I'm not Irish by any meaningful standard. I am an American, which naturally means my lineage tends to be widely varied. My own ancestors hailed from the Plains of what became the US (I qualify for some but not all of the reparation benefits, though I have never chosen to collect - what's done is done I suppose) the fair land of Ireland (who ensured I have a pasty white complexion) and Germany (who, when combined with the Irish, granted a tolerance for alcohol that extends beyond what my body size ought to handle).
That said, Ireland is the most magicical place I ever laid eyes on.
For fourteen months, I was deployed with the 18th Airborne Corps to Baghdad. From November through July I didn't see a cloud in the sky nor a drop of rain. Even the color green was slowly erased from my memory because, as the summer drags on in the cradle of civlization, any plant life that has the unmitigated audacity to survive is slowly coated in a layer of dirt with the consistancy of talcum powder. During this time, I never had so much as a day off, and my life consisted of nothing more than being on duty, sleeping and eating. Then, I came up for R&R - the opportunity to get a plane ticket to anywhere in the world and take two weeks away from the war.
I thought long and hard but decided I would almost certainly never have a better chance to see any decent part of the rest of the world and decided on a whirlwind tour of Britain. After a hellish three day wait exposed on the flight line of Baghdad International Airport, where the temperature easily crept above 120 degrees, I got on a short, uncomfortable flight to Kuwait where I once again simply sat around and waited. Four days later, I finally came up on my flight with a final destination of Shannon, Ireland. Even at 2 in the morning, the lingering heat of the day was still opressive at well over 100 degrees. Having not goten decent sleep in months, I simply passed out on the plane and woke up in Ireland 7 or so in the morning.
There is nothing that can compare to walking off that plane. The air was brisk - perhaps 50 or 60 degrees and a light misting rain was falling. Before me, just beyond the flight line was the famous rolling green hills that lend the island it's nickname (I assume anyhow). While most were forced to wait for yet another leg of their journey, I walked through customs, hailed a cab and began the real adventure of my deployment. To hell with the people who claim the Irish have no cuisine - the meal I had that afternoon seemed fit for a king or conquering hero. I only got to spend 3 days on the Island but they were magical in every sense of the word. The rest of the kingdom proved well worth the visit, but there is still some part of me that just wants to find some little village there to settle down in. No other place I have been has had such an impact.
