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Lost in Translation Nineteen

November 18, 2007
11:45 AM

This took place when I was a seventeen year old student, which means it was hundreds of years ago, and hitch hiking (who remembers that mode of transport?)up to Newgrange in County Meath.

My goal would have been to view the passage grave there and my hitching must have gone somewhat agley because I was off the main road and stuck on back roads between Dundalk and Slane when a car came towards me but heading in the opposite direction.
It was being driven by a large Indian gentleman who stopped the car and politely asked did I know the way to Dlendalough(sic)
Immediately and cleverly appreciating that the gentleman had a difficulty with the letted G and anxious to show how kind and welcoming we Irish could I gave him minute instructions on how to get to Dublin, through the city and then south, via the scenic Sally Gap, to Glendalough.
He wrote it all down, thanked my profusely and headed off into Dublin.
The next car that came my way picked me up and I was in Newgrange before too long.
It was the following day, on my way home, again while hitching that I happened to glance at a local signpost thet the penny dropped.
Far from having trouble with the letter G the gentleman had in fact made an excellent phonetic shot at pronouncing the name of the town he was trying to get to, and, which I could now see was written on a sign over my head about two miles from where I had met him.
Dundalk.
I do hope he enjoyed the round tower, and Kevin’s bed.

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