06.18.06 - Ireland: home of red-heads, all known to Australians as "Blue-y"

Last night I walked with Minke ("mink-a"), from the Netherlands, to watch a local game of Gaelic football, played only in Ireland. It seems to me to be a combination of soccer, basketball and football, with few rules and a lot of diehard fans. Players can pick up the ball, dribble it, kick it, throw it, do whatever they want. It's just ... confusing, but nothing in comparison with the accents here. I take back my statement about it being difficult to understand a Japanese person speaking English. Irish, believe it or not, can be much more tricky. For example, yesterday I asked my bus driver a question, and the only thing I caught in his response was the number six. Luckily that's all I needed to know!

After the game ended we walked in the rain to the fish wharf and watched the giant fishing boats come in from the mist and fog. After we got back to our cozy, warm hostel, I put my coat back on and did the exact same treck with a guy named Florian (how European, huh?) because he would have otherwise gone alone. But I didn't mind going back. We walked onto this straight and as we looked out into the now blackened water, we heard squeaking and saw 2 sets of beady black eyes shining up at us from a few feet away in the water. SEA OTTERS! Those little guys are adorable!!! I will attempt to lure one into my backpack and bring one home to show you all.

The rain here is so perfect. Ireland is incredibly green, and here on the coast the rain and mist makes the sea smell stronger and so refreshing. Without the sun, the water during the day is a deep, dark turquoise I've never seen before; It's kind of mezmerizing. But this rain is the first precipitation I've seen (aside from a light sprinkle in Marseilles) since I left London. It welcomed me to Europe and now it is seeing me off!

This morning I went to Mass in Dingle's bigger church. It was half in English and half in Irish tongue, which sounds like this: obbly sd;lkj aeoiusr raelkuavve aewoiusr. But this was no ordinary Mass, even though it was the regularly scheduled Sunday service. It was also a funeral. I guess it's not uncommon for the funeral ceremony to just happen at regular Sunday Mass. I sat next to a woman named Kay Smith from something or other, Blackrock, Ireland (all you LOST watchers are a little taken aback, aren't you? I was!). So I asked Kay how the man in the casket died and she responded with, "Don't you even worry; Don't you even think about it. You're too young to worry." She was an extroardinarily kind woman who later asked me to pray for her and the man in the casket (she didn't know him either), and I happily did.
The funeral was very sad, though. Michael O'-something's grandson sang a beautiful Celtic hymn, and another grandson delivered an Irish poem he'd written for him. Another relative gave a touching Eulogy, switching from Irish to English so that all could understand. Don't be fooled by the stereotypes of Irish funerals. It is a celebration of a life well-lived, yes, but it is also a very difficult one. As family filed down the aisle carrying their deceased, I watched them tremble in an effort to remain strong for the procession.
They were met at the end of the church by many little boys and girls waiting in beautiful white dresses and suits. These kids received their First Communion exactly one month ago, and in Ireland (maybe just Dingle?) it is tradition that they proceed through the streets of town to the church, collecting candy and trinkets along the way.
Again I saw that contrast similar to Dachau but much lighter. There were in the church those dressed in black for the funeral, and among them were children in pure white. With every end, it seems, comes many new beginnings.