Culture Shock at the Kinlay House

I feel as if everybody knows. Since we arrived, I’ve had the slightest feeling that we’ve been walking around wearing giant, “I’M AMERICAN” signs. As my friends and I walk into the dining hall of our hostel, we hear the din of several languages I don’t recognize. Making our way to the empty chairs at the far end, I can feel the eyes of the other travelers curiously scoping us out. We take our seats in the wooden, mismatched chairs and I notice an older gentleman sitting on the far side of the room. His face reminds me of a worn and tattered map, stained and wrinkled with experience. I notice he is drinking wine like us and that he is alone. For a second I slightly envy his independence and comfort with solitude. My envy quickly turns to pity. Things are not always what they seem and he may not be traveling alone by choice.
I turn my attention back to my friends. They are all drinking wine and chatting excitedly, not noticing how bitter the wine tastes. It seems that cheap wine just tastes better when you’re drinking it out of Guinness glasses, with your girlfriends, in Dublin.
Finally I notice a group of Italian men sitting on the other end of our table. Our groups take turns shamelessly gawking at each other. The conversation finally sparks. I find our language barrier to be exciting. I remind myself to marry someone with an accent, and soon realize the wine must be kicking in. Its tingling warmth spreads from my toes to my ears.
We continue chatting with the Italian men, discussing where we are all from and our reasons for traveling. They tell us we speak too fast and it is confusing for them. This just makes us giggle more. It is exciting meeting people from all over the world, I begin to think - we are so sheltered back home. Although when we first arrived, I wasn’t so sure this would be such a great experience, but now, a day later, I was beginning to think otherwise.