I have been asked many times about Galway, a city in the west of Ireland that I once called home, but I say nothing, not knowing where to begin. But the passing of a dear friend shed some light on my dilemma, and I now know just where to start this love story.

(Left: The Spanish Arch in Galway…

Roger Cohen recently wrote in The New York Times about a Savoy Hotel located in Germany which, for him, is the perfect place in that he sees this hotel as untouched by time. For an example of what he is talking about, he explains that the lobby has the lingering scent of a good cigar. Cohen also describes walking into…

Writing about the country she loves, Susan Boland delivers a love letter to the ancestral homeland she triumphantly returned to: Ireland. This gifted storyteller, scripting one of the world's most beautiful coastlines, the Coast Road of Clew Bay, with her perceptive cultural insights and warm sense of humor, has delivered a landmark in travel writing.…

Pete Hamill, a prolific writer residing in New York City, was born and raised by parents who had emigrated from Belfast, Ireland. Writing about his first trip to Ireland – a journey not taken till he was a grown man -- he talks about boarding the plane as “a newspaperman, trained by vigorous masters to…

On the first day of February, somewhere in Ireland, a ewe is born and peacefully nestles at its mother’s side, warmed by her body, nourished by her milk. This is a pleasing sign of spring, as are the days which are…

In 1965, my father, at the age of 60, decided it was time to find his Irish roots. The only problem was that one of his daughters was to be married late that summer. My mother declared he could go, but to give her some relief, he would have to take their youngest child with him, which was their 11-year-old daughter. This is how…

Language is a window into the soul.

This saying helps to explain why I have (unsuccessfully) tried to learn Irish Gaelic -- to better understand the Irish people. In one lesson early on, it was explained that Irish has no system to show possession. In other words, Irish has no words for "my" as in "my book," or "his" as…

So many of the stories which come to us out of Ireland are, quite simply, sad. From James Joyce's "The Dead" to Frank McCourt's "Angela's Ashes," we read of people who are, if not figuratively, then literally, impoverished. It is a lovely…