I anticipate it's going to go splendidly. It'll be a wonderful vacation. My boyfriend and I will travel the green hills of Ireland without a hitch. Our accommodation, our itinerary, our expenses (all chosen and calculated by me) will be exactly the way I anticipate them to be. I will be the queen of budget travelling, the appointed Ireland expert--if all goes well.  

If things don't go well, on the other hand, I will be the one to sheepishly say, "I'm sorry, this is not going quite according to plan," when, for example, we get dismissed from a "B & B" because the woman behind the counter claims that she can't find us in her little reservation booklet. 

I am the planner of this four-week trip, and I have everything under control. Don't I? 

My boyfriend said, "Just go ahead with the planning, you're better at this than I am." And I--I giggled in anticipation. Of course, I'd be good at this. I love travelling. I love planning travels. I love reading travel guides.  

Aahh, the travel guide. I clutch my I-know-it-by-heart-Ireland-guide wherever I wander--up and down the stairs; it "resides" next to the ketchup stain below the microwave, on the kitchen table among the dishes, on the garden chair on the porch, amidst the paper pile next to my laptop. Along with the guide travels my little hand-held tape recorder holding the "Irish Gaelic" tape that I listen to religously every day.

I anticipate I will speak "Gaelic," even though my family has informed me that what I should, indeed, anticipate is that I and "some old farmer" might be the only two people to conversate in the old language. They know nothing, of course. I know everything. After all, I'm the one reading through my third Ireland guide. There are "Gaeltacht" areas, places where they speak Irish Gaelic. It's still Ireland's official language.

There is a German saying, "Vorfreude ist die schönste Freude," which roughly translates to: "There is no greater joy than anticipation." Does this mean anticipation is all there is? Won't the trip be as joyful as the planning of it? Surley, with all the love I put into planning, our vacation has to be great. Doesn't it?

I anticipate July, look forward to it in a way that makes those four weeks the most important ones this year. I anticipate, and I anticipate, and I wallow in dreams of misty mountains, green vales, strong castles, lonely islands, the blue, blue Irish Sea, the wild Atlantic coast, Connemara ponies, pubs--the works. And amidst all of it--there will be my boyfriend and I. And we'll be happy, of course.

There's a child-like joy splashing out of my mouth like a waterfall that turns into a river and into an ocean when I talk about July--and the trip! Yes, it is an ocean of anticipation that flows from my lips each time I mention Ireland to anyone.

I have worked out the perfect itinerary. We'll be staying at a B & B, a hostel, a castle, an island, and a cottage. We'll be travelling through counties Dublin, Galway, Clare, Kerry, Cork, and Tipperary. We will see an Ireland no one ever saw before. Everything's booked. Everything's perfect. I am the one who knows where we're going and when.

I anticipate, and I anticipate, and I hope that I made the right decisions. My e-mail folder is full of enquiries that I sent to every corner of the country. How far are you from the bus station, horseriding, ferry, beach? How do I get from A to B? Do you  charge per room or per person? Is breakfast included? Irish breakfast or continental? Will it rain a lot?

I anticipate, and I anticipate, and I fear I am making mistakes. It's our first vacation together. We've know each other for four years, yet we've never had the chance to travel together. I don't know if what I picked is right for him, is right for us. Maybe it's not even right for me. Maybe things just sound so great in writing when, in fact, they aren't. Maybe whatever I read--about the places I want us to see and the places I want us to stay at and the places I later on want us to remember as "our places"--is not as described in my travel guide.

Travel guides can lie. I know first hand. "Steps from the sea" can mean a one-mile walk. "Simple comfort" can mean there's nothing but a plank bed. "Bustling town" can mean it's crammed with tourists, and "secluded" can mean there's no means of communication with the outer world.

Still, we can make it good. We can make it right. We can make it our Ireland.

I anticipate it's going to go splendidly. It'll be a wonderful vacation. My boyfriend and I will travel the green hills of Ireland without a hitch.

Author's Biography

Annika Neudecker is the editor and publisher of Seven Seas Magazine.

A native German and certified English-German translator, she also holds master's degrees in journalism and creative writing.

E-mail Annika at annika@sevenseasmagazine.com

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