Our trip to Ireland occasionally ventured into the land of the cliche. We drank pints of Guinness, we ate lamb stew, and we wondered every now and then if all of this wasn’t simply a show put on for the amusement of tourists.
A potato specialist? In Ireland? (I nearly hyperventilated.)
But I’ve spent enough time there to have learned this: it is all sincere. The pints of dark stout and the men in the tweed hats and the bright green hills and the dark wood of crowded pubs – these things existed long before I could point out the country on a map. They are not merely for our amusement.
And besides, you can’t conjure up a rainbow just in time for tourist season. On the day we drove around the Ring of Kerry, we found ourselves moving from sun to rain to run again, and the inevitable result was an arc of color that we chased across the countryside.
In my previous life, when I worked on board games, I remember one of the questions pertained to rainbows. How they always appeared opposite the sun. (This fact has been written on the folds of my brain in indelible ink. I remain unsure of the precise date of my father’s birthday, but can’t seem to forget that one tidbit.)
And yes, there is sun in Ireland (you can’t have rainbows without it). It’s not just there for the tourists. But sometimes? It sort of feels like it is.