Continuing thoughts from my trip to the Emerald Isle..
- My wife and I have never watched Game of Thrones. Yet, many of the sights we’ve seen and places we are going have been filmed or otherwise served as inspiration for the show. Many of these once relatively unheard of and serene places have become overrun by the Foreign Selfie Brigade. They are easy to spot pouring off of the large tourist busses in their “Winter is Coming” t-shirts. Therefore, instead of snorting and mumbling disparagements under our breaths at them, my wife and I have set a goal of joining in the fun by taking our selfie at as many of these places as we can. We thought it would be funny to do a blog post of Game of Thrones selfies having never seen the show with witty captions like “we have no idea what scene or season this is but we asked some random American and they told us something about a shadow lord and some chick’s dragons so here we are in front of these caves”.
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I was able to see Scotland only 12 miles across the sea from where I stood today (it is in the background of the picture of Beatrix at the tip of the post). It then becomes obvious how the two places are so connected by culture and language and family and song. They might as well be neighbors.
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The Irish believe in meat. Not with the zeal and fervor that Spanish believe in it. More like the Methodist believe in God, with a quiet steadfastness of purpose towards what’s right. Meat, to the Irish, is what’s right. It makes breads more right. It makes the humble potato more proper. It adds glory to the plate it rests on. Just as one can find God in everything, so it is with meat in Ireland. Vegetarians here might well be considered atheists. The Irish know they must exist but they are unsure how one could be so lost. They may throw an option for them on the menu in case one might darken their doorway. A curry, perhaps, they’ll think. Perhaps they may offer them some chips and a salad. But, that’s all they have to do to consider themselves in godly treatment of even the lowest sinner. Bacon, if snuck into said salad, might one day finally convert them after all.
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If you are not of these lands, and love music, find a cafe to sit in, remain quiet, and just listen to the conversations around you. The Irish accent is the most musical of sounds. It’s like the chattering of angels.
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Even the rain here, thus far, has been gentle and sweet. Never harsh. Like a soft wet kiss from mother nature.
Now to the pub for a nice dinner and some whiskey.