garbage strikes, punk rockers and dandelion wine

After I survived the Aran Islands part of my British Isles expedition in the summer of 1987, I hitchhiked across the country to Dublin. It was a novel feeling to hitchhike the width of an entire country in one day. Hell, it was a novel feeling to hitchhike, something I had never been brave (or stupid) enough to try in the States. There was always a bit of anxiety interspersed with the excitement of getting a bit further along the way, but there were enough people happy to give an American a ride that I made fairly good time.

I arrived in Dublin in the midst of a rainstorm and a garbage strike. I finally found a youth hostel where I shared a room with two teenage punk rockers from Chicago. It worked out well; they stayed out all night and slept all day while I did the reverse. None of us had much money, but they had enough drama for all three of us. I listened to their early morning tales and offered advice that they neither asked for nor followed, advice that usually fell into one of three categories: see a doctor, call the police, don't do that again. I likewise disregarded their advice, which generally consisted of foregoing stuffy cathedrals and trying one of the many pubs or discos. We bumped along in genial disharmony, each bemused by the others' choices as how to best experience Ireland.

While they slept, I played the virtuous sightseer. I slogged along in ankle-deep floating garbage as I hiked to the post office that was the headquarters of the 1916 Easter Rising. My very distant relative Thomas McDonagh was executed for his part in that rebellion and was memorialized by Yeats in poem and by a plaque in the PO. I saw the Book of Kells at Trinity College and went to St. Patrick's Cathedral, where Jonathan Swift was Dean. I had planned to hitchhike up to Belfast, but by then my achilles tendons were so sore and inflamed that I knew I couldn't. After dithering for a day or two, I decided to splurge on the train and so arrived in Belfast relatively though not completely painfree. I took the bus across town to the ferry and watched as soldiers poked our luggage with their rifles and questioned us as to our destinations. It was my first experience in a war zone and I was happy to get on the ferry and head to Scotland.

My destination was the small town of Strenraer for two reasons. One was that was where the ferry went. But it was also the home of a family my boyfriend had met the previous year when he was in Scotland, and they had invited me to stay. I arrived in Strenraer without incident and called the family. The wife answered the phone. After we had exchanged greetings, I told them where I was, and she said she would send her husband to get me. I described what I was wearing: "I'll be the one in the white shirt and black pants." "Hmm," she said thoughtfully, "I think I'll come along as well."

When they pulled up, she jumped out of the car and burst into laughter. "Next time," she said, "You might want to call them trousers. I had visions of you standing here in black underwear."

I had thus established myself as a green traveler rather than the urbane American I had hoped to pass myself off as, but that worked to my benefit. I was obviously in pain, so the mom hustled me off to the doctor. He invited the whole staff to meet me; they all had friends in America that they wanted to ask me about, friends in Montana and New York and Massachusetts, and they were disappointed when I didn't know them. He looked at my inflamed achilles tendons for just a moment, asking, "You've been hitchhiking, haven't you?" I was surprised, but I admitted that I had been. He explained it was a very common injury. I was wearing a heavy pack, and when a car stopped, I ran to get in, my body at an awkward angle which stressed my tendons. He put me in an ankle brace and on an anti-inflammatory, apologizing profusely for the one pound cost, and sent me on my way. I tried to pay but he wouldn't let me. This was my first, wonderful exposure to government sponsored health care.

I filled my prescription, put on my ankle braces and felt like a new woman. So when the teens of the family invited me to a local disco that night, I was ready to try it. The three of us entered the dimly lit, cheesy nightclub with its grimy floor and glittering ball and headed up to the bar. I knew that it wasn't a good idea to drink alcohol while taking medication, so I decided to stick to apple cider. The room was hot, I was thirsty, and the cider was cold and cheap. After the third one, I discovered I liked to dance, something I had never enjoyed much in the U.S. After the fourth one, my dancing had improved so much that I was attracting spectators, who obviously were watching in envy. After the fifth, the crowd had gotten large enough that I started wondering if something was amiss. I found one of my hosts, who offered me a beer. I explained that I couldn't drink alcohol and was sticking to cider. She stared at me for a moment before she and her friends dissolved in giggles. "And what do you think the cider is?" she asked.

Oops. I decided to take my chagrined and intoxicated self home to bed, but she wasn't ready to go and her brother was nowhere to be found. "It's easy enough," she said. "Just cross the square and keep to the left. You'll see our flat." I found my way home and fell into bed fully clothed. The next morning at breakfast, as I cautiously eyed my fried tomatoes and eggs, I looked up to find her brother watching me with amusement. "I see you got home all right," he said. "I wasn't sure you would. You looked like a bloody sailboat, tacking from one side of the street to the other. We followed you part way to make sure you got here. I thought you said you didn't drink?"

There were further adventures involving the whole family, the World Cup on the telly and homemade dandelion wine that it would have been rude to refuse, but for some reason those memories aren't clear. I'm sure they still have their family stories about the American who came to visit and stayed accidentally drunk the whole time. Is it any wonder I can't remember their names?