Eek! There's no interenet here in Killarney, so I'm at an internet cafe right now and it's costing me an arm and a leg. And I'm going hiking on Sat. in Killarney Natn'l. Park, so I really need all my limbs. But I absolutely adore Kerry (the county I'm in) it is absolutely gorgeous. Breathtakingly beautiful. Mountains, mountains, sheep, pastures, streams, and more mountains. But alas, I shall update with all my stories later. Bye!

Day 24 - Cork

25 March 2007

Today, the time changed. Ireland (on Greenwich Mean Time) switches over to “Summer Time” about two weeks later than the US switches to Daylight Savings Time, which means that once again, we’re now 6 hours ahead of home again, instead of five. Today is a day of doing homework, but this weekend was a weekend of adventure. Thursday during the day, we explored a cute little town called Kinsale, visited the Cobh Heritage Center (Cobh, pronounced “Cove” which used to be called Queenstown was the biggest port of Irish emigration and was where both the Titanic and the Lusitania made their last port-of-calls before departing on their fateful voyages.) It was a very moving museum. And it was there that I found my penny whistle!! I love my penny whistle and I play it at times when I think I won’t annoy my fellow hotel residents, like the middle of the day. It’s great fun, and I’m learning lots of Irish ditties. I think I’m going to need a new book though, I’m pretty much through with the one that came with the whistle. After Kinsale, we went to the Charles Fort, which is a fort situated on the coast that was built by the British in the 1600’s. The tour guide was brilliant and I learned a ton. Not to mention it was so fun to be able to go and crawl around on the actual fort and explore whereever I liked. The history here is so wonderful because it is so tangible and easily accesible. By studying a ruined fort, you learn all about that period of time which it was made and what subsequent functions it serverd.

Thursday night we (the entire group) had a “movie night” where we watched a movie that helped explain the situation of the Irish civil war in the nineteen twenties. Which was a very noble goal for the first night of our weekend and a wonderful movie called “The Wind that Shakes the Barley”… unfortunately, it was one of the most depressing movies we’d ever seen and Ann and I (among others) spent the rest of the night crying and trying to cheer ourselves up. Not even chocolate worked, so we just decided to sleep on it.

I woke up late the next morning (Friday), because I accidentally forgot to set my alarm in my movie induced sadness. This caused me no small amount of anxiety and I very nearly had a panic attack. The whole morning I was a jumpy wreck and I felt pretty upset about it, especially when I dropped my silverware in the restaurant at breakfast. But that was soon to be remedied when I ventured with Laura, Sarah, Ann, and Meghan to heaven AKA the Fota Wildlife Preserve. This place was amazing. AMAZING. I’ve had dreams about a place like this. It is kind of like a zoo in the fact that there are a whole lot of animals there, but it is very unlike a zoo in the fact that they are allowed to roam free and there are no cages. There are some enclosed areas, like for the monkeys and (thankfully) the cheetahs and buffalo. But there are just huge pastures and chunks of forest where all that separates you from the animals is a double fence and a little rock barrier on your side. There were a lot of animals that were allowed to roam free though, like all kinds of ducks (Andrew, you would have been in waterfowl heaven. I thought of you when I got the “duck eye” numerous times) and geese, kangaroos and wallabies, tons of peacocks, cool south american rodents called Maras that look like they have the body of a wild hare with the head of a guinea pig, giant pelicans that could probably eat me whole if they wanted to, and CAPYBARAS! When I saw the real live capybaras about 5 feet away from me it was like I was reliving a childhood dream from the book “Cappyboppy” which I loved when I was younger. In fact, I was so happy that I started crying with joy. It was so wonderful. So amazing. Then, just when you think it couldn’t get any better… then came the wild Llamas called Guanacos. Being the llama expert that I like to consider myself to be, I greeted the llamas and petted them and hung out with them in a dust bath that they created in one of the gazebos, much to the awe of my friends, who are pretty certain that I have magical animal taming powers now because of it. I wish I did, but I just know how to handle llamas is all. Never thought it would come in handy. After bidding the llamas adieu, we went to the monkey island where I saw lemurs sitting on a roof and a little bitty monkey eating the chocolate off the stick of an ice cream bar which somebody had not properly disposed of (not me or my friends, though we did have Magnum ice cream bars (Mom, you are soooo right. They are amazing.) after our adventure.) And while the monkey was preoccupied, I petted him. I touched a monkey! It was great.



I did see a sign for red squirrels and found out that they are an endangered species, but then I also found my “soft toy” (sorry floozy pillow…) a RED TUFTY-EARED SQUIRREL!!! I was so excited! She’s perfect for fitting under my arm and snuggling with. Much better than any alarm clock or random electronic equiment snatched unwittingly from my nightstand. I am still excited. I named her Lucy and I gave her one of my headbands as a pretty little ribbon around her neck.

And just when you think that my weekend couldn’t get any more magical… it did! A very large group of us students went out to celebrate my friend Mark’s birthday, and it was great fun. At the first pub, The Old Oak, they played a song that sounded swing-ish. I couldn’t contain myself. Luckily, Ann couldn’t either, so I led, she followed and we swing danced. It felt so good! Apparently, we must have looked good too, because the place around the impromtu dance floor burst into applause. Nice! I felt a little embarrassed because of my need to dance, but I shrugged it off. Maybe if I was ever able to find a salsa club ANYWHERE on this darn island, I’d be able to vent my dance passion in a suitable environment, because it happened again about ten minutes later when they played a salsa-ish song… I just started moving in the salsa basic as unobtrusively as possible. Nobody else knows salsa on this trip, so I just had to move a little. No need for a partner. But one of the local guys spotted me salsa-ing and came up to me and attempted to do some sort of dance with me. I went with it and danced along and we got more cheers. The guy, while we were dancing asked me if I was really any good or if I was just faking it extremely well. I replied that I was pretty good, and he said that’s what he thought and that he was afraid to keep dancing with me, so he just gave me a hug and shook my hand and thanked me for the dance. (The picture is of Ann, my roomie, and I in our leggings! Woohoo for leggings! Before departing for our night of rock and roll.)

After that, some of us decided to head to another pub, Eddie’s, because nobody was dancing on the dancefloor at the Old Oak and Eddie’s had a live rock band playing. We walked into Eddie’s and that was where I saw him… the lead singer of the band… he was gorgeous. A mediocre singer of classic rock covers, it was unrealistic celebrity crush at first sight. Especially when we made eye contact. He kept looking at me, and I at him and then he dedicated a song: “Foxy Lady” to our table! Sigh… so lovely. I wish I knew his name. He had pretty blue eyes and short hair about the color of mine, meaning the color of dead leaves. He had a tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his t-shirt, but other than that he looked very clean cut and not grungy like the rest of the band. Edgy, yet sophisticated. He was witty and musical and cute. My big moment came when he asked for a volunteer, “preferably female”, to help out the band on the next number. After my pint and half (my self-imposed limit. No drunken antics for Steph. Don’t worry, parents. You’ve raised me well.) though I was feeling rather bold and helpful, so I raised my hand, much to the astonishment of my friends. Mr. LeadSingerMan saw (surprise) and called me up to the stage. He asked my name and handed me a tamborine, saying that it was my job to play the tamborine for this next song. Because it was loud, he didn’t hear my accent apparently, so he told me and the crowd that the girl who played last week was American, so it was my job to beat her and play as enthusiastically as possible. If there is one thing Steph Ewing can do, it is enthusiasm, so I told him I could beat her no problem. So the band started up and the song was “Are you gonna be my girl?” by Jet (actually, a newer song, not classic rock, but it sounds like classic rock.) It was glorious, being up there playing away at my tamborine while Mr. LeadSingerMan sang to me asking if I was going to be his girl… Swoon. I even had a tamborine solo. I think I surprised them all with my rhymical prowess (I know I surprised myself!) and when the song was over, they congratulated me, told me I beat the American from last week and the place cheered for me. My shining moment as a temporary member of the Limerick band “The Lynch Mob”.

I’m paying for it this morning, though. Not with a hangover, no. Responisible drinking leaves no hangovers. But in my tamborining enthusiasm and locally microbrewed deliciousness induced lack of precision (ok, so I have poor hand eye coordination anyway.), I managed to mangle my left hand, bruising the base of my thumb, the outside edge and the base of my pinky, the inside edge and the base of my index finger, and some random spot in the middle of my middle finger. I am really puffy and sore, barely being able to close my hand into a fist, so typing is quite the labor of love right now. But I’ve taken some advil and fetched some ice, and feel better.

Well, it is on to more homework and packing because tomorrow we leave for Killarney. Cork was grand, though. Cheers!

Day 20 - Cork

21 March 2007

Today we took a day trip to Cashel, which is a complex of five ruins/castles/religious buildings from dating from the 11th Century. It was amazing. I loved the oldness of it all. I just wanted to hug the wall, and actually I did. So very overwhelmed I was! I could have stayed there forever and smelled the oldness of Cormac’s chapel for ages, that wet, musty smell of old. I just wish I had more time to sit there and just imagine everything, everyone that has gone before me in that place. That’s the hardest thing about ruins, it’s hard to imagine that anybody once actually used these buildings, that they were covered by Irish oak roofs and painted with frescoes. It was a bit chilly today though.

Yesterday it was cold too and full of class time. Ann and I stopped back by the yarn store for more yarn for her, my young apprentice. The wool store is great, but it’s testing my math skills. My new math major friends would be proud… or they’d laugh.

I’ve taken to working out in the gym in the basement here. It feels so good to sweat a lot again. I haven’t run here yet because I was too busy in Dublin and here the time of day that I would run is rush hour and that’s not a good time to go running. So, it’s the workout room complete with smelly eastern European men for me. They are really really smelly. I thought I smelled bad when I worked out, but this one gaggle of men really stunk to high heaven. I wonder if deodorant is a cross cultural kind of thing, because if it’s not, I think it should be.

That’s about it from Cork for today. I’ve got to write some reflective journal entries for class for tomorrow and eat dinner. Some latin homework sounds in order as well… Hopefully I’ll wear myself out so much that I’ll sleep like a baby tonight. Last night I had a dream that I was in the pageant again and that was no good. Good evening to you!

Day 18 - Cork

19 March 2007

Well, I have experienced real Irish weather. The big Weatherman was taking it easy on me before, softening me up before the big hit. A sucker punch to the meterological gut. Sunday, it was pouring rain (called a “flogging rain” here) and then it started hailing and then the sun came out while it was raining and hailing all at the same time and it was seven degrees celcius outside (which is cold when you’re used to 12 or so). Beautiful, eh? My umberella flipped so much that it was completely useless. I figured out that moment why it is that you see umbrellas always discarded in litter bins or left on the side of the roads… umbrellas are weak sauce. A joke. God: 1, Umbrellas: 0.

That was Sunday. St. Paddy’s day night was spent hanging out at the pub in the lobby of the hotel because they had a traditional music band! It was so delightful to hear some fiddle and jigs. The band consisted of a fiddler, a squeezebox player, and a guitarist/whistle player. They were amazing. And the company was good, if a little rowdy. My friend Mark let me try a little sip of his Irish Whiskey. It was good the second sip, but the first sip tasted kind of like carrots and nail polish remover. The second sip was quite tasty though. I talked to a couple at the bar from Limerick about dancing. The woman, Caroline, loves dancing, but her boyfriend Mark, thought dancing was kind of “gay”, so we tried to convince him that girls love a guy who dances. I don’t think we were successful, but I really wish I had my fav dance partner there to show off some of our amazing moves. But alas…

Sunday, my friends Laura, Sarah, Ann, and I went to head to the wild life park, but unfortunately it was raining too hard to go. We only got a block away from the hotel. Then, because we were getting so antsy and very hungry, Ann and I tried to go to the grocery store, but then it was hailing from both directions so we didn’t get farther than the end of the block. The third time was the charm and we got home from the grocery store just in time to get soaked. I did some homework, washed laundry in the bathtub, talked on the phone briefly, and went to bed early, and that was Sunday. This picture is of the ridiculous weather that is actually cloudy and starting to rain on the left side of the picture and sunny and cheery on the right side of the picture. Craziness.

Today the weather was still tempermental, but I ventured out with Dr. Mann (my favorite professor) and about 15 other people to explore the churches and cathedrals in the area. They were gorgeous and I love them. The only one I didn’t enjoy was the biggest, fanciest one where they were actually holding a 12:00 mass. That was very awkward coming from my Congregational upbringing. Holy water and high church confuse me, and I felt profoundly uncomfortable and unwelcome. And though beautiful, the church (St. Peter and Paul’s) was completed and decorated in the Victorian neo-gothic style which is pretty much like regularly cluttered Victorian style except much grander… also very un-Puritan. I was so dissappointed. I looked forward so much to exploring a real, live Catholic cathedral, but was frustrated to feel so shut out of their little Catholic club. I feel like a religious palentologist, like I’m studying shells of churches when there are no people in them, examining the space, enjoying the silence, feeling close to God and my friends, and soaking in the atmosphere; but then I’m baffled when confronted by a living church celebrating mass with community members. I realize that it’s still so very liturgical and dogmatic and exclusive; I feel a little dissillusioned to be honest. I wish I could just go and pray in the cathedrals and read about the saints and not have to feel so excluded by their secret Catholic party. I guess I was just hoping that maybe Catholicism could fill in some of the holes where my puritan-descended protestantism left me theologically hanging. The other cathedrals were gorgeous and my favorite was the the Fransican church because of all the little grottoes with statues of saints and candles and prayer cards that were right in the sanctuary, making it look more cozy, welcoming, private, and mysterious.

Actually, my very favorite trip of the day was to the bell tower of St. Ann’s cathedral (spelled with no “e” just like my roommate!) where I got to don a set of ear protectors and climb up into the bell tower itself. I even got to ring the bells! It was amazing. Andrew, you would have loved it, getting to play an entire bell tower. Not a caralon, but an octave of very large real bells. I played “Do- a- Deer” and “Amazing Grace”. I would have played “Monkey Extravaganza”, but they were ordered from high to low and there were other people waiting to play. The tower of St. Ann’s is decorated with clocks on all four sides, but they’re called “the faces of the four liars” by the local Cork residents because the edges of the clocks are made of wood and the wood warps with the changing weather meaning that none of the clocks show the same time at once. The view out the top of the tower was great. I could see the whole of Cork city and I could also see the cute little dog that followed our group all through the Shandon neighborhood. I named the dog Francis and enjoyed his company until he left us to go play with a dog-friend he met that one of my classmates named Sam. All in all, it was a very good weekend.

Day 15 - Cork

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.

Day 12 - Cork

13 March 2007

I am in Cork! I’ve only been in Cork for a little under a day, but I already like it better than Dublin. Dublin was great, but I love being outside the city where it is expensive and always crowded and loud. Cork is much smaller and less densely populated. It’s a port city on the south side of the Ireland, pretty much in the center of it too. We departed from the Mespil in Dublin at 9 in the morning and took our time on the road, visiting important sites on the way, arriving at the Clarion in Cork at 6PM. Just to make a point of it: Drivers here are crazy, especially on small tiny little country roads. Sometimes our bus just kind of pulls off to the side to avoid collision. Fun, eh? It’s all like a big game of chicken.

Our first stop, in Kildare south of Dublin was a really old Cathedral called St. Brigid’s said to have been founded by St. Brigid herself on the land that she claimed when she said all she wanted as much land as her cloak could cover and her cloak miraculously grew and grew and grew. St. Brigid is pretty cool. I really dig her. She was extremely bright and selfless, she was even pretty too, though she prayed to God to make her ugly. I told Colleen that’s what I pray for every night and she jokingly punched me and said that she hopes I don’t. St. Brigid of Kildare was the patron saint of cattle, blacksmithing, and poetry, and her element was fire, therefore she seemed pretty awesome. The cathedral built on her land was very old, most likely Cisterian. The verger of the property opened it especially for us. I’m really glad she did because the chuch was gorgeous, and also present on the property was the only climable surviving Norman style round tower. (see picture) These things are huge. Great round towers. Really narrow. They were built in the early medieval period in Ireland as protection against viking raiders. The door, if you’ll notice, was built 13 feet off the ground, so if the monastary was under attack, the monks would scurry up a ladder into the tower and then pull the ladder up after them, shutting and sealing the door. Most of the towers are now in ruins, though some have been built up in later years.

Right about now, I bet you’re thinking (especially Mom, Dad, or Jack) that: “Steph, you’re afraid of stairs you can see through and heights! Did you actually climb the norman tower at St. Brigid’s of Kildare?” and the answer is: yes I did! I slayed a dragon! It was no easy feat, mind you. It was a whole bunch of see through stairs just to get up into the tower (since the entrance used to be reached by ladder-wielding monks) then the “fun” started. The tower was really narrow and there were ladder/stairs (permanent ladders with slightly wider rungs.) with little trap doors to go through to get to the landings. This was not an enjoyable experience for me. I was terrified and wanted to go back, especially because I could feel a panic attack rising. But I kept going with my friend Crystal behind me. I got to the top of the tower and it was really ridiculously windy. I held onto the wire fence that was at the top for dear life, but I appreciated the lovely view (see other picture). Going back down the tower was scary, but Aaron, my latin tutor/friend gave me a hand and I did it! Hooray! I was so happy to be back on the terra firma, but I was also so proud of myself that I climbed that tower and showed it who was boss.

Later in the day we went to see a couple of high crosses (big stone crosses, the ones with the circle around the top of the cross from the early middle ages where they marked boundaries and were carved with special designs and biblical stories used for instruction by the monastaries) and we also went to Jerpoint Abbey, an old Cistertian monastary that is in ruins. It was just amazing. It had the most surviving scuplturework from the early medieval period, and it was still dazzling. The artwork was so vivid and personal. The funny thing is that Cistertian monastaries were not supposed to have any decoration whatsoever, but the Irish monks have always been a little bendy on terms of the rules. The guide told us a story of how Cistertians were supposed to be vegetarians as well (WOOHOO! Veggies unite!) but that they went by a biblical definition of what was allowable meaning that they weren’t able to eat anything with four legs. This means that they ate a whole lot of fish and even rabbits because the monks said that rabbits spend a lot of time sitting on their haunches, thus they counted as two legged animals. I think that’s stretching it a bit.

When we arrived at Cork, we proceeded to the hotel and got our room assignments. The hotel is amazingly posh. Too rich for my tastes, my room at the Clarion is about two and a half times my room in my Andreen apartment. Though, I’m not going to lie, the french hot chocolate, tea water boiler, dancing room and self-unfogging mirrors are pretty awesome. I just feel bad because there are homeless people around the streets of Cork while I’m staying in a hotel where I get persimmons and real whipped cream served with dessert.

We had class today and that was particularly interesting. I love class here and I look forward to doing homework. Except for Latin. I never really look forward to doing Latin. It’s always an ordeal and takes up my weekend making me feel behind. If it weren’t for grad school, I wouldn’t be taking it. (I’m studying Latin independently with another student and one of our professors). Today though, as always, I have discovered more delicious foods. Cork is smaller and less expensive than Dublin (thanks goodness!) but it is much more Irish and less Americanized. I’ve actually heard someone speaking Gaelic here, and there is Gaelic written on the signs and the walls. The town center is really small, but it is vibrant and cheery, a lot less rushed than Dublin. My favorite thing thus far: the English Market, a huge indoor year-round farmers market with lots of different sellers and stalls. There are bakeries and confectionaries and I got the best fresh scones ever (aka lunch) for a euro ten. Delicious! Scones, chips, ice cream, and swiss pastries (aka little pockets of happiness) are my favorite food things here thus far. I’m waiting to find out about the wild life around Cork and whether or not there are red tufty-eared squirrels, but hopefully I’ll find out soon. I’ve been cooped up since 4:30 today doing homework and emailing, so we’ll see, I think I might just pony up the cash and get a book about the trees here.

**Ooh, I forgot to mention. Yesterday in my first excursion about Cork (with the class to our classroom at a local college a few minutes walk away) I was walking past this one building, Ann said, "Oh, Steph, look over there" and there was an Irish army regular in green cami's with an M16 in the middle of downtown Cork. I was bad, I stared. But I've never seen an army guy with a gun in that context. There were other ones there too, and they seemed to be guarding an alley. I was a bit nervous and walked a little faster. The army man looked like a baby, he seemed to be about 18 and had really big blue eyes. He looked kind of flustered by the fact that 30 of us were traipsing by, some oblivious. But there were a lot of gardai (police) around too, so McDowell said that he thought it was a drug raid. That was my adventure. The end.

Dublin - Day 10

11 March 2007

I haven’t updated in a while, but I have been a busy kid. I’m getting a little antsy to get out of the city atmosphere of Dublin because I’m just not used to all the hustle and bustle, though it would be a people-watcher’s dream come true. Let’s see… On Friday, we had no class, but we had field trips to Kilmainham Gaol and the Irish Museum of Modern Art. The gaol (jail) was a pretty impressive sight. It was where the revolutionaries from the Easter 1916 uprising were imprisoned and executed. To put that into analogy: If it were the USA, it’d be like if George Washington, Paul Revere, Ben Franklin and other revolultionary types were captured and executed. That’s how important the 1916 uprising was to Irish independence. The jail was somber, cold, drab, and generally miserable (imagine that) and the stonecutter’s yard where the heroes were executed was particularly chilling, the spot of their execution marked only with a single, simple black wooden cross. While at the jail, the tour-leader chose me to be the “prison guard” meaning that I had to look menacing and count up the rest of the group as we proceeded through the jail to make sure that we didn’t accidentally lose anybody. I was fine with the counting part, not so good at the looking menacing part. I guess prison guards don’t generally giggle and grin.

The Museum of Modern Art was pretty cool. I enjoy modern art a lot, so I had a good time. We had to choose works to write on for my art history class, so once I conclude this entry, I’ll be off to do that.

After that, Dr. Connolly, Christine and Mark, Kevin, Jeff, Dan and I went to tour the Guinness factory. We ended up stopping for lunch on the way at this little hole in the wall kebab shop where I had the most delicious veggie burger (it was like deep-fried coleslaw or something) and also I experienced the joy that is a fresh bag of “chips”. Not like potato chips in the US, these chips are like our steak fries. Except better. Fresh and hot from the frier, these deep fried little bits of deliciousness drenched in vinegar and lightly sprinkled with salt, clog my arteries and thrill my tastebuds. Oh, chips. How I love thee! The only problem I have with the take-away restaurants is that they don’t really give you napkins. This is problematic for someone clumsy like yours truly.

Chips finished, we arrived at the Guinness Brewery and Storehouse where we were ushered up an escalator greeted by a sign extolling “the magic of fermentation”. It was then I knew that I was in the Disney World of Beer. I don’t like Disney World, and I didn’t like beer back in the states, so I felt a bit turned off to the whole experience, especially when I found out that it would be 9 euros to walk through a gallery of beer. Not my idea of a good time. Luckily Connolly and the others, barring Jeff and Kevin agreed with me, so we left Jeff and Kevin to tour the factory and found ourselves the oldest pub in Ireland, the Brazen Head Pub, which has been in existence since 1198. Impressive. It was a lovely little afternoon stop and I chatted with my friends and the proprietor while sipping some Smithwick’s (a lager brewed by Guinness pronounced “smithix”, without the “w”), which I like a whole lot and better than Guinness because Smithwick’s is crisper and not quite so syrup-y. After a nice long walk home and dinner, Ann, Meghan, a group of others, and I headed out to find some traditional Irish music. We found it at O’Donohughe’s, a little pub a few blocks from the hotel. We did NOT find it in Temple Bar, the uber-trendy (and touristy) section of Dublin just north of the Liffey. Temple Bar is not my bag, though the night life is renowned throughout all of Europe. It was almost as bright as day time and crawling with young adults even though it was 11 PM! I’d much rather sit and chat in a little corner pub populated by older folks. I like older people. Maybe this is why I like to play bridge and knit and why I don’t like loud raucous music or fast cars.

Yesterday (Saturday) though was the best day of the trip thus far, which is really saying something because I’ve had a wonderful time here my first week. Yesterday, though, we headed down to Bray, a small seaside suburb south of Dublin. We (“we” comprised of Ann, Meghan, Christine and Mark, and I) took the Dart train (a commuter/metra type of train) down the coast and it was just gorgeous going along the seashore. It was like all of the sudden you rounded a corner and the horizon just opened up and there was ocean and bay and little cliffs and hills jutting out over the ocean. After leaving the train station we crossed the street to the ocean and played on the seashore. I couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful day, it was probably about 60 degrees and sunny. So sunny that I actually managed to get sunburned in Ireland in March, but then again, with my skin, I can sunburn if I just think about the sun for too long. I found some kelp that had washed up on the sea shore and it was great fun to feel how thick and strong it was. I threw lots of rocks into the ocean while trying to skip them, and I climbed up on big piles of boulders that accumulated at the point. After we got inadvertently soaked while arranging rocks on the little strand of sand we found, we decided to head out in search of some fish and the requisite chips (ohhhh chips….) We found them, but found no napkins and no place to sit so we wandered about to look for a park. What we found was a small green in front of a community college where we got funny looks and a little girl kept said as she was walking by: “There’s no picnic there! There’s no picnic! There’s no f**king picnic!”, but nobody else commented or even walked by and it was not private property, so we figured she was just a leprechaun in disguise or something. After our grand fish and chips, we wandered about town enjoying the fineness of the day. We found the Irish equivalent of a dolar store (the Eurostop) where I finally found something stuffed with which to cuddle at night (cue tangent)

So, my tangent… if you’ll kindly remember, I left Softcheeks, my stuffed animal bunny that I’ve slept with every night, back in the states. This made me sad. I tried to go without, but I found that wasn’t working. The extra pillow I asked for was too big and I’d just chuck it out of bed. Meanwhile, I had taken to grabbing random electronic equipment off my nightstand in my sleep and snuggling with it. The first time it was the alarm clock. The next day I woke up with my pedometer, and the day after that it was my cell phone still attached to it’s charger. Clearly, I missed Softcheeks. So finally I decided that I needed a stuffed animal surrogate Softcheeks before the computer or digital camera was next. I went into a toy shop in St. Stephen’s Green, but they only had expensive stuffed animals. So I saw a maternity store on the way out of the mall. Surely they’d have something probably very soft for babies, I thought to myself. I walked uneasily into the shop and the lady at the desk must have noted my confusion, “Are you alright?” she asked (side note: she wasn’t asking about my well-being, that’s just what they say here instead of “can I help you?”) and I replied that I was looking for a stuffed animal. She looked at me like I had an elm tree growing out of my left nostril. I explained that I meant a teddy bear or stuffed bunny and she went “Oh! So you mean a soft toy?” Apparently she was confused and thought that I meant I was looking for a taxidermied something or other in the maternity store. She showed me where the “soft toys” were and then asked me if I was expecting. I answered emphatically no, and decided that I don’t like maternity shops and that they are poor places to find soft toys.

I did find a soft toy at the Irish dollar store in Bray (well, a squishy little teeny-bopper pillow with a cartoon girl with unusually prominent cleavage embroidered next to the word “Floozy”) that fit the cuddle test, though I am disturbed by the sexuality being promoted to such young girls on throw pillows of all places. After some more wandering, we ended up by the seashore again and we found an ice cream kiosk. For only a euro fifteen, I experienced the sheer unadulterated pleasure that is Irish whipped ice cream. It’s like soft serve, but far, far better. They stick a little chocolate wafer in the side and drizzle chocolate syrup on it, and it is a little bit of heaven served up in a cone. What a dinner! (a completely unhealthy eating day. But you win some, you lose some. We walked probably about 8 and a half miles yesterday though, so I don’t feel too bad.)

Well, that concludes my magnificent day or two. (Ann and I stayed in last night working on some homework and watching opera and gaelic reality shows on the telly) and I now have more homework to work on. Cheers! And I’ll be writing next from Cork.

PS: Daylight savings time doesn't start here until the 25th of March and Mother's Day here is March 18th

Dublin - Day 7

8 March 2007

I finally saw a squirrel today! A frisky little grey squirrel was scampering about the headstones at a cemetery that we saw today. After class today, we had a free afternoon and so Meaghan, Ann and I went exploring in a direction we’d never gone before, out south and west to the “suburbs”. The suburbs look nothing like our suburbs here, it’s just more houses and less traffic. Our wanderings took us to a beautiful (but big) cemetery, complete with old, old gravestones from the 1800’s, a couple old chapels, and some really cool vaults/mausoleums. On one of the doors, I saw a placard from the 1870’s that said “The Family Vault of Samuel Ewing Hamilton”. It was so odd to see my name there. Then, there was one of the vaults that was missing the covering of the window cut-out and I looked into it. It contained a wooden stand to hold a coffin and then there were shelves with coffins lining the wall. It was so surreal… I love walking through cemetaries. I don’t think it’s a morbid fascination, well, it is an interest in death, but you can learn a lot about a culture from how they care for their dead and you also learn a lot about life through looking at death. On their tombstomes, they write not only the name of the deceased, but often where they lived and occasionally how they died, who they were related to, and who erected the monument in their honor. The graves are often crowded together, and the bigger the monument, the more likely the name was British or decorated with a British crest. Many of the more maintained graves had little gardens in front of them. Some were decorated with flowers, figures of saints, and rosaries. It made me think about my mortality. If I could have it any way, I’d like to be tossed into a great big compost heap and turned into fertilizer and have a tree planted in my honor.

Yesterday, we went to the National Museum of Archeology and saw tons of amazing artifacts. Though the Stone Age artifacts were great, my favorite exhibits were of the medieval artifacts, especially the Irish reliquaries and the crucifixes. Medieval Irish art is sometimes very different from continental art. The interlace patterns and swirly patterns are distinctive, but the thing I appreciate most about the medieval art is the way it reflects the uniquely Irish version of Christianity. Because Ireland was (and largely still is outside the Dublin area) mostly rural, the power structure of the early church was spread out and centered in monastic life, rather than concentrated in the Cathedrals in the cities as it was on the continent and even England. It also has some more of the pagan influences because the church adopted a more synchretic (assimiliation) approach to conversion here than elsewhere. That’s probably the coolest part of the medieval church art, to see the intersection of continental and traditional Irish patterns.

That’s about all for this afternoon. Dinner is served in about half and hour, and then it’s some more bridge playing since class tomorrow is going to the Irish Museum of Modern Art (hooray!). I’ve got some more reading and journaling to do for class, but my brain needed a break. Bridge is pretty intense, but I like it, so the diversion will be quite welcome.

Dublin - Day 6

7 March 2007

Only a quick entry for today… I have a plethora of reading to delve into. I’m enjoying it here immensely and though my search for peanut butter has come up short, I had rice for dinner today! Hooray! It was delicious.

Today I actually got lost for the first time in Ireland. Oddly enough, I felt completely ok with it. I enjoyed the wandering and the spontanaeity. It was so freeing! I know that I have homework to do, but I don’t dread it. I don’t dread my meetings or my appointments or my lessons or anything because I have no comittments. Initially, I thought I’d hate the lack of structure, but I am finding that I actually feel so much freer, so much more relaxed. It hit me sometime while I was wandering about somewhere downtown Dublin with Ann and Devin, knowing that we were lost, but not caring one whit about it. I knew where the Liffey was, and I knew where the Grand Canal was, and I was able to find my way home from there eventually. I love it. I feel like a different person. I’m looking forward to getting out into the country, since Dublin is said to be quite different from the rest of Ireland, being a very international sort of city.

No squirrels yet, but a guidebook to Irish wildlife said that both eastern grey squirrels and their red tufty-eared counterparts are supposed to reside in Ireland, if I have the patience to watch for them in the trees. I have yet to see a single wild mammal in Dublin, though… I bet the swans got them.

Day 5 - Dublin

6 March 2007

Well, I found out what my “jesus birds” are called… they’re actually moorhens. It was somewhat anti-climactic. Darn. Moorhens? That’s all? Oh well. I was hoping for something more dramatic. Like the tufted ducks. Now they are dramatic. They look just like their name implies. Kind of samurai ducks with black heads and a tuft of black feathers all slicked back. I still like the moorhens, though.

Today was our first day of classes. We hiked through downtown Dublin with our professors along the Grand Canal south for about half an hour to get to the campus of Griffith College, where we are using one of their lecture halls for our three hours of class. Out of Irish art history, Irish literature, and Celtic Spirituality and Religion, the spirituality and religion class looks to be my favorite thus far. The classes are all a decent amount of reading and work, but the load is definitely lighter than what I am used to taking, especially without all the extracurricular activities. I really miss dancing already. I’ve mambo’d in the room once for a minute or two, and everytime I hear music I feel like grooving. Salsa doesn’t seem big here at all.

It’s strange to be sitting in a hotel room working on homework for class or listening to lectures in a classroom not of Augustana. I think it’s finally sinking in that Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore. As far as cities go, I like Dublin just fine. Actually, Chicago is a lot bigger and a lot more dangerous. Well, except for the traffic. The traffic here is crazy. Pedestrian traffic and vehicle traffic was summed up nicely for me when a little old man with a cane said to Ann and I while we were waiting for the crosswalk: “Just cross when you get the chance, ladies!” as he hobbled past us, very nearly colliding with an oncoming Ford. I was trying to figure out one day what the “rules” for foot traffic on the sidewalk were. For instance, do you walk on the right side or left side of the sidewalk? The answer is both and neither. The only rule is that there are no rules. Basically every encounter with an oncoming fellow pedestrian is a game of chicken: who will move out of the way first? It drives me nuts!

In my past entry I neglected to say that I experienced my first pub this past Saturday! A group of five other students, Dr. Connolly, and I went to the little pub called “Wellington’s” at the end of the street to hear some piano jazz (I wish it would have been traditional Celtic music.) and have a pint. The music was good, and oddly enough, so was the pint. Everyone at home said “Oh, Steph, if you don’t like beer, there’s no way you’ll like Guinness,” but, ah, they were wrong. It’s not my favorite beverage of choice, but I liked it and will definitely be ordering some more later. I don’t really remember what beer is supposed to taste like, but to me, Guinness (or “the black stuff” as the bartender called it) tastes like a combination of unsweetened coffee, dry wine, and flat pepsi. Not too bad. And Dr. Connolly taught me a nifty bar trick: I can now flip a coaster off the ledge of a bar and catch it with the same hand. No small feat considering my lack of coordination. He said he’d teach me another one once we got to Cork. Oh, the liberal arts education.

Yesterday, we saw St. Patrick’s Cathedral and Christchurch Cathedral, both of which used to be Catholic cathedrals which then became Anglican sometime when the English were in charge. We also saw Dublin castle (which is unfortunately mostly un-medieval), but I found that I adore cathedrals. I never knew just how amazing they were. The outsides are so intricate and beautiful, but even moreso, I love the inside. I was just dazzled by the stained glass and the stonework and the ceilings. A very unimpressive Boston College Chorale was singing there when we arrived, but I imagine a good choir would have endless reverb in there. The depiction of saints and Jesus and famous cathedral deans in statue form were just fascinating. Especially growing up UCC and especially in the more Congregational vein that descends from the clean uncluttered and plain Puritan style, the high church and very ornate styling is endlessly intruiging. After wandering around feasting my eyes for a bit, I found a little side chapel set aside for prayer and meditation where a small altar was set up behind a rope and little rows of candles flickered. I made a little offering that went towards a homeless shelter, lit a candle, and sat down to just soak it all in and feel close to God. It’s easy to feel close to God in a cathedral, or rather it’s easy to believe that there’s a part of you that’s connected. Not only to God, but to your most inner self, the sacred place you’re in, those who came before you, those who share the space now, and those who will share it later. Eventually, I got up and sat in very, very uncomfortable pew-chairs to listen to that less than mediocre choir, but that feeling of peace stayed with me the rest of the day.

Today we saw the Book of Kells, a 9th Century manuscript of the gospels created mostly, if not totally, in Ireland now housed at Trinity College. It was fantastic! The colors were so vibrant, and the detail was so intricate. That the book is so well preserved astounds me. I could have looked at it for hours. I tried to use my fledgling Latin skills to read it, but script is very difficult, especially when your Latin is poor. It looked so fresh and bright, though, not at all like the often dim or fuzzy photographs found in books.

I think that’s about it, now that I’ve completely caught up with missing a couple days of journaling. Oh, I do have a list of things I miss now that I think I’ll miss more as time goes on.:

1) Family/friends… though I am making many new friends here, I still wish the old ones were along for the ride at times and what’s travel without family?
2) A certain tall, studious, salsa-dancing vice-president of swing.
3) Dance. Singing. Clarence... but especially dance. Especially salsa.
4) Softcheeks, my stuffed bunny. I have nothing to snuggle with at night except an extra pillow. It’s sad and lonely with nary a stuffed snuggle buddy.
5) Peanut butter. I’m sick of pasta for dinner (the only vegetarian option here. They call vegetarians “veggies” here.) because I’ve eaten more Italian food since coming to Ireland than anything else. All I want is some nice peanut butter and no more of the fancy dessert the hotel serves. I miss my spartan collegiate diet, though it is nice not to have to cook. Complain, complain, complain… poor Steph.

Day 3 - Dublin

4 March 2007

Yesterday was beautiful and sunny, with only a half hour of light rain in the afternoon. A perfect spring day. Today was a regular day meaning RAIN. Rain, rain, rain, and wind. A lot of wind. I’d whip out my umbrella to be Mary Poppins, except I gave up on my umbrella after about 5 minutes into my walk. Umbrellas are pretty much useless against the wind because even if the wind is blowing towards you, your umbrella will flip inside out.
Things I’ve learned about Irish Rain:
1) It is plentiful.
2) It is frequent.
3) Resistance is futile.
4) It is only nasty when it is accompanied by furious winds.
5) It is frequently accompanied by furious winds.
6) Don’t wear khakis in the rain.

But, while the sun is hidden by the rainclouds, allow me to reminisce about yesterday’s sunshine. We went on a walking tour of Dublin, seeing the GPO (general post office) which was a historic site of a political resistance, Trinity College, Parnell Square, the River Liffey, and the Marion St. shopping district. At the end of Marion St, there was a puppeteer with a marionette who was putting on a little show. There are street muscians all over the shopping district of Dublin on a Saturday morning. There are a lot of accordian players, a fiddler or two, and several singers and drummers.

After the tour, Ann, Devin and I decided to pick up a little something to eat at the coffee shop and then picnicked on a bench at St. Stephen’s Green, a beautiful park from the 1870’s just a couple minutes from our hotel. After that it was to the Stephen’s Green Mall where they have everything from a pharmacy to a fabric store. Ann and I then took a walk along the Grand Canal, southwards where we made friends with the aviary denizens of Dublin city.

First, there are pigeons. I am convinced that the pigeons are trying to get me. They chased my foot while I was sitting on the park bench, they flew within a foot or two of my head along the river. They’re pretty much ubiquitous in the city.

Then there are the ducks. I like the ducks. There are several outside our room overlooking the canal. A female and four males. They chase her with such vigor that I was afraid I’d be witness to more duck sex which can be summarized as “Oh darling, I love it when you bite my head like that”… traumatic to say the least. But Ann said the ducks are monogamous, and that it looks like one of the males is trying to protect the female from the other not-so-well-intentioned males, so we named her Guinivere and him Lancelot.

There are a variety of songbirds in Ireland: the little Irish blackbirds that have cute orangey beaks and little orange rings along the outside of their eyes, the tiny European robins with their bright orange faces and chests, and my favorites… the magpies. Magpies are great. They’re like crows, but with longer tails and a white torso. Like robins, magpies can hop along the ground, except they’re so big and ungainly, it always looks like they’re pouncing. They’re so fun to watch and seem like such clever birds!

Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to figure out the name of the fun little black waterfowl that are my most favorite here. They’re great fun, these birds that I’ve taken to calling “jesus birds”. They’ve got thick duck-like bodies, but long yellow legs attatched to great big unwebbed yellow feet. Their black plumage looks very smooth and sleek against their yellow beaks with red turkey-like crests (on the top of their beaks, like a parakeet’s cere.) But the best part is how they move. These poor little fellows swim, but swimming without webbed feet is particularly challenging. The awkard jesus bird lurches through the water and gets tossed about in the currents stirred up by the giant man-eating swans. Poor little birds, thought Ann and I… until we saw the trait that gives the jesus bird its name. When the jesus bird is threatened, it flaps its wings as if to take off in flight from the water, but instead of really flying, it extends it’s long gangly legs and runs across the water. Not just a foot or two. No, the jesus bird we saw in action definitely made it most of the way across the canal. Amazing.

Lastly, there are the swans that look like they could eat a small child. These swans are the biggest swans I’ve ever seen in my life. Ever. They come up to about hip height and their feet must be the size of my hand, if not a little bigger. I wouldn’t want to mess with a swan here, I might lose. But I have tried communicating with them through honking and squawking, which works pretty well. I think of the swans as mafia bosses of the grand canal. They’re big, they’re cranky, they mean business, and if you’re not careful, they’ll be sure you swim with the fishes.

Day 2 - Dublin

Slainte!

Thus commences my online travel journal. I bet your first thought is… ok, Steph, so what’s this “sidhe” thing which you are presumably in search of, given the title of your journal? Sidhe is both the name of the faery folk that used to be the old Irish gods, the Tuatha de Danann and are supposed, even nowadays, to live underground in hills also called sidhe.

If I am reading your thoughts correctly, I bet you’re thinking: so what? Faeries? What does this have to do with anything you’re studying? To that question I’d answer: I’m not really looking for faeries, but I am really interested in a culture that even partially believes that faeries still exist, and I’m also struck by the idea of a quest for something more, an outward and inward journey.

And that’s as philosophical as I’m getting this evening, because I am exhausted. The plane ride out was pretty innocuous. The weather held out and we even flew into Dublin airport early. Before the flight, my friends and I were chatting with a journalist from Dublin who was in Chicago to attend a friend’s wedding. He was very nice, and when we asked him if he knew of any good pubs to hear traditional fiddling, he gave me his card and told us to text him while we were in town because his parents used to run cultural tours of the city, and music was his father’s favorite. The rest of the plane ride was delightfully uneventful (thank goodness Aer Lingus didn’t strike), and horribly long. Soooooo long. Being cramped up in those little seats overnight was pretty much the anti-dancing. But Ann, my roomie here, and I made the best of it and really enjoyed watching the plane float through the clouds, like they were the sea instead of the air.

When we finally broke through the cloud cover, we saw green, green, and more green. Even from the air, and even in Dublin, the landscape is like none I’ve ever seen. Most of the borders seem organic, like they’ve grown out of the land into a patchwork quilt of different greens. As we pulled into the terminal, we saw the sun rise over the Wicklow Hills, a sight that I feel privilaged to have seen.

Meanwhile, I still failed to realize I was actually in Ireland. I made it through customs with no problems, but it didn’t hit me then. We took a taxi-van to the Mespil Hotel where we are staying and the driver took us round and around Dublin’s city centre, driving on what seems to me to be the “wrong side” of the road. Still nothing… Ann and I moved into our cozy, trendy hotel room with a beautiful view of the Grand Canal (funny story: the grand canal is deep enough in some parts to navigate a small barge, but the part that we see looks about the size of a small little creek. Not so grand.) but I still didn’t realize we were actually here. It wasn’t until Ann and I ventured out to do some money changing and provision shopping in the rain that I finally realized: I’M IN IRELAND!! And it was cool.

Then the jet lag hit, and that’s where I leave you now. Dinner was so fancy… It’s a good thing I’m not doing too much lunch eating because otherwise I would become really really rotund. But alas, I am just exhausted and it is time for bed. It’s funny to think that it’s 3 in the afternoon at home and 9 PM here. The plane ride was like a time warp, and it’s hard to think that it will be Saturday tomorrow, it felt like Friday never happened. I’m heading to bed. Goodnight all!