Notes from a Spinning Planet—Ireland (7 page)

We take turns snapping photos of each other, I think to prove we were actually here. “This must be one of the most remote spots in Ireland,” I say as we get onto our bikes and prepare to pedal back across the island.

“And isolated,” says Ryan. “I read in the brochure that sometimes they are completely cut off from civilization during the winter, at times when it’s too rough for the ferry to come out.”

“Can you imagine?” I say as I gaze across the beautiful but rugged landscape along the edge of the sea. I continue thinking about how it would feel to live in a place like this as we ride down the narrow dirt road that twists and turns between the farms. I look at a small stone farmhouse, so vastly different from the two-story modern home I grew up in, and I try to imagine what it would really feel like to live in a place so far removed from the modern world. I’m not sure I could handle it.

We stop at a pub for drinks, and I’m relieved when Ryan gets a soda. Maybe he’s gotten the whole Guinness thing out of his system now. I know I wouldn’t complain about it if he has. We hear the sound of the ferry’s horn and quickly finish our drinks and then hurry back to the boat.

“I’m so tired,” I admit after we load our bikes and get our spot in the bow. “I hope I can make it back to town before dark.”

“We could always call for a ride from the port,” he says. “Maybe Sid could pick up you and the bike, and I could go ahead and just ride—”

“No,” I say quickly, “I’ll be fine. I guess I’ll just be sleeping really, really well tonight.”

To my relief, the return trip doesn’t seem quite as long as the one this morning. That might be due to the cooler air or to the fact that I recognize the landmarks now, plus I keep telling myself it won’t be long till we’re back in town. We take a quick break at the little store, and this time a short, chubby woman (I suspect the wife) is working there, but I can tell she’s ready to close up shop. I don’t even bother to ask her about bottled water as I hurry to get our sports drinks. But after we’re back outside, I call Sid to tell her we’re running late.

“Don’t worry,” she says quickly. “I’m not done here yet. I can’t believe the stuff I’m finding out. In fact, you guys might as well get yourselves some dinner if I’m not in Clifden by the time you’re back.”

I share this news with Ryan, and he frowns. “Man, I hope everything’s going okay for her.”

I kind of shrug. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

His brow creases as he chucks his empty bottle into the trash can. “Ireland’s kind of a weird place, Maddie. I mean, it’s beautiful and amazing and mysterious and all that. But trust me, there’s a lot of pain and heartache lying just beneath the surface. Seriously, I’ve grown up hearing these stories. It’s not all as pretty as it appears.”

I’m about to ask him what he means by this, but he’s already
getting back on his bike. So I take one last swig of my drink, toss my bottle into the trash, and despite the dull but growing ache in my hindquarters, I get back onto my bike as well. It takes my full concentration to just keep pedaling—left, right, left, right—but after a while I realize we’re almost back to town. Just one more hill. I actually gasp out a desperate prayer as I’m creeping like a lethargic tortoise toward the top of the hill, begging God to strengthen my legs, which are actually shaking from fatigue right now. And when I reach the top, I beg him to help me make it down the decline without a serious crash and burn. Those rock walls bordering the road suddenly look formidable—not to mention I’m not wearing a helmet!
Dear God, just get me to the inn in one piece!

And with some seriously sore muscles, I do make it. I feel a mixture of relief and exhaustion as we walk our bikes down the sidewalk toward the inn. And Ryan, very generously, offers to return the bikes for us. I don’t even protest, nor do I experience a single pang of guilt as I watch him wheeling my detestable vehicle away. We agree to meet in the lobby downstairs around seven for dinner. Ryan has picked out the restaurant, and I am too ravenous to argue. It takes every last bit of my strength to make it up the three flights of stairs to my room. Haven’t they heard of elevators in Ireland?

I strip off my stinky clothes, and to my surprise, the slow, drippy shower feels pretty fabulous. I let the hot water dribble down my worn-out body for nearly half an hour before I finally emerge and slowly get dressed again. I can’t believe it’s nearly seven already. And as hungry as I am, I’m a little worried about going
back down all those stairs again—and then to think I have to come back up! Ireland is not for the faint of heart…or maybe that’s the weary of body. At any rate, I should be in pretty good shape by the time I’m done with this vacation.

“No sign of Sid yet?” Ryan asks when I meet him in the lobby.

I shake my head. “I tried her cell phone, but it must be turned off. Anyway, I left her a message about where we’d be eating in case she gets here in time to meet us.”

Okay, I haven’t missed that this guy cleans up pretty well. You’d hardly know that he had been on an exhausting bike ride today. Whereas my cheeks are still flushed, and my legs feel like limp noodles. But, looking cool and rather attractive, Ryan has on a blue cotton sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. And it actually brings out the color of his eyes. Who knew they were so blue? I do feel a bit of relief that his khakis are wrinkled. I’m sure it’s only from his suitcase, but I’m glad he doesn’t look too perfect.

“Ready to go then?”

“I’m starving,” I tell him.

“Me too,” he says, and together we head for the door, which he politely opens for me. And, okay, I know this is nuts, but this feels almost like a date. “That was a good workout today, and you did a great job of keeping up, Maddie.”

“Seriously?” I glance at him skeptically. “You really think so?”

“Yeah. You’re in good shape.”

“Thanks.” I smile to myself as he points us toward the waterfront. He thinks I’m in good shape. Cool. “So how’d you hear
about this restaurant anyway?” I ask as we stop at a corner and wait for a fish truck to pass. “Are you sure it’s good?”

“The owner of the inn told me about it this morning. And when I turned the bikes in, the girl at the bike shop even mentioned it. She said the chef is a friend of hers and that he trained in Paris. Plus she told me they’re having live music tonight.”

“Cool,” I say. But even though I say this, I immediately flash back to the live music we heard last night, remembering how stressed I got over the whole drinking thing. “Is this in a pub too?” I try to keep the suspicious tone out of my voice, but I think it’s futile.

“Yep. It’s a pub, Maddie.” He gives me a sideways glance I can’t quite read. “And you’re going to have to get over your ‘pubphobia.’ I mean, this
is
Ireland. Pubs are just part of the culture here.”

I force a stiff smile and try to act like I’m okay with this. “Yeah, I know.” But as we turn the corner and go down a side street, I ask myself why I’m so irritated by this. Why is it so unsettling for me to be with someone who’s consuming alcohol? It’s not like I’m drinking. Even so, I want to ask Ryan if he plans to drink tonight. At the same time, I know I have no right to tell him what he can or cannot do. I mean, even my aunt thinks it’s okay. He’s probably right. I do need to get over this.

But as we enter the pub, it occurs to me that maybe I can say something to make Ryan understand where I’m coming from and why this is making me so uncomfortable. And then, out of the blue, I remember a quote from our youth pastor. He likes to say
that “adversity can be opportunity in disguise.” And it occurs to me that I might be able to use this “opportunity” for something good. I’m thinking maybe this is my big chance to actually share my faith tonight.

Okay, on second thought, I suppose that’s kind of weird since my faith doesn’t seem terribly strong right now. I mean, the truth is, I barely even pray anymore, and if I do, it’s usually more of a desperate cry-for-help kind of prayer. So, really, who am I to witness to anyone?

Even so, I decide to jump right in. And it’s not a coincidence that I broach the subject of religion right after Ryan orders himself a Guinness. Why not just get to the point?

“I know I already told you I’m a Christian,” I begin kind of tentatively. “And although I’m not perfect, I do take my religion seriously.” Okay, maybe that’s a stretch. I
used to
take it seriously, but lately, well, I’m not even sure what I think. But he doesn’t have to know everything about me.

“And?” He looks as if he expects me to continue, like I was really going somewhere with this. Like where?

“And…” I try to form a sensible thought in my head. “Well, I’m just not sure it’s right for me to be hanging out in a beer-drinking establishment and with someone who would be underage back home but who thinks it’s perfectly fine to drink over here in Ireland.” Okay, I said it. It’s out there. And now I sort of feel like my foot’s in my mouth.

He slowly nods as if he’s absorbing this. It actually gives me
hope, and I start to think that maybe my witnessing idea is going to work after all.

“You see,” I continue. “I think God has a lot more to offer us than the world does.” I feel some enthusiasm in my voice now, as if maybe I’ve actually stumbled into something good. “And I think that he calls me, as a Christian, to be different from the world; he calls me to stand up for what I believe. Do you get that?”

He nods again.

“And so that’s what I’m trying to do, Ryan. I realize I can’t really judge you, but I need to remain firm and steadfast in my own faith and convictions.”

“So what are you actually saying? I mean, in practical terms?”

I think about this, and I’m not really sure. I guess it feels like I’m taking some kind of a stand, but what kind of stand is it? What do I
really
mean? Should I stand up and leave this pub? Shake the dust off my feet and see if I can find someplace else (someplace that’s not a pub) to eat in this town? Although that seems rather unlikely at this hour. I know the bakery serves sandwiches, but I don’t think they’re open at night.

“I totally accept that you’re a Christian, Maddie,” he says in a somewhat serious voice. “Really, I respect that completely. I also respect your conviction not to drink. But does that mean I shouldn’t drink either?” Now he gets a thoughtful expression, as if something new has just occurred to him. “I mean, I don’t want to be a stumbling block to you.”

“A
stumbling block?”
Now, this is a familiar term—something
I’ve heard in church, and I think it’s even in the Bible, although I’m not totally sure where. But I’m surprised that Ryan would use this kind of terminology. Where would he have heard it?

“Yeah,” he continues. “I really wouldn’t want my having a Guinness to tempt you to do something that God has clearly told you not to do. It just wouldn’t be worth it for me. But at the same time, I don’t think it’s wrong for me to have a beer. Not to get drunk, you know, but just to enjoy it.”

“Yeah, sure, but you’re not a Christian.”

“I’m not?” His left brow lifts just slightly.

“Are you?”

With no expression, he just nods as the waitress sets my lemon soda before me and a pint of Guinness in front of him. “Yep,” he says as she walks away, “I am a Christian.” Then he holds up the pint as if to make a toast. “Any problem with that?”

Okay, I feel like someone just pulled a fast one on me. “No,” I say quickly. “I mean, if it’s true.” I frown at him. “You really
are
a Christian?”

He takes a swig, then sets his pint down. “Yep. I really am.”

“And you think God’s okay with you drinking?”

“I think God’s fine with an occasional beer. I bet he’d have one himself if he were here with us.”

I scowl at him.

“Seriously,” he says. “I don’t feel any guilt about it. Sure, I wouldn’t want to get wasted. That would be stupid. And wrong. But a beer or two?” He shrugs. “No problem.”

I shake my head. “I don’t agree.”

He holds up his pint again. “Then here’s to disagreeing but still being friends.”

I meekly hold up my soda as if I’m making this toast as well. But what I’m actually thinking is that this guy is all wet. He is totally wrong about this. And I’m not even sure he’s a real Christian either. And by the time our food arrives, I’ve started to argue with him, trying to convince him that it’s sinful to drink—especially sinful when you’re a Christian. Although the more I think about it, the less I believe his claim about that.

“Hi, kids,” says my aunt as the waiter shows her to our table.

“You made it,” says Ryan, actually getting up to pull out the chair for her. Okay, he may be a failure as a Christian, but at least the boy has some manners.

“Yes,” she says with excitement. “You wouldn’t believe how this day has gone.” She takes the menu from the waiter and quickly scans it. “I’ll have the salmon,” she tells him. Then glancing over to Ryan’s nearly finished beer, she adds, “And a Guinness.”

“And so you don’t have to drink alone,” says Ryan, “I’ll have another.”

She smiles at him. “Thank you. Hopefully that’s only your first.”

He nods, then glances over at me. “Maddie thinks Christians shouldn’t drink.”

“Oh.” Sid considers this. “Well, I guess that’s something between you and God…right, Maddie?”

I kind of nod, and then she launches into her story. “You guys aren’t going to believe this,” she says. “It was so weird. I drove out
into the country just as I’d planned. It turned out to be this sweet little farm with sheep and chickens and even a milk cow. I was thinking this guy, Sean Potter, must be doing okay.”

“He was one of the peace-camp kids?” Ryan asks.

“He was about six then. He’s in his midthirties now. But I couldn’t believe what happened.” She lowers her voice, although I don’t know how anyone would hear her in this noisy place. “Sean’s wife told me to wait in the kitchen until he got off the phone. Then she took off to drive her daughter to school. So there I was, just sitting by myself in this sweet little Irish kitchen, and I couldn’t help but hear Sean talking.”

“And?” Ryan looks totally mesmerized by a story that actually sounds kind of boring to me. But then I’m still a little stuck on this whole Christians-drinking dilemma.