June 12, 2025

We wind down the narrow, serpentine roads, hedgerows hugging each side – the west of Ireland showcasing its stunning scenery. As we pass through charming little towns, I know we’re not in Kansas anymore.

“Hey Mum, look, a castle!” says Méabh, as if from a fairytale – Ireland’s rolling green hills, stone walls, and castles seem plucked from a storybook.

Through Kinvara, Lahinch, and Lisdoonvarna (feels like a song, doesn’t it?) — all towns along the Wild Atlantic Way — we arrive safely in Doolin. Sustained by tourism and agriculture, Doolin is the gateway to the Cliffs of Moher, the Burren, and the Aran Islands. Though relatively small, it doesn’t lack charm.

We meet Pat Sweeney at The Doolin Inn at 10 a.m. He later told me he was 10 minutes late the previous day because one of his cows was giving birth — not your standard tour guide. A local farmer by trade, a jovial tour guide by day.