Well, I know I've been back for a bit from my trip to Ireland, but I haven't really had time to sit down and blog about it until now. It's been busy for me here, for those of you who know what's going on in my academic life - there were some issues regarding graduation, but I believe it's all fixed now, so I'll get off the topic. No need to waste good memories with a bad one.
Ireland. Well, what can I say? First, Ireland will always be my first love in the British Isles. But my heart belongs to Scotland now. I say that because of the disenchantment I faced while on tour of my ancestral home. Ireland, though still gorgeous, has changed. They've gone and commercialized a great deal of the natural beauty. I remember from when I was 10 - the sense of wonder and awe at the beautiful natural wonders of the Cliffs of Moher and other things. Upon my return I discovered a shoulder high fence thrown up around most of the cliffs. I understand the safety issue that the Cliffs present, but by putting those fences up the natural beauty is half lost behind walls of slate. I mean, if people are going to throw themselves off the Cliffs in what they think is a poetic death, is a fence really going to stop them? Sure, they may pause for a second, but there's no one walking around and PREVENTING people from climbing over or jumping off. The fence just ruins the view. Oh, well, that and the gift shops and the museum carved into the hillside next to the brand new parking lot that greets you when you pull up. Completely uncalled for. I understand here as well that tourism happens to be a big deal for Ireland, but come on. Really? Do we have to belittle and commercialize everything with little plushie leprachauns and pins for every clan name including "Hernandez"? (Honest to God, we saw a lot of Spanish last names given clan crests and little descriptions - GROSS.)
Enough of the negative though. I saw a lot more of the cultural side this time around. Being 21 puts a whole new spin on things. The best part of all the trip was, I'm sure you're astonished, is the night life in the local pubs. No - not because I can legally drink now. It's because to know a people, you have to sit and talk with them. In order to know where you're going, you have to know where you came from.
The people in Ireland know how to live. They get work out of the way and then leave it there. They don't bring work home, or the problems they faced there. They go home, they enjoy family, and then they go enjoy traditional Irish music or a live band at a pub with tons of strangers and make everyone feel at home. I don't think there was a single pub we went into that the people didn't treat us like family, didn't engage us in conversation, or didn't join in with the dancing. It's a friendly place. If you ever find yourself wandering the Emerald Isle, make a point of stopping in and enjoying a locally recommended pub. Avoid the tourist traps and the pubs recommended by the tourist information booths. Ask a local. They know where the real fun is to be had.
And the men. Ha. Well, the Irish men sure know how to charm. I can't even remember all the celebrities they said I looked like or reminded them of - all attractive too. I got mistaken for a celebrity actually in a pub in Ennis. It was very flattering. The men are gentlemen too - they judge you by your character. If an attractive woman is sitting alone in a pub, you can bet her personality is chaffing or abrasive. They enjoy the company of people, even tourists, who aren't snobbish, rich spendthrifts, or foolish. They test you once and a while to see where you fall in the spectrum. Thank god for my level head! I won't ramble on here - I could go on for ages about the well raised young men. All I can say is - American boys? You've got a lot of lessons to learn from these guys. Good luck catching up.
I also made some new friends, three American girls studying here with me at Stirling and one of them at St. Andrews. They became my partners in crime. We were Team America. It made the fun so much more enjoyable - they made the experience wonderful, when it was otherwise just okay. I couldn't have wished for three better companions to brighten the Irish skies!
The weather - what a wonder! Apparently I have the best luck this year when it comes to weather. It was clear everyday except for one, in which it drizzled for an hour, got foggy, then cleared up. It made some of the drives so much more beautiful. Especially the drive from Dingle to Galway, passing through the Burren and others. Its listed among the top ten most senic drives in the world. It's like stepping into Lord of the Rings or some Medeival fantasy. You can just see the ancient Irishmen on horseback riding to a fortress in the distance or sweeping by on some errant mission. (How romantic of me, right?) But again, if you ever get a chance - wander that road. It'll take your breath away. (Preferrably listening to your faveorite movie score or soundtrack. Or Irish traditional music. Either works. ;-D ).
And on the broken cameras...oh the cameras. On the beach that stole a part of my soul, I was attempting to place my socks and shoes back on without getting sand in them and dropped my camera right into the sand I was trying to avoid. My quick snatch and squeal of frustration was not enough to save my poor camera. As I swiped the sand away (BAD MOVE I've come to realize - it forces the sand into the rings of the lens) I tried to turn it on. There was a distinctive crunch as sand jammed into the rings that extend the lens, and the LCD screen read "lens error" in frightening bold letters. Great. I'm halfway through Ireland and my fecking camera takes a shite on me. Luck of the Irish, right?
Well, as a morose two hours pass by in which my companions and guides manage to get my mind off the camera, I finally got into a photo shop in Dingle, where I scared the living daylights out of the shop owner. I had been waiting outside the door for it to open - and he came around the other corner and I happened to be standing right there. Poor guy. But, he is the hero of this tale. The last time I'd been in Dingle I was 10. I remember that city fondly. I knew I had to get a photograph of myself on the monument to the dolphin Fungie, like I had when I was 10. Sort of a full circle thing. You know? Problem was, my camera, as previously stated, was in a bad way.
John, the shopowner, got an aresol can of air (computer cleaning thing...you know) and then informed me that he could try, but there was no gaurntee that it would work, and even if it did, the lens could be stuck open and exposed for the rest of the camera's life. I didn't care at that point. I wasn't going through Ireland without a camera! He worked some magic, I'll tell you, as the camera spat sand everywhere, then turned on just as if it was never broken. I almost leapt across the counter and hugged him. Scared him again. So - with tears in my eyes and an explination as to why it meant so much to me, I shook his hand. When I asked how much I owed him for his help, he smiled and said "How about next time you're in Dingle you stop in and say hello - that's payment enough for me."
Well, Mum and Dad - if you're in Dingle - you'll have to go shake John's hand for me. Just ask a local where his shop is. He'll be happy to meet you. Maybe I'll do it myself in the next twenty years, when I go back to Ireland to get back that little piece of my soul I left behind.
Though I may be in love with Scotland now, and despite all of the disenchantment I experienced while back in Ireland, I'll always love and belong there. No matter what. That piece of my soul I'm glad to leave behind in a fair country like Ireland.
Ireland, you've got me for the next twenty years. Be gentle.
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