The life of a language is to speak it.
Too busy speaking, so here are a few photos: two of Patrick Pearse’s cottage and one of a sean-nós dancer. Ró-ghnóthach á labhairt, ach seo é cupla ghrianghraif: rinceoir sean-nós agus teachín Pádraig Mac Piarais. Click on the image to make it larger.
p.s. I’m terrified the Fulbright Commission will see this blog and ask for their money back, ach is fearr Gaeilge bhriste, ná Béarla cliste.
A good start is half the work. 
Mo chairde agus gach gaeilgeoirí: Thosaigh ár rang sa Cheathrú Rua innui. Ar dtús, ceapaim go bhfuil an múinteoir an-deas agus an-suimiúil, Níl sé ró-dheacair; níl sé ró-éasca. Pádraic is ainm do. Labhraíonn sé go soiléir agus úsáideann sé Gaeilge go leor. Tá tuirse orm, ach tá sasta orm a bheith anseo!
…and for all y’all: Here I am in almost heaven Conamara. A chilly rain started the moment we left Galway and headed toward Carraroe on Friday afternoon. We were deposited with our bean an tí; she’s a lovely woman named Áine Lucy whose husband is named Cíarán. They have three children who all welcomed us warmly in spite of this North American invasion. Lucy immediately brought out a steaming pot of tea, a plate of homemade scones and brown bread, a big beautiful slab of Irish butter alongside a pitcher of cream. From the kitchen window you can see the ocean. The pub, An Chistin, is a five-minute walk from the house—oh, and so is the school.
As it turns out, I am also living with a great group of students, all of them different, all of them nice, all of them very happy to be here. You can see their smiling faces in the photo. It is everything I could have hoped for and more, although I may return to the U.S. weighing twice as much as when I left. Note to self: Starting tomorrow, at least two laps around the peninsula before class each day.
Listen to the sound of the river and you will get a trout.
Right now this one fits my jet-lagged, loopy brain to a tee. As an American, I read that adage and try to find the deep, nearly impenetrable meaning. Which is, of course, what it’s all about. If, rather than putting your fishing pole in the water, you’re foolish enough to listen to the sound of the river to get a trout, you may go hungry. Or, as Nike’s Madison Avenue friends would say in a far less poetic way, “Just Do It.” Guess it’s time to get out there and do it—but first let me just say this about the Irish language: not only is it necessary to translate the words, you have to understand these obscure idioms, all mixed up in strings of consonants and invisible vowels. Oy veh!
Having arrived in Ireland just two days after the 150th anniversary of W.B. Yeats’ birth, I’ll finish this post with a quote of his that always makes me smile: “Being Irish he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.”
A fly will not go into a mouth that is closed.
As I prepare for my summer language course in Ireland, I realize this particular seanfhocal will probably not serve me well. If I want to learn, I will have to open my mouth fairly often — and speak Irish when I do.
For my first three weeks in Ireland, I’ll be at Acadamh na hOllscolaíochta Gaeilge in Carraroe, a village in Conamara. On this wild west coast of Ireland, I’ll be studying Irish all day, every day, and living with a host family who speak Irish. It looks like there’ll be lots of opportunity to speak Irish in the evening, as well, with music (ceol), dancing (damhsa) and touring (turas). If I can sneak a little Irish into your vocabulary, that will be a bonus!
Note
According to Wikipedia, Conamara Chaos is a “region of chaotic terrain” on the surface of Jupiter’s moon Europa. It was named after Conamara in Ireland, which has a “similarly rugged landscape.”
So, off I go to Conamara, chaos notwithstanding and mouth open, ready for na gcuileanna (the flies)!
Learning Irish in Conamara 