The narrow country roads have come alive in the last month, with swarms of teens attending the local gaeltachts. As they make their way to the head of the road each morning to get their bus, they bring a great energy with their chats as gaeilge in accents from all over the country. Depending on the planned activities, they might be carrying hurls, footballs, backpacks with swim gear or the odd guitar and tin whistle.

I never went to the gaeltacht as a teen; I waited until just a few years ago, when I spent a week in Inis Meán. Thinking I would be fluent in a week was highly optimistic, but it was good craic and I made lots of friends. It wasn’t, however, filled with as much fun, angst (and maybe a little romance) as the teenage experience would have been. For many, the gaeltacht is their first experience of being away from their parents. I’m sure there are as many who are nervous before going as there are those dying to get there.

I’ve noticed, as the groups got through their few weeks here, that by week three, friendships have been cemented and a few romances have blossomed.

I’ve been on the beach when they are there and you can see small groups of girls chatting nonchalantly, pretending they don’t care if the group of boys a few feet away are looking at them. Meanwhile the boys are shuffling their feet in the sand and doing a bit of showing off, they too pretending they don’t want the girls to notice. I’ve seen a shy look from under a fringe at another girl and admired those who strut across the sand confidently while maybe feeling anything but confident. Modern technology may have changed how we communicate, but I don’t doubt there are still those who do the little walk and toss of the hair (or whatever) as a means of letting someone know you fancy them. Ah, young love - with all its ups and downs.

Many of my neighbours are Bean and tí or Fear an tí, and I honestly admire them for taking up to twelve teenagers into their homes every summer. That many teenagers in one house must exceed the legal healthy limit of hormones.

Regardless of the fact that my Irish is not up to standard, I’d never make a Bean an tí. First, there’s the food. How many sliced loaves do you need for morning toast, and how much milk for 12 bowls of cereal? How many spuds do I need to peel every evening?

Then there is the turnaround time. Often, there’s only a day between one group leaving and another arriving. Imagine having to strip, wash, dry and make up 12 bunk beds in 24 hours. Sure the back would be killing me. Let’s not even mention the sheets and pillowcases that need a second wash to get the false tan out.

There’s also the responsibility. Although the students are at class or activities most of the time, the Bean and tí are really in loco parentis. They often have to stay at home if one of the students is feeling unwell and many miss going to family occasions. Yes, they get paid for this, but I don’t think you could pay me enough to give up my summer, feed a dozen teenagers and change that many duvet covers.

I hope the tradition of going to the gaeltacht and filling quiet country roads with young people (wafting clouds of Lynx as they head out for the evening) continues. I want to sit outside on a summer evening with the distant sound of the outdoor disco, or hear them walking home chattering away as gaeilge. I hope teenagers make new friends and gain some independence and - importantly - I want them to experience the beauty and culture of our gaeltacht areas and fall in love with them as I have.

Tabhair aire díobh féin, agus bíodh spraoi, spóirt agus craic agaibh go léir.

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