Disclaimer: apologies in advance for typos, etc. I decided not to bring my laptop so I’m on my phone for the next little while.
First Impressions of Ireland. ‘It’s as cold as a witch’s tit’ as my grandma used to say. Maybe its because we live in Valencia at 65 and 59 requires a coat, but it’s cold- oh so cold.
And ‘charming boutique hotel’ here mean a cavernous room with a puny heating system but unlimited hot water in the bath direct from a volcano. But like their penchant for driving on the other side of the road, when they indicate where hot and cold are on the tap – yeah, they’re lying. Its opposite.
I’ve just spent half of the evening in the shower under blessed steam. Then ran to bed in my newly purchased Isle of Aran knitted hat, Barbour quilted vest and gloves. I’ll be sleeping in this getup.
Jeff is in heaven. We had dinner in a local pub. The food was to die for. Braised beef with mash and veg. All local. He offered me his steak knife to cut it. I laughed. It was so tender I could have cut it with a soda straw.
‘You’re smiling’ I keenly observed.
‘Well yes. I understand what everyone is saying. Its effortless and the beer is better.’ He took another swig.
I was confused. ‘What are you talking about? I haven’t understood anything any of these people have said. Sure its English, in theory. But its arranged in ways that are curious and un-hearable.’
He laughed ‘Well. It doesn’t help that you’re ordering in Spanish and asked for ‘la cuenta’.
Its then I realised I’ve been trying to communicate with everyone here in Spanish. No wonder they have looked at me askance.
But it’s been the driving that will ensure that Jeff will be calling 1 800 Abogado when we get back. He’s driving on the other side of the road. And I’m the navigator. Only I’m actually directionally dyslexic. For real. I point right but yell, emphatically ‘left!’ But I really do mean ‘right’. And of course at that moment we’re at a wonderful round about. I know I’m in the wrong and he’s stressed but there is literally nothing I can do to fix it. I’m just hair-brained hardwired in the navigation department. The British Empire is not my friend.
Emilie is enroute. Tomorrow we will pick her up at Shannon airport. She’s sat in the back of the car while Jeff drove us on the other side of the road. Swearing like a long shoreman thru Scotland on her Adoption celebration trip when she was 6. So she’s now immune to her crazy parents. She texted me a little while ago from the airport in Lexington.
‘I’m so excited!😍😘’
I hope, after weeks of driving with us she still feels the same way. It will be interesting. Jeff speaking American, me speaking Spanglish, and Emilie with her newly acquired southern accent, I was surprised to hear the last time we spoke on the phone. We’re a motley crew but we’re family. That’s all that matters.