“Are you a horny person?” A Southern Girl’s Experience in Ireland

This past weekend I took the opportunity to visit my good high school friend, Blondie, in western Ireland where she is student teaching this semester. The adventure started on Thursday morning when another friend from London and I boarded a Ryanair flight from London to the Shannon airport. The weekend was jam packed with shocking, surprising and hilarious experiences. However, I'll try to share only the best with you. The Irish people are by far some of the friendliest people I have ever met. Being from the southern United States I experienced major culture shock when I realized Londoners don't talk to strangers. I often miss the random conversation with someone while standing in the line at the grocery store; but the Irish are the opposite and the change was quite pleasant. The first night we spent in Limerick in a wonderful four star hotel, located within walking distance of the city center, where we had received a very great deal (hint - allowing us to stay within our student budget). Being it was St. Paddy's day we decide to follow Irish tradition and have a pint. The first bar we entered we could have heard a needle drop when we walked in (it is very much a local bar and we very obviously were not locals). We turned around, without getting a pint, and tripped on a few baby strollers on our way out the door. The second bar didn't serve food (something we all wanted desperately) and looked a little like it had an "underage" crowd, but the third pub was the charm! We probably would have missed it since it was hidden down a little side alley if the Irish music hadn't been spilling into the street luring us in. Inside the room was small and dimly lit but was the definition of what I always pictured as an Irish pub. All the tables were taken so we decided to gather in a back corner and wait. The first men to offer us the seats were probably old enough to be our grandfathers (however, we had the feeling they'd rather be our lovers). Sweet as it was, we didn't realize when we accepted the table that they would be joining us for the pint. Between the music and their slurred Irish accent (from old age, lack of teeth and far too much Guinness no doubt) the whole scene was rather comical. Somewhere between "please take our seat, I can't stand to leave a pretty lady standing" to "I'm a professional, can I take your picture" (with their point and shoot camera) to "can I have your email? I'll send you the pictures" we decided it was time to go. Giggling we walked around exploring Limerick before deciding it was safe to go back - thankfully they were gone. When we walked back in it was clear that everyone else in the bar knew that we were the American girls who had sat at the old men's table. I’ve had friends tell me that St. Pat’s in Ireland is not as big of a deal we make it in the States, but I must say I was not disappointed in the least. It was everything I expected and much more. Now I’ve mentioned before that the London weather and my immune system don’t really get along and before this weekend the spring blooms had already set my allergies on full alert. Over the course of the weekend my symptoms worsened and between my spring cough and talking over Irish tunes I have completely lost my voice. Friday morning we took a bus to Listowel, my high school friend’s current “home” location. Listowel is one of the most pleasant places I have ever been. It’s quaint, bustling but quiet, surrounded by gorgeous landscapes, and decorated with bright colorful houses and shops.

Blondie has a lovely one bedroom flat in the city center and during her time she has become friends with the employees of the local bar across the street. She took us over to meet them on Friday evening. Over the course of the evening we found many of the (again) older local men chatting us up. And all of them had the cure for my struggling voice. My favorite advice came from a man with a thick Irish accent. He told us the same two stories (around 20 times) about when he’d been ill and the home remedies which worked for him. When the hot whiskey and honey he’d bought me didn’t do the trick on the spot he suggested I go to the local health food store and buy some honey. He insisted that the honey was made by “turbo bees” and that the bee farmers must give them extra “turbo” vitamins (when I questioned what turbo vitamins were he exclaimed “well I don’t know but they work!”) because they were the miracle drug. He caught me off guard when he paused and asked very seriously, “Are you a horny person?” My face displayed total shock for a good five seconds when the bartender said, “honey” and we all burst into fits of laughter. The difference in accent proved to be comical more than once. Saturday we made our way back to Limerick for the night to be closer to the airport for our flight the next day. We weren’t as lucky to stay at the same place as before but found the budget hotel clean, comfortable and a good distance outside of the city center. I should pause here to explain Limerick doesn’t have the best reputation of Irish cities and is often referred to as a place a little rough around the edges. The teachers had warned Blondie and we were being careful but had had no problems so far. We decided to brave the less than reliable bus system (I feel so blessed to live in London where transport is so readably available, even if I curse it on many occasions). When the bus was 10 minutes late we should have given up and hailed a taxi, but determination had set in and we were patiently waiting when a car of teenage boys pulled up to the bus stop. They rolled down the window but said nothing. We heard a pop and they stared shocked at us before speeding off. It took us a moment to process what had happened and notice the smashed egg on Blondie’s leg. Now most people would be furious at the situation (and maybe it was lack of good sleep we had suffered over the last couple of days or the complete irony in the situation) but we just began to laugh and couldn’t stop. We kept replaying the occurrence – the boys’ shocked (maybe even disappointed) faces and our lack of reaction until after they’d gone were too much. We were walking to the nearest gas station to clean up the mess when the bus showed up (figures)! However, the evening was far from ruined and we sucked up our pride and decided to ask the gas station attendant to call a taxi instead. Dinner more than made up for the “bad eggs” (and yes, that is a pun). We chose a lovely little sit down restaurant with a very pleasant and attentive waiter who served us a chicken salad bread cracker hors d'oeuvres (compliments of the chef), homemade bread with homemade tomato butter, potato leek soup and a side house salad with balsamic vinegar dressing (extra for me; the waiter seemed to giggle every time I mentioned this request). And for dessert we decided to share, with his recommendation, carrot cake and thoroughly enjoyed wiping the plate completely clean. One more taxi ride back to the hotel, a good night’s sleep and a perfect end to a great weekend full of memories with good friends to last a lifetime.

#Travel #StPattys #Ireland #Limerick