The age-old saying that travelling opens up one’s mind is indeed accurate. Regardless of my indifference towards amassing knowledge when the internet supplies all the information you could require, encountering novel experiences and learning new things during a journey overseas tends to happen whether one is keen on it or not.
At present, I find myself mulling over this somewhat profound realisation while enjoying a couple of cans of the Dutch beer at Oisinn’s place. Our itinerary for the following day comprises a journey to Borbados intent on the task of transporting back – a term used by Oisinn – a luxurious yacht that some affluent gentleman used for his six-week-long Caribbean sailing trip but discarded the idea of bringing it home himself.
Oisinn then proceeds to unveil a massive sheet of paper that I soon realise is a map. This is when my argument regarding knowledge finds relevance as he points to the distance between Bridgetown and the western Cork region while I admit to him that I’ve never previously encountered a global map.
I find myself questioning, “Isn’t it interesting? So which is the land and which is the sea?”
Sorcha has the uncanny ability to read me like the safety instructions on air travel sickness bags.
It’s astounding that Sorcha’s father hasn’t harmed me, although he did purchase a plot for me in the Shanganagh Cemetery as a 40th gift.
‘Are you cognisant that your children have embraced Protestantism?’
How does one convert to Protestantism? ‘Drinking the blood of a Sussex chicken on the shores of Dalkey Island under a gibbous moon is mandatory.’
Even after knowing me for a quarter of a century, I still manage to astound him with the extent of how little I know.
He responds, “Clearly, Ross, the blue denotes the sea, and the green signifies the land.”
I retort, questioning him, “Are you certain?”
He responds with resignation, “This is going to be a daunting four weeks to endure.”
And I couldn’t agree more. It should provide ample time for Sorcha to reconcile with the act of our children’s conversion into Protestantism and hopefully she’ll welcome me back. Meanwhile, I am anticipating a month filled with plenty of libations and basking in the sun.
“Ronan informed me that Borbados has exceptional angling spots and that the tuna there are as big as a compact family car. As I jested with him, such large fish wouldn’t fit in a can!” That comment got him laughing, a jovial fellow that he is.
Asking for his advice, I gestured towards my shoes and expressed my concern over damaging them in the seawater. He was bewildered at my question, and reminded me that my shoes were Dubes, made for sailing. I keep forgetting that fact for some reason.
I admitted to him that I haven’t been this excited about a holiday since our trip to Australia for the 2003 World Cup. He added that we could grill dinner on the deck each evening and enjoy a swim in the sea before bed. I toasted to our separate travels with great enthusiasm.
There was also mention of harsh words from his father, who warned that I’d likely hurt Sorcha again. His mother also made a daunting remark, referring to me as a sociopath.
Just as we were about to take a sip from our drinks, the front doorbell rang and Oisinn exited to greet our guest. My thoughts turned to how proud I was of Oisinn and his promising new business venture, when Oisinn returns with an unexpected companion, Sorcha. Despite telling her I would be staying here until she saw sense, her appearance was still surprising.
She greeted me with a simple “Hi”, to which I responded with a casual “Hey.” She voiced her intention to talk, which left me questioning the purpose of her visit. She wanted to discuss ‘us’. I gave her forewarning that my night was intended to be an early one, as Oisinn and I were to leave for Borbados the following morning.
She sarcastically raises an eyebrow questioning, “Barbados?” That common undercurrent of jealousy resonant in cabbie banter when dropping you off to fly away during the recession era.
Feeling rather awkward, I answer, “Well, yes. Quite a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity really.”
“Even though it seems your marriage is in shambles?” she retorts.
Then I mention, “Wasn’t it you who suggested I needed space? Barbados is quite a distance from here. We could look it up on Oisinn’s atlas if you’d like.”
“No need to fetch a map,” she quickly responds. “Ross, you’re not making this any easier – I came here tonight to apologise to you.”
Now that caught me off guard.
“Apologise?” I question.
She admits, “The boys had their Orientation Day at today at St. Adomnán’s. And honestly, Ross, it’s an absolutely exceptional institution.”
Feeling rather justified, I say, “Well I hate beating my own drum, but I did advise you, remember?”
She continues with enthusiasm, “The facilities are brilliant. They have a Olympic-sized pool, nine hockey turfs and a 300-seat theatre hall. On top of that, the school ranks fifth in national Leaving Cert outcomes.”
I gather where she’s steering this conversation and it’s not my preferred subject.
She clarifies, “I’m not saying that I forgive your dishonesty completely, but suddenly I get why parents in south Dublin sometimes feign Protestanism to enrol their children over there.”
Hoping to suppress the conversation, I respond with a dramatic sigh, “As I said, Sorcha, we have an early start tomorrow.”
To which she surprises me by saying, “Ross, I’ve decided to let you in again.”
No! Her timing lay in absolute shambles!
“Remember your father’s words? He believed I would put you through hell again, Sorcha. And your mother, what did she call me? A sociopath?” I remind her.
She responds, “Surprisingly, Ross, I think this time you have done the wrong thing with the right intention.”
“I tell her, ‘Sorcha, consider all the ordeals I’ve subjected you to – only this year, too. I was engaging in a game of padel with another lady behind your presence! I acquired a Leinster tattoo without your previous consent! I converted your children to Protestantism!”
She responds, “Are you actively trying to discourage me from taking you back?”
Feeling nervous, I tell her, “All I’m saying is that perhaps your parents were correct. Take some time to deliberate – and then make a decision?”
She’s fully aware of my tactics. She can decipher my intentions as clearly as the instructions on an airplane sickness bag. She retorts, “No, Ross, my mind is made up. I’m determined to make our marriage work.”
Sun-kissed beaches, emerald seas, swimming barracudas – it all starts fading from my sight.
I warn her, “Sorcha, echoing your father’s words to you at the altar many years ago, I believe you’re making a grave error here.”
She replies, as confident as ever, “As I told him back then, I’m ready to face the consequences. Gather your belongings – we’re heading home.”