Éire Chronicles: Arriving

I arrived on my birthday. But let me back up because my first introduction to this lovely place was actually while waiting for a plane in Atlanta. Our plane was three hours late (they finally put us on a new plane because apparently the original one was broken). While waiting, I was kept from going crazy by a lovely family from Kilkenny. The little boy especially decided I was a friend, and told me all sorts of interesting things about soccer, hurling, Gaelic football, and what teams I should be rooting for. He also had lots of questions for me. When I told him I was from Arizona, a land of cactus and cowboys, he got excited. "Real cowboys like Woody?" And when I told him my father was a real cowboy who used to have a ranch, he asked, "Did he kill any Indians?" I assured him that they were all nice in Arizona, and that my dad was friends with them. Later on his mother was complaining about a sunburn that she'd gotten while in Florida, which prompted him to look at me and say, "Do you have any sunburns?" I informed him that sadly there is no sun to tan with in Ohio. He looked me up and down and said, "You look like an Irish person!" And then he cocked his head at me, "Are you Irish?" So I told him that like many Americans, I did have some Irish ancestors. Then he said, "But you sound Irish." That surprised me -- probably all that meant was that he could understand me. I will admit I didn't understand everything he said, especially when he was talking about sports.

But he did teach me some Irish lingo that I'm certain will come in handy. At one point that evening, the airline was telling us that we were going to depart yet another hour later, but then they announced an arrival time that would have put us in the air for 12 hours. We all looked at each other stunned for a minute and then started discussing how the two times did not make any sense. The little boy from Kilkenny was particularly vocal about this. "It just doesn't make sense. He must be squat'erd." And then he shouted out, "You're squat'erd!" (I'm not exactly sure how to spell it.) His mother quickly told him to be quiet and remarked that the man might hear him. To which I said, "That's alright. He won't understand him if he does hear it." So then she told me that it's slang for someone who's drunk. Yes, I learned a lot from the 7-year-old Kilkenny boy.

I arrived on my birthday. That evening, my Linus took me for a walk in the bustling streets of downtown Dublin. We successfully avoided McDonalds, Burger King, and even Supermac's, a brilliant Irish knock-off of McDonalds. Instead, he took me to a lovely Italian restaurant, Carluccio's. We shared focaccia bread, and I had a rustic mushroom soup for starters. For the main course, I had grilled lamb. It was cooked perfectly, tender and delicious. The best present was of course just to be with Linus. It was a lovely birthday.