I was staying with the family of a boy that I had met in a pub in Germany. The night we met, he drunkenly offered an invitation to Ireland, and I drunkenly accepted. Days later, tickets were bought and by New Years eve, I was banging pots and pans in the streets of Arklow, "chasing away the faeries." The memories of that trip have been fogged over by alcohol, but the most important facts remain.
1) Small town living is creepy, though novel if you're a visitor. I stayed in an offbeat village called Arklow, where everyone knew everyone and who everyone knew. My first night was spent in a pub and moments after my arrival, a man drunkenly swaggered past my booth, stared obtrusively, pointed directly at my face and slurred, "HEEEEEeeyeyyyeeey," which I assumed to directly translate as, "Well good gracious, you're new in these parts, aren't you?" By the end of the night, he had written me a poem and the entire pub had introduced themselves to me. I'm pretty sure I didn't pay for any beer either.
2) The Irish breakfast - generally comprised of Irish sausage, Irish bacon, black pudding, white pudding, eggs, tomatoes, potatoes, Irish beans, Irish butter and Dubliner cheese - is somehow disgusting when sober, and yet has miraculous healing powers when hung over.
3) And lastly, Guinness is the most delicious beer ever invented, and nothing other than what streams forth from the frothy nozzle of an Irish keg will ever do it justice. The chilled glass pints, the bubbly foam head, the shot of raspberry currant and the sounds of two-dozen drunk Irish patrons will make that first sip forever memorable. It helps if there's someone in the background playing a fiddle, and when you're in Ireland, there's usually someone in the background playing a fiddle.
Though I'm not celebrating St. Patrick's Day this year, I hope every one else is having a grand time. For now, I'll just have to revisit the Irish on my own.
Me, Guinness, Ireland; December 2009.
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