The Cliffs of Moher

Early Saturday morning I stumbled out of bed after only a few hours of sleep onto a bus headed to the Cliffs of Moher. I quickly packed a bag of essentials and headed out for my craziest and most beautiful adventure yet. Marquette was providing a "free trip" for us but I also had other plans. After all, there is more than one thing to see in Co. Clare and I had plenty of time to see more.
The official visitors center for the cliffs has a four foot wall set 20 feet from the ledge for our protection that most everyone disregarded. The cliffs are massive. Hundreds of feet down, the sea doesn't seem as far down until you realize you can't even hear the huge waves crash against the walls and perspective is only given when a large bird looks tiny soaring below you but still closer to you than to the water. Provoked by my grandfather and my own nerves, I had to get as close to the edge as possible. Standing just inches from the ledge, I had a moment of absolute clarity and the stomach churning, fear induced adrenaline rush from being in such immediate danger was matched only by my awe of the cliffs beauty and splendor. Then I took a lot of pictures!
The group stayed for another hour and then left my band of merry men and I to do as we pleased. Our tour guide told us about a beautiful but dangerous trail along the very edge of the cliffs that led north five miles to the town of Doolin. The informal trail was everything we were told and then some. Walking only a foot or two from the cliff ledge on a muddy trail with a barb wire fence on one side and air on the other, we had gorgeous views of secluded beaches, sea caves, various life on the walls, and a panoramic view of the sea. We often had to climb over the rugged terrain using both our feet and hands. It was even more difficult because I was wearing Doc Martens and carrying a heavy backpack that threw off my center of gravity. (I asked my parents for a pair of hiking boots but they didn't feel they were necessary.)
Although there were moments of fear, we quickly became accustomed to the height and enjoyed the beautiful day. At one point we stopped for a picnic lunch on a lush green hill on the side of the cliff and ate crackers and cheese while taking in the view. Lying against my pack staring at the sea, I couldn't help but giggle. I was so overcome with pride and joy. How did I get here? This is why I came to Ireland. My friend made the comment that these cliffs were an example of what God does on his weekend. I think my friend is right.
After crossing insanely muddy fields, we made it to Doolin right at sunset exhausted, dirty, hungry and extremely jacked about what we just did. That night we sat in a pub called Gus O'Connors which is known for its classical Irish music. We were the only people in the place that were not local residents of the town. Sitting there drinking a Guinness, I reflected on my day and realized something. We were travelers, not tourists. There is a big difference between the two and I consider myself very fortunate to be a traveler.

A self-portait with the cliffs in the background.

This was just a little scary...

Some of my friends.

What a stud.