I can write about this now, because the event is past – but a few days ago we ventured into the West of Ireland, heading to the little village of Tulla (home of Ireland’s first ceilidh band) and the wonders of West Clare.
But heading out to the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher are always something of a crapshoot: if the weather is splendid, they are jaw dropping. If the weather is miserable, then – you’re soaked from head to toe, and little to show for your labors except a head cold.
Perhaps this is naiveté, but I’m always ready to roll the dice with Mother Nature when it comes to showing our students the wonders of the West of Ireland. The day before we departed for our out-of-doors jaunt, the weather looked promising: 68 degrees predicted and not a cloud in the sky. But the elements are fickle out west, and whatever the weatherman predicts is not always what is thrown at you.
So it was with great joy that, when we left Tulla early that morning, the sun was in her glory, the winds were light, and the air was warm. We decided that the weather was so beautiful that we wouldn’t simply drive to the Cliffs – rather, we made the journey to Liscannor, and let the Choir approach the landmark from the south, so that, bit by bit, the majesty the ocean and the rock formations would be made manifest.
It was a perfect day. The sun was so bright that the ocean was reflecting back a hundred shades of aquamarine. Mother Nature had deigned to smile down upon our band of joyful singers.