So the Irish way of life is taking some getting used to. (And not just because Spongebob Squarepants is in Gaelic.)

I landed on Saturday, after spending all of Friday on planes and checked into my hotel, had a quick nap and met up with my group for dinner. I’m on a yoga and walking tour of Western Ireland, joined by three other women who are here for vacation (i.e., I’m the only one who’s technically working.) There’s Nicole, a Canadian/American ex-pat from England; Wally, a newly retired ESL teacher from Chicago; and her sister Marlene, who joined her in celebration of her retirement. I’m very fortunate to be traveling with a really great group of women, and thankfully, we all get along. I think we know each other’s life stories already, and we just finished day two in each other’s company.

Anyway. At our first dinner we met one of the tour organizers and our yoga teacher for the first couple of days. I left the table as soon as my fork hit my plate for the final time. I was exhausted – my jet lag was making me fall asleep at the table.

The next morning I awoke feeling fresh as a daisy and joined my fellow tour mates for our first yoga session, which was lovely. I forget the name of the kind of yoga we were practicing, but it was unlike what I’m used to – it was much more gentle and relaxed. Which isn’t to say I’m used to a rigorous form, but kundalini and vinyasa flow are a bit more… regimented, maybe? Anyway. After breakfast we met our walking guide in the lobby, a charming older man who has lived in the area pretty much all his life. We picked up our pack lunches and started out on our way.

Now, a word about my packed lunch. Anyone who knows me knows the list of things I can’t eat is longer than the list I can, so I always make sure ahead of time to warn people of my digestive intricacies, especially in foreign countries. Granted, Ireland is hardly India, but they tend to be fairly meat-and-potatoes. I tend not to eat a lot of meat and no potatoes. So when they bought along our lunches, I knew immediately that I was in trouble – a ham sandwich (I can’t eat pork or wheat), banana (too high on the glycemic index for me), Cadbury Snack bar (as much as I love chocolate, it’s a very rare occasion thing because refined sugar and I tend not to agree), and an orange juice drink box (I can’t do citrus and fruit juice tends to have too much sugar for me.) In short, I’m a hit at parties. Luckily it was no big deal – I just gave them the list of what I could eat again, and they went back to the kitchen to build my lunch.

As we waited, our tour guide walked right up to me. Literally. We were almost chest to chest.

“I have some apples in my car that I can give you, yeah?” he said. Except it sounded more like “I ‘ave some apples in meh caah dat I can give yeh, eah?”

I had to tune in hard to hear him – the accent was taking some getting used to, as were some of the mannerisms… like the close talking. He was so close to me that I could take stock of his dental work and tell you what he had for breakfast. When I moved back to allow for some more personal space, he just moved forward. Don’t get me wrong – he was perfectly friendly and charming. But the fact remained – he was in my dance space.

They brought my lunch as I was debating my next move… except they brought it on a big dinner plate. I wasn’t sure how I was going to hike with a dinner plate under my arm, but Nicole – one of my trip mates – offered up the use of her backpack as long as I would trade off carrying it with her. Score. We set out on our day. But before we started our official first day of walking, we came face to face with the world’s most annoying Irish setter, Rudeh (pronounced “roo-ah.”) Perhaps it’s because I grew up with very strictly raised dogs, but I’m mostly used to dogs who get disciplined for jumping up on people, no matter how excited they are to meet someone new. Rudeh ran circles around us and rolled around in the dirt, then started jumping all over all of us, planting muddy paws on pants and sweaters while her owner looked on and laughed. We were trying to be tolerant of the situation, but it was hard. None of us were anti-dog, really – hell, I grew up with a ton of them. But I was also a fan of personal space, and Rudeh was having none of it. Thankfully I couldn’t tell what dental work she’d had done or what she’d eaten for breakfast.

I’m staying in a hotel that sits on a nine-hole golf course overlooking an incredible lake and mountain range. And it sounds cliché to say, but my god, is Ireland green! Seriously, I’ve seen so many shades of green that I can’t even count the variations anymore. We walked through the golf course into a forest path, around a bend, past a well, and then we hit a closed fence… that we had to climb over. That was fine – I’m well used to scaling fences when I hike at home, but the electric fence was a little bit of a shock. (Pun not intended, and no, not literally.)

“Don’ touch et, eah?” he said as he eased himself underneath the charged wire.

We all looked at him like he was mental.

“Mon,” he said, waiving us through.

I snuck my way underneath, Nicole followed, and then Wally went to grab the wire to steady herself, which sent our guide into a tizzy as he warned her that touching the wire would essentially give her a perm and give him bad publicity.

“Media right here,” I said.

“Y’know ‘ow dey say we ‘ave ways of making you talk?” he asked. “We ‘ave ways of making you not talk.”

I couldn’t tell if he was serious or joking. “I invite you to try,” I said with some sarcasm in my voice, but also a touch of combativeness. Admittedly I still have issue when a man tries to be controlling with me, so my instinct is to fight back.

We continued on, picking blackberries as we went, walking past St. Mary’s cathedral into Killarney National Park toward Ross Castle, chatting along the way. As we were figuring out our route back, a group of English riding students sauntered past us and hung out on the bridge we wanted to cross. With one wearing an orange vest reading, “Caution! Stroppy Mare!” (i.e., pain in the ass horse), our guide led us down another path down the river toward the lake. Once we reached the end he tried to talk us into the admittedly short distance from one side of the river to the other, except there was at least ankle-deep water. We passed.

“Mon, es jus a short weeh,” he said.

“No,” we said.

“Yeh can walk on deh rocks,” he said.

“No,” we replied.

“I’ll carry yeh,” he offered.

“No,” Marlene, the other sister from Chicago, barked. And then she started us on our way back through the path we came.

Our guide walked up ahead of us again and led us to another spot that he crosses on a regular basis, over a vine-covered log in the water. Knowing Marlene was adamant about not crossing the water, he tried Wally and asked her if she wanted to cross over the log. She declined.

“How many times do we have to discuss this?” I muttered loud enough for Marlene and Nicole to hear, and they started to snicker. I didn’t understand why our guide was so adamant about pushing us in that direction when we’d told him several times that we’d rather stick to the path.

We continued on and took an off-the-beaten-path walk by the water, which led us to a spot that we had no choice but to cross. Luckily the water wasn’t ankle deep, but it was still deep enough that wet feet were inevitable. He stood on one side of the water and told us he would carry us across one by one. Again with the carrying! I declined, opting instead to plunk my hiking-booted foot in the water. He carried Nicole fireman style across the water, much to her surprise – she wasn’t exactly prepared when he picked her up. Wally and Marlene opted for wet foot instead. Of course, this is when Rudeh – who had been rolling in mud and jumping in water all day when she wasn’t nosing about in random people’s lunches and encroaching on personal space – decided Wally was her best friend and planted muddy paws on her cream-colored khakis and Marlene’s ivory cable-knit sweater. Wally announced she’d be wearing the same thing for the next day’s hike rather than ruin another pair of pants.

When we got back to the hotel, our guide told us he’d meet us for the next day’s hike at 11am, and would drive us to our start location, at Muckrosse House in Killarney National Park.

We immediately started debating whether or not the dog would make an appearance considering the car was just barely big enough for the five of us.

We reasoned it would stay home.

We were wrong.

Marlene took the bullet and sat in the front seat with Rudeh at her feet, trying to jump up in her lap and licking her shins and feet until she finally calmed down and curled up to sleep. We parked at the front of the park and hiked our way in, hiked around Muckrosse Lake up to the house, stopped for lunch, marveled at all the greenery, watched as Rudeh ate horse manure before running up to random strangers to shove her nose in their lunches and lick their faces. As the afternoon was slowly drawing to a close, we told our guide that we had to get back to the hotel for our second yoga session for the day. He led us back up to his car, then asked if we wanted a drive through town. Sure, we said. We had a little bit of time for a quick drive. So he drove us through town a little, then to a nearby village with cute little homes sporting thatched roofs. (Or “tatched,” as he pronounced it.)

“An’ lookit dat right dere, a pub!” he crowed as if it were the first time he’d seen it in his life. “Do you wan’ to stop fer a pint?”

We all laughed. “No,” Wally said. “We need to get back.”

“Yeh sure? Yeh don’ wan’ a frosty one?”

Marlene, Nicole and I dissolved into giggles as Wally repeated that we had to get back for yoga. We drove our of the village – with the back end of his car slamming against the speed bumps as we went, giving Marlene, Nicole and I a jolt – and headed up a hill, where he stopped again to give us some history.

“Shall we go fer a walk?” he asked.

I sighed, and opted for calm assertiveness instead of bitchy combativeness. “No, we have to get back to changed for yoga,” I said calmly and evenly.

Reluctantly he drove us back to the hotel, where we said thank you and bid him adieu before racing off to our rooms to prepare for yoga. We did our afternoon session, and as our meditation wrapped up, our teacher told us, “I have to say, you’ve really blown my image of Americans. I’ll have to go and visit there now.”

We asked him what he meant by that.

“Well, Americans get a reputation for being pushy, but I see now that it’s not that they’re pushy – they just know what they want and they ask for it, and if they don’t get it when they’ve been promised it, they ask for it until they do,” he explained. “But the Irish don’t do that. They’re much more passive aggressive in their wants and they express it that way rather than being direct, and often times they don’t get what they want, so they’re secretly disgruntled.”

Suddenly it all made sense. I was starting to understand the concept of “Irish Time” already, in that nothing is really on a set schedule… which is hard for the little bits of control freak left in me, but I’ve been adapting with a more “go with the flow” mentality for a while now. But our guide trying to talk us into a drink at the pub, crossing the river or continuing our walk was because that’s what he wanted to do, but rather than come out and say that, he tried to make it our idea and continually pushed us when we stood our ground and said no.

“I mean, it’s not your fault if we have to be asked more than once for what you’ve already asked for, right?” our yoga teacher asked. “Anyway, you’ve all been lovely people, and it’s been a pleasure spending time with you.”

I get that our yoga teacher was saying the Irish could learn some things from Americans, but we could probably learn some things from them, too. Like being a little more lax about scheduling. Like being more amenable and friendly (practically everyone greets you when they pass you on the street.) Like being more tolerant and unnerved by others (and annoying dogs.) And maybe a bit more go with the flow.

With that in mind, I’m off to find an Internet café (and if you’re reading this on Wednesday the 5th, I was clearly successful.) And after that, I have no idea how I’m going to spend my free day. I guess I’ll just see where the wind takes me.