Having some good, Irish craic

Here we are in the middle of February (non ci posso credere. where is time going?) and yet another horrible packing job is now under my belt.  I seriously thought that by this point in my travels... oh six months and six countries later... I would be a master packer.  

Audrey, Lauren, the rain, and the Irish Harp bridge

Clearly, I was mistaken. Packing for my trip to Ireland, this past weekend, was yet another immense struggle.  Poor, little, Vera carryall is mighty sick of my overpacking tendencies. Things I’m glad I packed? A raincoat.  People do not lie when they say that it rains in Ireland. It rains like a lot like.  

Nope, that extra “like” on the end of that last sentence was not a mistake.  In fact, it was placed there on purpose.  Did you know that, along with their lovely accents and priceless phrases, the Irish--for some godforsaken reason--add the word “like” to the end of phrases that certainly don’t necessitate a “like?”  I’m sitting there, anticipating a good, old simile... The roads were so slick because of the rain like.  Like what? Don’t go leaving me hangin‘ there, Irishfolk... like what?  

We spent the weekend with Lauren’s friend Laura, a Dubliner, and the perfect, stereotypical, ginger, Irish girl.  Unfortunately for her, she was stuck touring around a group of Americans who found her accent and choice-words to be unbelievably entertaining.  Among my favorites: 

*pickles = gherkins

*bathing suit = togs

*having fun = having some good craic. Because the word “craic” is pronounced “crack” this phrase became particularly confusing.  Here we are, imagining innocent Laura drugging with coke-out addicts somewhere in back alleys.

*tutoring = giving the grind. What?! People of Ireland, you do speak English, therefore you should understand how completely absurd this sounds. Laura had to leave us yesterday to give a boy a math grind. C’mon. That’s just wrong.  

Anyhow, we trekked all around Ireland with Laura on Saturday in her teeny, blue shoe of a car in which we were all wildly thrown-off by the fact that they drive on the wrong side of the road.  (This is also a bit dangerous for foolish, American pedestrians when it comes to crossing the street.  Fun fact: warnings are painted on the ground, telling walkers which way to look. Ridic.)  

We saw the ocean which was quite reminiscent of the waterfront towns near Boston.  Though the water looked particularly frigid... I mean, it’s February in Dublin, of course it’s cold...we watched an elderly man wade carelessly around in the bay for a few moments sporting only a speedo.  Yummy.  

The next morning, we made our journey cross-country in search of my friend Audrey who’s studying with Holy Cross in Galway.  She greeted us with homemade cookies.  Can she be any cuter? Lauren and I ate 85% of the plate.  Can we be any fatter? 

Later on, Audrey and Emily--yet another Crusader!--toted us around the quaint, coastal town for a hearty, Irish meal and a night on the town.  I ordered a shepherd’s pie (trying to be Irish, ya know?) and was not hungry for the rest of the trip.  Think that stopped me from eating? You’d be wrong if ya did.  

We spent the rest of our night studying Irish pub-life.  Oh don’t let my month of aimless European travels fool you, of course I’m studying...  We plopped ourselves at a table, directly in front of the live band, while analyzing the pure, drunken happiness that all Irish people seem to omit.  The Irish folk songs were great and when we left at the end of the night, we absolutely took a picture with the folk band.  When the sixty-five-year-old-guitarist told me that I could wear a pair of jeans, I knew it was time to leave...

The rest of the trip was spent driving deep into the countryside.  In reality, Laura drove and I slept essentially the entire time.  (Mom, can you say “return rides to Holy Cross?” Haha.) Put me in a moving car and I’m an instant goner.  We could be drive to the moon and back amidst a meteor shower and this girl wouldn’t stand a chance.  

However, I was awake long enough to note that Ireland is truly something else.  It’s beautiful in all of the ways that you would imagine it to be.  Dad, I now see where you developed your green-lawn obsession--Ireland is so unbelievably green. It’s really a fine aspiration for good, old 36 Chestnut. (One day...)  We passed a trillion wide, open fields, however, it never ceased to amaze me how truly breathtaking they are and how badly I want to adopt one of the black-faced, longhaired sheep!

Yup... that's how I feel about (Irish) beer. Ew.

In other news, the Polish side of the family will be happy to know that in today's Italian cooking class I learned to make cenci.  What's that? Only the Florentine equivalent of chrusciki, those out-of-this-world, fried, powder cookies. Nom!  I snagged about 27 of them before calling it a night.  I hope you guys are ready for a cenci-filled future because, secondo me, they will be invited to every forthcoming family event.


Countdown to Mom and Auntie Linda: 7 days Woo hooooo!