On Sunday afternoon, I wandered over to a pub in Galway that featured live music from 3-6 pm. Patty was supposed to meet me there but she'd wandered somewhere else. (Mom was taking a nap back at the hotel.)
Great music, toe-tapping, people kept jumping up to step-dance, one guy sang a long dolorous Gaelic tune ("What's that about?" I asked him. "A girl" he replied helpfully).
Though in my 50's, I could tell a couple of guys were eyeing me. One came over during a break to "chat me up" as they say here, asked where I live. "Azerbaijan" I said. That sent him reeling off in another direction. Another man approached me, said "oh darlin', you don't have to say you live in Azerbaijan to be shed of him, just say you're from Texas." "But I do live in Azerbaijan," I told him, "I tell the truth. Well, usually."
We then had a great conversation about the ex-Soviet Union, along with his colleague (pictured). They made me promise not to post their photo on facebook, and I didn't.
