Iceland? Ireland? WHERE?

28 January 2013

626

R. Linda:

Can you believe it? I met a person last week who didn't know where Ireland was. I thought they were pulling a jape, I did, but no, no, they thought it was off Scandinavia, more that it was right straight to the west of Norway. I believe there is an island of sorts there. It be called Iceland. Maybe because that starts with an 'I', there be this mix-up?

This confusion started at lunch when I noticed the "newbie" looking at me and Patrick rather funny. He finally asked us where we were from because we spoke "differently" (well, that isn't exactly the word he used). Well, thanks so much for noticing! I told him where we were from, and he said, "Oh, yeah." Like that explained it!

I became confused when he threw in this gem, "I remember now, Ireland exports lots and lots of fishing tackle."

"Uh . . . " I said, looking up at him, wondering what I missed and when the old sod had gone into exporting marine products.

"Potattas," Patrick quipped, and on second thought, he said, "AN' a lot of Oirish Americans not ta mentshun drunken but burilliant writers an' souch of da severely masculine persuasion." And he smiled brightly as me associates all chuckled.

"No," the newbie said, not missing a beat, which put an abrupt end to the chuckles and the smile. "I should go there on vacation, take up skiing."

"Skiing?" I questioned, maybe he was getting Ireland mixed up with Scotland, and so I interjected such.

"No, you have all those geothermal pools and high mountains, so why would I go to Scotland? All they have is some fishy lizard that lives in a lake. I am talking blond beauties on skis!"

And I was not talking at all trying to figure this out, though Patrick leaned towards me and whispered, "Oi'd loike to know where da babes on skis are meself."

"Yeah, and usually dey be red-haired babes chasin' leprechauns. I don't get dis." I whispered back.

We were interrupted from any discussion on blond babes on skis by the newbie.

"You have that language you speak, so if I decide to go, I'll have to get a few words from you so I can ask for directions. All I can say is "Gooan daginn." He said with a smile.

I looked at Patrick, and he looked at me, and we both mouthed the words.

"Gaelic, doo ya mean? Uh, I don't speak 'ardly a ward, but that doesn't sound like Gaelic," I said, "do you tink so Patrick?"

"Em . . . no. Wot does dat mean, doo ye noe?" Patrick asked the newbie.

"Good morning or good day. What's the matter with you two you don't speak your native tongue?"

"Well, Oi doo noe in Ireland, good morning be "Dia dhuit ar maidin" in Oirish," Patrick said, rather disturbed.

"How can that be? You're from there. Is English spoken at all?" He asked, sort of amazed.

OMG!

"Well, av coyurse dere is," I said, confused as everyone else was looking funny, wondering if we were being had or what exactly.

"Oh, I thought it was all that yodelling going on and everyone's name is Hans and Heidi. Though you two are the first dark-haired Irishmen I've ever seen. I thought everyone was blond." And he went back to his sandwich.

I sat there very still, letting that sink in, so I asked him where he thought Ireland was located, and he said it was an island off Norway. and he said that like I was a moron for asking. Yup, he did. As you can guess, this got some chuckles from the table, and he was mystified about what was so funny. So I told him, and he told ME I didn't know what I was talking about. Yes, he did.

"Now, Gabe, correct me if I'm wrong, and I know you will. You're that kind of guy, but the crime rate is near zero, the people are ultra polite, they welcome you as one of them, they are a very sober society, interested mainly in fishing, skiing, and all sorts of winter sports are an extra boost for the tourist since that's what the island has to offer."

"Uh . . . that's not exactly turue, well, it isn't turue at all." Patrick said, and then to me he said, "Greenland has da snow roight?"

"How is that?" He asked, looking at us like we were furthering the cause for morons. "I'm not talking Greenland I am talking Ireland."

"You," I sighed, "are talking Iceland."

"Well, 'aving been born an' raised dere in Iceland, I mean Ireland," Patrick continued like I never said a word, "Oi kin tell ya it be the second largest of the British Isles. We do not export potatties loike in days of auld, nor dwe 'av ski resorts dotted al' over de place. We are known as de Emerald Isle." Patrick said with a polite smile.

"Yeah, in the summer, and then tourists come and climb rocks. You got lots of those." The newbie countered.

And I thought to meself, why yes, we do, lots and lots of rock and rubble.

"'Em . . . no. But yes, speakin av' rocks, soom people loike to hike an' rock climb, but we are not known fer winter sports. We are polite, but we kin be violent. We don't particularly loike foreigners coomin' in and buyin' oup our lunds or stompin' in wit soldiers an' doin' de same." He muttered that last to me as an afterthought. "But we doo 'av a rich history av strife moostly, we've been invaded a lot by Celts, Normans, Vikins', English, an' a horde of Japanese tourists."

I blinked. I would never have thought to say that, but Patrick had no qualms. I covered me face in consternation. The newbie sat very still looking at Patrick like he could not comprehend his words.

"Nuh, you're lovers, not fighters," he quipped and took another bite of sanny, throwing what Patrick said off. "What else do you do on those cold winter nights," and he laughed he did at the insinuation.

"Em . . . noo not exactly we love ter foight de English we doo."

This got him. He stopped chewing and garbled, "The English? They aren't anywhere near Ireland. What have the English to do with anything?"

Not near? OMG, they were there for a long time! And what does England have to do with Ireland? Oh, lots, I thought to meself, but I didn't want to go there. But Patrick threw down his sandwich like it was a gauntlet and said to no one in particular, "Wot av da English ta doo wit anyting?" And he sighed exasperated, but he took the obvious road of changing the subject and said, "Listen oup, we are not teetotallers, we loike ter drink, so yer assessment of sober . . . well not so mouch."

"Thanks for that," I whispered to Patrick.

"Oh come on, I heard you guys are polite, helpful, never a disparaging word. That is when one can understand your accent."

"Well, if ye go ter Belfast, ye 'ill enter da swearin' capitol of da world. We are warurld class at dat we are. An' we owe it al' ter da English who forced us ter learn dere tongue rather den keep oyur pure native language. As a matter av fact, if America 'adn't rescued da French, France wud be de moost swearin' nashun on eart an' purobably swearin' in German. But dere ya are." Patrick said heatedly as me colleagues grinned. But not the newbie. He was very confused now.

But never deterred, he said, "Belfast? That the capital? Look, I was thinking to take a vacation there in July. Warm month, no snow since your skiing doesn't sound so good the way you talk."

"Em . . . noo, yoy're roight noo snow, but dat is da mont oyur sporting games keck in," Patrick said totally into this now.

"Oh, now see, I'd like to be there for those." The newbie said, pointing his nearly eaten sanny at us.

"Oh, fer sure," Patrick said brightly. "Dere is nathin' better den sportin' rivalury ter git da blud flowing, especially if ye 'appen ter fend yerself in de northern end av da coyntury."

"Oh, the mountains are higher there?" The newbie asked, thinking climbing and hiking I guessed. "You guys must make a mint selling equipment."

"Em . . . nooo. Equipment be free, jist peck oup a rock, a bottle, a brick even, an' yoy're al' set."

The man looked at Patrick like he didn't hear right. But everyone at the table was nodding, and this confused him more. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, he got it. He hit his head with the palm of his hand and said, "OH, what a jerk I am, IRELAND, yes, IRELAND. You all must think me geographically backward, now, if you had said Dublin, I woulda got it!"

Uh yeah, right, I thought.

"Hey Gabe, the next time the Brits get feisty on you all over there, I'll come fight them because aren't we all Irish in some way?"

"First I heard of THAT," the Jewish fella on me left whispered to me.

But I knew what the newbie meant, and it had to do with St. Patrick's Day, when everyone becomes Irish for the day. But there was a wee problem with his offer, and Patrick said as much. He wanted to know why that was, so reluctantly Patty told him, "As Oirish persons, we don't take kindly ter foreigners banging on in an' claiming ter be related. We noe yoy're not Oirish, yer may av sum lineage in dat direcshun, but yer weren't born an' bred dere. Ya wudn't be considered a turue Oirishman unless yer cud attest ter bein' born on da auld sod an' understan' sum if not al' de Gaelic language. Den yer wud be considered a turue blud, oterwise yoy're considered as Oirish as Lucky Charms."

This was said with a smugness that might have insulted the everyday person, but our newbie sat there looking at us, giving the words some thought and weight.

"Yeah, I suppose," he said, "never mind, I'll go to that island with the big statues instead, Galapagos."

This time, I hit me forehead in frustration, "Easter Island, you mean Easter, not Galapagos, those islands have turtles."

"Oh no, buddy, they don't. They have huge statues."

"You done?" Patrick said to me, gathering up his lunch tray.

"I'm done," I said, bidding the newbie a good time on whatever island he happened to holiday on; we left.

I haven't seen the man since, and that's a good thing. And why? Because Patrick got somewhat miffed later on after he thought about it. And the more he thought about it as if he wasn't miffed, to begin with, the more heated he got. He has some really fine zingers he's created all on his own, so fine, I don't want to be around when he delivers them. Yes, he's a good-looking guy, but there isn't a whole lot in the brain department in that head of his (or the newbie, for that matter, an equal match, I'd say). And here I was cultivating Patrick for a blind date on Valentine's Day. I know what you're going to say, and yes, the Irish dating service is back in business. I know I said I would stay out of it, but I just can't because Maureen talked me into it. I know, I know, I know! But now with this going on, Patrick gunning for the newbie, I think I will be scarce in his vicinity and no help to Maureen at all. Yes, I say that now, but really, I mean it this time. Sorta . . . well, kinda.

Gabe
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