Undefeated in Ireland

2004 was a special year in Portugal, particularly in the summer during the European football championship which was hosted in the country. June was a great month in most of the host cities. Lisbon looked like the capital of Europe. There were people from all over, enjoying the game, the good weather, having fun. Being crazy about football (or soccer), the population was celebrating each win of our national team like I'd never seen before. There wasn't a window without a national flag, even some iconic monuments in Lisbon like Christ the Redeemer, the Tower of Belem, or the Aqueduct were illuminated by red and green floodlights. We portuguese are like that. Most of the time we are so laid back and perhaps so worried and suspicious of each other that we lack the energy to make something good of our lives. But give us a common goal, and suddenly all the people come together in a burst of energy that I've seldom seen in any other country in the world.

I was no exception. I exploded with joy when Ricardo, our goalkeeper, scored the penalty that put us past the english team on the quarter-finals, and celebrated with my friends and lots of other people when we reached the final after beating Holland on the semis. Unfortunately, I would not be able to watch the final in Portugal, because I had already booked my flight to Ireland on that same day.

When I entered that flight, the portuguese scarf was tied to my backpack, and all I could think of was that I had to find a place to watch the game. As soon as I arrived, with another little guy, we left the airport to Wicklow, a small town a few kilometers south of Dublin, put our bags in the hotel, and started looking for a pub, which, let's face it, is not a very hard thing to find in Ireland. We found the place, grabbed some pints of Guinness, and settled for what I was expecting to be a memorable afternoon. Once the game started I got more and more nervous with each play. Every time our team picked the ball I hoped some magic would happen and we'd score. Most of the people in the pub were supporting Portugal, but there was a young guy in the table next to mine that was shouting "Go Greece ! Go Greece !". I had no idea if he was really supporting Greece or if he was doing it just to annoy me. In the end Greece scored and we didn't and we lost the opportunity to win a big soccer competition. I was annoyed and I turned to the guy next to me and asked him why he was supporting Greece. "After all we kicked out the english, you irish should be supporting us". The guy laughed. "You're right, you know. Normally I would be supporting you, but me dad placed a bet on the greeks and said I could have the money if we won the bet". That was the first lesson I learned about the irish: they're a joyful people, out to have fun, and they love betting. "Don't worry, mate. Two years from now, Ireland and Portugal will both be celebrating in the world cup !" he said, and we said farewell to each other.

After talking to this boy my mood suddenly changed. Suddenly I was not as angry for losing the game, I said to myself that it was just a game, and that it shouldn't ruin the trip. It was like the joyful spirit of the island started to take over me. We grabbed our backpacks, picked up our car, and started driving. Light was still good so maybe we could get a few shots somewhere. The ruins in Glendalough looked like the right place.

Glendalough Monastery was founded in the 10th century A.D. by St. Kevin, a descendant of the royal house of Leinster who abandoned his life of privilege, choosing to live as an hermit at Glendalough, and devoting his life to the tending of the sick, and to copying and illuminating sacred manuscripts. When we got there though, illumination was something we did not find, because the sun was already setting and the good light was over. The twilight, however, was right to experience such a place. There would be plenty of time for photography the next day.

That evening, the old graveyard with its round tower, the ruins, the high celtic crosses, had gained a special calm after all the tourists had left. We could hear nothing but some birds in the distance. After the excitement of the afternoon, walking around the ruins made me feel at peace, undefeated, and that was the spirit I had in the rest of the trip in Ireland. And not even the remarks that everyone we met made about the european championship when they found out we were portuguese ("Oh, you're portuguese ? Too bad about the euro..."), moved me from that state of mind.