Pieces of Glendalough

If Eccles Street is a special place and the Garden of Remembrance can lay claim to being a hallowed place, than it's hard to find words to describe Glendalough with. It is a sort of a mystical place, at least it once would have been, when Saint Kevin decided it was a well enough place to set up camp and forsake the world in – allthough I heard it mentioned today that the real reason for venturing out here was that Saint Kev had some trouble in the outside world.
You might find some remnants of that ancient mystique, if you are able to drown out the screaming of the Italians, the children climbing on the ruins, schoolclasses taking a dive in the nearby brook and the occasional whiny Dutch. The place is now flooded with tourist, trampling over graves. In a way, Kevin was likewise tested. The whole monastery site was probably erected by his followers, who didn't quite grasp the concept. While Kevin tried to be all holy and hermitlike, sleeping on stones and such, followers flocked to him. How can a man denounce the world if the world just won't leave him alone?
Ofcourse, Glendaloughs true mystique lurks a bit further down the road. Two lakes, enclosed by hills, their dark waters wrinkling every though right out of your mind. Kevin would've been proud.

sidenote: ofcourse, making St. Kevin proud is not a goal in itself, specially after learning the old Saint took a rather akward approach toward temptation by actually pushing a tempting woman of a ridge and thus killing her. Apparently, this only added to his saintlike apparel.