A man laid out flat on his back on Grafton Street; a crowd gathered round as an ambulance screamed towards the scene.
Elsewhere, in between Ranelagh Road and Rathmines, a truck zoomed through a fat puddle and aggressively splashed a girl on the sidewalk, completely soaking her left side. She screamed in outrage like a child.
… the stinging wind and rain blow so hard that sticking out of a trash bin on Adelaide Road are the remains of a black umbrella – twisted and bent like a mangled bat wing.
Acclimating to a new country is so different this time around, thanks in enormous part to the fact that I speak the official language. As such, I’m able to pick up things about Irish culture simply by listening and looking. It’s learning at its lazy finest. Here, some tidbits I’ve picked up over the past two months:
POLITICS
- The political leaders of Ireland are the Taoiseach and the President. The President in Ireland is the head of state, similar to the British monarchs. The Taoiseach – literally translated to “Chieftan” or “Leader” – functions as a Prime Minister and is the head of the ruling party. The former Taoiseach was Bertie Ahern – father of best selling chick lit novelist Cecelia Ahern. The current Taoiseach is Brian Cowen.
- Brian Cowen looks like this:
- There are several political parties in Ireland, two of which are Fianna Fáil and Sinn Fein. Sinn Fein is associated with old school IRA Republicans. Fianna Fáil was started by Éamon de Valera.
- Éamon de Valera was born in New York, not Ireland.
- It’s all about 1916.
GEOGRAPHY
- Western Ireland and the Isles are where the fairies are.
- Waterford is where the crystal is
- Southern Ireland is where Cork is
- Cork is where Murphy’s comes from
- Dublin is where Guinness and writers come from
- All of Ireland is where the craic is
EDUCATION
- The core subjects in any school are Irish, English, Maths.
- Kids learn Irish as a Second Language from Junior Infants (age 5) to the end of Secondary school. Few retain much after they graduate, unless they have a special interest or have spent time in a gaeltacht.
- A gaeltacht is a part of Ireland where a good percentage of the population speak Irish as a First Language. Many city kids are sent there to attend Irish camps.
- An bhfuil cead agam dul go dtí an leithras?
- Nil = It isn’t.
- Sea = It is.
- When speaking English, Irish people often say “I will/It is/I do” or “I won’t/It isn’t/I don’t” instead of “yes” or “no” because there aren’t equivalents to “yes” and “no” in the Irish language. Many grammatical structures and idioms in Irish-English evolved from the Irish language.
HOUSEHOLD
- Mums, wash your dishes with Fairy washing up liquid and feed your kids Flora butter spread - it’s good for the heart.
- Want some new clothes but the Recession’s got you down? Head to Penney’s or Dunnes! Ballet flats from 6 euro.
- Still have loads of cash to spend? Enjoy a trip to Brown Thomas.
- Have a headache? Take some Paracetamol. Feel a flu coming on? Drink some soothing hot Lemsip. Heartburn? Chew a disgusting Rennie.
- Remember, everyone: buy Irish.
POP CULTURE
- Craig Doyle is hot.
- TG4 is the all-Irish channel.
- Sponge Bob dubbed in Irish is amazing.
- Isn’t it great that John and Edward are taking the mickey out of that Brit show?
- Ah, but Simon Cowell can moan and cry all he wants; he knows they bring in ratings.
- Dylan Moran is a genius.
- Dara O’Briain is gas.
- Tommy Tiernan used to be gas but has lost the pot completely.
RELIGION
- There are such things are Catholic Atheists.
- Irish kids get hundreds of Euro when they get Confirmed.
- We’re living in a “Post-Christian world” but, by god, are we going to eat the heck out of some roasted turkey and fruitcake this Christmas.
So there we were at Malahide Castle; ancestral home of the Talbot family. Photography of the fantastical centuries-old furnishings and portraits are strictly forbidden so when we left the castle interior, I sprang like a cat to snap anything I could. While photographing the arched gate-cum-portculis (complete with a mini door for the Puck, the castle ghost, to pass through), I heard a roar:
“Take a picture of me!”
I moved my eye from the viewfinder and saw a little boy clad in a green sweatshirt. A quick glance around the castle walls showed that he and I were alone.
“Come on!” he cried, pulling himself up onto a stone ledge, his arms crooked like a prize fighter’s.
“Okay.” I stood back to include as much of the castle turret as I could into the frame.
“Wait. Annie!” At his call, a little girl scampered onto the wall from behind a topiary shrub. “Come on, then!” A third child – older, wearing a red sports jersey – dived into the shot.
“Okay, guys. One, two, three.”
The children grinned and the flash went off. They congratulated each other heartily and scrambled off the wall, preparing to vault into the walking trails, I assume, to find their parents.
“Thank you!” said the boy in the green sweater as they dashed past me. Had I really done him a favor? I wondered if it had occurred to him that he’d never get to see the picture.
I remembered a solitary trip I took to Rome 4 years ago. My mission: to duplicate a photo of my 9 year-old self standing in front of La Bocca Della Verita. At the site, my camera battery conveniently died but a kind Spanish couple took a photo of me with their own camera. We exchanged e-mail addresses and within a couple of weeks, they sent me the shot. It, and the old picture that inspired it, are still two of my favorites.
It’s too bad that those kids won’t get to enjoy the picture taken of them in front of Malahide Castle that day – although I’m sure their parents took plenty and that my shot, taken at dusk, will be much worse than the ones in their parents’ collection. Nonetheless, I’m sure they’d like to see it. I haven’t got their e-mail address and I somehow doubt they’re avid expat blog readers, but just in case:
After all, stranger things have happened.
In these days of economic crisis, I see signs like this in all the shops. Buy Me, I’m Irish. Irish grown. Support Irish industries. P.S. – We’re Irish. Hey, Mr. Cowen!, emblazoned on a Burger King Recession Special bus stop ad. Some of the stores even list Irish-made products separately on receipts so buyers can see how much money they’ve contributed to the national economy.
When I see signs like this, I’m torn. I want to help Ireland’s economy, I do. But is it even more important for me to buy American while living abroad? If the global economy weren’t suffering, I’d obviously go for only Irish products in the spirit of delicious acclimation to my new environment. But things are different now. Surely I should go for the Pringles, not the Taytos. The Sam Adams, not the Murphy’s. As an American, it must be my duty.
But the products are priced higher than they are back home. And they’re in Euro to boot.
Help me, Uncle Sam. I don’t know what to do.
Maybe I’ll just let Sean do the grocery shopping from now on.
Sean’s mother: Bring some of the chocolate cake on the train with you. It’s a long ride back up to Dublin.
Liv: Oh, I’m fine. Thank you!
Sean’s mother: Ah, go on, sure.
Sean: Yeah, go on. Bring some cake witcha.
Sean’s brother: Do you want some cards to bring with you on the trip?
Liv: Oh, I don’t know. Do carrots really go with cake?
*
Shopkeeper: Are you all right, there?
Liv: Yeah, I’m fine. Why?
*
Sean to his mother on the phone: Grand, grand. Liv’s grand, too, but she’s just after giving out to me.
Liv: Oh my god! What! What! What? What are you telling your mom?
Sean: Settle down, will ya? I’m after telling her how you yelled at me for not taking out the rubbish.
*
Sean: Well, what did you think of my friend, Bill?
Liv: He was nice.
Sean: You didn’t understand a word he was saying, did you? That’s a real Cork accent he has there, b’hoy.
Liv: Not … a … word.
At the Dublin Crafts Fair
It’s November 1st and my friends back home have commenced the usual Nov. 1 activity: posting Halloween pictures from the night before on Facebook. I’m seeing the traditional slutty nuns, 80s cartoon characters, and props-as-concepts. My friends ask me: “What did you do for Halloween? Do they even celebrate it in Ireland or is it just an American thing?” Little do they know that some of Halloween’s roots are, in fact, in Ireland – planted long before the holiday became co-opted by Christianity and Hollywood.
In the world of the Celts, the festival of Samhain – “summer’s end” – was held from October 31 to November 1st; signifying the end of the lighter half of the year and the beginning of the darker half. The veil between the spirit world and the mortal world was believed to become thin, allowing spirits to mingle among the living. Scholars believe that the practice of wearing ghoulish masks and costumes developed as a means of protection to confuse evil spirits. Bonfires were lit as part of cleansing rituals and large turnips were hollowed out, carved with faces and placed on windowsills to commemorate the souls in purgatory. Over time, when the Catholic and Pagan traditions mingled in Europe, Samhain became associated with All Saints Day, celebrated on Nov. 1st. The term Halloween, once All Hallows’ E’en, comes from Old English.
Here in Dublin in 2009, there are no bonfires on Halloween. There are, however, fireworks. They popped all afternoon and early evening long, their sparkles fanning out like peacock tails over the Canal as a parade of costumed Dubliners trekked to and from “fancy dress” Halloween pub parties. Sean and I headed down to one of the quieter bars in our neighborhood to attend one ourselves: I was Holly Golightly, he was Albert Einstein. Typical elements of Hollywood Halloween were strewn across the bar – pumpkin jack-o-lanterns, spiderwebs, and gravestones. A skeleton poured Guinness while the DJ spun Lady Gaga. Costumes observed: a walking bottle of Jagermeister, slutty Little Red Riding Hood, slutty Snow White, slutty Dorothy, a scarecrow, two Teletubbies, a biohazard official, a Roman orator, the Pope, Cleopatra, a Werewolf, a slutty Werewolf, Medusa, a policeman.
Cultural reference alert: when a trio of men wearing nubby Aran sweaters and paddy caps trooped past, Sean snorted in distaste.
“Dubs,” he sneered. “They would think farmer clothes are a Halloween costume. My mum wears Aran sweaters. Eejits.”
When asked about the Halloweens of his childhood, Sean remembers bobbing for apples, eating apples hung from the ceiling on a string, and enjoying barmbracks – Irish Halloween cakes. Barmbracks are light fruit cakes with special treats baked inside. If you find a ring, you’re going to find love. If you find the coin, you’re going to be rich. If you find the peanut, you’re going to be poor. Sean says he collected all of the lucky charms in his childhood. It would be hard not to, he says. You eat the cake so many times.
… the houses look like this:
‘Tis grand, you know what I mean, like?
