Song of a Beach

Yesterday morning I decided it was finally time to get behind the wheel of a right-side drive car. The experience didn't exactly commence with starting pistols and throngs of well-wishers cheering loudly. In fact, I had to promptly climb out of the car and go back inside to find out how to put the car into reverse (there's a little circular ring beneath the top of the gearshift you have to pinch up). Then, after making the wrong turn off a roundabout shortly after leaving the M50 motorway on my way into Dun Laoghaire, I took a self-guided tour of the surrounding neighborhoods, passing the same vaguely familiar intersections multiple times—only because I liked them so much.

I finally arrived to the church in Dun Laoghaire where I was meeting my friends Esmond and Nathania, but only after Es kindly guided me through the last few turns over the phone. I had a tricky time keeping my mobile against my ear since I was holding the steering wheel with my right hand and shifting with the left. My other option—clutching the phone between my toes—was a non-runner because my feet happened to be occupied with the clutch, gas and brake. Fortunately there didn't seem to be any gardaí (that's 'guard-ee,' Ireland's police force) on the roads anywhere so I was not deported for reckless driving. I caught the last 10 minutes of the service, but it was just long enough to thank God for keeping me alive and Myles' little Opel car unwrecked.

After church, E&N took me to Powerscourt Estate in Enniskerry for lunch. I felt like my eyeballs were in danger of gaining weight from all the gorgeous scenery they had to feast on. The world-renowned Powerscourt gardens stretch off into the distance to Sugarloaf mountain. Even though a blustery wind whipped about, the sun periodically broke through the scattered clouds—apparently realizing what day of the week it was—and we ate a meal that tasted as good as the scenery outside looked.

After lunch E&N dropped me off at a restaurant called Nosh in Dalkey, which is a little ways down the coast from Dublin city. I met up with Brian and his girlfriend Layla who were just finishing up their own lunch. I had a quick coffee with them and we drove to nearby Killiney beach.

I don't think Ireland has Hollywood-style star maps for tourists to purchase, but if it did, this stretch of road weaving down the coast would be the equivalent of Mulholland Drive. Easily the most precious real estate in the whole of Ireland. (Not coincidentally, Killiney Hill happens to be the romantic overlook where Glen Hansard takes Marketa Irglova on his motorbike in Once.)

One of Layla's uncles owns an opulent castle-looking mansion right next to Van Morrisson's place overlooking the sea here and she pointed it out as we drove by. Apparently Van is a cranky neighbor and has sued her uncle over property disputes [cue feigned surprise]. We drove past a gorgeous marble-white apartment complex on Sorrento Road, which Enya owned for a time. Bono also lives in Killiney. With the recession deepening, you can get houses in this area for an absolute steal—just €10 million. Something to shoot for, anyway.

We parked along Vico Road and took a steep row of stairs down to the beach. There were giant moss-covered boulders piled up along portions of the sand and we climbed over them with tenuous footsteps. The sea stretched out into the distance. People walked dogs. Layla reminisced about all-night dance parties she'd attended on this same beach after getting a last-minute text on her mobile close to midnight announcing to the guests where it would be held.

Brian and Layla walked down the beach holding hands and I tried my best to not hijack their moment. They're planning toward a move to Berlin later this year. They have to find tenants for their place in Dublin. They have logistics to sort out. It all sounded too familiar, pregnant with all that expectation.

The stones on Killiney beach are round and smooth as polished glass. I picked up a couple choice specimens as we walked along and stashed them in my pocket. Layla said that she found one as a girl that had the fossil of a tiny snail in it. Maybe hundreds of thousands of years from now one of my bones will end up fossilized in a stone on this beach. If so, I hope someone picks me up and hurls me skipping and bouncing across the cold, black surf.