Is it another pint yer havin'?

Otherwise titled "The one in which Kayla fights a losing battle with her memory in trying to recall the incredible number of things she did with her family in the short week they were here." Here goes.
My dad, Terese, Lisa, and Alice arrived in Dublin on Paddy's Day morning. Shortly after their arrival, we made our way through the crowds in city centre on the long walk to Croke Park Stadium, headquarters of the Gaelic Athletic Association, for the Gaelic hurling and football All Ireland Club Finals (that's a mouthful). I felt a little cruel forcing four exhausted people to trek across Dublin almost directly after alighting from the plane (indulge me in my vocabulary as well, please), especially as we didn't actually end up going to the match--the ticket queues were ridiculously long--but everyone remained remarkably cheerful. Such troopers.
Lisa and I had a very fun but not-particularly-wild Paddy's Day night (no, I didn't succumb and buy a Paddy's Day hat; I borrowed it from a crazy leprechaun from Donegal):

We had a couple days around Dublin and the surrounding suburbs: Howth, Dalkey, Bray, and Malahide (though I missed Bray due to my Celtic Myth class--it feels a little backwards saying that I skipped a trip for class).
Malahide Castle:

Everyone in Malahide:

Saturday we took an extremely ambitious day trip: Limerick, Bunratty Castle, the Cliffs of Mohr, Doolin, the Burren, Galway, and then back to Dublin.
Bunratty Castle/folk park:



All the buildings in the folk park were recreated to look inhabited, complete with burning peat fires (which smell delicious, by the way) and, in one, a woman making scones.
This picture is pretty terrible, but it's of a fairy tree by a freeway in County Clare:

We had actually just talked about this in Celtic Myth earlier that week; apparently there were plans a few years ago to cut it down during road construction, but an old storyteller argued that the tree is the fairies' resting place on their way to battle, and that terrible things would happen to anyone who damaged it (Celtic fairies are not the nicest of creatures). People are still quite superstitious in that part of the country; they changed the construction plans so the road bypasses the tree, and they even built a little fence to protect it.
Back to the Cliffs of Mohr, on a far nicer day this time:



Galway across Galway Bay:

A shot of the town that I didn't manage to get the first time I was there--flags of the tribes of Galway:

I wish I had another weekend to spend there; I am in love with Galway.
Easter Sunday, Lisa and I went to a service at Christ Church, where she got to experience the lovely tea-in-the-crypt phenomenon. We then went to a Sinn Féin rally/commemoration of the Republican Easter Rising of 1916.


We didn't stay to watch Gerry Adams speak, but we did see him across the crowd. I've been studying him all semester in my Northern Ireland class--he's the president of Sinn Féin and a former leader of the IRA--so it was really amazing to actually see him in person.
Next we went to Kilmainham Gaol. This place may look familiar to some of you; scenes from The Italian Job and Boondock Saints, among other films, were shot here:

Kilmainham Gaol is also where the leaders from the 1916 Uprising were executed by firing squad. It's quite gruesome, really. One of the leaders had been severely injured in the uprising; he wasn't expected to live more than a month or two, but officials pulled him from the hospital, strapped him to a chair (he was unable to stand), and shot him in this corner of the stonecutter's yard:


Easter Monday we rented a car and drove south into the Wicklow Mountains. I was extremely impressed with how well my dad adapted to driving on the wrong side. He seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself here (Terese maybe isn't so sure):

Up in the mountains (it can't be green all the time!):




A return to Glendalough, where we went for IES orientation; it was nice to come back when I wasn't horrifically jet lagged and trying desperately to maintain awkward conversation with a bunch of other horrifically jet lagged people:




We also went to Avoca, Ireland's oldest working woolen mill:

Sunset in the country:


I'm so glad they were able to make it over; besides the fact that it was nice to see them (and introduce them to such marvels as Bulmers, digestive biscuits, and wildly schizophrenic weather), spending time with them reminded me how much I've been taking Ireland and Dublin for granted. I feel re-energized for my last three or so weeks to get out and experience everything I can. If only professors would stop assigning final papers.
Sorry, random moment, but I just glanced out of my window and feel as though you all need to know that there is an immense rainbow in Dundrum right now.
I'm going to end this with a video from a trad session that Lisa and I attended at Devitt's, the best pub ever. It's very much a pick-up, jam session type of thing; musicians just come in, grab a pint, and jump right into the music (and right back out again when they want another pint). It's an amazing atmosphere. Let's just say that by this point the bartenders and I are on a first-name basis.

Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full

I have been terribly remiss in keeping this up--but with good reason. Much, much more to come when I have time to sort through pictures from my family's visit, but for now I'd just like to make a tribute to Ireland's favourite (indulge me on the spelling, please) inhabitants.








Don't pretend like you haven't been waiting all spring for this.

The bonny, bonny banks

I am addicted to impulse travel.
Wednesday night in our apartment:
Katie: Come to Glasgow with me this weekend.
Me: I don't really want to.
Katie: Come to Glasgow with me this weekend.
Me: No, I shouldn't.
Katie: Come to Glasgow with me this weekend.
Me: I'll go order tickets.
Refusal to indecision to flights booked in under 5 minutes. I don't know whether to be proud or ashamed.
For the record, Edinburgh is the city to visit in Scotland. Glasgow is mainly a Victorian industrial city, which means some nice old buildings but not necessarily a whole lot to do. Except listen to new accents, bum around, get rained on, and hole up in pubs (and watch Wales destroy Ireland in rugby). All of which we did.
We also got into a fight with a Scotsman one night. And by got in a fight I mean we had a heated political argument. And by a heated political argument I mean he was hitting the table and yelling that we all need to vote for Obama because 52% of Americans are racist (his sources were, I'm sure, just as sound as his reasoning). And then he hugged us and bought us beer. And then he was kicked out of the pub.
From around the city:



George Square (plus raindrop). We had a picnic here between rainclouds:

We also went to the modern art museum and the Lighthouse, a center for architecture, design, and urban studies. Which maybe doesn't sound all that exciting, but it was brilliant. The whole thing was very innovative, interactive, and witty. They had the best WC signs ever:


The Lighthouse tower also had a lovely viewing deck:



Glasgow's night sky:

Monday before our flight we took a train up to Crianlarich, a small town a couple hours north in the highlands. It was incredibly beautiful, but once again you're going to have to trust me, as my pictures from the train don't do the mountains anything close to justice. And once again, it was raining. All day long. Dear Scotland, you are far worse than Ireland.


Loch Long:

And unfortunately these pictures are the worst of all, but we did see Loch Lomond. I promised Katie that I wouldn't sing, but it was a struggle. I believe the mountain on the far side is Ben Lomond.


There wasn't much to do in Crianlarich. Despite the fact that it was raining quite hard, there was a fair amount of snow and slush on the ground, so hiking was out, which is really the only activity the town has to offer. So we staked out a table at the town's one pub, eavesdropped on a bunch of old Scottish women, and enjoyed a 3-hour-long lunch. My sense of adventure won out over my sense of taste, so I ordered the haggis, neeps, and tatties:

It actually wasn't nearly as disgusting as I expected. I found haggis to be along the lines of black pudding: as long as you can more or less forget what you're eating, and as long as you don't focus on the texture or the strange, rich, somewhat bloody flavor that starts to cling to the back of your throat after the first few bites, it's really quite decent.
How's that for convincing?
From around town:



The lesson I learned from Scotland: go to Edinburgh, and go in summer. Not that I have any regrets from this trip; I'm very glad in this instance that I succumb so easily to peer pressure.
The next adventure is, of course, St. Patrick's Day. Celebrations are starting already; this is going to be a fantastic week. My dad, Terese, Lisa, and Alice are all coming on St. Patrick's Day itself, so next week as well will be filled with all sorts of shenanigans (and all the tourist attractions I haven't managed to make it to yet; Guinness Storehouse, anyone?).
I'm shocked to find myself with just slightly more than a month here, but there's still so much to look forward to. This semester has been and continues to be so amazing that it sometimes scares me.