Connemara, Ireland | The green of the wilderness, the blue of the sky

We first arrived at Barrinahenze Castle, which was built in the 19 th century and is now one of Ireland’s most prestigious castle hotels. It is surrounded by gurgling streams and rugged woodland, and is famous for stream fishing rich in salmon and trout. Like many of Ireland’s top hotels, it was transformed from an old aristocratic mansion, accumulating numerous celebrity anecdotes and past feelings, which is quite different from the replicable luxury hotel models in North America and Asia. In it, you seem to be a guest of honor at a country house party: the aroma of morning coffee floats up the stairs with Irish chat; As dusk falls, guests stand on the lawn holding whiskey or cocktails and share the harvest of a day’s fishing.

Barinahenze once belonged to a “strange man” named Richard Martin. He is famous for his love of dangerous duels and has survived more than a hundred duels; At the same time, he was also a pioneer in the animal rights movement. This violent congressman, who often stirred waves in Parliament, went to New England to fight in the American Revolutionary War, and appeared to shout when the Bastille fell in Paris. In London, he even led a donkey to court and participated in the world’s first animal cruelty trial.

Another large mansion in Connemara, Kellimo Abbey, is now run by a small community of 14 Dominican nuns. Here they pray, make jams, and receive hundreds of thousands of visitors who flock to the gift shop every year. Step onto the monastery’s magnificent stairs, and the sun shines into the room overlooking the lake; The forest path winds, and the harp from the church can be faintly heard.

In Clifden, the unofficial capital of Connemara, violin music flows through the town every night. Bar culture is the melting pot of Irish spirit. Folk music, jazz piano and rock music blend with spirits in the dark to soothe the hearts of wanderers. Three middle-aged men sat in the corner of the bar, holding violins, accordions and flutes, playing passionate Lille dance music, with faint sweetness and sadness in the melody. In the crowded bar, everyone from the young man with flowery arms to the farmer with rough hands seems to rhythm with this unique Irish emotional pulse.

The next day, when I went to the dock, the golden sunshine outside the window filled the heather bushes, and the sweet fragrance of gorse poured into the window with the wind. Birds startled up from the purple shrubs, flying like pieces of paper in the wind. Arrive at Inishbovin Island by ferry, ride on the desolate road, pass the sandy beach inhabited by seals, and explore the unknown fork in the road. They will lead you to beautiful places-falling towers, roofless monasteries, country pubs that also sell groceries, and the air is filled with the smell of peat and sea salt.

A trail leads us to the white thatched cottage where Patrick Pierce once lived. He studied and taught Gaelic in Connemara, and the dark forests and rolling mountains allowed him to touch the Irish soul and establish a national consciousness until he led the failed Easter Uprising in 1916.

Another trail is the “Famine Trail” adjacent to Kiraly Fjord. The Great Famine of the 1840 s enveloped Connemara, leaving the population until now. At that time, 600 villagers left their homes to seek assistance without success, and many of them starved on the way. Now only vast valleys, stretching flowing clouds and heather-covered hillsides silently soothe the spirits of the dead.

Strolling along the shore of Fei Lake in the afternoon, the sun dyed the lake surface bronzed. Through a wooded area, the plaque on the cottage beside the dock records that the philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein stayed here from Cambridge in the 1940 s. Wittgenstein believed that the hustle and bustle of modern industry constrained our ability to understand our heart and nature. He claimed that he could only think clearly in the dark, and Feihu was the “dark pool” that inspired him. I seemed to see him wandering by the lake at night, in the hazy darkness at the end of the road, often stopping to talk to the gulls, as the locals say.

Walking along the road between sand dunes to the beach, tame-eyed cows are grazing, boys are running and flying kites, and girls are crouching on the sand and focusing on building castles. The two women, barefoot arm in arm, walked to the edge of ebb tide. At that moment, I was no longer a tired adult, but a teenager who regained adventure and freedom. The magnificent cloud scenery in front of us, the flowing light, and the rapid changes of the shower to the sunshine make the heaven and earth like an eternal picture scroll, and life is like a lucid dream on the terrace.