It jolts your senses to see something deeply familiar in a foreign place. You are suddenly aware of the vast polarities of tradition, and the fluidity of a global culture that is slowly but surely forming.
While I roamed the farmers market in Galway in search of the freshest produce, I stumbled upon a little food stall overflowing with Indian paraphernalia. As the Irish gentleman manning the stall served me a steaming hot samosa in the rain (perfectly spicy, I might add), I asked him if he had been to India. What followed was a conversation that baffles me in its impossibility. As we spoke, I found that this wonderful gem of a man knew the very street I lived on at home, and suddenly Ireland seemed like it had moved a few thousand miles over, closer to the aromatic subcontinent of India with all its wordy Hindi street names.