This is the very first frame I shot in Europe.

I couldn’t believe it. My adventure literally started with a wild Irish rose, just like the classic 1899 Irish-American love song about a free-spirited, vibrant Irish beauty that captures your heart. It felt like the universe was winking at me.

I was a young photographer exploring and documenting this brand-new world, camera hanging from my neck, heart pounding with excitement as I walked the streets and began taking pictures. That single rose was the perfect opening shot — a beautiful, living symbol that my journey had officially begun.

One of the first landmarks that stopped me in my tracks on my very first afternoon in Europe. This is Tait’s Clock Tower, built in 1866 in Pery Square to honor Sir Peter Tait, a prominent Limerick businessman and former mayor.

Standing there looking up at it, time suddenly felt completely different — like it had no control over me. I had nowhere to be and no time to be there. I was simply wandering, exploring, and completely free in a way I’d never experienced before.

I spotted this woman walking alone down an empty street, a car parked just within reach, yet she seemed miles away from any such luxury. In that quiet moment I felt the strange beauty of my own new reality — completely untethered, with no car of my own, walking with nowhere to be and no one expecting anything from me. It was the first time I truly understood the quiet power of being anonymous in a foreign land.

This was my first real taste of how completely different everything was going to be. The excitement, the wonder, the slight disorientation from the new signs, smells, traffic patterns, the new noise of European car horns coming from their strange small boxy cars, combined with my lingering jet lag — it was all here in one single frame.

I spotted this elderly couple quietly looking in the jewelry store window, lost in their own little moment. The sign in the window read “Deposits taken now for Christmas,” and the tenderness between them, the soft glow of the display, the simple act of dreaming together — it filled me with a warm feeling that I had to capture with my camera.

I was drawn to this very old style of construction — the kind of building you simply didn’t see back in Nebraska. At the exact moment I clicked the shutter, one of the workers looked straight out the window and right at me. It felt like the city itself had noticed me standing there, camera in hand, taking it all in.

I was on my way to the tourism office when I spotted these two old friends sitting together, quietly watching the cars pass. Although cars were speeding past, they didn’t seem to be in any rush at all — just two friends enjoying time together the way people have done for generations.

In that simple, unhurried moment I felt the gentle rhythm of everyday life in Limerick.

King John’s Castle (also known as Limerick Castle) is a magnificent 13th-century castle located on King’s Island next to the River Shannon. The site itself dates back to 922 when the Vikings settled there, but the castle was built on the orders of King John of England around 1200.

After learning at the Tourism Office that this town showpiece was within walking distance, I headed that way. The moment I spotted it for the first time, my breath caught in my throat. It was magnificent. It was glorious. It was beyond my wildest expectations, it was almost 900 years OLDER than the UNITED STATES founding in 1776!

The stone castle itself was constructed around 1200 on the orders of King John of England to secure Norman control over the region. It has witnessed sieges, battles, and centuries of Irish history.

This second view, from a different angle, gave me an even greater sense of its scale and power. Standing there, camera in hand, I felt the full weight of stepping into a place with nearly a thousand years of stories embedded in its walls.

As I continued my walk, I followed the Shannon River back towards town. This quiet little stone bridge caught my eye — simple, sturdy, and perfectly in harmony with the river flowing beneath it. It was one of those small, unassuming moments that made me stop and appreciate the beauty of where I was.

During my journey in Europe — still carrying the weight of my recent near-death experience — I was naturally drawn to cemeteries. This one caught my eye as cars drove past on a normal afternoon. The contrast between everyday life rushing by and the quiet final resting place felt profound and almost a little sad to me at the time.

I was drawn to this quiet scene — a living tree pressing itself right up against an ancient stone wall. It felt symbolic even then. Life finding a way. Growing strong in spite of — or maybe because of — the hard, unyielding stone beside it.

This was only my first afternoon in Europe, and already the metaphors were everywhere.

One of the first cemeteries I was drawn to on the trip. After everything I had been through, these quiet resting places sparked a deep curiosity in me about heaven, God, souls, and the idea of redemption. They felt like sacred ground for second chances.

I found myself lingering at the Clancy family headstones, reading their names and dates. I wondered what their lives were like, what stories they carried, and what they might have asked of Jesus’ sweet mercy. These quiet markers stirred something deep in me — a growing fascination with the soul’s journey and the possibility of redemption.

Walking past these graves on this afternoon felt strangely peaceful. They awakened a quiet curiosity in me about heaven, the afterlife, and the mercy of second chances. In their silence, I felt the first stirrings of hope that my own story could still be redeemed.

This peaceful corner stopped me cold. It invited me to reflect on God, on souls, on what redemption really means, and on the beauty of second chances. These sacred spaces were becoming unexpected teachers on my journey.

I couldn’t help but smile at this scene — cars parked wherever the hell they wanted, completely ignoring the rules. There was something wonderfully rebellious and Irish about it. It felt like the city itself was saying, “We do things our own way here.”

That rebellious energy spoke to me. After everything I’d been through, I was starting to embrace a little rule-breaking of my own.

This row of signs felt completely and literally foreign to anything I would see back in Kearney. The fonts, the names, the colors, the very rhythm of the street — everything was new. It was a small but powerful reminder that I had truly stepped into a different world.

By this time in the afternoon, school had let out. I spotted these schoolgirls walking home in their uniforms under the tall spire of St. John’s Cathedral.

What struck me most was the contrast — they were heading home from school, following their daily routine and rules, while I had escaped school entirely. I was free to walk wherever I wanted, with no schedule, no bells, no uniforms, and no one telling me where to be. That feeling of pure freedom filled me with indescribable joy in that moment.

This was the last photo I took on my very first full day in Europe. It was dark inside the pub, I didn’t have my flash with me, and the light was terrible for film. I’m honestly sad I didn’t take more pictures that night, but I’m absolutely thrilled this one turned out.

It perfectly captures the warm, magical feeling of the evening — singing with new friends, the glow of the lights, the laughter, and that incredible sense of being fully alive in Ireland for the first time. A perfect ending to Day 1.