A Mythic Journey to Dublin, Ireland

In the Mythical Land of leprechauns and banshees sits Trinity College in the heart of Dublin. Founded in 1592, this university boasts of a culture rooted in a rich history.

As I partake of my breakfast one Saturday morning in the Dining Hall that resembles the dining hall in Harry Potter's Hogwart, I am suddenly amazed by a stallion trotting right in front of me.

I am not an equestrain, have never ridden a horse, but I can surely tell a fine steed from a pony or a colt. Its body shimmers in the sunlight, boasting of a firm and strong conformation. The mane is smooth and white, with a dash of dark brown on his points. I do not know how many hands tall it is, but its firm sturdy structure makes him a tall and proud horse, ready to be mounted and ridden into the winds. I would be like a knight in shining armour, and he, my valiant and heroic counterpart in a journey towards the unknown.

We made initial contact, but man-horse language can never be coherent. My gestures seem so weak and mild, and as I follow alongside this stallion on the cobbled-stone road, I can only admire the way it canters, trots and gallops, of course, to my dismay as I have a rather short, human torso with dangly legs.

It is of no wonder that I become mesmerised, entranced and transfixed by this Beauty. I remember reading about Black Beauty, and to some extent, this version is White/Brown. Unfortunately, man and beast can never be -- and soon, I find myself estranged and lonely, lonelier than ever before.

How can there be a connection between man and beast, I wonder.

But emotions are hard to describe. It is almost as if a child sees a puppy by the window and tells Mommy that that is his! I feel the same way. I want it so badly, but reality sinks in as the stallion gallops away, free-spirited as it came.

I am told later that among the Irish Mythology consists of a creature called the dullahan, a spectacular wild and black-robed horseman riding a dark and snorting steed. Did I witness a dullahan? Or did it exist only in the imagination, in the realm of fairy tales of which I embrace?

I know not. But the journey to Dublin surely ignites the imagination.

Will I see a leprechaun next? I am not surprised, I tell myself, as I walk into an Irish Pub for a pint of Heineken.