Reflecting on six weeks

Things I will miss:
-Friendly strangers
-Low humidity and crisp air
-Colorful, flourishing flowers
-Bulmer's
-Butler's Chocolate Cafe
-Coastal towns
-Porterhouse Brewery
-Cork's English Market (especially the olives)
-Scones and soda bread
-Being able to take day trips to some of the top wonders of the world
-Galway's Latin Quarter
-Hand-cut "chips" with vinegar and salt
-Locals calling me "love" or saying "Cheers"

Six weeks ago, I set out on a journey to Ireland. Nervous and apprehensive, I didn't know what to expect. I had ideas of what Ireland would be like - cold, rainy, windy, green, full of redheads - but many of my ideas were surprisingly wrong. With the exception of Galway, where it rained on and off for almost two weeks straight, the air was comfortably warm and the sun shone through rainless clouds. There were not redheads everywhere I looked, but instead, a variety of street performers and a mecca of cultures. With the final week in Dublin winding down, I asked myself, why would all these cultures (Asians, Italians, Mexicans, Arabs) want to come to Ireland? But then again, they could be asking the same of me.

Seated inside the Porterhouse Brewery (a pub we'd come to love and attend regularly in Dublin) on one of the final nights, I was surrounded by the group who were strangers to me six weeks before. Tonight's theme was 90's night; the DJ blasted tunes from our pasts as we jumped up and sang along. I smiled. My smile was not only a result from the reminiscent music, but from the fact that I had grown so comfortable with this group of strangers. We all could've not gotten along during our six weeks together, but we did. We all had different personalities, came from different backgrounds, and had different interests, but we all sat contently enjoying one another's company. I have Ireland to thank for my growing comfort with strangers, with traveling, with myself and my abilities.

I learned a great deal from my travels in Ireland. I learned how to capture detail and better record my feelings. I learned to quickly adapt into another culture and traditions. I learned not to be afraid when traveling alone. I learned to be more open when trying new foods. I learned to carefully observe maps and navigate my way through unfamiliar cities. I learned to be comfortable in my own skin, to not worry so much about fitting in with a group or being alone. Ireland helped transform my attitude and personality, and made me a more confident world traveler. Ireland has sparked an interest in me to want to explore more cultures, more cities, more customs. While I'm ready to return home, I will miss the Emerald Isle immensely. I look forward to returning one day.

Dublin: One Week Later

First off, Happy Birthday to my amazing, caring, ever so young Dad! Without you, I never would've had this wonderful experience to blog about.

Second, I apologize for the lack of blogs last week. Between settling into my new home at Trinity College, taking day trips to the Hill of Tara, Newgrange and Glendalough, and becoming better acquainted with Dublin, I've been quite busy. Oh, and running into my family while walking the streets of Dublin last week didn't help with the writing distractions! Although the plan was to meet up with them for a few days at the end of my trip, I knew I would have a chance to try and meet up with them the day they arrived for their own journey around Ireland. Less than five hours of them being here, I saw all three of them standing on the corner outside Trinity when I was coming back from the grocery store. My first instinct was to yell out, "Dad!" but when I thought I might get multiple fathers turning their heads toward me, I decided to sprint over to them before they walked in a separate direction. I was overwhelmed with happiness being able to see them and spend the day shopping, eating and going out to the pubs with them. Although it has now come down to the final week in Ireland, and although I'm loving every minute in Dublin, I am more than ready to get back to the states to see my friends and loved ones.

Before coming to Dublin, locals had mostly negative things to say about the country's capital. Now being here for a week, I don't understand one bit why no local ever described this city as bright, entertaining or full of opportunities. Yes the city is extremely crowded and overloaded with tourists - it's hard to make it even five minutes down the street without running into people - but there is an intoxicating spark this city has that is pulling me in, making me want to stay longer than our allotted two weeks. Because the city is so highly populated with tourists, there are a lack of traditional Irish restaurants. This, however, doesn't bother me because any way I walk, I can find vegetarian restaurants. Our location at Trinity College is central to the city. This is a big change from Cork and Galway where we had to walk a good 30 minutes to make it into the downtown area. Here, I exit the front gate's large wooden arch, take a few steps to my left, and am already on Grafton Street. I love being so close to downtown not only because it's convenient, but because it allows me more time to explore the city.

As with any other city I've visited, we have taken several day trips as a group. On Wednesday, I had the opportunity to visit Glendalough, a stunning glacial valley located in the Wicklow Mountains National Park. Glendalough has been the site of several movie filmings, including P.S. I Love You, Leap Year, Saving Private Ryan and Braveheart. Since it's almost impossible to describe the beauty of Glendalough in words, I will see if pictures can do it better justice. Here are a few of my pictures:













Another reason why I didn't post any blogs over this past weekend is because it was my second personal travel weekend. A small group and I decided we would take advantage of the travel weekend this time around and choose to travel to Belfast. We departed by bus from Dublin for the two and a half hour ride on Thursday afternoon and stayed until Saturday morning. Of course I was aware of the turmoil and violence still occurring in Northern Ireland, but I was curious to see and judge the dramatic city for myself. Surprisingly, I loved it. The city of Belfast was a lot like Dublin: tons of shops, fun pubs, well-kept restaurants, stunning historical sites. Thursday night we were all pretty tired, so after eating some delicious pub grub and trying the Northern Ireland version of Bulmers - Magners - we headed back to our hotel to relax and get a good night's sleep. Friday, we reserved seats for ourselves on the Causeway Coastal coach tour. This all day tour took us out of Belfast, along some of Northern Ireland's most picturesque towns, and finally to one of the world's top natural wonders, Giant's Causeway.

Just as with my Connemara tour, I was impressed by the personable, friendly and informative guide, Tom. Tom was an older, plump cheerful man, his voice raspy from cigarette smoke. Although he was originally from Scotland and had previously worked bus tours in Whales, Tom decided to settle in the small town of Whitehead (full of an equal amount of Protestants and Catholics, he said) and has been there for over 20 years. He made sure we were able to make out the face on the side of the mountain exiting Belfast, pointed out where the Titanic was built on the Irish Sea, showed us which island in the distance was Scotland and told us it was only 11 miles away at its closest distance, and stopped for us to view and take pictures of dolphins. Between his impersonations of John Wayne, his ruthlessness to tell people to shut up when their voices were too loud, and his flyer passed out at the end to join his Facebook page, Tom was an entertaining character who made it apparent that he loved his job. He made sure to show us the appealing, peaceful side of Northern Ireland, and I am grateful for that.

Five days remain to my six week journey through Ireland. As with most things in life, I can't believe how fast the time has flown by. I am one lucky girl to have had this life-altering experience.

Trinity Tour

Saturday, July 16, 2010
3:00 p.m.

When the group met at 1:45 in the center of Trinity College today, I was under the impression we would solely be taking a tour of the Book of Kells. I was wrong. After meeting, we were greeted by a spunky, young tour guide who just happened to be a History student at Trinity, planning on graduating in November. She was a “wee” young woman, according to herself, with dark curly hair and a large umbrella in hand. Although it was drizzling when the tour started, the rain faded and the sun came out as soon as we started walking. I was amazed by the amount of information she had on the college. George Salmon, the former provost of Trinity, said he wouldn’t let women attend the college over his dead body; there is now a population of 6,000 (64% women), the four statues surrounding the bell tower represent religion, science, medicine and law; there was once a gun fire battle between students and a professor on the grounds; the food served in the dining hall is far from tasty (according to the guide) but the architecture appears as if it were straight out of a Harry Potter movie; a wine cellar was located below the cobblestone we were standing on around the bell tower. The information was never ending and I learned a great deal in the 20-minute span of the tour. I gained a new knowledge and respect for the college. So much, that I bought a Trinity sweatshirt at the end of the tour!

Final Stop: Dublin

Friday, July 16, 2010
11:00 p.m.

I’m having a hard time understanding why so many locals I spoke to within the past four weeks had negative things to say about Dublin. I departed Galway this morning with an open mind, planning to leave what others had to say about the country’s capital behind in order to create my own opinion on the city. It’s easy to judge a city like Dublin when movies have take place here, singers and songwriters have performed about it, and every tourist book has created its own image of it. I arrived earlier this afternoon and already love it. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions, maybe I’m too quick to judge. Either way, there is an intriguing spark about this city pulling me in, making me anxious to know more, see more, and experience more of it. I have only been to New York City once in my life, but immediately, Dublin reminded me of it. Swarming streets, crowded crosswalks, people rushing in and out of one another, endless traffic, street vendors and performers, tall buildings, a variety of eateries and rows of fashionable shops all contributed to this NYC vibe. Dublin also hosts a melting pot of cultures: Irish, Americans, Asians, Indians, Canadians, Arabs, Mexicans. I suddenly don’t feel like such a blatantly, obvious tourist anymore. When roaming the city’s streets, I spotted the first Starbucks I have seen since being in Ireland. Not that it matters having a Starbucks here – European coffee is much tastier than coffee back home – but it made me feel more at home. Later on while scoping out a pub with some of the group, I noticed a vending machine full of Pringles. How awesome is that? Starbucks and Pringles aside, I feel I am in for many more surprises in Dublin. Good surprises that is. I could've spent all six weeks here and still not had enough time to take in the full city. Dublin is intoxicating; I already look forward to discovering more about it tomorrow. Better get going.

Tackling Croagh Patrick

Thursday, July 15, 2010
3:00 p.m.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Only a few more steps to go, I tell myself. I can do this.

Two hours and fifteen minutes earlier, I had no clue what was in store for me. I knew the facts on the mountain – it was 2,500 feet tall, it was located in Westport of County Mayo, it was an important sight of pilgrimage, that at the end of Saint Patrick’s 40-day fast he threw a silver bell down the side of the mountain and banished all snakes from Ireland – but I never imagined how arduous, challenging and steep that mountain would be.

Starting out, the climb has a steep incline, about a 45˚ angle. Small trickles of water run in and out of loose pebbles and rocks. Sun shines brightly overhead, making my three layers unbearably warm. No more than ten minutes in, I strip down to my t-shirt. As I reach higher ground, and stop to look behind me, the town of Westport is almost fully in view. White cottages, lines of cars on gray, gravel roads, brown harbors surrounded by sailboats, and forest-green islands appear in the distance. To my left, a fog sweeps by, making the dirt hills and sea of trees invisible. To my right, clear sapphire skies light up the landscape full of green pastures of sheep. Tiny, purple flowers vegetate on small patches of grass. Making my way farther up what I thought was the main mountain, I see Croagh Patrick far off to the right. It seems unreachable; the summit can’t even be seen due to dark fog. This fog encroaches on me as I continue on. I take a break at a bridge between the current mountain I’m on and the start toward Croagh Patrick. As my sweat dries, the temperature becomes increasingly colder. I put my layers back on.

Halfway there, my legs begin to burn an unbearable sting, my body envelops in sweat and my left foot painfully cramps together. After a short sprinkle of rain, the narrowing path to the top becomes muddier, the rocks looser. What started as roughly a 45˚ angle climb has now become closer to 80˚. The increasing elevation causes flashes of hot and cold. The change in altitude causes my breathing to become heavier and my nose to steadily run. I feel the need to stop every few minutes to catch my breath and shake off the burning in my legs. The murky fog is dense and heavy now. I am unable to see the summit up until a few steps away. Right after making these final few steps, rain starts to fall. I have reached the summit. As the rain comes down on me, I perch myself on a rock near the edge of the mountain. Pools of water form in my eyes, but I successfully hold back the tears. Exhaustion, elation, self-pride, pain and disbelief overwhelm my tired, wet body.

When it comes time to descend, gravity is not my friend. In its on way, the climb down Croagh Patrick is just as challenging as the climb up. I turn my body sideways to help with traction and prevent myself from toppling over. Some people whiz by me with their climbing sticks and ski poles dug into the ground while others from my group slip and fall, scraping their hands and knees on the jagged rocks. A large amount of the fog has dispersed and my surroundings are different than before. Looking out onto Westport, I see dispersed sand bars in the lake. Once I hit the second stretch of the climb downward, the streams of water flow more rapidly than on the way up. I take another look out at the sheep in the pastures, but now I can also hear them “baaaa-ing.” The sky has returned to its clear sapphire color and the temperature has become warmer once again.

One. Two. Three. Four.

Only a few more steps to go until I exit rocky ground and enter the smooth, paved road I began on. I can’t help but turn around and stare at the massive mountain I just tackled. I did it.

Landscape in Connemara

A setting piece I wrote for class on Connemara...

A dusty fog lingers over Connemara’s mountaintops, awaiting the nearby rainstorm. Rain or shine, this western district in Galway, Ireland, is a picture of untouched landscape. On a particularly cloudy day, the region abounds with unspoiled terrain, russet-colored heaths, streams that run into small lakes feeding into the Atlantic, and uneven gravel roads free of painted lines and barriers. Most houses are located along the coastline and in lower villages due to the unpredictable, and sometimes rough climate, as well as the numerous steep roads that climb endlessly into the mountains. These windy countryside roads were once cow trails, moving cattle along from one place to another. Cows are no longer prominent in this land; it is sheep that dominate.

Approaching the poorer region of Connemara, the roads become more remote, the land more sparse of homes and buildings, the soil more unproductive, the mountains more desolate, and the pastures more occupied by sheep. Hundreds of feet up the wild fern-covered mountains are tiny white specs. As far as the eye can go up the mountain, so can the viewing of the sheep. These sheep have miles upon miles of land to roam. Many stop in the middle of the road to nibble at the grass peering through the pebbles while others hike up to the highest points on the hills. To make sure they do not end up lost among the vastness of the countryside, each farmer places blue or pink dye onto a different spot of the sheep, whether it is the top of the head, on an ear, or near the back.

A rectangular, white cottage sits at the top of an isolated hill. Outside, a scrawny, tall, grey-haired farmer stands at the edge of his property, whistling for his dogs to return. While waiting, he waves hello to passersby on the road below him. Every farmer has two sheep dogs, trained by whistling to gather the sheep from the top of the hills and return them to the bottom. As this farmer whistles, a dark Border Collie and spotted Jack Russell Terrier dart down the hill, running frantically in circles and rounding the sheep in as they go. It’s fascinating to see two relatively small dogs herd a group of 20-30 sheep down the hill, through a gated area and around the front of the farmer’s cottage.

The Connemara roads are off the beaten track, tucked away from the county’s main streets. While occupied by the occasional tour bus or two, these roads are most often used by locals and farmers. Along the downward slope of one road is an unbound stone bridge. A farmer and his son sit and wait to cross the bridge in their large, green tractor while the tour bus barely makes its way across. Because the Connemara region is a “Gaeltacht” area, meaning Gaelic, is still in use and the way of life has remained as traditional as possible. While visitors to Connemara will change, the region’s pure, intact land and traditional Irish ways will remain.

Walter's Special

A food piece I wrote for class...

Sunday, June 11, 2010
2:30 p.m.

It is a surprisingly sunny and mild Sunday in the heart of downtown Galway; Shop Street is congested with tourists, families, locals, dog walkers and street performers. Just after 2:00 p.m., I stumble across a sea of tents and tables along Church Street, a narrow side street to the Latin Quarter. I decide to approach this street market, initially seeing paintings, wooden crafts and homemade jewelry, but am immediately hit with a sweet-smelling, buttery aroma. I make my way farther down the crowded street, weaving in and out of people, searching for the source of this mesmerizing smell. Halfway down the street, I spot it. To my left is a red, yellow and white trailer advertising Yummy Crepes. Two parallel black chalkboards align each side of the trailer, displaying descriptions and prices for the savory and sweet crepes. The boards also advertise ingredients: organic flour and free-range eggs. It is lunchtime, and even though the fillings of feta cheese, sun dried tomatoes, onions and spinach sound wonderful, I’m not in the mood for one of the healthier, savory crepes. I know I want a sweet one, but I am overwhelmed by the appetizing selections. As a chocolate lover, it is hard resisting the Nuttela and milk chocolate, white chocolate, and dark chocolate options, but I figure it’d be best to branch out and try something new.

After much thought, I decide on Walter’s Special, which has a filling of caramelized cinnamon sugar, apple and pear spread, and fresh squeezed lemon juice.

“You’ve got a long line out there,” I say to the friendly man behind the counter. “Oh do I?” he replies, hard at work and oblivious to the single-file line forming outside. “My wife just went on a break to get some coffee too.”

This husband and wife team runs the crepe stall, but with the wife absent, the man has to work hurriedly to dish up my crepe. The shelf behind the countertop is lined with jars of fruit spreads, containers of toasted coconut and almonds, Nuttela jars, various spices, and bottles of chili sauce, Tabasco sauce, relish and more. Below the shelf are the minimum amount of supplies and utensils needed to make the crepes: brown eggs, bags of flour, bottles of oil, knives, spatulas, kitchen shears. He makes various orders simultaneously, but I know mine is almost finished when the fragrant blend of butter and cinnamon infuses the air. After dressing the thin crepe with a quick squeeze of fresh lemon juice, the man wraps my sweet treat up in paper and hands it over to me.

Fresh off the stove it is almost too hot to hold. The corners are browned with a slight crispiness; the inside is doughy and warm. Instead of sprinkling the finished product with cinnamon once its done cooking, a large amount of the spice is mixed into the butter, allowing a sweet glaze to ooze out of the crepe’s inside. Complementing this cinnamon glaze is a homemade apple and pear spread. The maroon-colored sauce has the same consistency as jam. With only a touch of sweetness, it provides mostly tanginess to the crepe. The more I consume, the more I can taste the cinnamon and fruit. The warmth never subsides. As I dig my way deeper to the bottom, heat rises from the middle. Before I know it I’m on my last two bites, still just as warm as the first two, scooping the left over apple and pear spread off the bottom of the paper and enjoying every last bit of it.

A ride on the tourist bandwagon

Saturday, July 10, 2010
5:00 p.m.

When I signed up for the Connemara Tour, I had no idea what to expect. The only information I had came from a small pamphlet highlighting some of the tour’s attractions: Ross Errily Friary, Cong Village, Kylemore Abbey. These names meant nothing to me. I knew the tour would be departing Galway’s coach station at 10:00 a.m. and returning at 5:30 p.m., and I knew I would be in for some stunning landscapes – the reason I decided to go – but I didn’t know much more. So this morning I took my seat near the back of the tour bus, along with three other girls from the group, and waited to see where it would take me.

“Welcome to the Cliffs of Moher tour!” Michael shouts over his microphone, his gray hair and tinted glasses reflecting in the large, driver-seat window. Confused, I look around to see the reactions of others; everyone seems to be doing the same. Immediately I think, did I get on the wrong bus?

“This is only my first day on the job,” he then says. He must be joking.

As we approach the roundabout, I hear Michael’s cheerful voice come back over the microphone. “Now which way do we go? I don’t seem to see any signs.” Suddenly, the large tour bus is circling the roundabout over and over and over again until I feel it might run into another car, or worse, tip over. These cars must be looking at us like we’re crazy. This guy can’t be serious.

Eventually, Michael, our Connemara and Cong tour guide for the day, chooses a road. He wasn’t taking us to the Cliffs of Moher, I had gotten on the correct bus, and this most certainly wasn’t his first day on the job. While he is a jokester, turns out, Michael is also a wealth of truthful information. As the bus makes its way around Connemara, one of Ireland’s most unspoiled areas, he explains the history of each attraction, throwing in a few random facts here and there along the way. The reason Ireland’s roads are so windy is because they were originally cow tracks. It costs more to shear a sheep than the cost of the wool. The upper lake of Lough Corrib is 60 feet above sea level while the lower lake is 30 feet above. Part of the reason the mountains in the distance are so green is because wild ferns cover them. Every farmer has two sheep dogs; they are trained by whistling. The information is never ending, and I am enjoying every minute of it.

“Woahhh,” Michael yells as he slams on the breaks. At this point, the bus is scaling up a winding, unmarked gravel path. We are in the poorer part of the Connemara region with nothing but dusty fog hovering over the vast mountaintops, small white cottages off in the distance, and livestock roaming the fields. I place my head as close to the window as possible to see what the commotion is all about. Two small horned sheep are standing in the middle of the road. Michael inches closer and motions for the sheep to move, even though they will move when they want to. After all, we are the ones in their way. After waiting a couple minutes for the sheep to pass, Michael informs us that these are Killer Sheep and points out their red marks. He says its blood on them, although I know he is joking and that it is only red dye. While the name implies danger, the sheep are just as normal as others, with the exception of blue or pink marks. “Blue sheep are boys and pink sheep are girls,” Michael jokes. “Satisfied with that answer?” After a few shouts of no, he describes that while the farmers fence in their land, it is hard for them to keep a hold of their own sheep. To keep track, each farmer places a colored dye on a different spot of the sheep, whether it’s the top of the head, on an ear, or near the back. “They’re like flags of countries,” Michael says. We leave the sheep and continue on.



Michael’s jokes and facts become less frequent on the final hour home. Instead, he plays a tape of traditional Irish music for us to listen to. Everything I have learned on this tour is still settling within me: Ross Errilly Friary, one of the best preserved medieval monastic sites in all of Ireland; Cong Village, where the Quiet Man movie was filmed in 1952; Kylemore Abbey, built in the 1860s for the family of English politician, Mitchell Henry, but later used as the monastic home for Benedictine Nuns. Without Michael as a guide, I doubt the Connemara tour would’ve been as eventful or enjoyable. Although I was a bit thrown off at first by his bluffs, I managed to make it home free of rides around roundabouts, but full of a new perspective on one of Ireland’s most scenic regions.

Introducing Galway

Thursday, July 8, 2010
4:00 p.m.

Now that I am in Galway, I feel like I am actually in Ireland. Arriving a few days ago in Corrib Village – a University accommodation for NUI Galway – I was deceived by the sunny condition outside the window. I was immediately shaken by the intense wind and chilly temperature when I stepped off the coach; the temperature must have been at least 10 degrees colder than in Cork and Killarney. We had some time to get settled in our rooms and freshen up before taking our routine walking tour through the campus and city. For the first time, I had to break out my long-sleeves. Walking through town and hearing of our upcoming plans was solely overwhelming. I had found my niche in Cork and even being in Killarney for a few days I felt comfortable. Galway’s streets were complicated and intertwined, full of new shops, museums, restaurants and people. I thought to myself, great, now I have to become familiar with this brand new city when I finally had become comfortable with the previous ones. I thought I was ready to move on to a new place, but I realized how much I missed the sense of being at home in Cork and Killarney. To make matters worse, and a lot chillier, it began to rain after the tour of our surroundings. And, it didn’t stop.

Fast-forward three days.

My feeling of being overwhelmed is slowly dispersing. It has continued to rain on and off since I arrived, but I am used to pinning my hair back to tackle the winds and carrying my rain jacket with me - just in case it starts to downpour - everywhere I go. I made it through my first class in one of NUIG’s buildings and have familiarized myself not only with some of the street names, but the schedule for the complimentary shuttle that comes every hour to the village and picks up every half-past the hour downtown. (The walk from Corrib Village to downtown is at least 30 minutes, so I am more than happy to have the shuttle for when my hands are full or I don’t feel like walking). Yesterday was free of classes and meetings so I was able to accustom myself with more of what downtown has to offer. I made my way to the Tourist Office, where I picked up a guide to Galway City and County, walked through one of Galway’s most lively streets, Shop Street, and roamed the shopping square, an indoor mall packed with department stores, grocery stores, boutiques, bakeries, coffee stands and more. I picked up enough groceries to last me until next week then made my way to Mister Beans, a compacted area full of fresh produce, herbs, jams and coffee located on a small ramp outside of the main entrance. Now that we’re back to having our own kitchen, I was more than excited to purchase some fruits and vegetables to cook with. I decided on peppers, tomatoes, onions, apples, strawberries and some fresh basil. When I got home, I made a bagel sandwich with a fried egg, cheese, spinach and tomato.

This morning we met as a group at a wonderful Spanish restaurant and tapas bar called Cavas. A review named it one of the most “innovative and interesting Spanish restaurants in Ireland at present.” We met to eat lunch together and listen to a guest speaker/Irish poet name Ailbhe Ni Ghearbhuigh (her first name is pronounced “Alva”). I was more than impressed with my meal. Victoria, Kelly, Eryn and I all ordered two tapas each to share with everyone. I chose the Spanish goats’ cheese wrapped in sweet peppers on toast with olives and the sautéed spinach with raisins, pine nuts, olive oil and garlic. Among the other tapas we shared were deep-fried potato cubes with spicy tomato aioli, wild French mushrooms with garlic and organic Spanish cider, and braised lentils with saffron, cumin and vegetables. Not much more can be said except for that everything was absolutely delicious.

After lunch I ventured off on my own for a bit. The streets were much more crowded than a few days ago; street vendors set up tables, musicians and magicians performed for money, and a mixture of cultures could be spotted all over. I went back to one of the department stores to buy a cheap, small purse then grabbed a coffee at a place that caught my eye the first day I was here, Butlers Chocolate Café. This tiny café glistened with a large selection of chocolate truffles and sweet-smelling coffees. The spotless glass drew me closer to observe the wall of chocolates. I had heard that with every purchase of a coffee, you would receive a free truffle. Although it was supposed to be a plain chocolate truffle, the employee allowed me to pick any one I wanted. He recommended the white butter praline, so that’s the one I chose. The outside was sugary, buttery and crunchy while the inside was filled with creamy milk chocolate. The chocolate melted in my mouth and was a great pair to my skinny latte. It was so tasty I might make it a habit to go to the café every day, but only if I’m able to choose anyone I want again.

Between being satisfied with all the food, more familiarized with the town and entertained by all the diverse people, today was a good day. It gave me reassurance that I will like this city just fine, if not even more than the rest.

Geo-what?

Monday, July 5, 2010
10:00 a.m.

Last night was the final night of our short, sweet stay in Killarney. I had originally planned to just stay in with some of the girls to order food, finish our wine and watch a movie (all of which we did), but those plans soon changed when I ran into members of our group congregating in the hall. They all were dressed in tennis shoes, sweatshirts and jackets, appearing as if they were about to go outside, disregarding the fact that it was already passed midnight. I asked the group what they were up to.

“We’re going to go exploring,” one answered quietly.

Exploring, though, was a sliver of what they’d really be doing. Turns out they were going Geocaching.

Never hearing of this term, I decided I wanted to be part of the adventure anyway. One of the girls tried explaining to me what it was they would be doing, describing it as some sort of scavenger hunt done all around the world. Still confused to what it was I had just decided to be a part of, I looked the term up before heading out.

According to its website, Geocaching is a high-tech treasure hunting game played throughout the world by adventure seekers equipped with GPS devices. The basic idea is to locate hidden containers, called geocaches, outdoors and then share the experience online.

Given that we didn’t have a GPS, Katie wrote down line by line, and detail by detail, where it was we needed to go and what it was we needed to look for. So here we are, 11 American students who have been in this small Irish town for a mere three days, walking into the ominous darkness of Killarney National Park, searching for given points known to hold secret treasures. Why no one decided to bring or buy a flashlight I’m unsure of. With the dimming light of two cell phones, we moved through the moderately lighted streets of downtown and into the obscurity of the park. The blackness creeped closer and closer as we made our way to the park's gate. Yes, the park’s gates were open approaching 1:00 in the morning, another thing I’m unsure of why.

It was like a scene out of a horror movie; here goes a group of adventurous students trekking through pitch black woods, scared to death, hearing foreign noises and imagining movements in the distance. Many of us must have had the same thought, because a majority soon decided to link arms as we scaled up the rocky path. Our clues led us to Knockreer House and Gardens, where we were instructed to find an object relating to an eagle that in turn would lead us to an opening in a wall where the geocache could be found. Complicated much? By day, these gardens abound with overflowing ivy, vibrant pink-colored flowers and antiquated stone steps and walls. By night, these gardens are subdued, lacking life, color and vibrancy. A persistent, high-pitched alarm became louder as we approached the Knockreer House. A flickering light illuminating one of the house’s windows immediately frightened us, but upon further inspection we saw the light was reflecting from an exit sign. A few of us though it would be better to turn around and head home, but we ended up sticking together, moving farther into the gardens.

We searched the gardens the best we could, circling the house and walking farther into the woods along unmarked paths. We found some holes in stone walls, but never found that darn eagle. An hour later, after a tiresome and unsuccessful search, I decided it was time to give up on the complicated treasure hunt and call it a night. A few stayed to roam other places, but majority of us left to head back to our warm, cozy rooms at the B&B. I’d like to believe we would have been much more successful if we had started this adventure during daylight. I’m sure the geocache is in those gardens somewhere.