The first was my tour guide to the Aran Islands and the Cliffs of Moher. He not only did an incredible job at driving a huge tour bus full of people down some wickedly narrow and wild roads, but he also had this gift of involving the entire bus full of international travelers in the tour together. His humor was also hilarious. I managed to capture one of these many moments.
While I found him incredibly charming, he wasn’t the only Irishman with a sense of humor. They ALL seem to have it. Maybe that's why some of my favorite comedians are Irish (like Ed Byrne, Dylan Moran, and Dara Ó Briain). I honestly can’t wait to return to Ireland and laugh my way through some hysterical conversations. If more people were like the Irish, I'd consider being an extravert and actually enjoy talking to strangers.
The other person was the owner of the AirBnB where I stayed in Galway. I had only been in touch with him via email, but I could tell he was hyper-organized to ensure everything was all set for a smooth visit. For example, everything was labeled, including the fridge drawers for each room and how to operate the shower. The self check-in was easy and secure, and there was a book in my room with instructions and helpful suggestions on what to see while in Galway. If your MBTI is an XXXJ (I’m an INFJ myself), you’d absolutely love this place.
It wasn’t until my last day that I finally ran into Paddy and his sister, who both knew exactly who I was because they mentioned I was always gone by the time they arrived at the house.
“Oh yes, I’ve been on tours every day that start at 9am and don’t end until after 5pm,” I said as Paddy gave me a hearty handshake.
“What are you doing today?” he asked as his sister took a seat in the living room.
“Not as much today. My bus to Limerick leaves in the late afternoon so I figured I’d just walk around.”
“You can leave your luggage here. And if you come back early, go ahead and make yourself some tea or coffee,” his sister told me kindly before she started leafing through some literature.
“If yeh can. Tell me, what do you think of this coffee machine?” He asked skeptically.
“Oh,” I said, taken off-guard. I did detest that machine because it did not provide nearly the amount or quality of coffee I was used to, but I did not want to be impolite. “I actually couldn’t figure out how to work it because only a little bit came out.”
“It’s shite,” he said in a correcting manner that made me laugh because it indicated he already knew my opinion on the matter. “Absolute shite. And expensive. D’you knoh how much each cahrtridge costs? 2 Euros! Might as well buy the coffee yehself. I’m set to buy a new one that works.”
I was intrigued by his line of thinking because I also pay close attention to the Keurig cartridges we use at home in Boston. I always buy them on sale so each pod costs under 50c in USD, so 2 euros seemed astronomical (and a scam) in my opinion. I shared this tidbit with him and he was pleased to know he wasn’t the only one who monitors unit prices for coffee pods. That said, he continued to chastise the coffee machine, so I grabbed myself a bowl for my cereal and placed it on the table.
“Which cereal is your favorite?” he asked.
“Hands down the one with the nuts and dried fruit. I need a bit of extra energy for all the walking I do.”
“That’s my favorite as well.” At first I was a bit wary that I’d be stuck in a small-talk chit-chat loop, but he immediately followed up with another question that engaged me, “Have you enjoyed your stay so far?”
“Definitely! It’s been one of the best trips of my life. I’ve enjoyed it so much!” I said, unable to contain my excitement and awe for Ireland.
“Which tour’s been your favorite so far?”
“Definitely the Aran Islands and Cliffs of Moher tour. I also enjoyed Kylemore Abbey where I ended up buying WAY too many souvenirs, including a poncho made of Aran Island wool for 99 euros.”
He laughed and agreed that those woolen items are expensive but that they were also worth the cost due to the quality. “Is this your first time in Ireland then?”
“Yes and no. My first time was technically with my husband when we had an 8-hour layover in Dublin 5 years ago and we explored Dublin Castle, but this is my first proper time exploring Ireland.”
“Well, happy to have you here. Where did you fly in from?”
“I live in Boston.”
“Lots of Irish there. Do you not have any Irish in yeh?”
“Yeah, I do, on my mom’s side of the family. Something like 25% according to 23andme.”
“Oh, what’s the name?”
“Oh, it’s not a popular name. I’ve looked around in the shops to see if I could find it on the souvenir items, but it’s never there,” I said a little sadly.
“All the same, what’s the name?”
“It’s Synnott…?” I said more as a question than a statement because I was doubtful he would have ever heard that name before. After all, my experience told me there weren't many of us.
However, to my surprise he answered, “That’s County Wexford, loads of Synnott downs there.”
“YES! Oh wow, that’s right!” I exclaimed with delight. In hindsight I hope I didn’t appear patronizing to him by saying it that way. Of course he would be right, but for me, I was so excited that he was correct because it meant that the Synnott family was well-known enough in Ireland for this man in Galway to know about it on the opposite coast of the country. To me, it was validation that my family's name is Irish enough.
“Indeed! Unfortunately, or fortunately, I’m staying in this area. My next stop is Limerick today.”
I had been so distracted by my discussion with Paddy that I had forgotten to continue making my breakfast. I started pouring the cereal into my bowl and headed to the refrigerator for the milk. Paddy sat down in the seat opposite mine.
“So has your family always been up in the northern part of America?” he asked.
“No, actually, my forefather, Patrick Synnott from Wexford, settled in the south. He started off in South Carolina and eventually we all ended up in Texas. I’m kind of the first one to settle up north,” I said as I finished pouring my milk into my cereal.
“Which side was the winning side in your Civil War?”
“The north, so it turns out my family was on the losing side.”
“Ah, well, we also had our own civil war,” he replied.
It was in this moment that I really wanted to engage him on his thoughts about Ireland’s deep divisions and sore politics. I had generally avoided the topic thus far because I know it’s such an inflammatory topic if you ask the wrong people, but he seemed good-natured enough for me to take that risk. “I’ve read a little about it and all the other struggles Ireland’s had. That said, I’m still woefully deficient in Irish history.”
And then I was interrupted by Paddy’s phone ringing. He apologized for having to take the call, but it did give me a few minutes to sit down and start eating my cereal before it had a chance to get soggy. As I ate I couldn’t help but listen to Paddy’s conversation. Based on the tone and words like “condolences” and “service time,” I gathered that he would be attending a funeral later that day. As he hung up he cracked a joke, “Funerals are a pastime in Ireland. Even if we don’t know the deceased, if we know any of their family members, we just go. Doesn’t matter what religion. Catholic, Protestant, we all go to pay our respects.”
“Oh, well, I mean, they fought to keep slavery, whereas the north fought to end it,” I replied.
“Did they own any slaves?” he asked mildly curiously.
“I’m not entirely sure. Some oral accounts I’ve found online are of Patrick’s progeny asking why Patrick’s son fought in the civil war when they didn’t have slaves to begin with. But for me, they still fought for a side that sought to perpetuate a dark and ugly time of human history,” I replied, uneasy.
And then Paddy said something that has stayed with me ever since: “That’s just the way it was. People fought on the side of wherever they lived.”
It’s a truth I had completely forgotten. He had said it in terms of the Irish Civil War that he was more familiar with, but it was absolutely true about the American Civil War as well. Since that morning in Galway, I have been reminded twice of Paddy’s conversation with me. It’s not always pleasant learning about your family history. People are not perfect and when you dig hard enough, their imperfections appear like cracks in an old painting, revealing layers of complexity and shades of humanity that challenge the idealized images we often hold dear.
Despite the turn of our conversation into a more philosophical angle, Paddy's warmth never left. Like the tour guide I had, Paddy was welcoming and made me feel like I was included in his inner group. I've never experienced such an ease with another culture before. I could chalk this up to some long-lost gene finally expressing itself after being dormant my entire life, but I have a feeling it's more that Ireland is just that awesome.
So, that's my full explanation of how I became completely obsessed with Ireland. The country had been on my bucket list for a while, but it's now firmly on my "visit often" list (preferably yearly). The culture, history, and people of Ireland were just that magical, and I feel so lucky to have ancestry from this insanely beautiful realm. I look forward to learning more as I research my family's history and return for a follow-up visit, particularly to County Wexford.
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