A Bunch of Feckin' Hoors

Man, that was one hell of a long drink. Actually, I had extreme responsibilities for many other things, including reading for my writer's group and actually producing something fresh for the same. So, although I have great plans for this blog, I will have to meet a few responsibilities first.

I was just starting to rip into the current trend in travel narratives when my traveling buddy called for a few drinks. She had all German beers because of an Oktoberfest special, but in honor of Ireland and my impending trip, I had Harp's Ale. Not at all bad considering I'm a wanker when it comes to beer.

Anyway, narcissism or whining about a lost love seems to be the trend in travel narratives. "My baby done left me, my life is shallow and fucked up, so let me run with the bulls or sleep with a few foreigners to find out who I am."  What the hell is wrong with a good old fashioned sense of adventure or plain old curiosity? Isn't that enough of a reason to explore and speak to interesting people in exotic places?

I have been to Spain, Portugal, and Gibralter, but the only form of self-discovery I engaged in was to discover that I did have a sense of adventure and was profoundly curious to visit more of Europe. And it wasn't just to look at a bunch of tourist sites or old castles. Even with the amazing castles, cathedrals, and the Rock of Gibralter itself, the most memorable parts of the trip were the people--even with a significant language barrier. There is something very magical about people who both stumble with each other's language, yet try and eventually succeed in communicating at the most basic level. What better way to dust off that old high school and street Spanish? Oh, and Mexican street Spanish will get you by in Spain, but the Spanish they speak in Spain seems less hurried and more melodic. It was beautiful. I still find myself wanting to say grathias. And in Portuguese, obrigado is such an easy and beautiful word to say. All the nasty things we have heard about the French? They do not apply to the Spanish or Portuguese people. I doubt the nastiness attributed to the French is accurate and hope to prove it to myself someday.

Okay, so who would I recommend for travel writers? Bill Bryson for "In a Sunburned Country." For Ireland and things Irish, Pete McCarthy in "McCarthy's Bar" and "The Road to McCarthy." McCarthy's writing was superb. I say was because I just found out Pete McCarthy passed away a few years ago from cancer. I was profoundly sad to learn that. First, that there would be no more books from him, and second because Pete McCarthy seemed like the kind of travelling buddy we would all wish for.

In fact, the title of today's entry is from "The Road to McCarthy." He's telling of an Irish song called "The Holy Ground" about an Irish port city where the wives of seafaring men bid their husbands a touching farewell. It was such a sweet song the Irish people sung it for the pope when he visited. But a crusty old Irishman tells McCarthy, "They were a bunch of feckin' hoors! Twas all brothels along here, a bit of a party for the randy auld sailors. Of course they don't like you saying it, but feck 'em, for it's the truth." Now how could you not want to sit and have pint with someone like that? That's what world travel is about. And if you still want to whine about the man or woman who did you wrong and try to discover the person you would have been had you not pissed it away in a relationship you probably held onto too long, well, feck off you snivelers.