17 March 2007
Happy St. Paddy’s Day! Cork continues endearing itself to me. I know I have a lot of catching up to do, so here goes…
Cork is said to be the shopping and fashion capital of Ireland, which is suprisingly trendy. Much trendier than the states. I brought a pair of leggings to wear under my jeans here because I was worried about wind and rain, but it turns out that the eighties are coming back and the leggings plus shirtdress look is way in right now. So, as an early birthday present to myself, I bought a shirt dress at a very reasonable price of 12 euro (Steph is still the super shopper even abroad) to wear and decided to try out the look. I love it! Leggings are so liberating. They make me feel like prancing around merrily and announcing to the world: “I’M NOT WEARING ANY PANTS!”
I ended up seeing more army guys around the same building on my way to school on Wednesday, so I felt a little nervous once more. The guns, though real and very menacing, look like plastic to me. I can’t imagine what the army men are doing. They weren’t there on Thursday, though.
Cork is on a river and is much easier to navigate than Dublin, but I have not been feeling quite so adventurous during the week, as homework and studies take up much of my time and the constant travelling is cathcing up with me making me sleepy (I went to bed at 9 last night! Old lady Steph). It finally rained and rained with a vengence here on Thursday afternoon. Luckily it wasn’t very windy, though, so all was relatively well. Wednesday was class as usual, except that our religion class was especially engaging. The more I study religion, the more I can’t wait for grad school and my religion and literature PhD. Maybe it’s just because I’m tired of McDowell after having him two terms in a row or maybe Irish literature, like the early medieval literature, just doesn’t do it for me. My dreams of being a medievalist are no more.
Thursday we had class at the Ogham stones residing in the collection of University College Cork. Ogham is the ancient writing of the Irish (like runes, it was used mostly symbolically and for religious occasions, not everyday writing which didn’t arrive until Christianity in the late 5th century). Ogham was often carved on the axes of great big upright stones and used as territorial markers. I really loved the campus of the University and I was overcome with the desire to prance about. So I did (see picture). After that, we ventured around Cork and found the Cork Butter Museum. I now know more about butter (from it’s use in the Bronze Age to the butter boom of the 1960’s and the revival of the Irish market through the butter boom…) than I ever cared to know. But hey, if the English prof career path doesn’t pan out, perhaps I could become a butterologist. The butter here in the south/southwest is pretty darn amazing.
Later Thursday night, I experienced my first pub conversation. Connolly, Ann, Devin, Mark, Christine and I went to this little pub called The Bodhran (pronounced Boron, like the element.) named after a type of Irish drum. We heard there was live music there. And while the artist didn’t play traditional Irish music as I hoped he would (until the very last song) he did play some good classic rock covers on acoustic guitar. He was very skilled and had excellent tuning. Connolly, Mark and Christine headed out after a little bit, leaving Ann, Devin and I to enjoy the craic (craic pronounced “crack” meaning “good times”). We ended up chatting with this one older gentleman at the bar and then a couple more regulars came over. I chatted with a younger man named Brian who is actually the chef at the hotel next door to the Clarion. It was a pretty good conversation about cooking, Americans, the Irish (his theory: The best thing to happen to the Irish social scene was the smoking ban in pubs because it made men go outside and talk with each other over cigarrettes to avoid awkardness.) vegetarians (“OH!! You’re one of THEM. No wonder you’re so fecking skinny.”) the green movement and immigration. As Ann, Devin and I were departing he shook hands and kissed us on the cheek heartily in a truly European manner. Even the emotionally reserved Irish men can be affectionate after a few pints. Men. Geez.
The Irish men are pretty funny. There is a lot more holding to gender roles here than back home, I think. Men are expected to be social around men, and are either supposed to be really reserved or else are allowed to make comments that would be considered innappropriate in the states towards women. Either way, there’s this kind of a wall. But the women are expected to verbally banter back. Thank God. I’m good at that. There’s a saying: “Never insult an Irish woman because she can always outwit you” and I think I can dig that. But the men… oy vey. On the streets, if you make eye contact, the men look away and down at their feet. No smiling back. Smiling is not a usual way of greeting people here. A head nod is acceptable, but only from man to woman or man to man. If I nod my head to a man, especially an older man, he gives me a confused look. When I talked to the guys in the pub about wanting to be a professor, they got a little antsy. I suppose men are just a little ridiculous in any country.
Speaking of ridiculous men… I made another “friend” here. Ann’s and my room overlooks the atrium which is lit by this giant skylight for a ceiling that is hung with very Cirque de Soleil golden balls suspended by cables. This rooming situation bothers me more than a little because I can’t stand being in rooms that don’t have windows, something I discovered ever since moving to the upstairs room at home, and because our room over looks all the open walkways of the floors below us we really should have the shears drawn. It has been quite uncomfortable for me, so I just try to spend as much time out of the room as possible. Anyway… Wednesday, I had the sheers open and this little old man walks by on the fifth floor corridor/breezeway and looks up at me. Eye contact was made, but instead of walking by like a usual Irish man, he waved and grinned at me. I waved back confusedly and that was that. Thursday morning, Ann and I were looking out over the lobby and here comes my friend, this time in a bathrobe and hotel slippers. He saw me in the window, his face lit up and he waved and blew me a kiss. He waited by the railing forlornly until I blew him a little kiss back and then bowed “thank you” and strolled away looking particularly pleased about having secured a favor from his lady. I was so amused that I was recounting the tale to my friends and McDowell who suggested that the man was either French, Spanish, or Italian because it was too early for the Irish to be drinking and no sober Irish man would be so unreserved. Connolly overheard and asked if I found a “sugar daddy”. Sigh… professors these days.
Yesterday, Ann, Sarah, Laura and I trekked about Cork and secured a wildlife/plant guide for me and knitting supplies for Ann, who I taught to knit yesterday! I created a monster. She is a knitting-natural and will surpass her instructor in no time. We are becoming good friends, Ann and I! Well, I’m off to a St. Paddy’s day parade here (put on for the benefit of the tourists. The native Irish care not a lick about St. Paddy’s day, except the tourist euros it brings in. It’s kind of like Mardi Gras in the states. Celebrated in the big cities, especially New Orleans, but otherwise not a big deal and rather far removed from its religious origins.) Cheers!
PS: Woohoo! I just got back from the St. Paddy’s day parade. There were a lot more locals there than we expected. It was fun to see all the local organizations. There were a lot of colorful costumes and some interesting almost floats. I say almost because none of the floats were vehicle powered, they were all carried chinese new year style by men and women with posts. Some of the groups included dance schools, marching bands (that didn’t march with sousaphones, instead carrying regular tubas in braces/bags), a pipe and drums band, various international groups (like the French Speaking Children) and even various strange groups, like the Irish Romans… go figure. In the picture from left to right are Devin, Sarah, Dan, Laura, Ann, and Connolly at the parade.
Happy St. Paddy’s Day! Cork continues endearing itself to me. I know I have a lot of catching up to do, so here goes…
Cork is said to be the shopping and fashion capital of Ireland, which is suprisingly trendy. Much trendier than the states. I brought a pair of leggings to wear under my jeans here because I was worried about wind and rain, but it turns out that the eighties are coming back and the leggings plus shirtdress look is way in right now. So, as an early birthday present to myself, I bought a shirt dress at a very reasonable price of 12 euro (Steph is still the super shopper even abroad) to wear and decided to try out the look. I love it! Leggings are so liberating. They make me feel like prancing around merrily and announcing to the world: “I’M NOT WEARING ANY PANTS!”
I ended up seeing more army guys around the same building on my way to school on Wednesday, so I felt a little nervous once more. The guns, though real and very menacing, look like plastic to me. I can’t imagine what the army men are doing. They weren’t there on Thursday, though.
Cork is on a river and is much easier to navigate than Dublin, but I have not been feeling quite so adventurous during the week, as homework and studies take up much of my time and the constant travelling is cathcing up with me making me sleepy (I went to bed at 9 last night! Old lady Steph). It finally rained and rained with a vengence here on Thursday afternoon. Luckily it wasn’t very windy, though, so all was relatively well. Wednesday was class as usual, except that our religion class was especially engaging. The more I study religion, the more I can’t wait for grad school and my religion and literature PhD. Maybe it’s just because I’m tired of McDowell after having him two terms in a row or maybe Irish literature, like the early medieval literature, just doesn’t do it for me. My dreams of being a medievalist are no more.
Thursday we had class at the Ogham stones residing in the collection of University College Cork. Ogham is the ancient writing of the Irish (like runes, it was used mostly symbolically and for religious occasions, not everyday writing which didn’t arrive until Christianity in the late 5th century). Ogham was often carved on the axes of great big upright stones and used as territorial markers. I really loved the campus of the University and I was overcome with the desire to prance about. So I did (see picture). After that, we ventured around Cork and found the Cork Butter Museum. I now know more about butter (from it’s use in the Bronze Age to the butter boom of the 1960’s and the revival of the Irish market through the butter boom…) than I ever cared to know. But hey, if the English prof career path doesn’t pan out, perhaps I could become a butterologist. The butter here in the south/southwest is pretty darn amazing.Later Thursday night, I experienced my first pub conversation. Connolly, Ann, Devin, Mark, Christine and I went to this little pub called The Bodhran (pronounced Boron, like the element.) named after a type of Irish drum. We heard there was live music there. And while the artist didn’t play traditional Irish music as I hoped he would (until the very last song) he did play some good classic rock covers on acoustic guitar. He was very skilled and had excellent tuning. Connolly, Mark and Christine headed out after a little bit, leaving Ann, Devin and I to enjoy the craic (craic pronounced “crack” meaning “good times”). We ended up chatting with this one older gentleman at the bar and then a couple more regulars came over. I chatted with a younger man named Brian who is actually the chef at the hotel next door to the Clarion. It was a pretty good conversation about cooking, Americans, the Irish (his theory: The best thing to happen to the Irish social scene was the smoking ban in pubs because it made men go outside and talk with each other over cigarrettes to avoid awkardness.) vegetarians (“OH!! You’re one of THEM. No wonder you’re so fecking skinny.”) the green movement and immigration. As Ann, Devin and I were departing he shook hands and kissed us on the cheek heartily in a truly European manner. Even the emotionally reserved Irish men can be affectionate after a few pints. Men. Geez.
The Irish men are pretty funny. There is a lot more holding to gender roles here than back home, I think. Men are expected to be social around men, and are either supposed to be really reserved or else are allowed to make comments that would be considered innappropriate in the states towards women. Either way, there’s this kind of a wall. But the women are expected to verbally banter back. Thank God. I’m good at that. There’s a saying: “Never insult an Irish woman because she can always outwit you” and I think I can dig that. But the men… oy vey. On the streets, if you make eye contact, the men look away and down at their feet. No smiling back. Smiling is not a usual way of greeting people here. A head nod is acceptable, but only from man to woman or man to man. If I nod my head to a man, especially an older man, he gives me a confused look. When I talked to the guys in the pub about wanting to be a professor, they got a little antsy. I suppose men are just a little ridiculous in any country.
Speaking of ridiculous men… I made another “friend” here. Ann’s and my room overlooks the atrium which is lit by this giant skylight for a ceiling that is hung with very Cirque de Soleil golden balls suspended by cables. This rooming situation bothers me more than a little because I can’t stand being in rooms that don’t have windows, something I discovered ever since moving to the upstairs room at home, and because our room over looks all the open walkways of the floors below us we really should have the shears drawn. It has been quite uncomfortable for me, so I just try to spend as much time out of the room as possible. Anyway… Wednesday, I had the sheers open and this little old man walks by on the fifth floor corridor/breezeway and looks up at me. Eye contact was made, but instead of walking by like a usual Irish man, he waved and grinned at me. I waved back confusedly and that was that. Thursday morning, Ann and I were looking out over the lobby and here comes my friend, this time in a bathrobe and hotel slippers. He saw me in the window, his face lit up and he waved and blew me a kiss. He waited by the railing forlornly until I blew him a little kiss back and then bowed “thank you” and strolled away looking particularly pleased about having secured a favor from his lady. I was so amused that I was recounting the tale to my friends and McDowell who suggested that the man was either French, Spanish, or Italian because it was too early for the Irish to be drinking and no sober Irish man would be so unreserved. Connolly overheard and asked if I found a “sugar daddy”. Sigh… professors these days.
Yesterday, Ann, Sarah, Laura and I trekked about Cork and secured a wildlife/plant guide for me and knitting supplies for Ann, who I taught to knit yesterday! I created a monster. She is a knitting-natural and will surpass her instructor in no time. We are becoming good friends, Ann and I! Well, I’m off to a St. Paddy’s day parade here (put on for the benefit of the tourists. The native Irish care not a lick about St. Paddy’s day, except the tourist euros it brings in. It’s kind of like Mardi Gras in the states. Celebrated in the big cities, especially New Orleans, but otherwise not a big deal and rather far removed from its religious origins.) Cheers!
PS: Woohoo! I just got back from the St. Paddy’s day parade. There were a lot more locals there than we expected. It was fun to see all the local organizations. There were a lot of colorful costumes and some interesting almost floats. I say almost because none of the floats were vehicle powered, they were all carried chinese new year style by men and women with posts. Some of the groups included dance schools, marching bands (that didn’t march with sousaphones, instead carrying regular tubas in braces/bags), a pipe and drums band, various international groups (like the French Speaking Children) and even various strange groups, like the Irish Romans… go figure. In the picture from left to right are Devin, Sarah, Dan, Laura, Ann, and Connolly at the parade. 
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