August 2002. Early evening. Cold, rainy, and gray, even by West Coast of Ireland standards…

Driving North from Kerry through County Clare on the wrong side of the road to who knows where…

Until that one leaning, weathered, black and white “B&B” sign called my name. It just did. Turn left. Then right. Clonmore Lodge.

On the outskirts of the unadorned fishing village of Quilty.

Clonmore. Quilty. County Clare. How Irish can you get? And such exquisite alliteration to boot! How can I not stay here?

The usual process. Ring the bell and hope there’s room for one more.

Success! A cozy and quiet place to spend the night. Not to mention the pleasure of meeting the delightful and gorgeous proprietress Máire Daly.

After settling in and enjoying a fine dinner in nearby Spanish Point, it was back to Clonmore Lodge and time to explore the area on foot. As I always do when I arrive in a new place. Rain jacket on and off I go, trudging through the puddles past Daly’s Bar.

For the moment.

Because just a hundred steps further, there it was, drawing me like a magnet. A garden of enormous Celtic crosses that seemed to grow right out of the road.

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Not some walled-off, morbid, and scary place. But welcoming even a stranger like me to say hello to the once hardy souls who now rested there, who once fished and farmed here, who once hoisted thousands of pints here, who once laughed and cried here and called this place home. I was riveted by the names, dates, and inscriptions in the waning light. Even the lichens splashed about every surface spoke to me. Reminding me of my own mortality yet filling me with the joy of being alive. My words do no justice to the privilege I felt being there, even for just a moment.

But time moves on. And I’m only human. As Daly’s Bar started calling my name.

Allow me to rewind a bit and share my immediate reaction when I first saw Daly’s Bar: Why in a million years would anyone build a bar here? A here that’s about as nowhere as you can get.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

And I did.

And then I understood why.

Daly’s Bar–a real Irish bar, not some fancy joint owned by an anonymous rich guy from the big city. Jim Daly, both owner and bartender. A quiet man who poured the very first real Guinness I ever had. And eventually a few more. And my very first Jameson to boot. There I got my introductory lesson in “the craic”, which I just love to gush about whenever I get the chance.

The locals. The visitors. The kids. The banter. The pints. The smells. The good natured ribbing. Everyone was there. There. As in not somewhere else.

And then there’s that sweet furry creature lying so quietly under the table while her family and friends enjoyed each other’s company above. The sweetest face, an Irish face I thought, a face I’ll never forget. To this very day, more than two decades later, I could show you exactly where I was sitting at the time.

But all good things must pass. Time to wish everyone there good night. Everyone.

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Fast forward to the next morning after breakfast. I just had to revisit that cemetery again. In the daylight. And so I did. To say my goodbyes.

And on the way back, to my delight, there she was… that very same sweet face trying to stay warm and dry in the only half square meter available to do so…

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How could I not be smitten by the Emerald Isle?

I knew I’d have to return someday.

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And so I did. Ten years later. July 2012.

My triumphant return to Quilty and Clonmore Lodge. Heart bursting in anticipation of a joyous reunion with Máire, the cemetery, Daly’s bar, and my sweet furry friend.

There I received a lovely warm welcome from Máire’s daughter Siobhán, but…

Máire was out of town. Not due back for days. Major bummer number one.

And Daly’s bar was closed that night. Major bummer number two.

And my sweet furry friend was nowhere to be found. Major bummer number three.

Maybe I just tried too hard to recapture a moment that could never be lived again.

C’est la vie.

But at least the cemetery was still there. I made sure to pay my respects.

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Fast forward yet again… a month or so after I returned home… when I received the following in the mail (I will let the letter speak for itself)…

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That $5 bill remains unspent, of course. As I was charmed yet again by the Emerald Isle and her beautiful people. And thought how wonderful it would be to visit Quilty and Máire Daly yet again someday. Hoping, yes. Expecting, no.

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Believe it or not, that someday actually came.

Two years later. In the Summer of 2014.

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I will let the photograph speak for itself…

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Alas, I discovered that my sweet furry friend was now long gone, but guess what?

Daly’s Bar was open that night. Sláinte Mhaith!

And thank you, Máire Daly, sent with a long warm hug.

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Please tell Máire that Frank sent you: Clonmore Lodge

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