I recently returned from a once-in-a-lifetime trip to Ireland, the “Emerald Isle.” I had a fantastic time with my mom, dad and cousin, guzzling Guinness in Dublin, soaking up traditional Irish music in Galway and even smooching the stone at Blarney Castle, which supposedly blesses me with the “gift of gab,” like I don’t already “gab” enough.
My mom has dreamed about this trip for years. My dad, along with my cousin, was simply along for the ride, down for any fun or “craic” as the Irish called it.
For more than a year, my mom and I planned this trip: a nearly two-week tour of Ireland that started in the capital city of Dublin, spending plenty of time in Galway’s famed pubs, popping out to the windy Cliffs of Moher, traversing the winding and narrow Ring of Kerry, and ending in Cork, where we’d take a flight to London and return home.
Well, my cousin and I would return home. My mom and dad, however, would continue, taking a cruise to Norway. They’re still gallivanting through the fjords as I write this column. Those lucky ducks.
With this kind of itinerary, I felt both excitement and dread as I led my family through Lambert Airport. We could have a lot of fun and make tons of memories, but we could also crash and burn in spectacular style – all it would take is just one little screw-up on my part: I forget to check in for our flights and someone stole the seats we paid for; the Airbnb I booked in Galway turns out to be a scam, and we’ll have to sleep on the docks with the seagulls; the Beefeaters determine I didn’t fill out our visas correctly, declare us to be traitors to the royal crown and send us to the gallows at the Tower of London.
As I sat at my gate in Terminal 2, all these scenarios seemed entirely plausible.
Astonishingly, though, everything went according to plan, and in my family, that’s a feat in and of itself.
I love my family, but I would not call them “world travelers.”
First, this was my cousin’s first time leaving the country, ever. Second, my parents are extremely smart and street-savvy; I’ll give them that, but they’re hampered by new-age technology like tap-to-pay and Google Maps. Tech is just not their strong suit.
That left me, Abby, to navigate most of our flights, accommodations, outings, eateries, etc. I’ve been very blessed to travel the world starting at a young age, taking a tour of Europe’s top tourist attractions in high school, then interning at a Brussels newspaper while in college, and more recently visiting friends living in southern France and Spain.
Thanks to my prior worldly travels, I felt confident I could blend in with the locals in Ireland and get to where I needed to go without sticking out like a sore thumb. It’s one thing to do this by myself; it’s an entirely different situation to do this with your three extremely Midwestern family members.
I told them repeatedly to pack muted, toned-down outfits for our trip and dress up a little bit more than they usually would. I wanted to represent America well on this trip across the pond. What did they pack, you may wonder? Well, my dad wore a USA baseball cap for the first few days of our trip before I begged him to pack it away; he instead purchased an Ireland cap at the Guinness Storehouse and wore that for the remainder of the vacation. My mom pulled out at least three different Mizzou T-shirts to wear, and my cousin rocked Teva sandals and shorts for most of the trip. Ay caramba.
Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t prevent my family from committing some glaring faux pas – like when my cousin begged for a bottle of water because they don’t just hand out free glasses of ice water at restaurants, and my dad speaking at full volume while walking through Trinity College in Dublin.
You can take the Midwesterner out of the Midwest, but you can’t take the Midwest out of the Midwesterner.
As exhausting as it was for me to repeatedly explain to the waitress that, no, we don’t want to pay for the bottled sparkling water; we’ll take tap, thanks, and constantly shushing my father in churches and schools, I learned a lot about what truly matters when traveling.
I learned that it’s OK to be a Midwesterner in Europe. Despite my fears, the Irish we met were so kind and welcoming. They found our Americanisms to be delightful and funny, not offensive. My mom, with her Midwest charm, made Irish friends on every train ride we took and pub we visited. I was amazed at how well we were received, and perhaps slightly chastised.
Why am I trying to morph my family into something they’re not? I wouldn’t want the Irish to change who they are for me, so why should I want my family to change who they are?
One night, my cousin and I escaped my parents and headed to a pub called Fitzgeralds in Galway’s Latin Quarter. While playing a card game called “31,” a Stetina special, we befriended an Irish couple also in their 20s. They were visiting Galway for the weekend; their two-hour cross-country car ride was considered a “big road trip” for the couple. We promptly let them know that you couldn’t even cross the great state of Missouri in two hours, let alone the entire U.S. They were gob smacked.
That initiated an hours-long cultural exchange, where we toasted to Dolly Parton, a national treasure both in America and Ireland; explained to the couple that, no, Johnny Cash was not Irish like they assumed but was instead from Arkansas; and convinced them that, whenever they came to the States, their vacation wouldn’t be complete without taking a float trip down the Current River. It just wouldn’t.
We went our separate ways following last call, and my cousin exclaimed that this was by far the best night of our trip. I couldn’t help but agree – and we were our complete Midwestern selves the entire evening.