Matchmaking and meet-cutes along Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way.
It felt like a thousand tiny knives were pricking my body.
“You’re doing great!” My friend encouraged, through chattering teeth. “You’re really Irish, now!” And here, neck deep in the freezing Atlantic Ocean after a week of road trips, bucket list destinations, and Ireland’s largest matchmaking festival, my heart skipped a beat.
A braver soul than me plummeted into the water from the famous Salt Hill diving board, an exhilarated roar cut off by a massive splash. Now that the shivering had abated a little, I looked around at our bathing mates. No one looked as cold as I felt. I’d heard the Irish were made of sturdy stuff—you can’t wait for perfect weather here, after all.
Over years of singledom, I’ve found that such fortitude is required to survive the world of dating apps. Exhausted by the download-delete cycle, ghosting, and swiftly crushed optimism, the idea of matchmaking sounded blessedly simple. So when I realized my spur-of-the-moment trip to Ireland overlapped with the Lisdoonvarna Matchmaking Festival, I was intrigued. Could professional guidance really leave a heart in a better spot than algorithmic swiping?
Blackrock Diving Tower, Salt Hill, Galway BayRoy Harris/Shutterstock
The Lisdoonvarna Matchmaking Festival runs all September long (time your visit right and you could also catch the national Culture Night or Galway Oyster Festival), drawing around 60,000 visitors over the course of the month, according to the website. This number likely includes a few curious tourists, as the festival has gained popularity via social media and even a Hallmark movie.
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It’s said that if you place both hands on the book and close your eyes, it will bring you luck in love.
The website was vague but enthusiastic, promising dancing and mingling and unspecified events. I figured there would be more programming once we got there, although I was curious how they’d facilitate matchmaking activities for such a large crowd.
As an American who has spent the last seven years abroad, the idea of a long-distance romance didn’t deter me—if the match was right. But as a woman disappointed by dating in the modern age, I wasn’t pinning too much hope on finding “the one”. But I was on vacation in Ireland with friends! A good time was guaranteed; finding love would be a bonus.
As it turns out, this festival was the perfect excuse for a mini road trip along Ireland’s Wild Atlantic Way. With an itinerary planned by my hosts—two Galway natives I had met in Budapest—I was in the best hands.
Lisdoonvarna is beautifully positioned for sightseeing in County Clare, with the desolate, beautiful Burren surrounding you and the Cliffs of Moher a 15-minute drive away. There were delightful stops on the way down from Galway, like the seaside village of Kinvarra and the confetti-colored buildings in Doolin (artisanal bakery/café Sean-Nós is a must for a coffee and croissant pit-stop). I soon learned that Lisdoonvarna first drew fame as a spa retreat, evidenced by the quaint wellness hotels smattered about as we rolled into town.
We started at the source: the famous Matchmaker Bar, the office of sorts of Willie Daly, a man billed as Ireland’s last traditional matchmaker. Its cheerful facade beckoned to us like a purple beacon glowing in the night, live music spilling out through the door. A mural of Daly smiled down benevolently.
Chris Dorney/Shutterstock
Daly himself wasn’t in attendance that night (he was busy at a wedding), but hand-drawn signs directed us to the snug where you could pay 5 euros to fill out a simple form about your appearance and interests. We were told Daly would be calling us in the next couple of weeks to set us up with our matches. Elbow to elbow in the small room, the giddiness was palpable as hopeful romantics surrendered themselves to destiny, filling out the forms. With only 5 euros between the three of us (the website hadn’t mentioned a fee, and the one ATM in town was broken), only my friend filled out the form (though at the time of writing, she still hasn’t received a call).
I did, however, manage to touch the storied book of matches, cover smooth and worn under my fingertips, almost comically overflowing with pages of past clients. It’s said that if you place both hands on the book and close your eyes, it will bring you luck in love.
But as we left the small side room for the crowded dance floor, I realized that that was the extent of matchmaking activities. More of a lively singles weekend, there’s no official route as you hop from pub to overflowing pub. You simply stop where you please and take your chances with whoever catches your eye.
Gordon Hatton CC-BY-SA-2.0via Wikimedia Commons; Joseph Mischyshyn CC-BY-SA 2.0 via Wikimedia Commons
Those claiming the festival is mostly filled with pensioners must have had our next stop, the Rathbaun Hotel, in mind. Time-worn faces and broad smiles filled the dance floor–I was even spun around for a dance or two! Weren’t social dances the original dating apps, after all? Our final stop, the Ritz Hotel, blended the two, with one dance floor playing ballroom classics and the other blasting 2010’s greatest hits. Once I let go of my expectation of rigidly planned programming, I could lean into a night of craic in the Irish countryside.
Winding along the rugged coastline the next day, I couldn’t help but think how Ireland’s landscape has reflected the stages of my dating journey. Sometimes it’s as desolate as the karst Burren landscape, as promising as the rolling green fields, or as exhilarating as standing at the edge of the Cliffs of Moher, watching the Atlantic Ocean thrashing below.
Although I didn’t make any romantic connections at the festival, I returned to Galway with a full heart. My cup was filled in a way that only good company and a good adventure can do.
So when I saw the handsome Irishman reading a book outside a cafe, it was easy to say hello. When he asked me to sit down, it felt natural to accept. And when he took the afternoon to show me around the city, I felt as if it were the most effortless thing in the world. My rom-com bubble burst, though, when he sent a “you up?” type text later that night. Not the type of connection I was looking for, but the afternoon’s meet-cute was a positive memory all the same.
When I think about the parts of the trip that left a glowing ball of light in my chest, it all comes back to my friends: laughing through wind-whipped hair at the Cliffs of Moher, bobbing in the invigorating waters at Salt Hill, and debriefing our Lisdoonvarna dances at the rental cottage over red wine.
By the end of the trip, I’d deleted my Bumble. Not because I had given up on love, but because I’d remembered how good it felt to make connections by being present in the world around me, not swiping on a screen. It wasn’t Ireland itself–as beautiful as it can be–but the act of traveling that put me back in my element, that helped me feel excited instead of burnt out. Vulnerability, disappointment, and hope are all part and parcel of dating, whether on an app or in person. But this Irish adventure was a valuable reminder: being open to love becomes a lot easier when you already love the life you’re living.
