New Places, Night Pictures!

I have been using a new web format for class! Check out some of my articles and pictures! Click here or copy the web address: http://kristietravelwriting.weebly.com/

On another note, I took a night photography class! These are some of my favorites.

Don't Expect All the Answers

Irish people I have met can be disdainful and bemused; sharp-witted yet reflective; tight-lipped and open-faced. When you walk into a place of business, you know this is not the American South where everyone is greeted with a smile. Initially, it made me nervous.

I crept into the office, feeling every bit a foreigner. I was there to report a malfunction in my bathroom. The hot water was stuck at 48 degrees Celsius, and after jumping out of the steaming water, I later found that was about 118 Fahrenheit. 

The receptionist glanced in my direction briefly and coolly, perhaps hoping that I would go away and not give him anything to worry about. His skin was pale, which is not surprising considering the Irish sun generally shines in only one out of ten days. His head was dark, though, matching his eyes that miraculously enough looked very interested in being bored.

When I told him of my dilemma, he tucked in his lifted chin, and, lowering his head, inquired, “stuck at farty-eht, is it?” His severity was betrayed by a chuckle at my plight. He didn’t look down his nose at me, aloof or even annoyed, as I had feared. He didn’t even look through me, reducing me to my problem. His gaze was straight-on, steadfast, eye-level. 

It had been several days before someone could make it out to fix my shower. I had to survive on splashing the scalding water onto myself from a slight distance. But one afternoon, I walked into my room to find another Irish lad with plumbing tools laid out on my carpet. He was earnest, and like his fellow employee, tucked in his chin to level his gaze. He was even paler than the receptionist. Although young, his skin and hair looked like gray mist. His workman’s denim also appeared grayed by his presence.

“It’s the whole ting’ll have to be replaced. ‘Tis too old and no good now,” he muttered, his low voice and thick accent barely audible. “I’ll be back after lunch to finish up.” Lunch took about two and a half hours, but the young plumber did indeed return. The next day he finished the work, but left sincerely apologizing for the ceramic dust on the ground, despite my attempt to reassure him it was not a problem to me. He called the housekeeper up to vacuum, or “hoover” the carpet.

Back home, the American counterparts of these men would probably tilt back their sun-bleached heads, turn their eyes upward looking to the sky, or perhaps try to gaze into their own minds for a self-sufficient solution. But not these Irish lads; the eyes level and take a clear firm look at you. It’s like they were intent on understanding the question more than on giving an answer.

If you look through travel blogs and articles, you can surely find some commentary on how Europeans don’t feel a need to smile at someone they don’t know. This elicits mixed results from American travellers. On one hand, it could make the unaccustomed feel uncomfortable, but on the other hand, the Europeans feel they are just being more genuine. A store clerk in Texas may give a big bright smile, but perhaps it is simply the height of insincerity. Americans, for the most part I hope, are trying to be welcoming and warm, but can they really always mean it? A grinning American myself, I admit I was one who initially felt extremely uncomfortable, wondering if I had done something to offend the scowling clerk.

I had a moment of breakthrough though. Since I have been in Ireland, I have frequently gotten coffee from a café in the mornings; the café fully equipped with a stone-faced barista. The other day though, as I walked in, though, she smiled and said “Hiya!” I was mildly astonished. She recognized me and didn’t even ask if I wanted cream (she knew I did). Knowing that her reaction was genuine and based on an actual personal connection was priceless. Her smile was personal, not mechanical; I basked in the sincerity.

As an American, I don’t know if I will (or can) stop smiling when I meet someone, but I have come to appreciate the deeper sense of connection needed for a real smile, and indeed the depth of feeling that be conveyed with a passive face. The store clerks may not be gregarious, but that doesn’t mean they don’t care about their jobs or the people they interact with. As I began to soak into a new culture of interpersonal relations, my nervousness began to fade like morning mist.