Culture clash

6/10:

I'm racing downhill on my bike to make it back in time for the bbq that's happening tonight. Tears are leaking out the corners of my eyes from the wind that's pummeling my face. I'm looking down and ahead at the same time, trying to avoid the cow pats that are sprinkled across the road. My obstacles are a good sign though, I'm getting close to the dairy, close to home.
My ipod is on shuffle and as I ride faster and faster a corrido comes on, one from the Barranquenhos CD that Chica gave me a few weeks back. The horns and accordions blast in my ears and I smile as I look down at the Atlantic shore and rolling hills of quaint farms. I feel bubbles of laughter inside as I think of this cultural clash, this music in this landscape.
But that's the wonderful thing about Gubbeen. In a minute, I'll be eating sizzling steak with the French intern while talking to Lindsey, Clovisse's friend from Canada/Berlin/Marin, and playing googoogaga with Olin, the little Irish baby with a mohawk. I guess love of food is a very uniting concept.