Last weekend we went on a homestay in Clonmel, Co. Tipperary (-not actually true, that’s where most people were, mine and the two girls’ with me turned out to be in Cahir…because I know that makes a huge hill of a difference to all of you…) and I will not lie, I was a little nervous about it at first, but it turned out to be quite a trip. Sorry this was so long, believe it or not this is just the half of it, but I’ll spare you- you know, the other half.
I was anxious for one because I had yet to solidify my class schedule, already one week into classes, I had no idea what work I had/should be doing and frankly the prospect of living in a stranger’s house was a little unnerving. Not because I’m afraid of meeting new places and staying in with new people, but because, really, what kind of person signs up to do such a thing? Who knew if we were going to get some crazy turtle eating, hacksaw murderer with a penchant for tasty house guests or a kindly bettie, recently retired pastry chef who would make many many cinnamon apple butter scones? Who knew?
Thankfully, our host mother was Patsy, and she was wonderful. Patsy lives with her daughter Cara, and their fabulously fat terrier Homer in a cozy, bright, comfortable house. Patsy works, as our preemptive sheet said as a “health carer.” This actually translated to health care assistant in an oncology ward (which should give you some clues about what kind of a kick-ass woman she is). From the beginning she was incredibly sweet, kind and accommodating, she also made us quiche and lasagna and many varieties of potatoes for dinner. Delish.
Despite what Butler had told us (huge huge huge surprise being lied to by Butler! no way! ) she was not a shy Irish, loud only to learn about us, but instead gave us her and her daughter’s entire life story and potential future prospects throughout our weekend stay while learning maybe about 4 total factoids each about us. Cara is 16 going on skanky. She had long bleached dirty blonde extensions, enough bronzer on her face to tan 12 paris hiltons and a penchant for playboy merchandise. When we first met her she was sitting on the couch with her friend watching East Enders (which is apparently a huge deal over here, I was personally impressed with the large numbers of characters in various states of drama). The friend was equally as magnificent, but with a little more bosom spillage. She was 14. I hate to be harsh on any member of my sex, but they were truly trashy… in an endearing, self-aware, high school way though, of course.
Watching Patsy, clearly a partier in her day (and maybe now, she would sneak outside to smoke and often reminisced), but now a hard worker, gossip gold mine and home maker and her LA fringe-esque daughter interact was one of the most interesting parts of the whole weekend, at least for me. Beyond the home inspection, we also: went to a cool castle in Cachel called “The Rock,” went shopping (lord help me stay away from the shoe section of Penny’s for the rest of my stay here) and went out to the local pub.
I hadn’t intended to pub during the homestay (I’m going to go broke by february purely from pub going) I honestly would have been content to sit by the fire hearing about Patsy’s motherly grief over her young porn star progeny and dream of one day owning her own tea shop, but come Saturday night Patsy shooed us out, drove us “down town” to Irwin’s (yep) and even gave us Guinness allowance. She’s such a cool mom.
At Irwin’s it became clear within about 5 minutes of Patsy’s little red audi zooming away from us that we did not belong. Despite being a cramped 4 room bar with two very lackadaisical baby disco balls, 4 almost identical looking bar tenders (think Simon Pegg, but old, with different hair colors) and an extremely bored looking dj (it was almost endearing the way he played Timbaland like someone might enjoy it, or jesus mary and joseph! dance) apparently at Irwin’s, on Saturday night, you bring your A-game. The “lads” included a tantalizing buffet of the 35-89 bracket bachelors. Some wore fabulous cosby status jumpers and my personal favorite was donning a Addidas jumpsuit (more on that tool later). The ladies were all in what I assume Forever 21 uses to wipe the mirrors down at closing time. I’ve never seen so much stretch and sequin in my life and I used to be a competition dancer, mk?
So. There we were in our puffy coats, our cardigans, our muddy castle tromping jeans. At that point my dirty hair count was 3 days strong. We also ordered Guinness. Now Guinness is “good” in it’s own way. For one it’s not CMC watered down piss (sorry, love you CMCers). It also gives you this lovely feeling like you just drank a small quarter pounder, yet it is actually the lightest calorie beer (oh you bet we asked that on our first night in Limerick), it’s also incredibly cheap and you feel like kind of a badass while drinking it. However, in Ireland drinkers of Guinness are usually confined to the categories of old men in the corners, sitting on bar stools or alone in booths, tweed hats pulled down low over long white, curling eye-brows or dumb Americans. The “who are they?” “what are they doing here?” ” is she going to drink that?” whispers started quickly and continued throughout the night, the volume slowly amplifying with alcohol consumption.
I entertained myself by bob and weaving in front of the television while a few men tried to watch a soccer match. I was very popular. I also frequently visited the ladies loo to catch up on local gossip (Lara is a tramp. Bill is selling his shop. Did you know little Peter Conner is a homosexual!!!?). I came out from one trip to find an old man stroking Caitlin’s arm and cheek, asking if she was our Mom, it was pretty gross, but we eventually convinced him Mom wasn’t interested and it was time to get his feisty bones to bed.
About 2 Guinness[es] later, I was feeling pretty happy with the world when I was approached by addidas track suit champion (ATSC). ATSC began by sidling up beside me while I was trying buy another round for my roomies (translation: water for me, I’m such a light weight here! You’d be so sad Sydda!) and asked me how I felt about the sanitation of ice.
“Excuse me?”
“The ice, are you really going to drink that water? It has ice in it.”
“I know and yes, I am.”
“There’s bacteria in there, I’d watch out for our ice”
So I asked a Simon Pegg (brunette), “hey, is this ok to drink?” and Simon rolled his eyes and said “Yes, it’s fine, he’s just full of shite.” At this ATSC began to crack up at his hilarious prank and proceeded to lecture me for about 20 minutes on: how Americans are so concerned with sanitation, it’s crazy, didn’t I see? if we were married (shudder and involuntary gag reflex) would I let our kid eat an ice cream that dropped on the floor? I wouldn’t? see that’s why we won’t ever be married (yes, that is why, you got it!), he would let that kid eat it, germs make you strong, you see?. Americans aren’t very strong. they eat so much bullshit. did I know who JFK was? JFK was Irish. best damn thing to ever come to America. except Bill Clinton. Hilary is going to win, bless her heart, she’s got fresh ideas and can take down all the bureaucracy (yep, tons o fresh faces surrounding her all the time… not that I don’t heart Hil, but that’s another discussion. Like Periel says, it may feel kinky the first time, but go ahead, vote for a woman… ) that’s the difference, did I see? Americans like bullshit and they’re so uptight and the Irish know where it’s at. did I see? if we were married, he could show me. all Americans who travel are wankers. did I see?
Oh yes. I saw. I saw about twelve shades of red. But I was calm, serene, dalai lama status, I just smiled and nodded and took the bullshit like a true American and then told him I was going to try not make any judgments about small town Irish people based on his lovely diatribe. Did he see? Doubtful.
I finally got back to the group and Catherine was talking to about 4 guys, but had seemed to narrow it down to actually paying attention to 1 (they flock to her! every where we go. it’s amazing, I need to learn things from her.). He, a normal looking blondish guy had two friends, sober mceyebrowpiercing who was the dd and twitchy glasses guy. One of the girls in our group proclaimed him (twitchy) to be coked out, I concurred because his pupils were bigger than his lenses that and he kept shaking my hand and asking what Arizona was like in the winter time.
After about an hour or so of “talking” to these champs (normal guy talked, cokey twitched and sober guy stood) we decided we were pretty much satisfied with our Irwin’s experience and headed outside to call a cab. The three guys asked us to go to a club and in favor of semi-normal guy’s charms and thinking a club might be the only thing better than a bar in Cahir, we agreed. But when we got outside we looked across the street to the club (painted in a lovely neon fuscha, wha bow) people were spilling out like scattering ants and we saw one guy run slam into the door, seemingly pulling is arm out of its socket so it dangled behind him awkwardly, he also had blood coming down from an obviously broken nose. Another guy, shirtless and bouncing like he still thought he was fighting someone also stumbled out and was pushed away from the entrance by the crowd trying to escape.
So we politely declined the club and called a taxi. Erin gave the driver our address and we got in while twitchy kept trying to hug me or shake my hand, sober guy shrugged and normal guy said goodbye. Twitchy asked if he would see us again and I assured him that no, we we’re pretty much done with Cahir’s night life, but thanks. I don’t think I’ve ever been so clear about how I felt about a guy in my life…which is why what happened next is completely incomprehensible.
We get out of the van taxi to discover Catherine had stolen some fried chicken from a fellow passenger (another longish story) which we then devoured on the front porch and then went into the kitchen to make toast and debrief on the night. We all watched Homer the fat terrier run in circles on the kitchen tile and munch on our toast when we hear something like the doorbell. But we just assumed it was some random house noise, the TV maybe. The sound persisted and we heard Patsy coming down the stairs from her bedroom. It’s about 2:30 am and she’s blinking from waking up and in her pajamas. We all run to the door with her, holding our toast like idiots, to see cokey, sober guy and now-not so normal guy all standing sheepishly in the driveway retreating from what must have been a very nice send-off from Patsy. When they see us, now-not-so-normal guy called out to Catherine and we all look angrily at them to scare them off before turning and apologizing profusely to Patsy behind the now slammed door.
We were so embarassed. Who wants their lovely weekend mom thinking they’re stupid slutty Americans inviting creepers back to her house!!???
And what were those guys thinking? Erin and I weren’t exactly fawning over them and Catherine sure didn’t lead her guy on about their love affair and future in Cahir. What was the thought process? Oh, oh yes, those girls were so mean to us and left as soon as the cab hit the curb, without asking for our numbers, OUR NAMES, or whether or not we’d like to come back with them and lick nutella off their faces, THEY MUST have wanted us to listen in when they gave the cabbie directions, creepily follow them and then show up at their host family’s house. Yes. Way to go guys. Please, cokey, take me now. Arizona is so cold in the winter. Yes.
We went to bed feeling so pissed off and confused and resolved to get up at 7:30 am to hang out with Patsy all day and listen to all of her stories about the follies of her bleached daughter. Naturally, we ended up getting up at 11:00 am, and it was a little icy when we first entered the kitchen that morning and apologized again. Patsy turned away from us to make the tea and softly said, “oh no, don’t worry about it, you’re grand, you’re grand.” But we kept chatting her up and were all genuinely amazed and complementary about the traditional Irish fried breakfast she made us (Bacon [rashers], sausages, soft eggs, toast and beans that tasted like spaghetti-o’s) and she warmed again and decided to take us shopping in town before taking us back to the train station to be picked up by our program.
Then I bought some lovely brown boots.
I’m really glad Butler made us go on the homestay (Butler scores a point!), I learned a lot and came back with many stories to tell, including the circus above. This week: I actually do some homework! I possibly convince cute German he wants my number! I find a new drink besides Guinness! I find a dance class! Stay tuned.
Also: I didn’t get any pictures of Cahir because I am an IDIOT and forgot my camera, but Catherine remembered hers because she is amazing, so I’ll try to borrow some of hers when I can!
