I’ve been a U2 fan for quite some time, but in 2002, my worship of Bono and the boys flash flooded into complete adoration of the entire population of Ireland. I took a trip to the old Emerald Isle and learned that there’s a lot more to love than just Guinness and clovers.
I was on a tour, so we covered large chunks of the countryside on a daily basis. Almost every home our bus drove past was perfectly manicured and had a charming little clothesline hanging outside. Made me want to grab a bar of Irish Spring and wash myself while I washed someone’s clothes.
Elderly People in Bars
In the states, it’s sort of sad when you see someone in their seventies gulping a pint alone at the bar. In Ireland it’s commonplace. The first night we were in Waterford, the owner of our bed and breakfast bid us goodnight then showed up at the local pub about 20 minutes later (at 11:00 p.m.) for a nightcap.
Our guide told us they do that to keep the Catholic sheep separate from the Protestant ones. I wonder if the Jewish lambs wear yarmulkes...
I can’t recall the area where we took horse-drawn carriage rides, but I sat up front with the driver and could barely understand a word he said. My friend rode in a separate carriage and was only able to decipher her driver’s (drunken) declaration that she had “a lovely head o’hair.”
I believe it was in Sligo that a short, plump redheaded hotel maid called me “dear.” I wanted to hug her.
A Nose in My Ear
I was thrilled when a cute local boy wandered over to me at Buskars nightclub in Dublin. He had dark hair and light eyes and when he leaned in to talk to me, that sexy Irish accent came spilling right into my ear…along with his nose. I tried to politely pull away, but it was loud in the club and every time he asked a question or made a comment, he leaned in so far that his nostrils made contact with my lobes. Old Irish mating custom? Perhaps.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!