanderlust, together and ready for adventure.

Our driver, Phillip, of Kerry Coaches, exceeded our expectations, delivering an unparalleled visitor experience. Maybe it was the grand beauty of the island, or the wit and charm of our Irish driver, or both; it wasn’t long before plans for a return trip were underway.

This column is a recounting of favorite stops throughout Ireland. Our hope is that you take away something, add to your own itinerary, or reflect back on your own visit.

Brazen Head Experience

Brazen Head and St. Patrick’s Cathedral from our unique perspectives.

Karen’s Recounting of the Brazen Head: Many historical counts of Ireland are rich tales steeped in mythology and folklore, spanning centuries, carried through by the storytellers of our time. Much is the same for Brazen Head, Ireland’s oldest pub. The irony here is there are other pubs declaring to be the oldest, with their own story to back up the claim.

Situated right along the river Liffey, Brazen Head has a brick facade, adorned with iron torches, lanterns, and an arched iron gate to welcome you. Enter and you are greeted first by a small courtyard, with plenty of seating, giving a medieval feel in its remnants of an ancient brick floor and a knight in armor standing guard inside the entryway.

Entering the interior of the pub offered a cozy vibe with red walls, dark woodwork, a fireplace, and of course, a bar with ample selection of beer on tap. The interior and feel of Brazen Head has quickly become the standard of what we soon learned to be a common theme of pubs in Ireland – an intimate, friendly atmosphere that we began to crave.

My eyes were drawn to the walls and ceiling around the bar, pinned with money and patches from uniforms of police and fire members from all over the world. I loved this gesture of leaving something behind, and I was curious to see who had also walked through these doors to enjoy a pint. Looking around the room, it was not unusual to find a framed photograph of Tom Jones holding a Guinness.

St. Patrick’s Cathedral

Shannon’s Recounting of St. Patrick’s Cathedral: The walk to St. Patrick’s Cathedral from Brazen Head proved to be a petite stroll on a full belly. A long, black grid iron gate frames the massive gray cathedral. Supposedly built on the well St. Patrick used to baptize people into Christianity, the present cathedral structure dates from 1220-1259.

For a man who is so widely known throughout the world, and is Ireland’s patron saint, not much is known definitively about St. Patrick, down to what he even looked like. If you are so inclined to have a bit of a scavenger hunt, then this cathedral will not disappoint, with various portrayals of who and what St. Patrick looked like. It’s like geocaching, religious edition.

The experience in St. Patrick’s establishes a list of juxtaposed feelings. Looking up is a natural reaction most people have upon entering cathedrals, but the gravitational pull to downcast eyes is met with a flood of ornate medieval tile that invites a warmth usually not associated with cathedrals. How could a cathedral so massive also feel so cozy? Austere grayness exists among the sea of burnt orange and green. The experience quite literally makes you feel more grounded.

I don’t know what I was expecting, maybe a repeat performance of so many cathedrals explored before. Often referred to as a pilgrimage destination, I was not shocked to see visitors weave in and out of the nooks and crannies the cathedral has in abundance. I like the seclusion a place of this size affords the most. The cathedral functions as part museum, complete with monuments, but also a present place of worship. It feels active – another juxtaposition to historical.

These separate spaces are all connected by powerful histories that would take a visitor several days to encounter. Burials have been happening at St. Patrick’s since the 13th century. Somewhere between 600 – 700 people are buried here, but I had one person in mind to seek out. Admittedly, my knowledge of Jonathan Swift is minimal, but once an English major, always an English major. I have read parts of Gulliver’s Travels to the tune of my professor at John Carroll’s signature half scoff, half laugh when lecturing about metaphorically eating children.

Buried next to his wife Stella, Swift’s grave is indicated by a velvet roped off section of flooring with a gold floor marker. While striking, it is the quote from Swift posted adjacent to his grave that leaves the biggest mark: “In Ireland we have enough religion to make us hate but not enough to make us love.”

My first recollection of lighting a candle in church was when I was in kindergarten attending St. Mary Magdalene. The candles were housed off to the right-hand side in a dimly lit space that felt sad. I saw older people go in and out and I wanted to be a part of it for reasons I still cannot articulate. The candles were dark red and enclosed in a thick shell of glass. You had to use a long matchstick to light them, which made the whole process more exciting. I don’t remember what or who I was praying for, but I do remember closing my eyes. Even at that age, it felt like the right action to seal my thoughts.

The second time I lit a candle was when I visited Sacré Coeur in France. I had read and seen images of this church in every French class I was forced to take through college. While the experience was special, it didn’t sit heavy in my heart with purpose. The candles at St. Patrick’s were unremarkable. They certainly were not the memorable red that St. Mary’s got right but they served their purpose.

This time, it was me, 41 years old, standing in a cathedral with four other women on a girl’s trip to Ireland. This time, I was thinking about Raymond Carver’s short story “Cathedral,” and the dialogue between the insecure narrator and a blind man, who urges him to push past himself. The narrator closes his eyes and says, “I was in my house. I knew that. But I didn’t feel like I was inside anything. It’s really something.”

I lit my candle and closed my eyes. My mom, recently diagnosed with lung cancer, was there. She had always wanted to go to Ireland, and I know this is the closest she will get. “It’s really something,” I say to myself. I know this moment, and this trip, I will never forget.