7.29.2010

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.

7.25.2010

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.

7.17.2010

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!

7.16.2010

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.

7.13.2010

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.

7.12.2010

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.

7.08.2010

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.

7.07.2010

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.

7.06.2010

Cliffs of Moher


One of Ireland's top visitor attractions, the Cliffs of Moher scale up to 214 meters in height and range for 8 kilometers along the western seaboard of County Clare.


A sign advises visitors not to get too close to the Cliffs' edge. Hopefully out of smartness and sanity, one would obey the sign.



On a clear day, one can see the Aran Islands, Galway Bay and the mountains of Connemara in the distance.



Shades of blue ocean water crash against the rocky bottom of the Cliffs.



Cool ocean winds blow off the Atlantic. In the distance is O'Brien's Tower, home to a small gift shop and spectacular views from the top.

7.04.2010

Spoiled

Saturday, July 3, 2010
8:00 p.m.

Waking up at quarter till eight was not an easy thing to do. But, it was worth it. Our first morning at Earls Court House Bed and Breakfast meant traveling down three flights of stairs, waiting to be seated at the breakfast room and having the best breakfast meal yet to be served in Ireland. Although I was not hungry, I could not pass up the sweet-smelling, appetizing food in front of me. I knew it’d be best to eat as much as I could since we’d be going out for the late morning afterward.

A server soon greeted us at our elegantly, white dressed table, bringing us coffee and tea and instructing us that we could help ourselves to the buffet along with one breakfast item off the menu. I decided on the tomato, onion and cheese omelette, then made my way to the buffet. Dry cereals, plain yogurt, prunes and mixed fruit, porridge, miniature scones with powdered sugar, three types of breads, bite-sized cakes and fresh-squeezed orange juice all occupied the buffet. With the exception of cereal, I sampled just about everything. After checking in yesterday, I noticed a wall with a handful of awards on it. One read, “This house serves perfect porridge.” (The award was from a 2004 porridge tasting competition.) Knowing this, I had to try it. Adding a spoonful of honey into the creamy oats created a perfectly sweet, warm and mouth-watering breakfast dish, certainly living up to its 2004 title.

I was already stuffed when my omelette came out, but I ate half of it anyways. It was different than an American omelette. It wasn’t weighed down with cheese, which I enjoyed, and was thick with a light, airy texture. Nevertheless, it was satisfying. The server then came around with another coffee pot. I gladly took some more since I wanted to be as energized as possible for our morning walk to Ross Castle, where we’d be taking an open motorboat out onto the three Lakes of Killarney.

One day remains for my stay in Killarney. Rain or shine, touristy or authentic, I am grateful to be in this town and in this award winning Bed and Breakfast. I never thought I'd have the confidence to travel alone to a foreign country, let alone be part of such an engaging, surreal experience. I can't deny the fact that I am being spoiled, but I am more than grateful for the opportunity to set out on this Ireland journey.

Moving Onward

Friday, July 2, 2010
12:00 p.m.

Rain trickles down faintly
As the thundering bus plows
Through climbing, narrow, unpaved roads;
Clear of barriers, of railings,
Of any sign that others occupy this lonely path.
Steadily I am shifting through Southwest Ireland.
Countryside flora abounds every angle while
Sporadic herds of sheep with pink-colored marks
Of ownership roam grassy hills.
Grey teardrops of water have now vanished;
Bright golden sun peeks through fading
Rain clouds. Verdant mountaintops,
Now emerged, kiss the pure sapphire sky.
Steadily I am shifting though Southwest Ireland.
Traveling farther upward, the bending
Lakes of Killarney appear. I am
Just as enraptured as Queen Victoria’s ladies-in-waiting
At the site of Ladies View.
We move onward.
Steadily I am shifting through Southwest Ireland.

7.02.2010

On the way to Middleton...

Thursday, July 1, 2010
3:30 p.m.

We cut it close yet again, arriving only a few minutes before the bus is scheduled to leave. Traffic overwhelms downtown Cork and it is only 3:00 p.m. The traffic makes me feel like I’m at home outside of the Washington metropolitan area. As the group takes their seats throughout the bus, I head toward the back. The bus will soon be departing for Middleton, home of the Jameson Factory and the next planned group outing.




Seated in the very last row of the bus is an Irish teenage lad with crooked teeth, spiky hair and a bright red jersey on. He sits in silence for a few minutes before asking a group of us what we are doing in Ireland. We tell him we are a group of students from the states studying in various cities for six weeks. We tell him where we have been and where we will be going. Killarney, Galway and Dublin are next, we say. “I fucking hate Dublin,” he blurts out. He then says that Dubliners think they are better than everyone else. That seems to be a common notion among the locals here. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see for myself if all the negativity about the country’s capital is what it’s been made out to be.

One of the girls asks him if the summers are always this warm. I still don’t know how we’ve gotten so lucky with this weather. It’s been two weeks now and we’ve only seen a couple days of rain. I haven’t used my fleece or sweatshirt once. Pretty spectacular.

“No way,” he replies. “They’re usually so fucking cold.”

His cursing is becoming more frequent and is beginning to get on my nerves. Irish men use the “f” word often, disregarding if women are around or not. Seems to be part of their culture.

Another girl then asks him his opinion on the worst group of tourists. I’m hoping he doesn’t say Americans.

“Definitely the Mexicans,” he says. “They fucking come over here in big groups during the summer and stay forever.” By forever he means four weeks. I wonder what he really thinks of our group who is staying here for six.

Just as he describes his annoyance with Mexican tourists, we pull up side by side with another bus. A group of Mexicans looks at us through the glass. We all have a laugh. “See what I mean.”

Our stop in Middleton is quickly approaching. The lad makes sure to point out to us where we need to get off, as if we can’t read a bus schedule and don’t already know. I ask him if he is from Middleton, but he says he is from Ballycotton, a small town in between Middleton and Youghal. I tell him about my trip to Youghal and how much I loved the coastal town, but he doesn’t seem interested. “Well you must go to Dingle,” he interrupts. “Fungie the dolphin is there. That is the best fucking dolphin.” (Fungie is the dolphin that inhabits Dingle Bay, interacting with humans on a regular basis).

In the middle of his story on Dingle and Fungie, we arrive in Middleton. We exchange goodbyes and he tells us to enjoy our time in town. “You must check out the Jameson factory,” he adds. We tell him that’s where we are headed. It was quite the random conversation, but entertaining nonetheless.

Now it’s time for whiskey.

7.01.2010

One olive, two olive, three olive, four

Tuesday, June 29, 2010
5:00 p.m.

I went back to the English Market after my morning travel writing class. I wanted to experience the market by myself before leaving Cork on Friday. I wanted to spend as much time (or as little time) at every stall possible without feeling rushed or hurried to move on to another place. I am able to take much more in, plus get more accomplished, when I shop by myself.

We have farmer's markets at home, but nothing that compares to the caliber of this Victorian maze of worldly foods and goods. It is really fascinating to see so many cultures come together in celebration of different goods from all over the world. I touched on the market's features in an earlier entry, but somehow I had missed The Real Olive Company, a Mediterranean stall full of olives, artichoke hearts, dolmas, anchovies, sundried tomatoes and blocks of feta the first time I visited. I don't remember when I first started liking olives. I grew up repulsing them. From what I do remember, I woke up one day and their bitter, pungent taste didn’t bother me anymore. Instead, I fell in love with the taste of all the different types and wanted them in my dishes as often as possible. Whenever that time was, it is insignificant. When I approached the Mediterranean stall, I was in olive heaven. Mixed olives, pickled olives, kalamata olives, green olives, olives stuffed with everything from garlic to peppers. I sampled a small, dark olive with a sweet, tangy flavor but unfortunately forgot its name.

After a solid ten minutes of debating what to purchase, I decided on two large, marinated artichoke hearts, a medley of kalamata and red pepper flaked olives, and a few of the garlic, almond and chili stuffed ones. Thank goodness I waited until I got home to eat them.


The first one I tried was one of the best green olives I've ever tasted. I bit down to taste a crunchy, salty garlicky center. Its dull green color was surpassed by its punchy, juicy flavor. Next, I moved on to the almond-stuffed green olive. The salty, crunchiness was very similar to the first one, but had a lighter, nuttier taste. I then tried a medley of small green and kalamata olives, surprised to find a rock-solid pit in the middle of them. Lastly, I popped the chili-stuffed olive into my mouth. After doing so, I went crazy. As my mouth turned to fire, I started sweating. It tasted great, don't get me wrong, but it was one of the spiciest foods I have ever tasted in my life. It brought me back to the time, around eight or nine years ago, when I tried a hot wing at a minor league baseball game. I was attending the game with my family and family friends when I told the dads I could handle the spiciest of wings they had gotten. Well, I was wrong. I began to cry from the intense heat of the wing and had to gulp down a glass of milk. (I hated milk back then). I made the mistake of trying the olive again, somehow thinking the second time around wouldn't be as bad. I was wrong; it was worse. I had to stuff half of a whole pita into my mouth and chug half of my water bottle for the spiciness to subside. After about ten minutes, my mouth returned to normal.

I think if I were to return to the market, I would choose a different flavored olive.

6.28.2010

A coffee stop

Monday, June 28, 2010
3:30 p.m.

After breakfast this morning, I set out to a place called the Coffee Station. When I passed it a few days ago, I saw a sign advertising free wireless but didn't have my computer or phone on me to test it out. Since today marked my last free day of the long weekend, I figured it would be an appropriate time to check the place out. I have been here for a week and have only had two (maybe three) coffees. It's not that I don't want the energy burst, I just haven't felt the need for it. That's a big change from my usual coffee a day. For some reason I was craving one this morning. The walk was a short quarter-mile or so up the road, but I walked fast because for the first time since I've been here, it was raining. Out of all things to forget on my trip, one was an umbrella. Luckily I have a decent raincoat. I had almost made it there when a big truck drove into a puddle next to me, spraying water up and soaking the right side of my pants. Usually this would have bothered me, but I just shrugged it off and thought hey, I'm in Ireland, I'm going to get wet.

The menu had a large amount of options, but I decided on a nonfat latte. Skim milk has been a hard thing to find here since most markets only offer full-fat and light milk. I was very happy to have the skim option. They even offered soy milk. The young man behind the register told me he would deliver the coffee to my seat (a change from your usual Starbucks)! While I was waiting on my latte, I turned on my laptop and was soon able to connect to wireless for the first time. Two bonuses already to my day: skim milk and wireless! As I sat on a high stool at the bar, sipping my coffee and surfing the Internet, I was finally able to upload some pictures. After a couple hours had passed, I started to feel guilty about using the free wireless for so long while only ordering a coffee. So, I went back to the register and ordered a veggie sandwich with olive-balsamic dressing on a poppy seed bagel. It was quite tasty. By the time I finished my sandwich it had stopped raining and I headed home. I look forward to visiting the Coffee Station again.

Heyyy Yawlll

Sunday, June 27, 2010
6:00 p.m.

Kelly, Eryn and I took a day trip of our own to Youghal (pronounced “Yawl”) today. We took our time getting ready since we didn’t want to pass up an opportunity of sleeping in so we didn’t catch the bus into Youghal until 11:40. We saw something we hadn’t seen since we’ve been here when we approached the end of our 50-minute ride: the ocean! Well technically, it was the Celtic Sea. We decided to explore Youghal because of its reputation as a beautiful coastal town; we heard it had a scenic beach and a similar quaintness to the town of Cobh. Since I loved Cobh so much, it wasn’t hard to make the decision to travel to Youghal. We got off at the stop nearest the beach so we could walk on the sand before walking into town. My expectations of this city were not only met, they were exceeded.

Anticipation built as we approached the beach. After getting off the bus, we could see the water in the distance, but a large, stone barrier was blocking our view of the entire beach. When we were close enough to the barrier, I peeked over to see flat, glistening tan sand and pure, blue water. To the right, there were families taking walks up and down the sand, a young boy building sandcastles and climbing on rocks when his father wasn’t looking, dogs roaming free, even a few girls playing in the water. To the left, there were rocks, piles of seashells, boulders and caves. The girls and I decided to explore the left side of the beach since it seemed more adventurous. When we rounded the corner, a vast green hill came into sight. High at the top we saw herds of cattle and homes that appeared as tiny specs. There was a small, white lighthouse near the top of the road and stairs that seemed to lead to it. After climbing those intensely steep stairs, we were surprised to find a piece of wood blocking us from getting to the road. I thought I could climb my way over so I removed my backpack, tugged my way up a rocky ledge, and jumped over the wooden barrier to the other side. Kelly and Eryn decided not to take the jump but instead take the longer way around. So, I had one of them throw me my backpack and then waited for them.

We weren’t sure how long the walk into the main town would take. I heard some say it was a mile, some say it was closer to two miles. Either way, we made our way toward town and arrived in around 20-25 minutes. By that time, we were starving. We stopped at a small restaurant connected to a hotel. They were advertising breakfast served all day however I decided on the fish and chips. Commonly, most fish and chips come with peas. When my peas came out, they looked like a watery pile of green mush. And that’s exactly what they tasted like. As a pea fan, I was pretty disappointed with the side dish. I have to say that was my first disappointment when it comes to food. Eryn and I splurged on a dessert after our meals, splitting an Irish doughnut. The doughnut was a pastry shaped exactly like a hot dog. The breaded part split open to feature cream and a strawberry lining down the middle. It tasted just as good as it looked.

With our meals finished, we walked down the narrow streets of the town. Many shops were closed because it was Sunday yet I wasn’t disappointed. I was happier just to take in the stunning views around me. I was surprised to find that the water was as blue, if not bluer, than the ocean water back home on the east coast. We spent a few hours walking downtown before deciding to catch the bus back to Cork. While waiting at the bus stop, a black dog peeped his head under a fence across the street. I couldn’t resist the photo-op so I went over to take a picture of him. It was a short day trip, but it was certainly worth it. Who would have thought that I’d be experiencing warm, sunny beaches while in Ireland? I would go back in a heartbeat.

6.27.2010

Left instead of right

Saturday, June 26, 2010
2:00 p.m.

Each day I sit at my desk, staring out my window overlooking the street below, wondering where the narrow road wrapping along the metal fence up ahead leads to. I have seen multiple exercisers take this road along with the occasional car or two. Maybe the road parallels a river, maybe the road ends at a neighborhood, maybe the road goes nowhere. Wherever it may go, it is my turn to wrap around the metal rails and find out.

When I approach this road, I soon realize that it ends shortly. I am then presented with two possible paths. Do I cross the bridge in front of me or take the path to my left? I choose left. I am alone but I am at peace with being alone. The large river that parallels me reminds me of my family’s river house on the Shenandoah back home; however I am not homesick. I am alone, but at ease.

The trees I pass were alone. These trees catch my attention more than the slowly, flowing river, more than the birds screeching above me, more than the people passing by, more than the man attempting to talk on his cell phone while riding his bike, more than the dogs walking off their leashes, even more than the abundant greenness in the distance that I am still getting used to. Before the birds, the people, the dogs and the paved pathway, these trees stood alone. I know this because of the largely, twisted roots and the trunks I can only fit one-third of my arms around. When the strong wind kicks in with its soft, howling hum, the intertwined branches of leaves begin to sway. It’s as if they are waving hello to me. It’s as if they know I am thinking of them. I imagine how, if Cork wasn’t so overwhelmed with commercialism now, they would be in a more peaceful state of solitude, similar to me.

As I observe the beauties of these trees, I forget to stay on my allotted side of the path. Because the Irish drive their cars on the left side of the road, people are supposed to pass each other on the left side as well. Go figure. Maybe the trees got a laugh out of my flawed since of direction. Just maybe.

6.26.2010

Kissing Blarney

Friday, June 25, 2010
6:00 p.m.

The gift of eloquence is now bestowed upon me, according to the legend of kissing the Blarney Stone in return for the gift of gab (or skill of flattery), dating back to the 1400s. Maybe it hasn’t hit me yet, because I feel no different from when I woke up this morning...

Earlier today I traveled on a bumpy, unsteady bus ride, trekked up a narrow, 100-step climb, and dangled upside down at the top of a restored, 600-year-old castle all to kiss the infamous Blarney Stone. Fortunately for me I don’t struggle with motion sickness, claustrophobia or a fear of heights because if I did, my venture most likely would not have happened.

The ride to get to Blarney was rocky, yes, and sometimes overpowered by the smell of horse manure (not so pleasant), but I was able to catch a glimpse of the Irish countryside I hadn’t been able to focus on yet. After exiting the main highway from Cork and merging onto a smaller road, the land filled up with brown horses, large spotted cows and every possible shade of green. The horizon wasn’t full of compacted homes or large buildings. Instead there were small, white farmhouses and vast open fields for animals to roam.

Although there were many things to do at Blarney Castle, like taking a walking tour around the premises while exploring different caves, graveyards and gardens, I had my heart set on climbing the castle and kissing the stone at the top. Approaching the line for the castle was like approaching a line for a ride at an amusement park. From the actual entrance to the castle, the line wrapped around a corner and farther down the hill. I heard someone say that a tourist group from a cruise ship was visiting and that the wait to get to the top would be at least an hour. I decided to be as patient as possible (something I find extremely challenging) and stick out the long wait.

Well, patience paid off. Once I reached the entrance of the castle, the wait seemed much more bearable than before. What was left of the castle’s interior was both eerie and captivating at the same time. Each room was labeled for what it once was: the kitchen, the family room, the ladies’ room, the earl’s room, the priest’s room, the banqueting hall, the murder hole, etc. As I made my way up the 100 coiled steps, I was able to stop and take a look at the preservation of each room. The kitchen had an outline of a fire pit where families once roasted entire pigs; the bedrooms for the women were significantly smaller than those for the men; the murder hole was a confined space where residents of the castle would throw rocks and hot liquids down to intruders. As I inched closer to the top, the spiral staircase became narrower and much more restricted. It was no lighthouse climb that’s for sure. I had to hold onto a thick rope to pull myself up to the last step and onto the roof of the castle. Once at the top, the single file line continued around corners and crevasses and I was able to take a full 360 look around me. The castle’s height is an estimated 13 stories so once at the top, I could spot part of my group members crossing a bridge below, one of my professors observing one of the gardens, and miles upon miles of Ireland’s landscape. I was probably looking at the city of Cork in the distance without even knowing it. My turn to kiss the Blarney Stone soon arrived. I handed my camera to a friend, sat down at the mat on the ledge of the roof, leaned backwards while the guide held onto my waist, grabbed a hold of the iron railing and gave a big kiss to the cold but celebrated stone. Now that I have done so, I am said to have a gift of eloquence that will stick with me for the remainder of my life. Pretty "savage" eh?

6.24.2010

Exploring downtown Cork

Thursday, June 24, 2010
3:00 p.m.

After class this morning I went downtown for the second day in a row. While I didn't spend nearly as much time in the city as I did yesterday, the trip was much more successful. Three girls came along with me but since we are all starting to feel more comfortable wandering the streets on our own, we pretty much did our own thing. I had planned to make lunch back at the apartment to save money but since I decided last minute to go downtown, I ended up grabbing a bite at a small bagel shop called L.A. Bagels on Oliver Plunkett Street. I ordered a tuna salad sandwich on a sesame seed bagel and was very pleased with my order. I have been craving a bagel since I arrived here and finally got one! One thing different about the tuna salad in Ireland is that it always comes with corn mixed into it. Seems strange, but it is actually very tasty.

While walking downtown I was reminded of one thing a professor pointed out to us on our first day in Cork: the English Market. Yesterday I was so busy trying to find new, cute clothes – which after several hours I didn’t find one thing I liked – that I forgot about the market. The market, located between Grand Parade, Princes and St. Patrick's Street, is a huge, enclosed space that houses different stalls including poultry, seafood, pork, cheese, pasta, vegetables, coffee and pastry shops, chocolate shops, wine stores and more. It immediately reminded me of my mom and her love for farmer’s markets. (Multiply your basic farmer’s market at home times five and that’s what you would see here!) Some of the stalls were disturbing for me to even look at; butcher stations sold every part of the animal imaginable, including whole heads of the pig. Some of the exotic poultry stands sold crocodile steaks, kangaroo fillets and ostrich fillets. Although I was a little bothered by all the displays of raw meat, many of the stalls were much more pleasing to look at, overflowing with fresh fruits and vegetables, large blocks of cheese, organic grains and salads, glistening pastries, and delicate chocolate truffles. The market was such a unique experience. I could’ve spent the entire day there.

After the market, I decided to browse a small gift shop after my eye was immediately drawn to a green and navy rugby polo in the front window of the store. Fortunately for me, the one I wanted fit and I ended up making my first purchase that didn’t involve food or drinks. Next to the gift shop was a small boutique that featured a bargain rack right when you walked in. I looked through the clothes quickly and a sequined tank top caught my eye again. It was only 10 euro’s so I couldn’t resist! I didn’t feel like shopping for much longer so I separated from the girls and caught a bus home. I’m becoming quite comfortable with the bus system here now so I had no problem waiting for it alone. Funny thing – while waiting for the bus to take me home from downtown, an Irish woman approached me and asked if the number 3 bus had come by yet. Surprisingly I knew the answer to her question and told her that she still had a few minutes to wait for it. “Great!” she said back to me. “I actually won’t be missing my bus today.” It was a strange thing being the one answering a local’s question as opposed to me asking them.

6.23.2010

Environmentally savvy

Wednesday, June 23, 2010
4:00 p.m.

One thing I have noticed over the past few days is how environmentally aware Ireland is. When I went shopping at the market for the first time, the cashier didn’t bag my groceries. Instead, he asked me if I wanted to pay an extra 22 euro cents for a plastic bag. He told me the reason they charge for bags is so people are forced to bring their own and so they don’t waste them. Makes plenty of sense to me since I already use reusable shopping bags when I’m at home. However I had to go ahead and pay the extra money because I just couldn’t carry all my groceries back without a bag. Another thing I’ve noticed is that the rooms don’t have ceiling fans and that many of the buses, trains and shops don’t have air conditioning. I have to open the windows for cooler air when seated on the bus and train. I also find myself warmer when I enter a store than when walking outside, which is such a strange concept for summer time. One more thing that puts Ireland ahead with the whole saving energy thing is that you have to turn on a switch in order for appliances to work. It took me a whole two days to figure out how to work the toaster in our kitchen! What I didn’t notice was the small switch (similar to a light switch) on the wall above it. In order to power the toaster (along with the oven, the lamps, etc.) you have to turn on a switch before turning the appliance on. I felt like a true blonde after finally figuring it out!

Out of the city and into Cobh


Tuesday, June 22, 2010
6:00 p.m.

“Cobh (pronounced Cove) is situated on the southern shore of the Great Island in one of the world’s finest natural harbours.” – Cobh 2010 Tourist Information Guide

I fell in love with Cobh, Ireland today. My dad joked with me before I came here on how I should move to Ireland. Well, I could certainly see myself living in a place like Cobh. Although the trip to Cobh was scheduled as a group outing, we were given the opportunity to split up and do whatever we wanted once we arrived. The train ride to Cobh was scheduled to leave at 1:00; we made it on at 12:59. Our group was running all throughout the city just to make it on time. It was probably quite a funny site to the locals. Majority of the train ride was over water. After making its way out of Cork, there was nothing but wild horses, green pastures, cottages in the distance and sailboats on the water to see. Across from me there was a grandmother with her daughter and grandson. The grandmother told us the little boy’s name was Charlie and that he was just shy of two-years-old. Charlie was a hit with all us girls. Although he was extremely shy and looked away when we tried talking to him, I was able to get a few smirks out of him. After a short ride of 25 minutes, the train made its final stop in Cobh. The group exited, met up to grab a few brochures about the town, and separated in smaller groups to go off and explore.

The first thing I noticed about Cobh was the homes. I loved how they were all different colors. It reminded me of Charleston’s Rainbow Row along East Bay Street, but with smaller homes that were closer together. The houses gave off a very Mediterranean vibe. They were built on hills that overlooked the water. Some had clothes hanging on lines out from backyard windows to dry. Others were a bit more fancy, featuring all white paint and decks that sat up high over the hills.

A few places of interest I was able to check out were the Titanic Memorial, St. Colman’s Cathedral and the Old Church Cemetery. Cobh was the last stop the Titanic made before sailing out from Ireland to its final tragedy in the Atlantic. The Cathedral was the main architectural structure overlooking Cobh. No matter which street you are on, the Cathedral can be spotted. It took 47 years to build (1868-1915), has a length of 210 feet, a width of 120 feet, and a spire height of 300 feet. It was breathtaking. The last place I visited was the Old Church Cemetery, the spot that hosts the graves of victims from the Lusitania disaster. The walk to the cemetery was 2 km from town but since it was up and down steep hills it felt much longer. Thank goodness I decided to wear my tennis shoes.

The streets of Cobh were filled with elderly couples walking their dogs, teenagers grouped together in alleyways, quaint shops on each corner, kids running around on playgrounds and boys of all ages fishing on the harbor. The city was beautiful, historical and more than anything made me happy. It’s almost too hard to describe in words.

Expectations on Ireland...

Tuesday, June 22, 2010
11:00 a.m.

Well, I had many. I have now been in the land of the Irish for about 72 hours and have found that many of my expectations are far from what I thought they would be. Here are a few that surprised me:

1. Weather: For starters, I naturally expected cold, cloudy, rainy weather upon my arrival in Ireland. After all it is what the country is known for. I read somewhere online that Ireland doesn't have a climate, just weather; meaning that each day the winds and the air are changing and you can never know what to expect. The week before my departure, I scurried around on errands making sure I had enough rainproof gear. I bought two rain jackets, hiking shoes with waterproof lining, and even special socks designed for wearing in the rain. As my plane ended its flight over the Atlantic and into the vast greenness of Ireland, I was almost blinded by the immense amount of sunlight beaming through the window. It was then that I thought to myself, maybe I was wrong about the cold, the clouds and the rain. I stepped off the plane not only into the sunlight, but also into a moderately warm air that was accompanied by a nice, cool breeze. Well after three days here, the sun is still shining and the air is still warm. I’m crossing my fingers that the weather will stay like this for awhile. Although if it does, I will soon need to go shopping for more suitable clothes!

2. Food: As a vegetarian, another expectation I had was that I would have trouble finding various options in a country known for shepherds pie, beef stew, and the traditional Irish breakfast of sausage, bacon, baked beans and black pudding (a type of sausage made with dried blood!). I have been pleasantly surprised to find that I might just survive on my vegetarian diet over here. On the second night out, a group of us went to a restaurant where the menu conveniently listed which items were vegetarian. Everything I have eaten up until this point has been delicious. Whether it was my veggie burger, tomato soup or egg salad sandwich, I have enjoyed every meal. Turns out that I might just be alright after all.

3. People: As far as the local Irish people, I had unsettled expectations on whether they would be welcoming or not. I expected many of them to be standoffish and look down on us because we Americans sometimes have a reputation of being loud, uncultured and obnoxious. While we have gotten our share of weird stares, majority of the Irish people are eager to talk to us and very friendly and helpful. When a group of girls and I were in the bathroom at a pub on the first night, two younger Irish girls informed us that the word they use for cool is “savage.” They also told us the most popular places to shop downtown. When I asked a local Cobh woman if we were going the correct way to the Old Church cemetery, she kindly responded with detailed directions. When our bus driver was asked for his name, he jokingly replied, “I’m not quite sure because I have amnesia like George W. Bush.” While it is certain that our group sticks out like a sore thumb while wandering the streets of Ireland, they seem just as eager to converse with us as we do with them.

Class, computers and community dinner

Monday, June 21, 2010

I was finally able to sleep in this morning. After two straight nights of going out to the pubs and having to wake up early for group meetings, I was able to catch up on some sleep and take my time getting ready. At noon, the group met at a UCC classroom to listen to a guest lecturer on Irish political and economic history. I was never one to enjoy history class, but this lecturer was quite interesting. He informed us on the past relationship between Northern Ireland and Ireland as well as the present. Following the lecture, we watched the movie, Michael Collins. I highly recommend it if you’ve never seen it and are interested in learning more about Ireland and the Irish War of Independence.

In the afternoon, a computer technician met with us to try and get our wireless set up. Because there are no summer classes at UCC, the wireless is down. So, we have all been sharing the four computers in the basement’s computer lab. Unfortunately the technician wasn’t able to get the wireless fixed so we are waiting to hear back from him on whether or not we will be able to receive it.

The group was pretty tired from all that’s been happening over the first two days so we came to a consensus to have a group potluck dinner. Each hall was in charge of getting a different dinner item, preparing the food, and bringing it to one of the suites for us all to eat. We shared pasta, salad, garlic bread, chips and dip, and chocolate chip cookies with vanilla ice cream. The potluck was a big hit and a lot of fun to be able to relax and have dinner in with everyone. Plus we all saved money by not going out!

An overwhelming but successful first day

Saturday, June 19, 2010

After the six-hour flight – where I unfortunately lost five hours to the time change and got only one hour of sleep – I arrived at Shannon Airport. I expected cool, rainy weather upon my arrival but I was wrong. When I stepped off the airplane, I was taken aback by the unsuspected warmness. After congregating with a group of 21 students and three professors, taking a bathroom break, and sitting for a quick snack, we hopped on a coach shuttle to our first destination: Cork. Although I was extremely excited to be in my first European country, I couldn’t help but snooze off on the ride. Luckily I was able to stay awake for the first 10 minutes or so because our driver stopped at the first sighting of a castle and we all got out to take pictures. Once I got back on the shuttle though, I crashed. The shuttle ride to Cork took around two hours. When I woke from my quick nap, we were stopping for a quick lunch break at a gas station. There, I had my first Irish meal: a fried veggie burger with lettuce and a mixture of ketchup and mayonnaise, and chips (more commonly known as the Irish term for French fries). The burger was potato based and surprisingly had a decent amount of vegetables in it. Soon after our lunch break we arrived at our first place of residence, University Hall at the UCC Campus. I was shocked to find out that each student would be getting his or her own room and bathroom. I was excited to have privacy but a little disappointed that we were all separated from one another. After unpacking and getting settled with the apartment complex, the whole group went to dinner at a restaurant called Milanos. I was a little unsure of how tasty the Italian food would be in Ireland but my vegetarian Cannelloni dish was delicious. After dinner, majority of the group decided to explore some Irish pubs. We decided on a place called An Brog, since we heard from a few people it was one of the best pubs in Cork. After toasting to Ireland, maybe more than once, the night only got better. I tried my share of Irish beers/ciders (Bulmer’s, Carlsberg, Murphy’s, etc.) and even met some local Irish guys, Vronin and Tiernen. They both attend UCC but were off for the summer. Vronin told me he would soon be traveling to Ocean City, Maryland, whereas Tiernen was about to travel to the western side of Canada. It was funny to hear of their excitement on traveling to America/Canada because I was overwhelmed with my own excitement of being in Ireland for the first time.


My first day/night in Cork was certainly a success. I was able to quickly bond with students from my group, find decent meals to eat, and experience my first night out on the town without getting lost. I am really looking forward to more fun nights to come in Cork.