Tell me what you’re seeing…

One of the best parts about taking another person along on well-traveled routes is that you get to see your familiar world through the lens of a completely different configuration. What one person picks up on and deems to be interesting is distinctly different from that of the person standing to his or her right. I won’t go into detail about how you can see the same old world through new eyes, but I would like to offer up this blog entry as a bit of host/guest commentary in order to illustrate my point.

I just took a trip with a friend of mine, and on our return flight we both jotted down some musings that captured a bit of our take of the week in Ireland. I promised her that I would put up our contributions here, side by side, both for posterity as well as comparison on how we looked at the same world (note: one of us is a bit of a heavy tipper in terms of word economy, while the other one doesn’t keep a blog):

Entry One:

Who’s to say where the wind will take you,
Who’s to say what it is will break you,
I don’t know where the wind will blow
Who’s to know when the time has come around,
Don’t want to see you cry
I know that this is not goodbye
-U2 “Kite”

The out-processing that is airport transition momentarily takes your mind off the reason for your being there in the first place. Near obsessive compulsive checking of TicketsPassportsBelongings that is punctuated by DisplayDisrobeDelouse at the x-ray before you recommence with your TicketsPassportsBelongings localization mania. The entire system makes it almost impossible for anyone’s mind to wander farther than how to get past the next obstacle in the air travel course of champions.

It didn’t hit me until I was inside the Dublin airport’s duty free atrium. I was passing by the men’s toiletry section of a pharmacy when I was suddenly struck by the realization that it was all over. The previous day’s evening and adjoining morning had been filled with so much righteous energy, so much joy, chaos and theater that I had no opportunity to reflect on the fact that I’d be detaching once again from this place. Now, standing here in a shop where I would purchase nothing, I registered the location of the Durex display as my heart caught a snag and I felt tears coming to my eyes. Move beyond the Durex, I thought to myself, before someone starts to get the wrong idea.

I hesitate to say anything further of my travels out to this corner of this fringe of Europe. Any poetic waxing sounds boorishly clichéd and I, as a Yank, can only plead guilty as charged to such an accusation. The mere fact that I am able to return again and again is a gift, and it is no small thing to note that I cherish the ties that I keep with this country’s distinct collection of sensibilities.

I value the friends whose contact I have upheld- and that has nothing to do with the fact that they somehow provide me with an anchor on this soil to which I stay tethered. I love all of them because they are hold value in preserving my fundamental constitution: creative, selfless, loving and disorganized to a refreshing fault- these are some of the qualities that I look for in friendship. It is by investing your time with those who give you positive energy that you yourself are able to become a better person. That’s on reason why I love Ireland.

The sleepwalk down the jet bride where your ticket has been scanned misleads you into believing that you are immune to any further “Papers, please” check-in process. But we are going back to America- land of Homeland Security and every passenger will be vetted down to their knickers- so of course the jet bridge has one last team of officials. Thoughts about leaving Ireland are once again trumped by the Goddamnit-Another-Passport-Check evolution that leaves me rifling through my handbag for my improperly-stowed documentation. In this capacity, reality won’t slap me in the face until I am on board and the aircraft’s public address system barks at me in a flat and decidedly non-musical Yank accent.  Kinda like my own. While this sudden shifting of environment initially disquiets my mind, I find that I can willingly convert the twinge in my heart into a sentiment of pure joy.

The joy that supplants my bittersweet emotion over leaving always manages to kick in because deep down I know that not nearly enough people are so fortunate as to experience this sort of numinous experience. I’m a lucky bastard indeed- one who will be back in the not too distant future. And that most of all is why I love Ireland: it’s always right there where and when I need it to be.

Entry Two:

And now for some refreshment…

Sishkebab

Why I liked Ireland:

• The Irish language makes no sense. Peregrine tells me that uisce beatha means ‘water of life’, but it just sounds like sishkebab, and I like grilled meat.
• The toddler of our friends poured juice on me, put half-chewed sausage (banger?) in my mouth and yelled a lot- and I thought all of this was funny. Normally that would piss me off. So Ireland has to be a great place because I don’t think I was annoyed once during the entire trip. I’m usually annoyed all the time.
• It was cold. I’d rather be cold than hot.
• The football is always winning in Ireland [Sorry to you non-military types who won’t get this reference- I taught my travel companion the ole “Monkey vs. Football” phrase- and yes I am a crass girl for doing this.]