Bullshit competitions, matchsticks and Jack the autistic dog

I have finally settled into my place in Galway. I have two housemates-- Nora, a lady who works in car insurance, and to whom I pay rent, and Ronan, a young guy who's working as an electrician. Both have been really helpful in helping me get adjusted. I'm about a 15 minute walk from town, and am separated by a number of cheap German grocery stores where I do my shopping, a McDonalds and a massive Dunnes store, which carries everything. My day typically starts out with my alarm going off at around 8:30. I wake up and turn the alarm off, which then goes off again at 8:40. This cycle typically repeats until just before 10. When at long last I wake up, I eat some yogurt, do some yoga, and then eat breakfast, which consists of muesli and a sliced banana with low-fat milk. They didn't sell skim at the German stores. During breakfast I usually read a trashy Irish magazine about supermodels and the like. I say ''a magazine'' not to denote different issues of the same publication, but instead a single issue of a single publication, because that is what is there. I also usually boil some water, because the water here has been contaminated for the past few weeks, so you either have to buy bottled water or boil it yourself. At this point I will once again retire to my boudoir and start a new Portuguese lesson. I am now on lesson 8. I can count to ten, say many different colors, and can say such simple yet useful phrases as ''Men are jumping,'' and ''No, the horse is not drinking the juice of oranges.'' After the lesson, I go on a run or do some other exercises, shower, and then eat lunch. Lunch is often the same dish as was eaten for dinner the previous night, which, coincidentally, is also what is served later that day for the following dinner. After lunch, I'll wallow around the house for half an hour and then head to town. The city itself is great. I've found a public library, which will be the source of the majority of my entertainment here. The neighboring rocky beach, in a town called Salthill, is my favorite place to strum the mandolin or fall asleep pondering my existence. I've been having a great time strolling around and exploring Galway as well, which has been pleasant because of its manageable size. There are a number of music stores, bookstores, internet cafes and Turkish restaurants, such as the Saucy Sultan, so there's alway something to do.

The majority of my exposure to Irish music has come from the pubs in Galway. Twice a day, usually at 5:30 and 9:30, most of the pubs will have traditional Irish musicians come in and play sessions, which last an hour to an hour and a half. These musicians are paid, but they play around a table rather than up on a stage, and others are welcome to join. Although the musicians who join in are not paid, they are offered free drinks from the bar. These drinks are offered independent of the quality of music played by said joining musicians. For simplicity's sake, let us refer to these newcomers as ''Auyon.'' The gist of the matter is that some such Auyon may come into a bar with no knowledge of Irish music, plunk down with his mandolin and get not only a free lesson, but also (ostensibly) limitless free pints of Guinness. Twice a day, every day. Ireland is a beautiful country. Between the two sessions, I usually trudge back home and fix up dinner, and then head back. I carry my backpack everywhere because it rains multiple times a day, and the dinky umbrella I brought went inside-out 4 times when I tried using it, so now I just carry a pack with a stylish raincoat and rainpants with me.

Thus you have a typical day in Galway. This past weekend, though, brought about my first foray outside of the city. I first took a bus to Athlone, which is essentially the Kansas City of Ireland, being in the dead center of the country, to visit Eimear Heeney and her fiance Seamie. The connection here is that my father works with Eimear's uncle in Kansas City, and so I was able to talk to her a bit before I had left the US. My time in Athlone was absolutely incredible-- Eimear and Seamie took me out and introduced me to friends and family, and we even made a day trip to Kinvara for a boat festival (read: drinking). Kinvara is where Eimear's other uncle's family lives, and is on the west coast of Ireland, not too far from Galway. The following day, I headed down to the home of Patricia and Micheal in Port Laoise (pronounced Port Leash), where I have spent the past few days. Patricia and Micheal are Eimear's uncle and aunt as well. Just as Eimear and Seamie did, they have taken me in as though I were family and have shown me around the town and helped me find a pub or two in which to play. Today, I spent a great deal of time with their good friend, Roisin, who lives in a nearby town called Timahoe. Roisin took me to her home in Timahoe and gave me a lot of Irish music. While I was there, I met her four dogs. Their names are Mikey, Bailey, Quilt and Jack. While we were driving over, we had a short conversation about the dogs.

Roisin: So I think Jack is autistic.

Me: I've never heard of an autistic dog.

Roisin: He's never been quite right since the day he was born.

Me: Why's that?

Roisin: Well, for one, he never looks me in the eye. He also gets so excited that he runs into things a lot. Like cupboards and such. Usually the same cupboard.

Me: What else?

Roisin: Well you know how canines establish a pack order? Like wolves? Well, it's the same with my dogs. The problem is that Jack doesn't know his place in the pack. He kind of moves up and down. It's not supposed to be a secret. The other dogs have just learned to put up with it.

I had never heard of a socially awkward dog. By this point, I was pretty excited about meeting Jack. When I got out of the car, I found that three dogs immediately started sniffing me and jumping up to be petted. The fourth dog had a scruffy face, never met my gaze, and generally ignored my presence until I petted him. When I started petting him, I noticed that his tail started wagging, but not like anything I'd seen before. It was really slow, like a horizontal pendulum, as though it was something he had to think really hard about. He was also very easily distracted, and Roisin informed me that he often growls at the other dogs for no apparent reason. He doesn't go on walks either, since anytime something comes down the road, he sits and waits until it passes. I decided I really like Jack.

On the way back from Roisin's place, we passed a field.

Roisin: You see that field there?

Me: Yeap.

Roisin: We're going to have a bullshit competition.

Me: Sorry?

Roisin: A bullshit competition. You split up a field into square yards. People can buy a square for something like 10 euros. Then you put a bull in the field. If the bull shits in your square first, you win the prize.

I thought that this was the best idea I had ever heard. I was trying to come up with something similar I could do in Kansas, since I might have some trouble finding a bull. My favorite solution was going to something like a soccer field, and having all the participants in the bleachers. Then I'd send Aroop into the field, and we'd all watch until he did his thing. Everybody wins, because everyone likes Aroop, and Aroop likes that sort of thing.

Finally, I have a bit to share from a book that I was reading earlier. Patricia had lent me a book about Irish cooking, which has a brief culinary history of Ireland as well as a rundown of the major festivals. One of the festivals discussed was Halloween. On Halloween (Samhain, in Gaelic), they hide a lot of stuff in traditional dishes, like boxty pancakes, pudding, etc. I remember in French class in middle school, we used to eat a cake with an almond in it, and whoever got the almond was king or queen for the day. The Irish are much cooler. They hide stuff that's both good and bad. The key is as follows:

ring = marriage before the following spring

dried pea = spinsterhood

bean = riches

rag = poverty

matchstick = your husband will beat you

Upon reading this passage, I was left with two questions. The first is how do you hide a rag in a pancake? No one is going to pick the pancake that smells like Scrubbin' Bubbles and has seams. The second question is what would you tell a girl who finds both the ring and the matchstick? ''You're going to be getting married honey, but it's gonna be a doozy!''

I leave you with that. 

Much love, 

Auyon