This is probably unlikely for anyone who has found their way to this blog, but if you do not know this already, I have recently moved to Ireland. Surprise! I'm doing a year of service here in the employ of my alma mater and will be living right in the center of Dublin from last Thursday until the end of next June. Since I am A) once again international and B) only abroad for a finite period of time, it seemed an appropriate choice to return to the blog I made when I studied abroad. Welcome and/or welcome back, then, to The Domerberry International!
Anyway, with that out of the way, let us commence with the first Ireland blog post: Lessons I've Learned In Five Days As an Irish Poser.
1. Driving in this country is absolutely, certifiably insane. Somehow, I've already ridden in about seven cars since arriving here. The first was a cab ride from the airport. I have no memory of it. Was I conscious? Was I even technically there? Unknown. The second car was a van that was shuttling people from one end of Trinity College to another. It was driven by two students who were blasting the radio, making jokes about our imaginary boyfriends when they should probably have been watching the road, flying around corners, hurtling down alleys about an inch wider than their van, and altogether endangering everyone's lives. This was, while a bit of an adventure primarily because the guys were hot, mostly terrifying. But they were young! They weren't on real streets! This insane style of driving isn't normal, is it?
WRONG. Every car I've been in since arriving here has produced nonstop insanity. You can legally pass cars on the highway in this country by simply waiting for them to slide onto the shoulder a little bit and sneaking past them while a car speeds toward you in the other lane. Nearly all cars here seem to have automatic transmission and nearly zero drivers seem to know how to operate them. Our bus driver for the two-hour drive back from Wexford wore headphones for the duration of the trip. He ran two red lights. Between Irish driving habits and my complete lack of driving ability, let us all thoroughly hope that I never end up behind the wheel of a car in this country, because no one will get out alive.
2. You can't buy alcohol after 10 PM. This is just a fact. Apparently. Learned this the hard way. Thanks, Ireland.
3. If you're pale enough, you can convince Irish people you are one of them. Tonight on my bus home, a pair of men in Stetson hats and a state of general confusion about the Euro stepped on and began to make a big ol' touristy ruckus. In case literally everything else about them failed to give it away, I noticed when they started talking to each other/everyone that they were American. Eventually, after listening for three stops to their spirited discussion with an Irish businessman about why Irish fellers don't wear hats, I spoke up and asked where they were from. To the surprise of no one, they said they were from Texas. I explained that I'd asked because I, too, am American, from Indiana. "Oh!" said the Irish businessman. "I'd have guessed you were Irish!" Just as I was celebrating my successfully European street style and independent city-girl-ing, he added, "...With your complexion." So, lesson learned, y'all. Irish people may laugh at Americans with 1/256th Irish ancestry referring to themselves as Irish, but if you've kept your fair Irish skin and you can keep your mouth shut, you can totally trick them into thinking you're legit.
4. "What's the craic" is actually one of the few conversation starters on Tinder that isn't off-color. I obviously had come across the word "craic" before deciding to move to Ireland for ten months. It means a lot of things, including but not limited to fun, food, possibly alcohol (?), and a whole bunch of other stuff, all of them harmless as far as I know. But I must say, I was still a bit thrown off when a match on Tinder started a conversation with me with simply, "What's the craic?" After all, this is the app that I myself have publicly called a hookup app. Turns out the guy literally just meant, "what's up." Go ahead, dude. Say "craic" again.
5. There is a British equivalent of the Jersey Shore on which the cast is somehow even less intelligible than its American counterparts, and there is an Irish cooking show literally called "Two Fat Ladies." In pretty much every other way, Irish TV is American TV. In case anyone was worried that my productivity would triple in Ireland since I couldn't watch SVU marathons for hours on end anymore, worry not - I totally still can.
Keep checking back for more on my adventures abroad 2.0!
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