Back to the Auld Sod: Hanging with the Ladies in Town

I really wish I had Irish citizenship because it would be so easy to relocate here for four years if need be... It's so easy to connect with people; the sensibilities are so very familiar. This day, I wanted to put in some more hours on my job, so Fred did some more sketching around town and I went to my cafés. On the way, I met a young Ukrainian couple and their gray cat Peepers. Actually, their "homelord's" cat. I've not mentioned Ukraine yet. Cahersiveen, a town of 1000 people, gave 400 Ukrainians refuge here, putting them up in a defunct hotel and also, I believe, in various private homes with families. This kind of generosity is hard to imagine. And today they're everywhere, integrating well from what I have read, but I don't know a ton. I'd like to think it's all hunky dory, so I'm going with that.

I did find this at IrishCentral.com — in response to a failed attempt to relocate many of the Ukrainians to Tralee:

Stephanie Mahey, of the group campaigning to keep the Ukrainians in Cahirsiveen, told RTE Radio that the proposed move would damage the backbone of the area’s workforce and emotionally devastate everybody. She said, “The Ukrainians are our friends, they’re our community. They’re the local hairdresser, the people working behind the till in the shop. Our kids are their classmates. We go to each other’s birthday parties. They’re on the same GAA teams. Some of them, I'll tell you now, are going to be great GAA players.”

In fact, the staff at my two cafés are, I believe, Ukrainians. One guy from Russia came in and said to the girl at the counter, "This cake you have here is from my country. It's what we have in Russia. How come you have it here? " And she said, because of all the Ukrainians. :) I have since found out Ukranians own that café.

Anyway, this day, a Sunday, was pleasant weather-wise, so I was able to sit outside. Three older women, having come from church, sat down next to me. The thing that struck up the initial conversation was my shoes, which is often the case. In Italy, any woman approaching me, coming towards me, would look directly down at my shoes, which were not the typical high heels of the Italian women, but chunky platforms. They'd pass by with no niceties offered. I never knew the result of their obvious assessment. But here, they all say they like my shoes. Funny. They aren't at all like the shoes they're wearing either, but they don't consider themselves big fashionistas.

My shoes.

The women were Cecilia, Esther, and Mary. Cecilia, being the most chatty, was the one who liked my shoes. She wondered why she never buys orange, and yet it is one of her favorite colors! I recalled something Fred's uncle Jim used to say: Never wear orange because it is the color of Northern Ireland. The Irish hate it and see it as offensive.

I was keenly aware of this when I cautiously chose to take these shoes to Ireland. Cecilia seems to have a vague recollection of that and said maybe subconsciously this is why she never buys orange! Esther agreed.

A little later, Esther said something derogatory about American Republicans and then gasped and apologized to me, but I assured her I was on the same page they were. So we had quite a spirited conversation about His Idiocy, which was fun. It was shortly after the assassination attempt and I won't put into writing what they said, but let's just say they should probably have headed back down the street to confession.

For dinner, we went down to Rossbeigh Point — I think — an amazing beach with a great restaurant overlooking the bay, called Rosspoint. We thought long and hard about where to watch the game (EuroCup finals, England vs. Spain) and chose this place, which was a good one. I think Brian suggested it. Thanks, Brian! Great atmosphere. We ate at the bar, which the Irish seem not to do, but... it's what we do. Then turned our chairs around for the game. Again, I find it surprising, after all the English did to them, that the Irish root for England. But they do, or did in this bar, anyway. Just one couple cheered for Spain and there were not Irish. Or American. The tension of one odd cheering section is very low since it wasn't IRELAND playing. Nobody really had a dog in this race, so it was kind of perfect. Unfortunate that England lost, but no hand wringing. Plus it's fun to see this 16-year-old Spanish phenom in action. Lamine Yamal.

Read up on him if you're interested. Apparently he turned 17 last week.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lamine_Yamal

The drive down to this place was insanely narrow. How much have I talked about the driving? The one-lane roads leave no room for passing, except for these "turnouts" which are little side "arcs" that you can pull in to. If you're lucky, this opportunity to pull over is in front of you when you encounter the oncoming car. If you're unlucky, one of you has to back up. Backing up and parallel parking are the most challenging things to do on the opposite side — for me, anyway. But I did like accommodating the oncoming car as often as possible — as opposed to vice versa — but the Irish are so damned selfless they usually beat me to it! Then there's the wave — sometimes just a slightly raised index finger, lifted off the steering wheel, sometimes two fingers, and least often, a full-on wave. This last bunch are probably tourists because I do a massive frenetic wave— mostly because I'm just happy to have remained alive.

We went another way home much to my relief.

Oops... Totally forgot pics!

This is downtown Cahersiveen where my two cafés are.

An ordinary happening down the main street!

Manhattan Peanuts

I spy with my little eye, an artist!

It was a busy night at Mike Murts.

Love this. The assignment is to come up with a name for a shop that provides laundry and dry cleaning services, and also sells fishing tackle. Bubbles!