When King Writes

So many side adventures have slipped from my memory because I never took the time to record them. I never took photos, never wrote about them.

I’ve had plenty of moments in Ireland that never made it into this blog, but this one I want to share. My memory of experiencing Galway for the very first time.

When I’m much, much older and my hair has gone completely gray, I want to remember that I had the energy, motivation and time to roam the streets of Galway simply because I wanted to.

I want to remember that I took this opportunity – without a second thought – because I had first heard of the city from a song written and sung by Ed Sheeran, entitled “Galway Girl,” and how every time I listened to that song, it always made me curious about what wonders the city holds in its vicinity.

And so I went. I explored the stores – from the regular ones that sold the same kinds of souvenirs (magnets, shirts, whiskey glasses) to the more unique, curated shops, one of which tempted me to buy a thick wool rug even though I couldn’t pack it with me and it required a separate shipment back to my home country.

I want to remember taking the time to listen to a few buskers, singing along to some of the songs I knew by heart, and dropping a few euros afterward to show my appreciation. I want to remember how happy I was with myself for taking the time to do this because whenever I see buskers, I usually never stop. I just pass by them without a glance.

I think one of the reasons that made me stop was not because the buskers were particularly more talented than the others I’ve passed by in other cities. No – it was the area and the feeling it gave. The colorful shops, the paved walkways and the streetlights all added to the whimsy that made me want to spend time just standing there, observing someone singing their heart out to anyone who cared to listen.

And then… I want to remember that I spent the rest of the night bar hopping, even though we had no idea which bars we were going to because we never planned that night, and we never planned to drink. I want to remember how unique the bars were – the one that claims it’s one of the oldest bars in Ireland (The King’s Head, est. 400 years old).

Or the bar that looked so small from the outside, but the moment we stepped in, there were so many doors to enter and rooms to explore that it felt never-ending. Or the bar where I was held in a trance by a live band and a group of people – probably some of them enjoying their after-work hours based on what they were wearing – dancing like there was no tomorrow because a local sports team had won.

I want to remember that in between these side adventures, I met a couple of Galway girls, as is Sheeran’s term for them, and how I concluded that they are some of the prettiest girls I’ve ever met.

I want to remember that while we were on the way to find another bar that sparked our fancy, we came across an ice cream shop and went in, suddenly craving some. Partly because of the tipsiness, partly because the shop’s sign said the ice cream is made in Dingle, a town in Ireland I first heard about from one of my favorite movies, Leap Year.

I want to remember this fish and chips place – one that someone we met swore was home to the best fish and chips he’d ever tasted in his life. Even though I’ve been told that exact same thing about different restaurants in the U.K. so many times, only to end up wondering if that really was the best place and what even makes a fish and chips “the best,” I went anyway.

I enjoyed the photos on the wall and the history of the place. I enjoyed how helpful the staff were in helping me choose the kind of fish I wanted. And I enjoyed the overall simple joy of sitting there with my fiancé as we ate our orders. To this day, even if it was delicious, we still couldn’t decide if it really was the best-tasting fish and chips we’ve ever had.

My memories are slipping, and already I can’t remember every single detail about that night, but thankfully, I still remember how we managed to flag down a cab the old-fashioned way (without a ride-hailing app) and told the driver the name of our hotel, which we struggled to remember because we were so drunk.

And I want to remember that as I left that downtown part of Galway, I felt incredibly thankful. It was one of those days when I had absolutely nothing planned, and it turned out happy and perfect in its own way anyway.

For the rest of my life, I want to remember our experience in Galway as a day that proved to me that I can be the kind of person who doesn’t plan things down to the T from time to time. That I can be the kind of person who lets go and gives things up to fate – and to faith – that wherever my path leads me, everything is going to be alright.

I want to remember Galway as what it was. What was meant to be a side adventure – nothing planned, no attractions to tick off a list, no old friends or family to meet – became, to me, proof that some of the best days of this life happen when I least expect them. A reminder that sometimes, all I need is curiosity, the blessing of youthful energy, and the willingness to say yes.