And sorry, but there is no way to say this kindly--it permeates the inside of the houses with ferocity. I arrived last night to the residence where I will be staying for two weeks and the windows needed to be opened. No fault of the owners--they've been gone two weeks and everything was shut up. Such is the nature of life in an environment as wet as this one.
Of course, you don't have to live with this climate 24/7 so romanticism is easy.
Then again, that's what traveling is all about--getting high off of something new and fresh and alive, and you are the traveler here, so off you go, boots strapped to the feet, rain jacket in hand.
Walking along the quiet path to Blackrock castle, the mist easing down onto the sandflats of the river, speckled with seabirds, it's easy to see why people who have left here sit in pubs in Chicago and Melbourne and New York and pine for it: when a landscape is so dramatically consistent and sensory as this one is, it never leaves you, even if you have left it.
How easy it becomes here to push out all that nothingness, allowing the space to fill with more contemplative and creative thoughts, a slowing of the mind and time, a restoration of soul, and...
A full night's sleep.
Indeed, life is good.