Dunquin Pier winds its way towards the sea like an ancient stone path that leads the soul towards the unknown. From here, on top of the cliffs, the gaze is lost beyond the horizon, where the waves of the Atlantic dance untamed, while the wind carries the eternal song of the sea. Every curve of the pier tells me a story of departures and returns, of fishermen who have defied the currents and of women who have scanned the horizon, hoping to glimpse the black sails of the curraghs that brought back their loved ones.

Under the changing sky of County Kerry, Dunquin Pier is a place that embodies the resistance and strength of the Irish soul. Facing the imposing Blasket Islands, which rise like sleeping giants in the sea, it is impossible not to feel the call of forgotten stories. The Dingle Peninsula is linked to Celtic myths and legends of lost islands, such as Tír na nÓg, the “Land of Eternal Youth”. Those who manage to reach it are said to live in a timeless world, a realm of beauty and bliss. On these remote islands, life was hard and simple, made of words sung around the fire and days spent fighting the waves. The islanders lived in harmony with the land and the sea, until, in the 1950s, they were forced to abandon their homes, leaving behind a silence full of nostalgia and melancholy. Today, Dunquin Pier seems to me like an open door to that lost world, a place where the waves crashing against the rocks seem to whisper the names of those who lived and loved here. It is a poem carved in stone and wind, a meeting point between what was and what is.

The wind, stronger and stronger, whips my face as I look at the horizon, imagining the sailors who, centuries ago, left from this same pier, driven by hope and curiosity. I enjoy the changing sky, and I feel like a temporary guest in an eternal place, a fragment of history in the majestic beauty of the Dingle Peninsula, where dreams and thoughts are lost in the waves, only to return to shore, transformed into a memory.