Colleen Halverson | The Magic of Ireland’s Western Shore

I feature many of my favorite places in Ireland in my novel THROUGH THE VEIL, but my favorite by far is Glencolmcille. Nestled in a tiny valley by the sea, it lies on the far western shore just west of Donegal. It’s a Gealtacht area, which means it’s one of the few places in Ireland where Irish is still the primary language. It has two pubs, a tiny convenience store, a thin strip of beach, and a school for Irish language and music. If you blink, you might miss it.

I stumbled upon Glencolmcille accidentally after hitching a ride with some
Australian girls, but as soon as I stepped out of the car, the magic of the
place was palpable. Big puffy white clouds swept out to the sea, the sound of
the ocean gentle and melodic as it crashed against the sand. The wind whipped
through my hair, and I stood on the cliffs, feeling very small against the great
dome of the sky. Glencolmcille settles into the heart, making a space there for
possibilities. To me, it’s one of the thin places of the world, where the real
meets the divine. Intricately carved standing stones dot the rolling green
hills, testifying to the sacred nature of the place, and crumbling churches from
the earliest years of Christianity serve as reminders to its existence as holy
ground.

My Irish language professor came from this part of Ireland, and she talks about Glencolmcille (or “the Glen” as the locals call it affectionately) as one of those enchanted places that not everyone can reach. When I told her of my experience of traveling to the town and the feeling that came over me when I tumbled out of the car, she nodded vigorously. "If you’re not meant to go to the Glen, it will push you back.” She threw her hands out, emphasizing the force of the town’s magical properties. I knew exactly what she meant because the sensation I felt at arriving at the Glen was like being fully enveloped, like a hug from a friend you haven’t seen in a long time.

Years later when I traveled there again with my boyfriend at the time, I was
worried that somehow the Glen would push him back. I know that sounds
ridiculous, but the journey to get there was arduous. We had to hitchhike for
hours in the rain, and my professor’s words echoed in my mind as car after car
swooshed past us. A kind farmer finally took pity on us and picked us up, waving
cheerfully after he dropped us off in front of our hostel.

We arrived in the Glen cold, wet, hungry, and cranky. No warm hugs this time! My
boyfriend zipped up his rain jacket and braved the storm to trek to the
convenience store to find us something to eat. I lay on the bed in our tiny room
staring at the ceiling, wondering if I had imagined that tingly, Faerie magic
feeling so many years ago. Maybe the Glen was just another quaint Irish town,
nothing more.

A half hour later my boyfriend burst into the room, bags in hand, his cheeks
bright red, his eyes wide and sparkling. “You won’t believe it!” he said.

I sat up. “What?”

He smiled and took my hands. “The rain stopped and the sun came out, and there
was a rainbow! The most beautiful rainbow I’ve ever seen!” A man of few words
and always pragmatic, he went on endlessly about the vivid colors, the way it
arced across the sky, the fine mist swirling around it.

I grinned and pulled him in for a fierce hug. “Oh, thank goodness!” I breathed.

Call me crazy, illogical, a mystic, a new-age hippie. I don’t care. To me, the
rainbow was a sign, a way of letting my boyfriend know the Glen saw him and
welcomed him into its fold. And it was a sign for me, too. Both of us shared an
incredible, intuitive experience, and both of us somehow found a way to
transcend the mundane and see the beauty and wonder in the world.

That man is now my husband, and both of us remember the Glen as the place we fell in love. A lot of magical things happen in Glencolmcille in THROUGH THE VEIL, but all of them stem from that singular experience of traveling together to the western shore and letting its beauty welcome us inside.