The great guys at OIP who run this blog sent us all an e-mail asking us to write about a traditional meal in the country where we’re studying. I didn’t go out of my way to have this traditional meal. In fact, for a while after I wished it hadn’t happened at all. I can stand up without feeling stiffness in my legs now. And what was miserable has turned into a funny memory.
Committed to getting out, making friends, seeing things, being awesome, a friend of mine and I decided to join Trinity’s International Student Society on a hill walk in the Dublin Mountains. Hill walk. That sounds nice. Rolling green hills. Nice view of Dublin. Some fresh air.
Oh no, friends.
On that Saturday Ireland fulfilled its promise: it rained. This wasn’t the first time it rained since I got here. But what I’d experienced was a light powder for a few minutes. Inconvenient but manageable. On this day I found myself in a traditional Irish rain shower. And I found myself outside. Murphy’s law, etc.
We were sopping wet before we even started the trail, walking from the bus stop to the park. I kept waiting for our guides to give up and turn around. But they were determined. Being outdoorsy in Ireland means being wet. It was explained to me later by a born and bred Dubliner that being outdoorsy in Ireland isn’t very Irish. Or at least, Dublinish.
So we began our upward walk, umbrellas first. Mine performed admirably, turning inside out only right at the end with a final gust of wind. Reaching the top was anti-climactic. The vista of Dublin we expected to see before us was completely covered in cloud. A couple of French kids agreed they wanted to kill themselves. We headed back down.
Arriving at the pub (finally, ‘around the corner’ doesn’t mean anything in this country) I got a pint of Guinness, sat down, and gulped. After four hours of rainy inclines, it had never tasted so good. Traditional meal: tick.
