Irish Accents

I have recently become aware that I have a small, yet embarrassing problem. I seem to lack the ability to identify Irish accents. Luckily, it doesn't affect my daily life very much. Because I'm surrounded by Irish people, I usually don't have to ask them where they developed that exotic accent. I can just assume they're Irish... until they tell me otherwise. The trouble usually occurs when I'm watching movies or TV. I guess my brain just doesn't understand that there are Irish people outside the roles of cereal salesmen, priests, and pirates (arrghh-- that's Irish, right?). I just don't expect to see them outside of any of those situations, so I can't place them. Realizing that Keith was Irish probably went something like this (I say probably because I was too busy being embarrassed about how I had just accused him of thinking my name was Keith to remember any such conversation):

Keith: I just got off the plane from Ireland.

Me: Cool! Were you on vacation?

Keith: That's where I'm from... You can probably tell from my accent.

Me: Haha... whaaa? Ohhhh.

And now, here are a few examples of my reactions to Irish people in film.

Evanna Lynch as Luna Lovegood- "Why did they cast her? She doesn't even sound British!" When I saw an article about her in an Irish newspaper this summer I finally realized that she is not, in fact British.

Dylan Moran as that annoying guy from Shaun of the Dead-- "There is something very strange about the way he speaks." I recently saw him in a TV show where he was referred to as "the Irish guy," which explained a lot.

Chris O'Dowd as the cop/love interest in Bridesmaids-- "He has like a weird accent." I watched this movie with my friends while visiting Maryland a few weeks ago, so they had to inform me that he was Irish. Clearly, living in Ireland has not fixed this problem at all.

horsey people and their even horsier horses

I think everyone in Ireland either owns or aspires to own a horse. It's as if the entire country is populated by nine year old girls. I've never owned a horse. The closest I ever got were the days when I would pretend my bicycle was a horse. Her name was Starlight and I used to feed her grass by passing it through the handlebars. My sister took her to Chicago where she was stolen out of an apartment building. Chicago is no place for magical horse-bikes. Neither is Ireland. Ireland is a place for non-magical, actual horses.

Over the past few weeks I've spent more time than usual around horses. It's actually quite difficult to avoid horses in this country, especially when they are pulling carts along Wexford's dangerously narrow roads. Unfortunately, I'm not terribly interested in the animals, so I probably won't be able to share any fascinating information with you. I will, however, share a conversation demonstrating my continued ignorance to most things horsey.

Setting-- Over at Keith's cousins' house for dinner. The Doyle girls happen to train racehorses and we happen to be eating steaks.

Man: (to Keith's cousin, Christina) Champion steaks. . .

Me: (enthusiastically) Mmmm yes, delicious!

Man: *pause* are next weekend. Are you running any horses?

I realize he said "stakes" and go back to eating my steak, which was very good, but probably wouldn't have won any championship.

Despite lacking the skills to participate in dinner conversation, I did manage to do rather well at my first foray into gambling at the seedy local racetrack. One of the horses I bet on actually won and I must admit, it was rather thrilling. Again, I think any future winnings will be limited by my not caring about horses. The secret to my success? A combination of random selection and following Keith's advice ("pick one that's not pooping"). I also went to an eventing weekend in Tipperary a few weeks ago. The competition involves dressage, show jumping, and a cross-country race that involves horses jumping over massive fallen trees and other obstacles. I spent most of the day driving around on a four-wheeler, fretting about crossing paths with a thousand pound half-wit armed with metal shoes. The two key things I learned from the weekend:

1. It's really hard to get a good photo of a horse in mid-air.

2. Ireland's summer is actually a lot like Ireland's winter.

Now, enjoy some photos of horses two seconds after making an incredible jump.

Baz on Ball

I caught Baz playing one of his favorite games the other day. It's called "roll on the squeaky ball" and I don't really understand the rules.

Kissing

Growing up, whenever my family went to an event that involved distant relations and their friends, my younger sister would always ask the same question-- "Am I going to have to kiss them?" At the time I didn't quite understand her anxiety. Aside from ending up with the inevitable pink lipstick residue on my cheeks there really wasn't much to worry about. Hug, kiss, walk away, and chug some Shirley Temples. Pretty straightforward, right? Not always. Kissing is part of greeting rituals in Ireland too, but unfortunately I've come to share my sister's anxiety about it. Now kissing is all worry without the Shirley Temple reward. "Do I really have to kiss them?", I ask myself. The first reason for my distress is that I don't even really want to kiss acquaintances and strangers, at least not every time I see them. I wouldn't be writing this entry if I did. I have tried distracting people with a hug or a handshake, but they always swoop back in for the peck. I know they're expecting it too, so I give in because I don't want to seem cold. The second reason is lack of kissing protocol. Some people like to do both cheeks, some people do just one, some people switch back and forth depending on the occasion. As a result, I have no idea how many kisses I'm in for. The most awkward thing is when I expect two kisses, but they only want one, so now I'm the one leaning in for an unwanted smooch while my unfortunate victim tries to fend me off. Slightly less awkward is what happens when I'm not sure which side of the face to start of with. He goes left, I go right and then it happens-- we're locking lips, ugh. I'm already pretty awkward most of the time(see below) and I don't think this kissing thing is going to help with that.

Prehistory (8000 BC-400 AD)

Ireland was covered in glaciers up until about 15,000 years ago. As the ice melted and sea levels rose, the land bridge connecting it to Britain was flooded completely about 12,000 years ago. As a result, no new land mammal species have made their way into Ireland since that time without human assistance. Humans first arrived during the Mesolithic Era about 9,000 years ago. They were hunter-gatherers who left only small settlements, stone tools, and pottery in the archaeological record. Neolithic settlers brought farming to Ireland about 6,000 years ago. With their new agricultural lifestyle they brought cultural changes. These are the people who left iconic megalithic monuments scattered across Europe. Most, like Newgrange are tombs, but some are not. The function of tomb is most likely only half of what these monuments meant to the people of Neolithic Ireland. People spend their careers trying to guess at the significance and symbolism of stone circles, passage tombs, and dolmens; we have yet to receive confirmation from their creators. Our conclusions probably reveal more about our own culture than that of Neolithic farmers, but you can't deny the appeal of the ruin and you can't help but wonder. We revisit the prehistoric record because it is "good to think" as a famous anthropologist once said.

Newgrange, Neolithic passage tomb, Co. Meath.

Entrance to Newgrange. Note the carvings on the central stone. The opening above the doorway allows sunlight to illuminate the chamber inside on the morning of the Winter Solstice (weather permitting).

Poulnabrone Dolmen, Neolithic, Co. Clare. The remains of about thirty individuals and grave goods were interred here over a long period of time.

Browne's Hill Dolmen, Co. Carlow. The cap stone weighs over 1000 tons and is the largest in Europe. The site has never been excavated.

Uragh Stone Circle, Beara Peninsula, with Inchaquin Waterfall in the background.

Glebe Stone Circle, Cong. The largest and most complete stone circle I have seen so far; added bonus of grazing sheep.

Derreenataggart Stone Circle, Beara Peninsula.

The Paps of Anu, Co. Kerry. It's hard to see in the photo, but there is a cairn on each mountain tit, I mean top. I haven't seen too much info on this monument other than that Anu was an ancient fertility goddesss. This is one of my favorites because it shows how predictable people are-- think of the guys who named the Grand Tetons. I had seen these mountains in a book and was thrilled when we happened drive right past them on the highway.

Another dinner party?!

You know the old saying, "If you don't like the weather, wait 10 minutes"? I have decided to amend it for the Irish climate/mentality as follows, "If you don't like the weather, leave." Everyone who can afford it spends their summers in the south of France or Spain. I even had someone tell me that if I wanted a colder winter Scandinavia is an easy plane ride away. I do enjoy a bit of icy weather, but something about chasing it down seems just plain wrong. It's been raining, misting, or overcast for about the past two weeks by the way.

Even so, spring is definitely on itsway. I've seen hundreds of daffodils poking their way out of the mud, but despite brave attempts at outdoor frolicking, Keith and I have lately been housebound. So, we have dinner parties-- usually with Keith's friends and families. They have been pretty fun and stress-free for the most part. Keith does the main course and I'll usually do a side and dessert. I really wish I could show you some pictures of the amazing desserts I've made, but I always get too excited about serving them and cut them up before I can take any photos. Just picture a flourless chocolate cake, a blackberry and meringue roulade, a strawberry galette with basil whipped cream. I think I'll make apple pie next because the Irish have it ALL wrong. Aside from the clean-up involved, I'm glad I'm the one hosting the parties because it gives me an excuse to hide in the kitchen away from the guests, which as Colleen can attest to, is probably my favorite part of having people over. It might not go over well to try that out at someone else's home.

Non sequitur. The other day Keith and I have a picnic by a river and we saw this.

What do you think is wrong with this duck? Is it a glandular thing? Did a mallard breed with a goose?

Beaches

I have made a solemn vow that when the temperature reaches 60 degrees I will go for a swim. There are too many gorgeous beaches around here not to take the opportunity when it arises. I did actually see people swimming in Dublin in December and January, but the hypothermia song has convinced me that my doing so might be a bad idea. Aside from working on my golf swing (which Keith says looks more like a baseball swing), walking on the beach has been my main form of exercise. Yesterday Keith and I did 9 km at Curracloe Beach, which is where the opening scene of "Saving Private Ryan" was filmed. The beach itself reminded a bit of Cape Cod, although lacking the same sort of charm. Or maybe I was just feeling grumpy. The sun was shining, the sea was sparkling, racehorses were galloping in the sand, and Baz was frolicking in the waves. I mean, could it get any worse?

How about if we throw in an adorable baby seal? Keith and I were chatting and walking along when we saw Baz run up to investigate a shiny black trash bag, which promptly hissed and snarled at him. At this point we all realized out mistake; Baz kept his distance and Keith and I went for a closer look. Luckily mother was out hunting, so I got a decent photo out of the adventure. I think these little surprises are the best part of my trip here so far-- like when we met a distant cousin-in-law in a pub, or came across an ancient standing stone in a plowed field, or broke into a yew maze and got hopelessly lost. Not too shabby, I think.