Keeping it Real

It's been a long-term goal of mine to go to Ireland one day, and would you know, last week, that dream came true. I booked a Ryanair flight and flew off to see the world (or rather, a part of it). I spent a day in Galway and two days in Dublin. While I was there, I had many a cup of tea, saw Galway's St. Nicolas Church, Galway Cathedral, Lynch's Castle and Spanish arches. I walked the promenade and sat by Galway Bay, feeding the swans. In Dublin, I visited Trinity College where I got a peak at the Book of Kells, that illustrated copy of the four Gospels written by monks in the 8th century. I saw Christ Church Cathedral and Kilmainham Gaol and visited the Dublin Writer's museum.
It was a perfect three-day trip.
But what's funny is that, even in Ireland, I didn't quite lose the French people.
My second day, I arrived at the Galway bus station about a half-hour early to board my bus and to head back to Dublin. As the Irish arrived, they lined up one by one behind me, quiet and unassuming.
Then this group of backpackers arrived, pushed past everyone, and camped right next to the bus door. They looked at each other and, wonder of wonders, started speaking French.
I had to laugh.
In my experience, I've noticed that the French don't really know what a line is. When you go to the préfecture, they wrestle their way to the front of the lines. When I was at a crepe party at church, I stood back at what I thought was the end of the line, and everyone elbowed past me. Eventually, a friend of mine said, "If you don't shove your way to the front, you'll never eat." At the airport, making it past security is a nightmare with everyone forming clumps instead of single-file lines.
But then, C'est la Vie. That's the French.
It's good to see the French keeping it real.