Lotsa Kielbasa: Irish Small Talk

           Almost four months removed from Ireland and it’s become quite painful reminiscing the days spent lounging on shorelines, journeying through vast greenery, and sipping freshly brewed Guinness. A part of me was left on that magical island, along with a pair of boxers, a pair of shoes and many, many euro.

           More importantly though, were the cultural teachings I brought back with me. Much of my enlightening came from being immersed in the incredible scenery and gorging myself in the tasty food, but the true understanding came from conversing with the countless Irish natives I came across and listening to their stories.

           Before the trip I once thought that Ireland survived a famine eating nothing but potatoes, that they drank nothing but Irish car bombs, and that they all loved to brawl on account of the "fighting Irish" in their blood. Not only did I find these assumptions completely backwards, but I also discovered how offensive they were to those I was objectifying.

           I soon realized these misconceptions lead me down a dark, judgmental path. The best decision I ever made was seeking the answers to prove myself wrong. In order to do so I tried to leave my ego and expectations in whatever bed I woke up in each morning. I quickly discovered that the Irish were a proud, energetic, humorous, cunning and selfless race of people. One thing they taught me was that you’ll never know what kind of insight people can pass on to you if you’re not open to it.
           My second to last night in Galway I was talking with a young lass at Kelly’s Bar and after informing her I was American, she replied, “Nothing against you, but I just can’t stand American girls and their ‘oh my gosh, my great grandmother’s from Ireland, so I’m totally Irish too!’”

            I explained to her we don't  all have that mindset, but she contended those were the type of Americans she ran into all the time. She then asked me why I was drinking a five euro beer when the Fosters on tap was only two. I ended up saving a lot of money that night, which is beyond the point. The point is, just as my outlook on Ireland (and beer) was one-dimensional before I came, their outlook was similarly skewed towards Americans.

          In the pub water closet not seconds after that encounter, I exchanged small talk with a paddy my age, during which he inquired about my obvious accent. 

"So where are ya from?" He asked.

"The states," I replied.

"Ya? which one?"

"Philadelphia."

“Philadelphia!? Haha! I know someone from Philadelphia.”

“Who?” I asked.

“The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air!”

(Side note- The Fresh Prince theme song is played at least twice a night at any hip Irish pub)

I asked him a similar question, “You know who I know from Ireland?”

“Who?”

“You!”

           To this day, there's no shot the guy ever remembered our conversation, and that's the way most pub talks go. Though the Irish have a very general outlook on American culture, they'll never ask anything from you, they're just looking for a good time, a good laugh, some shared joy. If your lucky however, on a plane ride back from your free weekend in London you could sit next to an Irish chap your age and have a real, sober conversation.

           His name’s Sean, a twenty-three year old butcher who works right down the street from where you’re staying in Cork. He went to college just like you, studied business systems, but when the American stock market plummeted so did his entire savings. Dropping out one semester shy of graduation didn’t phase him though, he’s just as happy chopping meat and getting higher then a kite after work everyday.

           You ask him where he’s coming from, “Holiday,” he says. “Just packed my bags and left a week ago, didn’t even leave a note.” You wonder how he could’ve left home without telling anyone, even his girlfriend. “She’ll be waiting," he says. "The trip to San Sebastian was totally worth it, you can even smoke weed in the streets, no one gives a damn!”

           You ask Sean about the whole "luck of the Irish" thing and he says it’s a sack of shit and that he's a perfect example. On his layover to Spain, he stopped at London like you. His brother lives there now, but when he called him his brother answered and said he was back in Ireland that week. Whoops, Sean didn’t leave a note, remember?

           Go ahead, tell him he’s stubborn. He'll admit it, all the Irish are he'll say (they’re also kind-hearted). Later in the conversation you tell him your planning an upcoming fourth of July party and he'll tell you to come by for some kielbasa sausages. His stand is in the gigantic farmers market you walked through yesterday. In fact, he just turned the newspaper your holding into a map with scribbled down streets names and dive bars;  a guide to the best pubs in town. You can’t wait to tell your friends about all the cool shit they won't find in their Eyewitness travel guides.

           After you depart the plane and exchange pleasantries, you’ll start wondering whether this was an empty conversation, whether you just spent the last hour and a half in a meaningless gab with Irelands biggest stoner. 
           It turns out everything he said was true, your friends were awed with the sweet pub you took them to and he did end up hooking you up with those kielbasa sausages (some wings too).

           This on the fly conversation solidified for me a crucial life lesson: never believe in empty conversation, especially with someone you don’t know. By setting your ego aside and opening yourself up to the unknown, you'll find life a whole lot more interesting and enjoyable. Through simple conversation you can, and most times do, learn something new about yourself and your surroundings. The best part of all, you don't have to be on a plane ride from London to do it.

“Everyone you ever meet knows something you don’t”

-Bill Nye