I have always wanted to see Ireland. To see the land where my ancestors came from, to breathe the air, to see the green, green fields, to drive the narrow country roads and eat at a pub while drinking some warm beer (dark beer, please, not this yellow stuff we American's call beer). I want to walk the streets of Dublin and Galway, stay in some country castle turned hotel-estate, and eat corned beef and cabbage where my great-great grandmother learned to cook it.
When I was in England I met an older Irish man who on first glance though I was Irish, too. He told me that Ireland was calling me home, and that I had her soil in my veins. If that's not a call to the motherland, I don't know what is.
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