Ireland is Splendid!

The last two weeks have been spent in recooperation. I past the time enjoying the beautiful scenery and my father's company... and his wallet. This particular entry does not have one single story that can compare to the others that I've already told, so I forgive you if you choose to skip it.

Here is an example of my mind-state entering Ireland. I'm standing at the customs desk and the officer asked me what my golf handicap was... What's this man up to? He had stamped my passport before I even had a chance to respond. I stood there for a few seconds and said "is that it?" He said "yes" and I was in Ireland. No language barrier and not one person asked me for my shoes. Yep, I was free to go wherever I wanted. I just didn't know where. So I stopped by the tourist info desk (they actually have one) and they booked me a room without any surcharge. Then they sold me a bus pass and I was on my way. I had completely forgotten how easy things are supposed to be.

It was dark by the time I arrived in the city center and it occured to me that I haven't really been outside at night for almost 3 months... So I went for a walk. Just because I could. I popped on the old mp3 player and tried my best to get lost... but I couldn't. There are signs directing you to various points of interest. Can you believe that? I couldn't. I spent most the night with a big smile on my face. It was like all of the more difficult parts of African travel were being washed away from me. It was raining and I couldn't have cared less. I mean, it's supposed to rain in Ireland right? Wrong. It hasn't since that night.

And I got to see my dad in the morning! It was like getting the band back together. We started our crazy adventures by renting a car and finding ourselves a nice B and B (Bed and Breakfast). He thought the place where we stayed that night was too noisy... I informed him that I did not hear one rooster crowing or cow mooing and, therefore, it could not have been loud.

I should give a quick description of my dad before I get too far. He's 63 years old and he doesn't move as fast as he used to. But I want to put the qualifier on that statement. It's a mental choice, not a physical ailment (he has a lot of those too). It seemed like he was always a few steps behind reading a sign, or taking a picture. For me, looking at him is kind of like seeing your reflection in one of those circus mirrors. We're so similar that it's scary sometimes. We both have a cheesy sense of humor, for instance. But, there are parts of him that separate us too. There are so many things that I admire about him. He has this uncomprimising sense of right and wrong. He is appalled by litter (there was a lot here). So much that it will undoubtedly be part of all his accounts of our trip. And he seems to have a very categorical mind. His journal of our trip was more like an itinerary of events and places.

My mind is not categorical. Here is how our days went by: Wake, eat, walk or golf, drive, eat, walk or golf, eat and drink, sleep. There you have it. 14 days of events in one sentence. But, let me elaborate of some of the finer points.

The good:
Traditional music played in bars. People will just show up with their instruments and start playing. Sometimes they don't even know eachother. There were some incredible muscians too. Not all of them, though. We listened to this lady belt out a song i've never heard before. But it wasn't hard to tell that she might have been in the wrong key. "WAH- DER- FERD!!!!!" (waterford). That's not going to be easy to forget.

Ms McCarthy. She was one of the ladies who ran one of our many B and B's. One of the most maternal people i've ever met. Dad made me take a picture with her.

The laughs. We had a lot of them. I also learned that I am very good at helping other people finish their meals. But not the other way around. Dad reached for my powerade once and I blurted out "you have your own!" before I could think about the ramifications. He kept "his very own powerade" for the rest of the trip. I never heard the end of it. He even slept with it on the pillow next to him once. He past it down to me when we said goodbye, and I lost it before I could drink it. I honestly didn't know if I wanted to laigh or cry.

The Bad:
Our last B and B. We should have known better. The house smelled like old people and it was filled with teddy bears wearing sunhats. The lady informed us on our arrival that there would be no breakfast in the morning... So what does the second "B" stand for? Her dog barked all night and Dad gave her a piece of his mind. The end product was that we got a refund and an awkward departure in the morning.

The Ugly:
My golf game... It's terrible and no one on the course was safe. I was playing beautiful courses and usually shooting my second shot from the opposite fairway... If I could find my ball.

I've never had two weeks pass so fast. It felt like we had just hit our stride and then it was time to part ways. This traveling thing has become a cycle of hellos and goodbyes and it feels like I've been dumped every time.

I got over it by heading to Belfast in Northern Ireland and here I am. There is so much recent history here. Actually, it doesn't feel like history at all. All job applications ask whether you are catholic or protestant and religion is a difficult subject to discuss. I got lost yesterday and wandered into a parade. A man on the street told me that they were celebrating "a fella that died in the troubles." I walked a few steps away and had to turn around to learn more. I guess this guy was shot and killed by the police 10 years ago. He was part of the Ulster Fighting Forces and had been on his way to kill a member of the IRA when he died. Now he's been martyized as a part of "the troubles."

Here's what I saw. Broken glass everywhere and everyone was drunk. Every building had these elaborately detailed murals of men in black masks and carrying guns. The messages were things like "never surrender" and "our revenge will be the laughter of our children." You could feel the tension and hate. But I never really felt unsafe. Just that I could never really understand what it must be like to be on either side of that kind of hatred. I spent the rest of the day walking until I couldn't think anymore. Then I watched "Team America" with all the German people in my hostel. It was sureal.

And now I'm on my way to London. I'll be living the good life with with my stepdad for the next few days. I heard that he'll be bringing me some clean trousers too. Apparently they don't approve of zip-off pants at the London theater. And I'm four days away from heading back into the developing world... I hope I'm ready. Wish me luck.