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I flew to Dublin a week ago and even with jet lag, it was downright glorious and I’m eager to do it again. I flew out of JFK, a prison camp attached to a strip mall, and landed seven hours later and was struck by the friendliness. The immigration lady seemed glad I had come and I got into conversations at baggage claim simply by asking questions. I find the Irish accent impenetrable but when I cupped my ear and said, “Eh?” they instantly switched to clear English.
The cabdriver was friendly. I asked him about Gaelic and he said, “Yes, they teach it in the schools but we forget most of it except for a few words and not many of us could carry on a conversation.” I asked him about the Irish gypsies, the Travelling People, and he said, “Yes, you still see some horse-and-buggy folk but they don’t allow them to camp on the roadsides anymore. They’re trying to settle them.” The cab fare was 31 euros and I handed him a fifty and said, “Thank you,” and he hesitated. “Are you sure?” he said. A cabdriver trying to decline a tip. Remarkable.
My hotel was the Grafton on Stephens Street in the old section of town, among walking streets with little shops, and I encountered such kindliness out walking, due to my poor vision and inability to read the street signs painted on the second-story corners of buildings, I kept asking for directions and Irish people recognized my accent and some recalled their own time in America and some conversations came to the point either sitting down for coffee or moving on and I kept moving.
I walked into the hotel restaurant and got the best breakfast buffet ever, an assembly of croissants and pastries, perfectly poached eggs, ham, bacon, cereals, cakes, jams, and coffees and teas, and friendly uniformed women with impeccable manners there to assist. I cupped my ear and they spoke clear English.
I walked around the neighborhood and felt welcome there. And what made it especially pleasant was getting away from the news of the impending American catastrophe. If the lunatic felon is elected and takes his revenge on his opposition and uses the Army to round up migrants and destroys the economy, Dublin strikes me as a beautiful place to live out the rest of my life.
The party of Lincoln has been corrupted on the national level: you cannot be a Republican without swearing to things you know are not true. Its standard-bearer runs for office on the proposition that America is a hellhole, which everyone knows it is not. New York, for example, has seen a steep decline in violent crime. But mid-America still believes in the mythical city where gangs roam the streets freely doing what they will.
Some blame goes to the Left, which holds that we must never be content, there is more to be done, and which, in good times, can always find injustice to complain about, and it is married to the idea that ours is a racist society. It refuses to acknowledge that great strides have been made.
For the felon, resentment is a powerful platform, the idea that a contemptuous elite has rigged the system to their own benefit. And your Mexican cleaning lady, the construction and farm workers, nannies, are an advanced invading force, and soon we’ll be singing “La bandera de las estrellas” instead of The Star-Spangled Banner.
I can see the day when I’ll be an alien in my native land and when that day comes, there’s always Dublin. I have no Irish blood in me but I vote for the pleasure of conversation and stories and gratitude for the blessings of life. Dublin has it all. A person could be happy there.
Garrison Keillor is an author and radio personality. His latest book is "Cheerfulness". Buy it at a 38% discount! by clicking here. Sales help fund JWR.