{"id":176,"date":"2018-05-28T20:50:03","date_gmt":"2018-05-28T20:50:03","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/?p=176"},"modified":"2018-07-09T12:22:40","modified_gmt":"2018-07-09T12:22:40","slug":"cheers","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/travelbeing.com\/?p=176","title":{"rendered":"Humanity"},"content":{"rendered":"

I like talking with strangers. Everyone has a story. They may not become friends but definitely memorable acquaintances…<\/p>\n

After a few nights at the Trident Hotel, a vacation apartment near the hotel and also with a view the harbor finds me! When the owner phones to arrange our meeting, he describes himself as “a six foot three, three-hundred pound man, you can’t miss me.” Jim is large, matching his character and wit. While shop owners suggest I get outta town during the Kinsale Rugby Sevens, Jim enthusiastically convinces me to stay while teaching me a thing or two about the sport.<\/p>\n

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Lusitania memorial<\/p><\/div>\n

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Kinsale Rugby Sevens<\/p><\/div>\n

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A Kinsale nurse working in NYC installed a 9\/11 Garden of Remembrance<\/p><\/div>\n

The next week, he generously drove me on a two-hour tour of the area complete with commentary.<\/p>\n

In the tiny health food grocery store, Helen and I greet each other by name every other day. Her blondish gray hair is cut in a bob with breezy bangs. Wire-rimmed glasses perch on her nose and her smile is even with one slightly chipped upper tooth. We share thoughts on food, books, and of course, the Royal Wedding. “She’s a golddigger, that one. I\u00a0 give’em four years, tops.” More importantly, she tells me how to fix the cable connection in my apartment.<\/p>\n

Because I plan to stay awhile and because it’s cooler than expected, I look for a thrift store. Remember I have only one small suitcase for six months and all space is taken. I find St. Vincent de Paul. A twenty-something girl named Sophie helps me find a hoodie for two euro (which I use for three weeks then re-donate). She has lovely clear, milky skin and I comment on it. She informs me that she was taught to take care of her skin and moisturize. Always moisturize. “My grams’ told me, ‘Don’t forget the back of your neck. When you get older, honey, you’ll probably wear short hair. You don’t want them wrinkles showing all up and down the back o’ yer neck’.” (This is now part of my morning ritual).<\/p>\n

Attila, is from Serbia; he and his brother own an exceptionally individualistic shop with ‘upcycled magic’ goods made from ships’ sails and life rafts.<\/p>\n

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Attila in shop<\/p><\/div>\n

We get to talking…I tell him I’ve had this blog site for six years but hadn’t the confidence to write in it saying, “I’m a reader, I could never write like the masters of craft that I read.” Attila looked at me with frustration and pity and said, “Hey. What’s the matter with you? Do you see the logo on our card? It says, ‘Go Your Own Way’. You do not compare. What are you waiting for?”\u00a0 He told me that he was going to DJ a reggae night in town. I went. Only one other person and me danced on the floor. It didn’t matter. Passion moved him to spinning records. Inspiring, Hun.<\/p>\n

Working in the natural body products shop, Neegle? (another tricky Gaelic name) and I talk for I swear over an hour (business is slow). Round face, red hair worn in a bun, her countenance is jolly. She shares with me her three! near-death experiences. One: kicked in the head by a horse, twice. Two: run over by a tractor. “I saw the blade coming at me and knew it was the end. The blade missed me but the tire run me over.” Three: bicycle hit and pulled under a truck. “The bloody idiot came ’round and asked me, ‘Are you allright?’ I said, ‘Do I bloody look fuckin’ allright?’ ” If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t have known about a fundraiser with live music that evening.<\/p>\n

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Karen Underwood and band<\/p><\/div>\n

“A black singer from Chicago. We don’t see much of that here in Kinsale. I bet she’s got a set o’ pipes on ‘er!”\u00a0 (An outstanding show).<\/p>\n

The local fishmonger Tim has a bald head and a slight paunch. He explains the difference between ocean shrimp and the much smaller local bay shrimp. Thinking about peeling and cleaning them is slightly intimidating and I say so. He offers to do the work. “No, you don’t have to,” I say. With joviality, he insists. In America, I carry around Hershey kisses and offer them to those who have done something nice or to those who look like they could use a little sugar. “If I had some chocolate, I’d share it with you,” I said. “Oh no,” he replied, “chocolate gives me a migraine. Can’t touch the stuff.”\u00a0 A couple of days later, I buy a lottery ticket for one euro and pop in his shop. He’s helping a customer so I hand it to him over the counter adding, “Thank you. The shrimp tasted of Kinsale sweetness.” Smiling, he waved the ticket in the air and said, “Oh there, if I win I’ll split it wich ya!” The following week, a man passes me in the street and calls a name. He repeats the name, loudly, “Heidi”!\u00a0 I’m taken by surprise (you talkin’ to me?) and turn around. “Tim, hello!” We chat for a wee bit and go on our way. Well, well. A local called my name in the streets of Kinsale, County Cork, Ireland. That makes me smile. It’s OK to leave now.<\/p>\n

“God is in you and God is in me, To love all of God is to love humanity.”<\/p>\n

— Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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