Returning Again and Again - by Dea Birkett

I’m past the point of no return. Because I keep coming back again, and again, and again to this corner of Ireland – an island just off the Mayo coast. We’ve been coming here for years, ever since my first child was born, even though it’s always windy, always wet, and rarely warm.

I’ve often asked myself why we come on holiday to the same place several times, rather than go to different places each time. The world is so huge, it’s a pity to not explore each and every corner of it. But there’s something comforting in going on a family holiday to somewhere you know well, and even to people who may recognize you again. ‘Welcome back,’ are two wonderful words to hear, so more than a merely polite and obligatory, ‘Welcome’. It makes you feel as if your own home isn’t the only place that you belong.

So we’re back again, on Achill Island, enjoying collecting stones and seaweed on the fierce blowy beach and buying fresh hens from the man who keeps a wooden coop in his front garden. Although it’s not really a garden, more a patch of bog. Nothing much grows here above a few feet, because of the wind blowing off the ocean.

A friend scolded me for always bouncing back to this remote spot. ‘Why don’t you take the kids somewhere they can discover something new?’ she said. But they do, here on Achill. This time, we’ve gone hunting for black shells (mussels), picking them off the rocks at low tide. We’ve counted more than a dozen dolphins (or are they porpoise?) dancing in the surf. We’ve seen seals. Just because we come back to the same place, doesn’t mean we have the same experience. Every time is different.

My kids are lucky to have traveled all over the world. But it’s going back, not forward, that they enjoy most. I’ve had to stop asking them where they want to go on holiday, for fear that we’ll never make a new journey again. I know they’d always say, ‘Achill!’