After scaling the tower at Blarney Castle and kissing the Blarney Stone, my friends and I wandered through the surrounding, manicured gardens in search of a waterfall. Taking in the breath-taking sights, I became overwhelmed with the natural beauty that surrounded me. As we entered the grove and the many tiny waterfalls appeared before us, I felt a sense of belonging, of place.

Ireland, this magical wet green isle, stole a piece of my heart that day. The thing is, it wasn’t supposed to. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with the sights. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with the people. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love at all — but I did.

Initially, I made the trip out of convenience rather than desire. My friend’s sister-in-law planned the whole adventure for her 30th birthday. Since I was going to be in England the week after, I thought, “Sure, I will tag along.”

We ventured on our own, with no specific tour group or guide. This afforded us the opportunity to experience life on the Emerald Isle as pseudo inhabitants. We spent four nights in Dublin, taking day trips to explore the capital city, as well as northern and west Ireland. By night, we were entertained with traditional Irish food, whiskey, music, and dancing.

The day we rode the rails to Cork and spent the night in Blarney, we stayed in a cute bed and breakfast owned by a lovely older couple. The couple became our temporary grandparents, welcoming us with open arms, providing us with warm beds, delicious food, and excellent company, and offering suggestions on places to go and things to do. They were prime examples of the wonderful people we met in Ireland — friendly, exceedingly kind, and more than happy to share not just their homes, but their homeland with virtual strangers like us.

Who wouldn’t be enchanted?