An OCD nomad

I feel entitled to call myself a seasoned explorer.I had a yearly rendezvous with international adventures, thank to my parents wanderlust. We never visited the same location twice, but each one of our trip had one thing in common: they were all self-made, strictly scheduled trips. No hotel was unbooked, no visit was unplanned. I ended up being the backbone of booking and organization for my adventurous trips with friends, my pack of incorrigible backpackers, that would rather spend a night on a bench in a public park than pay 5 euros for the yuckiest hostel.This wild and irresponsible behavior made the mother in me lose her temper and bring the crazy bunch back to safety and civilization, with roofs over their head and reliable up to date bus timetables.Spending a year studying abroad, I knew I wouldn’t have much control over our next trip.We already had a location, the west coast of Ireland, a rough list of must-sees and an adventure lust for the fields of the Emerald Island.Well aware of what it meant I let my friends decide the whens and hows of our Irish adventure.It was a true, frightening leap in the dark.That’s how I lived the predicaments of my Irish days, living in constant fear of this big dangerous unknown jumping on us. To rationalize it afterward I feel so stupid, but then the chance of missing the daily bus that would take us to the airport 5 hours away was unbearable. That’s why in Galway, the day after a terrible night spent in an emergency room in the old city hospital for a some remarkably big kidney stones, I insisted on planning the trip to a Aran island myself.Almost missed our 6am connection to the Doolin ferry, I don’t know how we manage to get to the island and get bikes. That’s when I decided to let it go, to let my friends have their reckless fun without supervision. I could be reckless too, for once I could be taken care of.I follow my uniformed guides on the stony shores trails. Seals were barking under the rocks and stone walls checkered the hills making the isle a stunning chessboard. A fellow biker riding down a scary pebbled road recommended this vital piece of landscape, which was impossible to miss, the Dún Eochla fortress, two perfect circles of stones, just 15 minutes away.We pedaled uphill for more than 1 hour.

And there it is, not the fort.A cliff, a 30m jump on the Atlantic, so neat to cut the horizon, a new horizon.

I get close to the edge, sit on the border, closing my eyes at the sunset. My leap in the dark.