Singing in the Rain

We finally made it to the land of civilization.  Yes, Ireland.  I think that's what most people call it at least.  Poor Ireland has it rough right now; it's May and feels like winter, the economy is in the shitter, unemployment is at an all time high and booze has become so expensive that the legendary Irish pub culture is dying.  So for me it's been the happiest place on earth.  I've had a permanent grin on my face and an irresistible urge to jig since landing here for many reasons which include, but are not limited to, the following:

1.  English!
     1 a.  English with an Irish accent (hubba hubba)
2.  The stereotypes are false, the Irish are WAY friendlier than that
3.  No one has attempted to squeeze my arms...yet
4.  Whiskey 
5.  Puppies!

Well, the family we are staying with happens to have a new puppy at least.  This really compliments my new lifestyle of spending rainy days inside, reading all day and drinking endless cups of coffee while snuggling with a puppy.  Our timing for descending on the unsuspecting family couldn't have been better, just in time for the cute puppy months without the obligation of potty training them.  We are staying with Kelly's family friends who coincidentally are the nicest people in the entire world.  And I'm not just saying that because I'm fresh off the boat from third world Madagascar.  Though the fact that they have hot showers may be part of the reason that we are now lifetime friends.

Actually, most of the people we've encountered in Ireland are extremely friendly and more helpful than a room full of crossing guards.  The buses being one of the best parts of this city.  The drivers will sit there for five minutes discussing the best way to get downtown and then suggest a couple of places to get lunch, the cheapest haircut and your taxes done.  The other passengers don't even seem to mind that the driver has held up the bus and sometimes even step in to make additional recommendations and then to invite you over for dinner later.  In addition, the male bus patrons jump at the opportunity to give up their seat to anyone over the age of 15 and I haven't seen a single chicken attempting to take public transportation yet.

Only once have I even come close to being offended since being here.  After a night at the pubs, a young gentleman told me that I dressed like a hobo (his words, not mine).  First off, I am a hobo and do, in fact, dress the part.  This is what happens when you are living out of a backpack for a year and haven't been able to do laundry in over a month.  Secondly, he somehow still made it sound like a quasi-compliment (I will admit here that I am a shameless sucker for an Irish accent, but even then the insult was delivered with such a kind smile that you would have never considered the comment hostile).  Thirdly, he was drunk and clearly couldn't see just how well I was pulling off that smelly pair of leggings and sweat stained tank top.  Plus, once I explained to him that I was indeed a hobo and had only just arrived after spending the last five weeks in Africa, he conceded that I was at least a pretty hobo and then offered to show us around the city this week.  God bless the Irish.