On Hot Irish Babes

Day two turns out to be fairly benign. We go to the beach and it looks like everybody and their mother is there. I'm not being sarcastic - it is Mothers day here and apparantly Irish mothers enjoy being driven to the beach. I decline John's offer to dine at The Oar House. We have the kids with us and I didn't feel that it was appropriate to take children into what was probably a house of disrepute. In the end, lunch is filafel rolls from a street vendor, bought while illegally double parked and eaten in the car on the way home.

Dinner is a family affair and John's sister and her family is expected too. We cook two chickens - one a traditional Irish roast and another in an Indian curry. The Irish are easy to fool and think I cook well. I wonder what they will do to me when they finally arrive in India and taste real Indian food. Trasy sells me short and serves only two kinds of potatoes. I am told that any Irish meal must have at least three kinds of potatoes in order to be complete. John's bottle of Jameison has taken quite a beating and I sleep in the back of the car on the way back - of course its not because of the whiskey, its the jet lag.

Tuesday is St. Patrick's eve and John and I start on a tour of the bars. The bars are packed six deep here. Standing room only and you have to push your way in. I see not one other person with the color of my eyes but no one seems to notice. The people are extremely friendly and as the night progresses, we become friendly too. At our fifth of sixth stop, we find a sweet spot at the bar to sit. People have to come and stand by us to get their drinks and we talk to each and every one of them. John asks me what I say to them that makes them talk to me so much. I let him in on my secret to making friends in strange places : I tell everyone that my Irish friend (pointing at him) tells me not to talk to strangers as they might find it offensive and punch me in the face. Every single one of them wants to prove this wrong and stay for a while chatting even after they get their drinks. And of course, John gets the dirty looks. All in all, not a bad night - The Odeon, Kehoes, McDaids, O'Neils, Thomas Reids, The Stags head, The International, Cafe en Sein - all good old fashioned Irish pubs.

I look up and see an obviously Indian looking guy making his way towards me. Where are you from, I ask him very politely. From Texas, comes the snotty answer. And we moved there six generations ago, he adds, to emphasize how much better he is than the rest of us. Well, I want to ask him, how come your color has not yet diluted in six generations? Shouldn't you be a bit beige by now at least? Has everyone in your family been marrying their sister for six generations? Hellooo?

St. Patricks day dawns bright and clear. We meet at the Book of Kells. It is an amazing place matched only by the adjacent Trinity College library. Books line the walls from floor to ceiling and on looking up, I see that there is an upper floor too. Most of the books are hand written and bound in leather. The book of Kells is illustrated in color and took more than ten years to complete. They didn't have much to do in those days, John explains - the priests were celibate. I understand. If they were married they would have been busy with chores around the house and the book of Kells would never have been written.

We wander around a bit more and then have an Asian fusion lunch. There is long line waiting to get in but the food is great and worth the wait. I order the spicy lamb and the waiter comes back to warn me that this is the spiciest thing on the menu. For some reason, Evie is tickled by that She also finds it funny that they have "Chilli men" on the menu. Where do they get their men from, we wonder and look for man-traps around the restaurant. I don't think she is old enough for me to tell her that most of the men traps are wearing skirts. I learn a new skill as Evie lets me paint her nails. It's not as easy as it looks and I now have a new respect for manicurists. After lunch, we go to the local pub for a couple of beers. Well, in Irish speak, a couple of beers means visiting at least 6 different bars with about two drinks in each. We meet more friendly Irish. One guy in particular - Johnny - stands out for his quick wit. He takes one look at me and tells me I need to go to Gallway and get myself a tan. He turns around as a girl walks up to the bar and says in a loud voice "I told you it's over. Why can't you understand that. Why do you still keep stalking me." Her jaw drops but she recovers quickly and tells him that he never was any good anyway. He counters with "I never loved you. I only married you out of pity". He is hilarious and we all become good friends quickly as you only can in a bar. It turns out that she has visited India many times and loves the place. We take our drinks outside where Johnny continues to regale us with his antics. He pokes every passing woman in the chest and says "Julie, have you forgotten me already?". He strikes out every time as not even one of them is called Julie.

We then meet John's friend Greg who pulls out his paint jars and paints an elephant on my face. Color it white, the two Johns tell him; you won't be able to see it otherwise. This shocks the other people around and I make some more sympathy friends. One of them has flown in from London for his brothers fiftieth birthday so we all troop in to sing for him. The whole bar joins in and the brother is all smiles. On our way back out, Johnny tries his lines with Karen. Karen is having none of it and she slaps him across the face. It looks like Johnny is used to this because he takes it in his stride. But a few minutes later we see Karen hurl a glass on to the middle of the street where it shatters, leaving pieces of glass all over the tarmac. We decide it is time to leave.

A cab takes us to John's usual watering hole where we meet a few of his climbing buddies. John also has his driver to take him back. We close with a couple more drinks and head home. I realize that we have been pub hopping for more than 6 hours and have not eaten anything since lunch. It's going to be a bad day tomorrow!

And ah, did I say I was going to write about the lovely Irish babes. I am not one to kiss and tell. As the Irish would say it, Pog ma thon.