when i was in the aran islands last summer, my family and i
flagged down the nearest tour-guide, and climbed onto his bus.
apparently the island’s locals never really leave their home, and this
man had lived on the island his whole life. as a result, all the locals
know each other extremely well; and this man was no exception.
we were checking out the rocky coast, basically in the middle of nowhere, when i realized i had to pee. which is pretty typical, really. i asked the tour guide if there were any bathrooms around, and he laughed at me, saying, “yeah, you can go pee behind that rock over there”. he must have realized that i was pretty serious when i didn’t laugh, so he invited me to get inside the bus, and promised to find me a bathroom.
as we drove along the bumpy road, the tourguide made some small talk, and i tried to figure out where the hell he was taking me. suddenly, we pulled in front of a small cottage. he motioned for me to come out of the bus with him, and he knocked on the cottage door, before walking in. we entered the tiny little home, which was currently under construction. a stout, grey-haired older woman sat in front of her tv. i quickly learned that her name was mary. the tourguide and mary spoke in gaelic. mary said of course i could use her bathroom. she gave me directions as to where it was. she called me “darling”.
after i was done, i walked back downstairs. mary, obviously excited to have some company, invited us to stay in and have coffee with her. when we declined, she said that i was always welcome to visit again. as i was on my way out the door, she asked me where i was from. when i answered, “new york”, she smiled and said that a lot of the irish live there now.
on rainy, dark days like today, i always think of mary, from the aran islands. i think about going back and finding her, and sitting down in her cottage for that cup of coffee, while the irish rain taps on the roof of her nearly-renovated home.
we were checking out the rocky coast, basically in the middle of nowhere, when i realized i had to pee. which is pretty typical, really. i asked the tour guide if there were any bathrooms around, and he laughed at me, saying, “yeah, you can go pee behind that rock over there”. he must have realized that i was pretty serious when i didn’t laugh, so he invited me to get inside the bus, and promised to find me a bathroom.
as we drove along the bumpy road, the tourguide made some small talk, and i tried to figure out where the hell he was taking me. suddenly, we pulled in front of a small cottage. he motioned for me to come out of the bus with him, and he knocked on the cottage door, before walking in. we entered the tiny little home, which was currently under construction. a stout, grey-haired older woman sat in front of her tv. i quickly learned that her name was mary. the tourguide and mary spoke in gaelic. mary said of course i could use her bathroom. she gave me directions as to where it was. she called me “darling”.
after i was done, i walked back downstairs. mary, obviously excited to have some company, invited us to stay in and have coffee with her. when we declined, she said that i was always welcome to visit again. as i was on my way out the door, she asked me where i was from. when i answered, “new york”, she smiled and said that a lot of the irish live there now.
on rainy, dark days like today, i always think of mary, from the aran islands. i think about going back and finding her, and sitting down in her cottage for that cup of coffee, while the irish rain taps on the roof of her nearly-renovated home.
