My Trip To Ireland

We landed in Ireland around seven in the morning, local time. I took a long sip from my scotch, and elbowed Carol. “Carol, wake up,” I said. “We’re here.”
    Carol put her seat in the upright position and took a long sniff in my direction. “Have you been drinking?” she said.
    “No, I haven’t been drinking,” I shot back sarcastically, waving my arms so she knew I had been drinking. I explained to her that we’re going to Ireland, you clod--not Utah--and I want to fit in, you dingbat. Carol just looked at me with her “I’m mad about something” eyes, so I picked up my little plastic cup again.
    When we landed, I was shocked to find that everyone seemed sober. “Hey, what’s the big idea,” I slurred, grabbing a passerby by the collar. He escaped from my grasp using some form of martial arts though, and ran away. I wanted to chase him, but I was pretty drunk. “Ah, Ireland,” I said, elbowing Carol as if to say, “how about that?”
    Ireland was a lot less green than they say, too. It was mostly a metropolitan place, filled with skyscrapers and large, glistening billboards. But the greenness and drinking weren’t the only misconceptions I had about Ireland.
    I’d find out through my stay that most of what we Americans are taught about Ireland is untrue.
    For example, Irish people are portrayed in the media as a race of generally pale-skinned, redheaded people. In reality, I learned, Irish people look quite different than that gingery bunch we see on our televisions and cereal boxes. Like my friend Kai Zhu, a diminutive girl with long black hair and brown eyes. She looked a little like the woman from Charlie’s Angels. Cameron Diaz, I think her name is.
    Another thing was the language. Most Irish people, I read in my greatly erroneous guidebook, speak English. But when I got there, I could hardly understand a word, leaving me to yell whatever I had to say louder and louder until I got my point across. Whenever I met someone who did speak English, they seemed to confuse their “Rs” and “Ls.” “Oh, the old Irish Brogue,” I announced to Carol delightedly, elbowing her ribs like I do.
    Most Americans don’t even know what the Irish flag looks like. Oh, we think it’s a tricolored banner of orange, white and green, but that’s way off. It’s actually red, with yellow stars and some other things. Oh well, I thought, at least I know now.
    Not all things we think we know about Ireland are wrong, though.
    The Irish people’s love of noodles is quite authentic, as is their reverence for Chairman Mao. True to general thought, as well, the Irish people are quite fond of dragons. They’re simply everywhere. I even made a game, where every time you see a dragon, you punch the person next to you in the arm and say “dragon punch!” Carol got mad after a while, so I stopped. But I still think that’s a pretty good game to play if you find yourself in Ireland.
    Ireland wasn’t at all what I expected, but I learned so much about the culture that I can’t rightly complain. I had no idea, for instance, that the Irish loved fireworks so much. Nor was I aware that, in Ireland, New Year’s Day doesn’t fall on January 1, but on a given date anywhere from the 21st of January to the 20th of February. We happened to be in Beijing, which I think is in County Cork, for this year’s celebration. “Well, that’s Ireland for you!” I told Carol, as we stepped into the swollen, reveling crowd. “Dragon punch!”