John Prine, one of the best parts of America

In the spring of 1999 I made my first trip to Ireland. I was a young widow of six months making a pilgrimage to Doolin just to hear the music I loved so much — Irish Traditional. Traveling all alone, this was my first journey abroad, my first use of a passport, my first time renting a car on my own and even the first time I had ever stayed alone in a hotel and B&B. I spent two nights in Dublin where I made sure to visit the couple of sites that were important to me to see in person, and to go to a pub to drink my first Guinness in Ireland. The Guinness was great but I have to admit to feeling a bit awkward sitting alone in that pub. I remember there was a very nice woman bartender and she asked me what my plans were. When I told her I was driving to Doolin the next day to spend 8 days in West Clare she said, “You’ll like it better there, it’s beautiful and the people are so nice!”

The next day I picked up my rental car, a little Nissan Micra, and proceeded to drive on the wrong side of the road, sitting in the wrong side of the car, across the country with only a map and some basic directions given to me at the car rental. I had been somehow savvy enough to rent a car with an automatic transmission, something that is not a given here, and to wait to pick it up until I was heading straight out of Dublin into the countryside. This was in the days before the big motorways so driving across the country I had the opportunity to see the beauty of the countryside and to meander through every little town along the way. Driving on the wrong side of the road, in the wrong side of the car was scary in itself, but approaching my first ever roundabout was a challenge I had not anticipated. I had no clue what that sign with the circle and the little lines shooting out of it meant and I drove around in a circle at least twice before figuring out how to exit pointed in the right direction! In those days of no motorway, no GPS and very few cell phones, driving alone across a foreign land was a brave thing to do. At least for me, it took courage. It also took all day, but I finally made it. After getting my last set of directions from the tiny petrol station outside Doolin, I drove down a little road that headed straight into the mid point of town. When I came to a stop sign I sat a moment, trying to figure out whether to turn or go straight, surely looking confused, as I always do when I’m confused. I can’t hide it. Just then, an elderly man drove up next to me and said, “Janet?” It was Peter, one of the owners of the B&B I had booked! Being greeted by name as I entered Doolin made me feel very welcome and was taken to be a good omen. It turned out to be a great omen. 

I had come to Doolin for the traditional music, which was everything I had hoped it would be. But the surprise for me was the beauty of County Clare, which I discovered each day as I drove all over North Clare with its magnificent Burren, breathtaking Coast Road drive, ruins, artifacts and caves. I just followed my nose and a few recommendations I’d get along the way and had days of discovery and, being alone, a kind of traveling meditation. Then I’d go back to the B&B to get ready for the music each night in the three pubs that were there at the time — Gus O’Connor’s, McGann’s and McDermott’s. Every night there was magic in at least one of the pubs, my favorite two being O’Connor’s and McGann’s. I sat alone, but during those music sessions, it never felt awkward. 

My first visit to Ireland was like a dream I could never have planned. It was a pilgrimage, not a vacation, and I was mindful in every moment. I enjoyed the surprises each day and along the way, did some healing from the previous six months. West Clare energized me and gave me the confidence I needed to go forward in my life at that time. But I also have to admit to an undercurrent of loneliness and shyness throughout, when I had to push myself to just go out there each day and do it all on my own.  

On my last night in Doolin, an American woman stood up in O’Connor’s Pub and sang the John Prine classic, “Angel From Montgomery,” and in that moment all felt familiar and safe – as though a tiny part of America, one of its best parts, had come to sit with me awhile. Just as hearing my name spoken when I first arrived in Doolin felt like a welcome to Clare, the place that would eventually become my new home — hearing that song at the end of my first visit, felt like a call back home to America.

RIP John Prine, one of the best parts of America. Victim of Covid-19.

Here’s a link to that great John Prine ballad, “Angel From Montgomery”:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9CDLCr0fxOQ