Several factors inspired this trip to Ireland: the first, a vague curiosity about my Irish relatives who came from Swinford in County Mayo. The second was its reputation for beauty; the lush green landscape, rugged coastline and rocky outcroppings— and sheep. The third, and perhaps the most galvanizing impression, were the twelve photos of an Irish Calender I happened to chance upon.

      Initially, my plan was to visit each of the 12 locations shown in the calendar and take a picture of me in the foreground of each. I packed a tripod for that purpose. As it turned out, getting me in the foreground of any picture proved to be a harebrained idea and more trouble than it would have been worth.

      My mother was my travelling companion, navigator and documentarian. I did all the driving and took the photos and she noted the date and location of each photo as well as where we slept, ate, visited, etc. We used the Lonely Planet Guide to find lodging but improvised as well. The calendar provided a rough itinerary and thrown into the mix was the visit to Swinford to look for relations (to no avail) and the influence of a book, The Last of the Donkey Pilgrims that we read prior to departure.

      In at least one case, in Kinvara, the houses pictured in the calendar had been knocked down and newer houses rebuilt in their place so that the locals I spoke to could not pinpoint the place in the calendar photo. Also, being a country girl, from a very rural area, I was too intimidated to drive into the cities so Limerick and Galway were bypassed. The Slieve League was too far north to be included in a comfortable two week itinerary and Tarmonbarry also too off the route. So of the twelve calendar images, I did not visit four and in two other cases visited the town but could not find the exact location of the photo. I had lost interest in pursuing the calendar agenda before I even stepped onto the plane because the real objective had been met... I was on my way.

      It is worth noting that driving in Ireland is a little hairy. I was driving on the left side of the road, with the steering wheel on the right and had to shift with my left hand. This operation took a little getting used to as did the mind boggling roundabouts in every town and the extremely narrow country roads that are closely bordered on each side by brambled hedges and/or stone walls so one cannot pull over for oncoming vehicles. The rural bridges were often only one car width. Considering the width of those rural roads, the trucks that travelled them were incongruously large. As a foreigner driving in Ireland, one can expect more than a few adrenaline rushes.