Baile Átha Cliath

About meetings and farewells

2008-04-23T02:04:00.020+01:00

...Come along with me, look at the sky
I don't see borders in the world.
Farewell is beginning if you hold.
A good adventurer doesn't cry.
Farewells are beginnings you will see
Farewells are beginnings
Believe
Believe
Believe me!
-Constantin Popov

The parting glass

2008-04-17T16:44:00.003+01:00

Oh, all the money that e'er I had
I spent it in good company
And all the harm that e'er I've done
Alas, it was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit
To memory now I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Goodnight, and joy be with you all

I knew this was coming the whole semester. I will not be sentimental. I will not be sentimental. I will not be sentimental.

...

(Cue the saxophones.)

Well, in the words of Anne Sexton, "I am almost someone going home."
This will probably be my last post from over here; nobody should be subjected to the thoughts and emotions I'll be going through during the next couple days. I'd like to think that I'm going to handle this gracefully, but I'm going to say right now that I apologize for being mopey and obnoxious when I come home. Because it's going to happen. Bear with me.
I'm also going to fight the temptation (and believe me, it's a strong one) to get overly reflective and emotional here. If you know me at all, you know already what this place and these months have been to me.
So because I'm unwilling and unable to say goodbye in words, I'm going to try to say it in pictures. Dublin, the final photo shoot.
Some old ones from Killiney, Ireland's own Bay of Naples and home of Bono, Enya, and Van Morrison:

Flea market in Dun Laoghaire (pronounced, believe it or not, Dun Leary):

Devitt's from the oustide. God, I will miss that place.

From the Guinness Storehouse, which I finally, finally made it to:

And my two personal favourites (I only have a few more days to do that!)--click on these to read the text:

The Gravity Bar--complementary pint plus panoramic view of Dublin:

Along Dame Street:

Molly Malone (the Tart with the Cart); I pass her all the time but have never stopped to take her picture:

Grafton Street:

Some terrible pictures from the IES farewell dinner (flash? What flash?). My roommates and me:

An extremely blurry shot of me with the lovely Siobhán Ní Chonchúir--student welfare officer and Irish teacher extraordinaire:

And finally, me (strangely grimacing) with the wonderful Ashley Taggart, head of IES Dublin and my Irish film professor (oh, that flash):

And I honestly, honestly can't think of anything more to say. Which is a rare thing for me.
I don't know.
I guess I'll see you all soon.

Agus Baile Átha Cliath, faid saoil chugat. Go raibh maith agat. Is brea liom tú.

Sweet home Minnesota, lord I'm coming home to you

2008-04-12T12:11:00.011+01:00

In one week and one day I will be in the airplane flying home. I feel almost as disoriented as I felt when I first got here. Everything that I've spent the last 3.5 months seeing and doing suddenly seems novel again, just because I know how little time I have left.
Will you forgive me if I tell you that I'm already looking for ways to come back? (Grad school in Galway?)
Classes are now officially over. For my last Northern Ireland class we had former IRA member and hunger striker Tommy McKearney as a guest speaker. If you're interested, check out his Wiki page; he has quite a story. It was fascinating hearing from someone so intimately connected to the Troubles, but I was sitting in the front row and he kept creeping forward during the course of his presentation, so by the end he was probably a good half foot from me (which is closer than I generally like to be to even the friendliest of former terrorists).
Finals are going quite well for the most part, although I'm scared to begin my Northern Ireland paper. I'm saving it for last partly out of terror and partly out of hope that having something so daunting hanging over my shoulders will keep me grounded for this last week.

For the record:

Sunday, April 20, 2008
Aer Lingus # 125
Dublin (DUB) to Chicago O'Hare International (ORD)
Departure (DUB): April 20, 2:30 PM IST (afternoon)
Arrival (ORD): April 20, 4:30 PM CDT (afternoon)

Sunday, April 20, 2008
American Airlines # 2360
Chicago O'Hare International (ORD) to Minneapolis St Paul Intl (MSP)
Departure (ORD): April 20, 7:30 PM CDT (evening) Arrival (MSP): April 20,
9:00 PM CDT (evening)

Although let me just say that if there's snow on the ground in Minnesota when I get there, I'm turning right around and coming back here.

As I was going over the far-famed Kerry mountains

2008-04-06T20:06:00.045+01:00

This weekend I went on my second (and last) solo trip of the semester, this time to Killarney, County Kerry, a pretty touristy but also incredibly friendly town. I think Kerry folk might even out-nice Minnesotans. Everyone makes eye contact; everyone smiles; everyone greets everyone else. Several old people on the street asked me "How are you today, my darlin'?" And being alone only made it better. The great thing about solo traveling is that you get to test and assert your independence, but you also, at least in this country, find an incredible number of people who are not only open to conversation (I had some great ones with local farmers; I've never heard the word 'tis spoken so much in my life), but who are also genuinely concerned for your welfare. The cynic in me has taken a terrible beating this semester. It's marvelously humbling.
I took the train in Friday and hiked a bit in the evening around the Killarney National Park. Appearances to the contrary, it was a beautiful day--very warm, not too windy, (occasionally) sunny.

Ross Castle:

Around town:

Sometimes I felt a little bit like I was in California:

My hostel. This place was fabulous. Friday night I had a room to myself, and Saturday night I shared it with two of the friendliest, sweetest, loveliest French people I've ever met (even the French are friendly in Killarney!)

Saturday I hopped a bus to do the famous Ring of Kerry tour, which took us around the Iveragh peninsula, by the coast and through the mountains. I think I'll just let the pictures do the talking.

From the lovely town of Sneem:

Shepherd in Moll's Gap:

Ladies View, named after Queen Victoria's ladies-in-waiting, who apparently found it to be scenery "fit for any lady to view":

Sunday morning I rented a bike and explored the nearby hills and more of the National Park. I have not attempted and will not attempt driving over here, but biking on city streets--and through a busy roundabout--was confusing enough.

Muckross House:

Amazing from beginning to end.
Oh, before I forget, last week my Irish language and culture professors took our class out for drinks at an Irish-speaking bar. I can now order a pint in Irish. I feel as though that should have been the first thing we learned.
This is my last week of classes. I can't afford to get too sad yet, as I still have six final papers to write. I'm hoping that stress and frustration will take the edge off my sentimentality. We'll see.

Happy 23rd birthday, Lisa!

2008-04-01T18:42:00.008+01:00

I can't even count that high in Irish; you must be getting old.
(Okay, so I can only count to 10 in Irish.)
This is the best present I can give you right now, since this is where we'd go if you were here:

Starring, as always, the lovely trad musicians of Devitt's, with special appearances by Katie's face and Katie's and my torsos.
Go mairir an céad, agus go mbí ciall do mhuintire agat!

Is it another pint yer havin'?

2008-03-26T22:27:00.037Z

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

2008-03-25T10:25:00.009Z

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

2008-03-11T01:30:00.026Z

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.

Da Nort

2008-03-01T18:39:00.034Z

I admit that I approached the IES trip to Northern Ireland with some degree of trepidation; the whole group hadn't been together since orientation, and after traveling alone and in small groups, I wasn't sure how I would take to the big American-masses-on-a-tour-bus thing. But IES Dublin continues to exceed my expectations so thoroughly that I'm almost considering revoking whatever cynicism I've managed to retain here.
First of all, just to make sure we're all on the same page, Northern Ireland is part of the UK and therefore a separate country. I'll restrain myself from going into the history and politics here, but it's well worth a bit of research if you're into that sort of thing (as is the current political system; hugely experimental, hugely controversial). We didn't need our passports, but we did need to exchange currency, and let me just tell you that if going from the dollar to the euro is bad, going from the dollar to sterling is downright tragic.
We got into Belfast midday on Thursday and ate lunch at a historic pub across the street from the Europa, which was at one point the most bombed hotel in Europe; the IRA bombed it more than 31 times in 24 years during the Troubles.

Then we went on a black cab tour of the city, which took us into historic sites from the Troubles in both the Catholic and Protestant neighborhoods (which are still segregated), as well as past an incredible number of political murals.
Protestant/Loyalist murals:

The mural below was one of the creepiest things I've ever seen. You know those portraits where the eyes seem to follow you? That happens with UFF member's gun:

Catholic/Republican murals (Catholics claim an affiliation with Palestine, while Protestant neighborhoods fly Israeli flags):

Dedication to the ten Republican prisoners who died during the 1981 Hunger Strike:

Offices for Sinn Féin ('Ourselves Alone' in Irish), the IRA's political wing and Northern Ireland's largest Republican party ('Republican' means something much different here than in America):

Things have cooled down considerably in the past decade, but the Peace Wall still divides the Protestant and Catholic neighborhoods. People from all over the world come and sign it; I saw one message from an Aussie that said 'You'd be a lot happier if you just had more sun!'

Gates between the neighborhoods; these are still shut and locked each night:

We didn't actually stay in Belfast. At first I was a little disappointed--I would have liked to have gotten a feel for the city besides the intense (and intensely depressing) political memorials--but in retrospect I can understand why they shipped us out of there; I can just see some drunk IES kid saying something stupid and offensive or getting stuck on the wrong side of the wall after dark.
So after the tour we headed up to Portrush on the north coast. We took a scenic coastal highway which was, in the words of my friend Emily, painfully beautiful: green hills (green mountains, really), huge cliffs, the distant coast of Scotland, and, believe it or not, a full rainbow over the ocean. We've established that photos from buses don't turn out, so just picture the most idealized landscape possible--that's basically what it looked like.
Friday morning we started off at Bushmills Distillery, the oldest legal whiskey distillery in the world (our tour here started before noon; have I mentioned how fabulous IES is?) We got hot toddies at the end of the tour, which are maybe better in theory than in reality:

Reba and Jess enjoyed theirs as well:

Then we went to Giants Causeway, a bizarre volcanic rock formation on the coast. The legend is that the giant Finn McCool built the causeway as a bridge over to Scotland to fight the Scottish giant Benandonner. When he saw how large Benandonner was, though, he was so terrified that he ran back home and made his wife disguise him as a baby. When Benandonner came over to fight, he in turn saw the size of the 'baby,' decided not to wait around to see the full-grown version, and smashed up the causeway on his return to Scotland.
Remember how I went on about the wind at Newgrange? That was nothing compared to the wind at Giants Causeway. This video doesn't do it full justice, but just realize that Johanna wasn't trying to run down the hill; she was being blown and genuinely couldn't stop (just as I apparently couldn't stop yelling 'I'm going to die!'):

Out on the causeway; again it doesn't look that bad here, but I was literally knocked off my feet at one point, and at another had to actually flop down and cling to the rocks to keep from getting swept away.

Emily and I bracing ourselves:

A few hardy souls. The woman next to me is Megan, one of the IES staff. She's actually American, but studied abroad in Ireland and loved it so much that she moved back after graduation. Mom, does it make you nervous that this is one of my role models?

The cliffs surrounding Giants Causeway. When we got back to the visitor's center (is it a good sign that I had a hard time using the American spelling?), we read that we weren't supposed to go on the cliff walk at all because of the wind. Oops.

Saturday we went to Dunluce Castle and just played around in the ruins:

Johanna and I burning up in the old oven:

The castle was built so close to the edge of a cliff that the kitchen fell off into the ocean in the 17th century.

Despite the fact that it was nice to stay in a real hotel (where one night--one glorious, glorious night--I had a king sized bed to myself), and eat real food at real restaurants, and (I admit it) have itinerary planned for me, it's good to be back in Dublin.
Although is anyone else having a hard time accepting that it's March?

Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways: Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days

2008-02-27T21:02:00.021Z

So I didn't make it up to Donegal this past weekend, but I did get up to Sligo, home county of William Butler Yeats. Here's his statue in Sligo town, where I stayed a couple nights:

He looks kind of like a butterfly. Also, he is absolutely covered in his own poetry. And note that he only has half a pair of glasses; apparently they get stolen quite frequently because people like saying that they have Yeats' glasses. I love this statue so much.

This was my first solo trip of the semester. I was a bit apprehensive to travel alone, but it was absolutely the best experience I've had here as yet. I talked to so many more people than I ever would have had I been with friends, and our conversations actually went beyond the "What part of the states are you from/do you like it here/why Ireland" stage (this is a big deal for me).
People I met on Day 1:
-An old Sligo man reading Cosmo absolutely unashamedly on the train.
-My hostel proprietress: a middle-aged British woman whom I don't think I ever saw sober. She was fabulous. Within the first five minutes of our acquaintanceship she was complaining to me (and by complaining I mean yelling) about the men in her life. I apologize to any males reading this, but if any subject is to ensure an automatic understanding between a single 37-year-old British woman and a single 20-year-old American woman, it's men.
-A country boy from a farm out of Sligo town. He was the only person I've met whose accent I absolutely could not decipher. Maybe it's just because I met him at a pub, and he was quite far along by the time we started chatting.
Saturday I took a day trip down to Strandhill, a seaside town recommended to me by both the man on the train and my hostel proprietress. It was a bit of a nasty day, but still quite lovely.
The town, with Knocknarea Mountain in the background.

Knocknarea. I wanted desperately to climb it, but couldn't find a road up to it:

From the sand dunes by the Atlantic:

If you look really hard, you can see the Statue of Liberty:

Honestly this time, if you look really close you can see two surfers--the west coast of Ireland is renowned for its surfing:

Saturday night I went to a little pub called Foley's (again on the recommendation of my drunken Brit) that was having a trad (traditional music) session. It was absolutely full by the time I got there, so I just sat down at a table with another girl (named Shauna), and thus begins the night's adventures. People I met that night:
-About ten old men, who kept buying me drinks and telling me to watch out for other Irish men.
-Shauna's mum, who was absolutely wasted and told me to watch out for all the old Irish men in the pub (and who gave me the first motherly hug I've had in months).
-A British painter named Dominick, who was there to watch his friend, who was...
-The trad fiddler (whose name I sadly can't remember); he's also an emerging playwright, and looked amazingly like Jesus except for the fact that he was sipping (sipping) vodka.
After the trad session, Dominick and Jesus took me to an artsy pub and we talked the night away about (what else) art. The whole thing was almost embarrassingly bohemian, but also the best craic I've had since I got here.
Before my train on Sunday morning I toured the town and nearby Doorly Park.

The Quays along Garavogue River:

I met one of the old men from Foley's walking his dog along the river, so we walked on a stretch together. I don't think he even came up to my shoulder. I should have taken a picture of the two of us.
The mountains reminded me of something you'd see in the American southwest (minus, of course, the deserts):

And Sunday saw me safely back in Dublin. Monday my art history class headed out for a trip to Monasterboice (a cemetery) and Newgrange, a ridiculously old (predates the Pyramids) burial mound in County Meath.
Celtic crosses at Monasterboyce:

Newgrange, on possibly the windiest day I've experienced here (it takes a lot to blow me over, but I swear I was nearly knocked off my feet):

The tomb entrance (we went inside, but couldn't take pictures):

And of course, the obligatory Irish countryside shot:

And that's it for my quick mid-midterm catch-up. I leave absurdly early tomorrow morning for the IES trip to Belfast (and haven't started packing yet), so I should maybe get on that.
Happy leap year, everyone!

Well

2008-02-20T21:35:00.003Z

So maybe the play could have been (just a little) better. Let's just say Cecily was the twitchiest, most rodent-like and bizarre little creature imaginable. I didn't know human beings were physically capable of making some of the facial expressions that she used; it was... indescribable, really. Lady Bracknell was fabulous, however; there's just something about imposing old British women that goes straight to my heart.
The Irish Film Board shorts were very interesting. Many people involved in the films were at the screening, naturally--directors and actors and the like. We almost approached a boy who starred in one of the films, but decided to not become groupies to a fifteen-year-old. As for the films themselves, most were very clever, some were extremely strange, and several were in the Irish language (I even recognized a phrase in there: thank you (go raibh maith agat); not much, I know, but I was happy).
Speaking of Irish, I had my oral midterm for my Irish class today. It wasn't terrible; my teacher Siobhan is lovely, and I'm kind of surprised at how much we've actually learned in just a few weeks. There were a few awkward moments, though:

Siobhan: (in Irish, of course) Where are you from?
Me: I'm from Minnesota.
Siobhan: Are there good facilities there?
Me: (in English) Wait, what?
Siobhan: Are there good facilities there?
Me: Um... (in Irish) Yes! There is... a cafe, and... a park?
Siobhan: Is there a (jumble of guttural consonants)?
Me: (mouth gaping) Yes?
Siobhan: Is there a (indecipherable slur of obscure vowels)?
Me: (eyes glazing over) Yes?
Siobhan: (looking doubtful) There is?
Me: Oh, um, no?
Siobhan: Where are you living?
Me: I... live... in... Dundrum.
Siobhan: Are there good facilities there?
Me: Wait, what?
Siobhan: Are there good facilities there?
Me: There is... a cafe, and... a park?

Okay, so I'll never be fluent, but I am learning. The best expression I've learned thus far is the curse go gcuire sé sconna ort! Look it up if you really want to know what it means.
This weekend I'm hopefully taking a trip up to Donegal, and next week is the IES midterm trip up to Northern Ireland. What with traveling and the unnerving amount of schoolwork piling up, I'll probably be out of commission blog- and email-wise for the next couple of weeks.
Since I've given you an Irish curse, I'll leave you with an Irish blessing: Do chleamhnas féin agat (may you choose your own spouse).

A new take on church basement hospitality

2008-02-18T09:44:00.005Z

Yesterday Johanna and I went to a service at Christ Church Cathedral. Despite the incredible history of the cathedral (the original church was built by Vikings in the 1000s; the current building dates back to the 1100s and 1200s, though it's been restored since then, obviously), the service was small and surprisingly friendly. Afterwards was the typical tea and coffee reception. Atypically, however, this tea and coffee reception was served not in the church basement (the Vikings apparently lacked that sort of foresight), but in the church crypt. As a priest told us, "When you pass the dead people, you're there." So yes, yesterday I sipped coffee--the best coffee I've had here, incidentally; something tells me it came from actual beans instead of the freeze-dried flakes to which I have become sadly accustomed--in a cathedral crypt. And had a lovely long conversation with a priest, a hilarious and eccentric old British man, and a man who grew up in Belfast during the Troubles (and who absolutely loves Garrison Keillor--we got along very well).
In other news, the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival has officially begun (yes, this festival is sponsored by whiskey). I saw my first film on Saturday: Tricks (Sztuczki), a very cute, very quirky Polish film. Tomorrow I'm going with my film class to a series of short films, and Thursday I have tickets for Fairytale of Kathmandu about the scandals of an Irish poet in Nepal. Also, last night the Irish Film and Television Awards ceremony--attended by Mel Gibson and Daniel Day Lewis, among others--was held at the Gaiety Theatre. I passed by in the afternoon as they were setting up and saw the red carpet, rolled up, plastic-wrapped, and shunted off in a corner. Oh, the glamor of show business.
Tonight I'm going to see Oscar Wilde's The Importance of Being Earnest at a theatre just down the street from my apartment in Dundrum. I sort of have a thing for this play. I've read it twice to myself. I've read it out loud once (bad British accents and all). I've seen the movie. And now I am finally, finally seeing it on stage, in Oscar Wilde's home country.
It doesn't get better than this.

Gore and geeks

2008-02-14T01:01:00.003Z

It's cooled down a few degrees, but the sun is remarkably persistent. I brought my sunglasses more as a joke than anything, but have actually needed them this week.
Today I went to the National Museum to check out the bog bodies, remains from human sacrifices from pagan times that have been preserved remarkably well (disturbingly well, really) in the Irish bogs. One still has hair, one has perfect hands (down to his manicured nails), and one even has a face, which was pretty gruesome but very cool. There's also big chunks of bog butter on display, which was either sacrificed or simply lost (I guess bogs used to serve as refrigerators; whatever works, I guess, but I'm happy enough not to have to clean peat off my butter).
I also went to the National Library. Membership is free, and I had the romantic and geeky idea in my head that I wanted to read some James Joyce in the place where he himself used to study. I walked in confidently enough and asked to apply for membership, but then the guy at the desk thoroughly intimidated me by grilling me about what my exact purposes were, down to the specific material I wanted to read. I guess browsing isn't an option there. I mean, I understand why they have to be cautious--they have a lot of very old and very valuable texts there--and I did get a day pass in the end, but really, I think this library is a little intense for me. I don't think Joyce would mind if I read Dubliners in a pub instead. In fact, I think he'd prefer it.

“Boloney is flattery laid on with a trowel. Blarney is flattery laid on with the lips; that is why you have to kiss a stone to get it.”

2008-02-11T15:59:00.000Z

First of all, I didn't want to brag too publicly too early about this, but I feel the need to tell you all that it is currently over 50 degrees and sunny here in Dublin. The forecast for the rest of the week? Around fifty degrees and sunny. Every day. Brilliant (quite literally). I mean, who knows how long this will last, but honestly, Ireland, you haven't been living up to your reputation. One or two bad months does not a clammy climate make.
This weekend I went down to Cork, where it was actually quite cold (relative to the tropical paradise of Dublin, that is). It's sometimes jokingly called the People's Republic of Cork and has a friendly rivalry with Dublin. Budweiser seems to have chosen sides:

We stayed with Kelsey's friend, who's studying this semester at University College, Cork. We were extremely grateful for free housing, of course, but the sleeping arrangements were a bit odd:

We didn't spend a whole lot of time in the city itself. Saturday we took a day trip to the nearby coastal town of Cobh (pronounced cove). Cobh was the Titanic's final port of call; it's also where the Lusitania's victims and survivors were brought after the ship was sunk by a German U-Boat. It was pretty sleepy the day we were there, though.

On the way back to Cork, we stopped at Fota Wildlife Park. It was amazing--a zoo of sorts, but with the absolute minimum amount of fencing possible. We saw penguins, black swans, pelicans that came up to my waist, cheetahs (which, yes, were caged), zebras, monkeys, something that looked suspiciously like an anteater, and, well, basically everything that can survive in this climate. Just to show how up close and personal we're talking, here's a lemur I hung out with for a while:

Also, this was the second time in my life that I've come face to face with an ostrich. I wouldn't mind if that never happened again.
Sunday morning we headed out to Blarney Castle:

I had heard some pretty negative things about Blarney, but really, I found it to be thoroughly beautiful and enjoyable. I think a lot of the criticism comes from people who just rush up to kiss the stone and skip all the paths and trails around the castle. Also, I guess during the peak tourism season there's an unbelievably long line up to the stone. The day we went, we had to wait maybe three minutes. It may have been a bit chilly, but doing this thing in February was the way to go.
We walked the Wishing Steps--you're supposed to go up and down, backwards, with your eyes shut, thinking about your wish. A little tricky, but we managed.

There's also a hype about the Blarney Witch. Here she is in profile:

And of course we kissed the stone. Yes, I know all the stories about what people do to the stone, and yes, I know how many people have kissed it before me, but they do clean it, and we were there in the morning, and it's the off-season, so it had probably only been kissed 75 times before me that day. Actually, I did it wrong--the old man (who is a legend in himself, actually) was lowering me down (you have to lie down and bend over backwards, and there's only a couple bars between you and a loooooong drop to the ground), and I assumed that the entire wall counted, so I kissed it about three times on the way down to the stone itself. A little overeager? Apparently you're supposed to kiss it, not make out with it. I was mocked for that one. I don't know if that counteracted the effects of kissing the stone; however, if this is noticeably more eloquent than my former posts, you know why.
My botched job:

Tessa did it right:

In other news, I have officially been in Ireland for over a month. I have so much more that I want to do and see and learn, of course, but it's remarkable how much Dublin feels like home.

Nothin' but blue skies

2008-02-06T22:58:00.000Z

Today was absolutely and without exception the most beautiful day I have seen here--or anywhere, really, in a very long time. For some reason I had it in my head that Ash Wednesday would be a depressing day in Dublin. Not so. It felt like early May in Minnesota. I did find my way into a church to be blessed with ashes (it was interesting; there was a sign outside advertising all-day walk-in blessings, so all these business people were there on their tea breaks). Then my afternoon class happened to be canceled today, so I took the opportunity to revel, explore, and picnic in St. Stephen's Green.
I also took some long-overdue pictures of places from my everyday life.
My apartment building (that's my bedroom window circled, if you can see it; wow, I'm corny):

My bedroom. Last night I bleached the toxic mold growing on the windowsill and woke up this morning without a sore throat for the first time in a week. Note the 'Nuns Having Fun' calendar, a parting gift from Steph, safety-pinned to the curtain because we can't put tacks in the walls. Guess which bed is mine:

View from my window. Yes, it's just a parking lot. I never said that Dundrum was exciting:

Kitchen:

Living room:

View from couch of the lovely construction going on next door. The construction workers are our constant companions:

This is where I go to school--the IES center in the Rathmines district:

Grand Canal in Rathmines:

More Rathmines:

Moving on towards city centre:

The rest of these are in St. Stephen's Green and, let's be honest, are mainly to inspire jealousy:

Yes, this tree is flowering in February:

It's amazing how much a little sun can improve my mood.
This isn't exactly fitting the tone of the rest of this post, but I found out yesterday that my cat Cleo, whom we've had since I was eight, died earlier this week. It's sad, but she couldn't have asked for a more spoiled life.
Slán, Cleo.

Now? Homework. Of course. I have to write a 'cultural journal.' I think I'm going to write about how the Irish stereotypes are all about drinking and dancing and leprechauns and good all-around craic, and how a lot of Irish literature and film contrasts so sharply with that. We watched a movie yesterday in my Northern Ireland class about Bloody Sunday that literally brought me to tears. In my film class tomorrow we're finishing Song for a Raggy Boy, which depicts the horrendous brutality of a Christian Brothers school (my creative writing professor, who attended a Christian Brothers school, told us that the movie hardly exaggerates at all). I'm so grateful to have the opportunity to live here long enough to experience both sides of the coin.
Happy Ash Wednesday (a phrase that, until today, I would have called an oxymoron).

Hóigh! A chleiteoigín!

2008-02-02T01:28:00.000Z

Somehow it's been another week since my last post. Honestly, if time keeps accelerating like this it'll be April by next week. This is out of control.
Tuesday morning my art history class went to check out the Book of Kells at Trinity College. Don't feel bad if you don't know what that is; I only knew from my high school art history class. It's a big deal here though, and with good reason. The Book of Kells is an illuminated manuscript from the Middle Ages, probably the world's most famous. Maybe not all that exciting for most people, but I loved it. A picture stolen off the internet:

The Book of Kells is on permanent display at the library at Trinity. Our tour included a trip through the Long Room, which, if you love the smell of old books as much as I do, was basically heaven. There's a really funny controversy about the Long Room. I don't know if any of you have seen Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones, but it seems George Lucas used the design of the room without permission for the Jedi Archives.
The Long Room:

The Jedi Archives:

I don't know if Trinity actually sued over this, but I find it amusing.
Thursday I had my second session of my Irish language class. It's very humbling at this point in my academic career to have difficulty counting to ten. Something very cute about counting in Irish: one is haon, two is dó, three is trí, and so on, but when you count you say "a haon, a dó, a trí," which is the equivalent of "a-one, a-two, a-three."
Now to the most fun and most painful part of this post, which also happens to be where the title comes in. Supposedly (and who knows how accurate this is; I got it from a less than reputable source), "Hóigh! A chleiteoigín!" means something akin to "Hey, twinkletoes!"
So last night Jenna, Tessa, Zeke, and I went to this Irish dance event through the European Business School, which has some sort of connection to IES (some EBS students live in IES housing, some IES students are taking EBS classes, and we're all invited to each other's events).
Getting there was enough of an adventure. We're not particularly good planners; the event was in a suburb of Dublin, and we knew we had to take the DART to Seapoint, so we went to the station and bought our tickets from the machine without even knowing if we needed to go northbound or southbound. We made it to the right station and saw a train, so we just hopped on it without knowing if it was the right one. Turns out it was--lucky us--but it doesn't end there. We got off the train at Seapoint and realized... we had no idea where in the town the event was going to be held. So we're in this deserted street at 8:30 on a Friday night without even knowing the name of the building (or the name of the event, actually) that we needed to find.
But this big group of European kids came up behind us, and we figured that they were EBS kids so we just glommed onto their group and got there alright. It was a neat place; it was sort of a community center (or neighbourhood centre, if you will) dedicated to preserving Irish culture; there were a lot of jam sessions going on, just people coming with their instruments and playing traditional music together.
Zeke and Jenna enjoying the free tea and scones they gave us:

Tessa and I are classy ladies:

But then, the next surprise of the night--this wasn't an Irish dancing show we were attending; it was an Irish dancing workshop. This old man demonstrated the steps to a bunch of dances to us--briefly and none too clearly--and then we all got up and sort of kicked our way around the room. Awkward, crowded, hot, and absolutely amazing. This is how it was supposed to look:

And now, because I trust you all to not use this against me, I am going to include a video that Jenna took of Tessa, Zeke and me doing I don't even know what kind of dance. If any of you were laboring under the delusion that I am a graceful human being, you're in for a rude awakening. Zeke was my partner in this dance; that's Tessa on the end of our line.

After three hours of this, we caught the EBS bus back to city centre and made it to the Luas with one minute to spare before the last train of the night. I love it when things just barely work out; the evening was fabulous from beginning to end.
Tonight Zeke and Jenna made us tacos and flautas for dinner. (What? Something other than cereal and grilled cheese in my diet?) You'd think Ireland and Mexico wouldn't mesh all that well, but really, until extremely recently Ireland was basically a third world country, and the Irish have had a lot of the same stereotypes against them in Europe as Mexicans have in America. I've heard that there have been a lot of marriages between the Irish and Mexicans. Maybe that explains the Carlos O'Kelly's Mexican restaurants in the midwest?
Right now we're watching the Irish (fine, Gaelic) channel on TV, and South Park just came on. Dubbed over. Without subtitles. This is amazing.
I love this country. Can I just say that right now?

Where does Rick want us to have dinner?

2008-01-28T13:03:00.001Z

I've gone an unprecedentedly long time between blogs, but with good reason. Last week through Thursday was uneventful. I went to classes. I did homework. I cooked poorly. Just because all this is happening in Dublin doesn't make it any more exciting.
However, Friday I headed out to Galway on the west coast. I love that in Ireland the west coast is about a 2 hour train ride away from the east coast. Galway is beautiful--very windy and therefore very cold this time of year, but very lovely as well--a lot more low-key and, well, Irish than Dublin. Reba's Rick Steves book on Ireland was our constant companion on this trip (hence the title of this post). He knows his stuff, that Rick. Friday we basically wandered around town and went to a pub Friday night with live traditional music. From the town:

Reba and Johanna checking out the River Corrib:

The Spanish Arch, which dates back to 1584:

Swans at the mouth of the Corrib:

These swans had attitudes. We were a little scared to walk past them:

What country are we in again?

The Atlantic this time; a very cold and windy Galway Bay:

The Cathedral of St. Nicholas up the Corrib:

Taking the rose window to literal extremes:

Inside the cathedral; it wasn't this creepy in real life, but I love how this turned out:

In our hostel. The entire floor space is visible in this picture. Basically there was only room for one person to stand up at a time. Johanna seems to be having trouble accepting this:

Shepherd's pie for dinner. Like everything, this was better than it looks here. Note all the potato options:

Getting friendly with Oscar Wilde:

Saturday we took one of those super-touristy all-day bus tours; we got down into County Clare and saw a great deal of the countryside and the Burren, a sedimentary limestone plateau (see, I was paying attention to our tour guide!). We also stopped and took a tour at Ailwee Cave; I won't include pictures from that (not that I didn't try to take them); it would be pointless. Oh look, a rock! Oh look, a dark passage! Just trust me that it was pretty cool. Also, I know that pictures from bus windows never turn out, but I couldn't stop myself, nor can I stop myself from sharing some of them here:

Sheep on the rocks by the Atlantic:

Poulnabrone Portal Tomb:

The town of Lisdoonvarna has a matchmaking festival every September. Apparently people come from all over the world, and there are matchmakers who hook people up with dance partners for the weekend. It goes on for 5 weeks, so I guess they have a few chances to get it right. Here we have the Matchmaker Bar. Note the sign on top:

The highlight of the tour was the Cliffs of Moher. Usually you'll see people creeping up to the edge of the cliff, but it was so windy the day we were there that nobody was trying it. I was grateful for that. The wind was tossing up sea spray and foam; it looked like it was snowing at times. Despite the cold and wind, it was absolutely gorgeous.
With Reba and Meghan:

Then Saturday night we pubbed again (I don't live this way normally--I can't afford too--but on vacation I feel you should live it up). We found this cute lodge-type-place with live music--an interesting variety of traditional Irish, Johnny Cash, and Bob Dylan, among others.
It was actually sunny for the majority of yesterday, but of course we had to spend the whole afternoon on the train. Last night we went out to celebrate my friend Maura's 21st birthday. We had Baby Guinnessess--shots of Kahlua with Baileys on top that look like little pints of Guinness. I didn't know it was possible for a shot to actually be cute:

That's about all I've got. No plans to travel the next couple of weekends (but who knows; I wasn't exactly planning to go to Galway either; it was extremely last-minute).
I can't believe I've been here almost 3 weeks. That's almost a quarter of the time I have here. I can't think about it or I'll get panicked. Ridiculous.
Hope everyone's safe and well, and that all you Minnesotans survived/are surviving the cold snap (is it still going on? I don't even know). I can't say I'm sorry to have missed that one.

Climbing over rocky mountain

2008-01-21T12:07:00.000Z

I have a new favorite place in Ireland. Yesterday I took another day trip, this time south on the DART (I should maybe explain that DART stands for Dublin Area Rapid Transit)to Bray, again on the Irish Sea. We were there on a Sunday afternoon, so it was full of families just playing by the beach.
I was finally able to touch the sea! This picture is wonderfully awkward:

Irish palm trees:

A view of the beach and Bray Head, which is much higher than it looks:

And I know that because we climbed it. Not only up it; oh no. We missed the trail that went straight up it and ended up hiking probably 75% of the way around it (we nearly reached the next town over) before taking a crazy-steep little trail up to the top. It was so worth it, though.
From the ascent:

Just a little mud:

Johanna and Maura on the way up:

And at the summit:

Views from the top:

Those white dots in the field? Sheep, of course:

Bray in the background:

Our reward for our ambition. I was almost obscenely excited for this.

These past two days have been wonderful. It's great to know there are places like this so near; Dublin is lovely, but city living makes me feel a little claustrophobic at times. I will definitely be returning.
And today? Homework. I've finally remembered that I'm still in school. It's easy enough to forget when you only have class 3 days a week.
Slán go fóill!

Howth is magic

2008-01-19T18:27:00.000Z

Need proof?

I don't know what expression I was trying to pull; it must just be the magic of Howth.
Today, obviously, some friends and I took a quick day trip up to Howth (rhymes with both), a fishing town on the Irish Sea just a half hour or so DART ride north of Dublin. I'm sure it was once a tiny, quaint village, and in comparison to Dublin I guess it still is, but it's obviously quite an affluent and well-touristed area (more in the summer, though, I'm sure). We had some excellent fish and chips and explored a bit:

The island is called Ireland's Eye; there's a 6th century monastery on it (you can't really see it in the picture; I wish there was a way to make these truly reflect how beautiful this place was).

The coast:

That little speck in the lower left that I so obligingly circled is a seal; just trust me.

Tessa and I decided that we wanted to wash our hands in the Irish Sea, but the rocks proved far too slippery, so we just put on excited expressions and pretended we made it all the way down:

An old abbey we stumbled upon:

The town:

The ladies: Katie (one of my roommates), Johanna, and Tessa:

Yesterday we had an IES scavenger hunt, which proved to be absolutely miserable. We split up into groups and were given obscure clues that required a great many awkward questions ("Excuse me, sorry to bother you, but what is the name of your fudge shop, and is it inspired by an island off the west coast of Ireland?"). We also had to take pictures with a red-headed person (the woman we asked had a sense of humor, luckily) and a member of the Garda (police). Note: do not run around Dublin yelling about the Garda; people will think that you are actually in trouble, and will not necessarily think it's funny when you explain that all you need is a picture.
All of this would have been okay except for the fact that it was pouring out and incredibly windy, and the fact that my group was intensely competitive and basically spent the entire time running. I got blisters; my feet still hurt. However, we won first place, and IES gave us a 100 euro gift certificate to a nice restaurant in city centre. So I am currently well-fed and exhausted; it's a wonderful night.

Dia dhuit

2008-01-17T20:50:00.000Z

And you respond 'Dia is muire dhuit.' I almost think I remember how to pronounce it (although pronunciation is crazy; my teacher's name is Siobhan, but pronounced Shuh-vawn). I can also ask you your name (Cad is ainm duit?) and what's the news (Aon scéal?) That's about all I've retained from day one of my Irish language class (note that it's Irish, not Gaelic; we were set straight under no uncertain terms).
I've now met once for all of my classes, and honestly, I'm thrilled with all of them.

Picture day #2...

Grafton Street:

I think that's St. Anne's through a side street off Grafton:

The famous Temple Bar (I stumbled across it inadvertently; I thought I was in a really sketchy part of town):

Christchurch Cathedral:

This is why it's so easy to get lost--these are all you get in terms of street signs:

What's on the first level of this fabulous building? Slightly grungy restaurants. 21st century Dublin is a study in contrast (as are all old cities, I suppose):

An awkward picture of St. Stephen's Green:

I think I'm possibly at the point at which I can walk around Grafton Street and city centre without gawking. This is an improvement. However, if you'll forgive a slightly cheesy and romantic reference to The Light in the Piazza, 'It's a new old world to me.'

It's been one week since you looked at me

2008-01-15T17:32:00.001Z

On the eve of Dublin's and my one-week anniversary, I thought it might be fun to explore the exciting things I've learned so far, if for no other reason than to remind myself that I am in fact learning and adapting and perhaps someday will not feel like quite so obvious a tourist. So here we go--what one week in Dublin has taught me:

1. How to not get so distracted by cute accents that you don't hear what's actually being said (this one is especially important now that classes have started).
2. How to live in a crazy-expensive city with no income to speak of. Okay, maybe I haven't quite figured this one out yet, but I do know that it involves drinking considerably fewer pints of Guinness than I might wish.
3. How to figure out the cost of things in advance so you don't reveal your ineptitude with euros. Along with this, how to respect the change in your pocket because your coins actually possess substantial monetary value.
4. How to properly pronounce Dundrum (this is good, as I live there). The emphasis is on the second syllable. I sound ridiculous when I try to say it that way, though.
5. And finally, the big one: How to cross a street without getting killed. You look to the right first. Or in city centre, where every intersection is a zoo, just go when everyone else goes.

I've also experienced a few surprises here:
1. Palm trees. Nothing big and nothing lining the streets or anything, but it's not uncommon to see a small palm tree or two in someone's backyard garden.
2. It's green. I'm not talking vegetation, although that's green as well, but Dublin seems to have really taken the 'Save the Earth' movement to heart. Tesco, the grocery store I go to in Dundrum Town Centre, charges for plastic bags, and it's very rare to see people use them. Energy conservation is huge as well; nobody leaves their heat on all the time (this is more feasible here, of course, than in Minnesota).
3. A smoking ban in public buildings. This includes bars and pubs. Perhaps it isn't the traditional pub experience, but I appreciate it.
4. This is a little embarrassing, but a small personal revelation: when drinking or when uttering the little courtesies of daily life (excuse me, sorry, no thanks, etc.) I've found myself (quite unintentionally) speaking in a pseudo-Irish, mock-British accent. Maybe it's a self-preservation thing, to make me feel less like an AMERICAN. Also, when you're speaking one-on-one with someone in a pub, it's hard not to copy his or her inflections. Hey, if I come back with a brogue, I'm not going to complain.
5. And finally, the weather. I'm not just talking rain or wind here. I'm saying that it's always a surprise, pleasant or unpleasant, despite the forecast, despite what it was doing five minutes ago; it's just always changing. This is schizophrenic weather to the extreme.

Today was our first day of classes. I sat in on the art history class that I hope to audit (which meets in a house in city centre in which James Joyce is reputed to have studied); we went to the National Museum, and apparently we'll be going not only to museums, but all over on walking tours of the different neighborhoods. I also had my Northern Ireland class; we got a whirlwind history of the conflict and discussed the political situation today. I didn't realize how recent some of this stuff is; of course I knew there was still fighting going on in the 90s, but had no idea that the current government has been in place for less than a year. Shows how well I've been keeping up with current events.
Yesterday I explored the city a bit, went to the Dublin Writers Museum, and tried to take a few pictures as discreetly as possible.

Trinity College:

The Liffey:

O'Connell Street, complete with the Spire of Dublin, the world's tallest sculpture (you can guess how popular it is by its nicknames, which include, but are by no means limited to, "the stiletto in the ghetto," "the erection by the intersection," and "the stiffy by the Liffey"--hey, I don't make this stuff up!):

The Garden of Remembrance, a memorial to those who died for the cause of Irish freedom:

And finally, I just like these ones; they look so ominous:

Not bad for my first extremely self-conscious photo shoot, eh?

You get a tan from sitting in the (Irish) rain

2008-01-12T18:58:00.001Z

Seriously. It's out of control. It's not just the rain--you also have the wind to contend with, which makes perfectly lovely days chilly and already rainy days terrible. Those stories you've heard about the Irish weather? Not exaggerations. Complaining about the weather is as popular here as it is in Minnesota.
Case in point: This morning was beautiful; nearly 50 degrees F (I really need to learn my Celsius conversions) and sunny--perfect for the open-top bus tour our RAs planned today around the city--our only real touristy event, and very needed as I had no real sense of the city at all (I still don't, really, but I'm getting there). So we took the Luas down to St. Steven's Green, met up with everyone, climbed to the top of the bus, and then the wind started blowing and suddenly it was freezing--I don't know the last time I've been that cold (still, the tour was great; we saw the major sites--Phoenix Park, St. Patrick's Cathedral, Kilmainham Gaol (a prison made famous for the detentions and executions of leaders of the Irish rebellions), the Guinness storehouse--an excellent overview). Then this evening it started raining, of course, but my friend Johanna and I braved the trek to the grocery store. Both of us had our umbrellas blown inside out at least twice on the way there. It's wild, really, but some sick part of me kind of relishes it.
I'm going to play a quick picture catch-up. I haven't taken many yet--none of the apartment, none of the city itself--but I'll get on it, I promise.
A few from Glendalough:

Getting into the mountains made me very excited to travel around Ireland, although I might wait until I've learned a little Gaelic to travel much around the west coast--Gaelic is the primary language in some towns out there.
That brings me to my course list (the nerdy part of this post, but I can't wait to start classes). I'm taking Irish Language and Culture, Celtic Myth and Legend, Irish Literature into Film, Creative Intro to Irish Prose Fiction, and Intro to Northern Irish Troubles (I thought it would be a good idea to have some background before the IES trip to northern Ireland in February). I may also audit an art history class, as it consists mainly of going to museums and galleries.
Before I forget, my mailing addresses are:

10 Wyckham Place
Wyckham Way
Dundrum, Dublin 16
Ireland

(this is my apartment address, and fine for letters) and:

IES Dublin
27-29 Rathmines Road
Lower Dublin 6
Ireland

(any packages must be sent here; otherwise I'd have to hunt them down at the post office).

And now for a little craic...
From last night at a pub near Trinity College:

The other girl in the top picture is Johanna, who goes to the U of M--she's the only person I've met who knows what Augsburg is! This was very exciting to me. The girl on the bottom picture is my roommate Maribeth.
From this cold, cold afternoon--just hanging out with James Joyce in St. Steven's Green:

Weather aside, I'm having a fabulous time--there's just so much that I can't wait to explore. Am I really going to be here for only 3.5 months?

Oh hey

2008-01-10T23:06:00.000Z

I'm here! The trip over went well; I almost missed my connection in Chicago due to a delay in Mlps and an excruciatingly long security line in Chicago, but made it right at the final boarding call. On the Aer Lingus flight I sat next to a 17-year-old girl from western Ireland. She told me about what liquor to avoid (this was a bit disheartening coming from a 17-year-old), as well as what neighborhoods in Dublin to avoid (this was a bit disheartening as well, but I have found Dublin to be considerably less threatening than she suggested). She was great, though; as we were preparing to land, she pointed out places like Bono's home and where the absurdly rich and arrogant people live (there's a name for them, but I can't remember what it is).
My apartment is gorgeous. I will never be able to afford to live in such a nice place in real life (as opposed to Dublin life, which at this point is still extremely surreal). I'll post pictures whenever I'm motivated enough to take and download them.
IES took us to our first pub visit last night--a place called The Barge near the IES center. I had a couple pints of this amazing hard cider called, I believe, Bulmers--I wasn't quite up to the Guinness at that point. It was fun, but I'm looking forward to going without the entire IES group and actually mingling with real people (as opposed to IES people, who at this point are still extremely surreal as well).
Today we had our first day of orientation and took a day trip to Glendalough, a medieval monastery in the mountains south of Dublin. We actually saw a bit of sun between the rain; it was quite beautiful. I'll download pictures from this trip later as well.
I feel as though I'm adjusting to the time difference, but jet lag hits me at odd moments. I'm looking forward to classes starting so I can get on a real schedule. I think I'm going to be able to arrange it so that I'll only have classes from Tuesday to Thursday so I can travel when I want to on my four-day weekends. I said before I left that I only wanted to travel in Ireland and the UK while I'm here. However, I don't know that I'd be able to pass down a trip somewhere warm if I found cheap airfare--not that it's exceptionally cold here, but the dampness does sort of seep into everything.
I have information on my mailing address, but that will have to wait until another day. My roommates and I decided to try to stay awake until midnight tonight, but I think I'm about to crash; I have hours upon hours of sleep to catch up on.
Hope you're all well! Goodnight!

16 hours

2008-01-08T03:53:00.000Z

This is going to happen. This is going to happen soon.
I'll see you all later, I guess.

40.5 hours

2008-01-07T02:39:00.000Z

With less than 2 days left in the country, I thought that it was maybe time to finally get this blog started.

I'm packed (basically, almost, sort of). And by packed I mean I have thrown a large number of things into suitcases with no real organization whatsoever, and therefore have most likely done something ridiculous like packed three deodorants and no toothbrush. I just need to keep reminding myself that Dublin actually is civilization and will have anything that I forget.

And so I'm past the practical stage. I'm moving out of the sentimental stage--I've said most of my goodbyes already--and am entering the "there's only one day standing between me and this gigantic trip that I have been thinking about for so long that I never thought it would actually happen" stage. I won't say I'm not nervous, of course, but I also won't say I'm not excited and thrilled and exhilarated and ready to finally, finally start this semester.

My flight information:

American Airlines #360
MSP to Chicago O'Hare International
Departure (MSP): January 8, 1:50 PM CST
Arrival (ORD): January 8, 3:15 PM CST

Aer Lingus # 124
Chicago O'Hare International to Dublin (DUB)
Departure (ORD): January 8, 5:59 PM CST
Arrival (DUB): January 9, 7:20 AM GMT

I'm staying with three other students in an apartment complex called Wyckham Place, but am unsure as to whether the apartment address is the same as my mailing address; I'll get back to you on that. Also, if you're interested in getting a postcard or something, be sure to send me your address (or campus box number for you Augsburg types).

Sláinte!
(This is my word of the day. Or of the week. Or possibly of the semester.)