Adventures

I haven't blogged for the past week, and therefore, I forget everything that has happened. But I'll do my best.

Last weekend, some of my friends and I went to a fishing village called Howth about 10 miles outside city centre. After sampling (supposedly) the best fish and chips Ireland has to offer at a place called Beschoffs, we went about exploring. I had brought with me the Lonely Planet guide to Ireland/Dublin, so I took the liberty of playing tour guide. At first everyone found it very funny. But then I think they wanted me to shut up. I took the hint. I love that every seemingly ordinary fishing village or town we go to in the country has hidden treasures...Howth castle, the ruins of St. Mary's abbey, the Martello tower. Howth castle was really beautiful--part of the castle is basically ruins, and they are attempting to keep it in it's original form. The rest of the castle has been reconstructed and divided into four private residences. The castle plays host to a cooking class, and it is still lived in my the Lawrence family of Howth. 

I discovered two valuable things on my trip to Howth:

1. Irish children are so precious. It's crazy. They are so freckly and pale and beautiful and their accents are delightful. Two little blond girls and their granny were trying to make their way down a very seaweedy and rocky slope to the beach for the "field club." The field club consisted of about 4 middle aged men and women wading around in the shallow water looking for interesting rocks or sea creatures. The girls' grandmother asked my friend Walker and I to help her girls down, because one of the girls rightfully declared that the rocks were "slippy." But when Walker and I tried to take their hands and climb down with them, they clung to their granny and wouldn't look at us. So, poor granny had to carry them down all by herself. 

2. If you don't bring your camera, you'll end up in a lot of pictures. I didn't have my camera cord and my camera memory was full, so I didn't bring my camera to Howth with me. Therefore, I finally got my picture taken a couple times!! 

Monday was filled with meetings and tours of campus and other useless things. Siomha and I met a german girl named Yasmine who was very sweet and friendly and came back to our apartment with us to grab a bite to eat. Siomha and I were sort of a mess (the tea kettle didn't work, we burned several things) but Yasmine just kept smiling and saying how "huge!!" our apartment was.  That night, Walker, Mike, Siomha and I went to Porter house to "prink" (Irish for pre-drinking...comparable to pre-gaming in the U.S...) before some big fresher's week party. Strawberry beer and live music for all. Porter house is definitely one of my favorite spots. It gets incredibly packed on the weekends though. Then we made our way to the Fresher's party. We were inside the party for a total of 5 minutes. It was Domerfest, Trinity style. Instead of boys and girls awkwardly wandering around the Notre Dame gym and bopping to music, it was boys and girls awkwardly trying to dance with each other in a club. That's when we realized that only FRESHMAN actually go to the Fresher's parties. 

Tuesday night I tried out the Luas Light Rail system to visit my friends Eoghan and Daragh. I knew I was supposed to take the red line. I knew I had to get off at the Museum stop. But I wasn't sure how to tell if I was going the right direction at all. So I asked a woman "Does this go west? To the museum stop?" She nodded and said I was correct. Then, a drunken old man (he was double fisting on the train) said loudly "THE MUSEUM'S NOT OPEN THIS TIME'A NIGHT. I'D COME BACK TOMORROW." I just nodded, said thanks, and looked away. Then he kept trying to get my attention. He kept murmuring "You'll want to come at 7am, nice and early, that's when the museum is best. No need to get any tickets, ok? It's free." When I didn't respond or react, he reached out and tapped my foot. "NO NEED TO GET TICKETS!" I smiled and said "ok, thanks!" and looked at the woman next to him. She raised her eyebrows and gave a little smile. I guess creepy drunken old men are relatively common... When it was drawing near to the museum stop, the man stood up and walked over to me. He leaned in (quite too close) and whispered "This next stop'll be yours. You'll want to get off here. But are ya meetin someone? Because this can be dangerous stop, there are some bad folks." AHHH YOU are one of the "bad folks!!" Then, if all that wasn't enough, he got off at the Museum stop with me. I quickly called Eoghan and acted like I knew exactly where I was going. Oh boy. Drunk dude watched me for a while, then he walked away. 

Wednesday I FINALLY got internet access, my ID, etc. I also met this lovely Canadian girl named Nicole! I was delighted to hear someone speak ENGLISH, so I quickly introduced myself to her. Since meeting, we've seen each other just about every day/night. I'm so glad to have found a Trinity friend. That night, Nicole, a few UCD-ND kids, and I went to Doyles and somehow got drunk enough to join the rest of the UCD-ND kids at a club called Coppers around midnight. Nicole found a house with some Spanish and Italian guys (or should I say MEN...they're all like 30) right by Trinity, so I thankfully had someone to walk home with.

Thursday, I auditioned for a singing group called the Trinity Singers. They have two groups within one: a co-ed group, and a female group called the Boydell choir. I found out a couple days ago that I got into the Boydell choir! Yay! Unfortunately, I may have to drop out of the choir, since the weekly rehearsal conflicts with a theology class I have to take at the O'Connell house. Very frustrating. Thursday was also Arthur's day, aka: A brilliant way to sell millions of pints of Guinness in mere hours. Almost all the Notre Dame kids headed over to Messrs (I take credit for making that the ND kids' bar of choice) and had a pint or two at 17:59 pm. That night a few adventurous music lovers and myself made our way to a venue on the north side of the Liffey called the "Grand Social" where an Icelandic band called FM Belfast was playing. There had been a fringe festival going on in Dublin the past 2 weeks, and this final weekend was devoted to artists from Iceland. FM Belfast was lots of fun--jumping, dancing, singing, sweating, energetic techno music. But Friday night's concert was even better.

On Friday, I auditioned for 5 shows. EXHAUSTING. The DU Players seems like a great organization, but being at the auditions made me yearn from the familiar faces of PEMCo. I just found out yesterday that I made one of the shows--Dr. Horrible's Sing Along Blog. I don't know what part I am yet...there's only one real female part, Penny, and I highly doubt that's the role I got. I'm probably chorus, which is just fine with me. The music in the show isn't amazing, in my opinion, but I love musicals and hopefully this will be a fun way to make friends.

After having dinner with my dear friend Annie Gurney, an ND girl studying in London this semester, I met up with Nicole, Caroline, and Kyle to go see a singer named Olof Arnald. I think we all fell in love. She is charming and funny and completely uninhibited. And so talented...her voice is unlike anything I've ever heard. Oh, and did I mention she's beautiful?

The weekend was relaxing and unproductive. I attempted to do laundry all day on Saturday, to no avail. That night I met up with another wonderful ND-Londonite, Emily Wurz. She and her friends were ravenous after a trip to the Cliffs of Moher, so Siomha and I took them to the only are that was still open--Temple Bar. We went to the first restaurant we saw...Hard Rock Cafe. Horrible, I know. But so many places in Ireland close at like 9! Afterwards, Nicole came over to Trinity and we attempted to watch Sex and the City, but it's pretty difficult to get tv shows on the Trinity internet connection. So we ended up discussing boys/life/the meaning of the world until around 4:30 am. Then we fell asleep, both of us squished up in my single bed.

Around 11am Sunday morning, I was awakened from the dead of sleep to find 4 missed calls and 5 missed texts. I had promised Caroline and Stevie and a couple others that I'd go to Glendalough. I desperately wanted to go, but in my sleepy state, the prospect of racing to the bus and driving 2 hours seemed near impossible. At 11:17, Stevie called me and told me that I could totally make the bus. The bus was leaving at 11:30. Suddenly I felt bad about bailing on them, and I felt even worse about missing a wonderful day just because I was sleepy. So, I leaped out of bed, slipped on a flannel and jeans, grabbed my raincoat and purse, and sprinted to the bus. I got on just as the driver was starting the engine.

I am so so so happy that I did. Glendalough blows everything I've done so far out of the water.  It was a glorious day, and somehow everything looked even more beautiful with the sun warming my jeans and the blue sky overhead.

After exploring the ancient monastery and graveyard, we just wandered from trail to trail, forging our own path more often than not. Hiking, real hiking, is so much fun. There's something about the problem-solving nature of it (where should I put my foot? Should I go on the other side of this slope? I'll grab onto that tree for balance...) that really makes you want to climb higher and higher.

Near the end of our time there, I saw this open meadow-y area just below us, and felt the urge to frolic in it. I obeyed that urge.

The rest of the group joined me and we just lay in the meadow for the rest of our time at Glendalough, soaking in the incredible view of the Wicklow mountains, the lakes, and the colors around us.

Alright. Well. I finally updated my blog again. I'll try to make the next one shorter...it's a challenge, I tell you! I'm pretty stressed/frustrated right now with scheduling issues (the O'Connell house classes are conflicting with EVERYTHING but I'm not allowed to drop them). Hopefully I'll be able to complete all my University and Major requirements by the time I graduate, that's all I have to say. 

Lots of love...maybe I'll update again tomorrow! 

Slainte,

Clare Mairead 

P.S. These pictures not enough for you? Here are all my pictures from the first two weeks--Dublin, County Clare, and Inis Oirr, and Cliffs of Moher. I finally got my camera cord! 

A short one. Relatively speaking.

Things I love about Ireland:

-The funny expressions Irish people use, like jeepers creepers and super-de-duper. And grande, of course.

-They drink tea. All the friggin time.  Eimear took Siomha, Mike, and I out for tea at the Merrion Hotel. A little welcome for the Trinity kids. The hotel was absolutely beautiful...can't wait to bring my momma.

-Irish boys
a) they don't run in the other direction, screaming, when you mention that you have a boyfriend. No they do not. In fact, they continue to buy you drinks, and then invite you out again the next night. And they say "we should hang out sober! Do you like concerts? Do you watch madmen?" How delightful.

b) they LIKE that I'm weird. The louder I laugh (ahem, NORAH), the more honest I am, and the more silly things I say, the more they say "this one's a keeper!" American guys (ok, MOST american guys. like...the american guys that go to notre dame and don't do theatre) look terrified of me when I act myself, so I always end up quieting myself or acting more "normal."

Free drinks? Yes please. 

-Irish women say "lovely!" all the time and are fantastic conversationalists. at least some of them are.

-Plough and the stars...I saw the play the other night at the Abbey theatre. It was wonderful. I've never seen such fantastic acting in my life. One of the lead females, Norah, was especially impressive. I didn't know a person could completely transform on stage like that. In the first act, she was a beautiful perfectionist. In the second act, she had lost everything, and she wasn't keeping quiet about it. When the second act begins, her husband has left her to join the volunteer army. she is screaming, she is sobbing, she is covered in blood and dirt. When she miscarries her child (because her husband threw her to the ground... heartbreaking), she goes mad. I've never seen someone play such a range of emotions, and so brilliantly.  It made me want to take acting classes at Trinity.

-the O'Connell house staff likes me. Especially the Irish ones (Eimear and Kevin). Kevin said I had a "wonderful spirit" and my personality is "very Irish."

My friends Walker and Caroline at Messers. 

Things I don't love so much about Ireland: 

-the skinny men that look like gremlins that might attack you if you aren't careful.

-popped collars, gelled hair, and track suits.

-the painfully sophisticated and stylish women (but only south of the liffey...) that make me feel painfully unsophisticated and unstylish.

-it's an island. thus, you have to fly to travel anywhere. and ryanair flights aren't 12 euro anymore. They're more like 90.

-the diet consists of carbs and dairy. So...my diet is starting to consist of carbs and dairy. I'm working at the O'Connell house a few hours a week (what a perfect job!) and the O'Connell house always puts out lots of bread and butter and digestives (mmmm) and tea with WHOLE milk. So what do I eat all day long? I'm trying not to. I swear. I just went grocery shopping and got fat free milk and brown rice and green beans and chicken. So there.

-it's a different country. And therefore, everything is different. I know that sounds silly and obvious. But it's not. It's the little things that get ya homesick. And even though I'm having fun, I'm also missing my family, my friends, my Kevin, my life back home.

-The Trinity launderette is terrifying. You have to go through three dark, narrow, sharp-cornered alleyways (so narrow that literally only ONE person can walk through them at a time)...I was very afraid for my life. Only doing laundry in the middle of the day.



Alright, I have to go. I'm on my way to a pub-crawl with all the Notre Dame kids. Tomorrow morning I'm headed to Howth with my friend Caroline...I'll let you know how our adventures there pan out.

Slainte,
Clare Mairead

Out on the wiley, windy mohers.

Last weekend, I travelled to my namesake county, County Clare. The program trip included the Trinity kids and all the ND-UCD kids. We all met at the O'Connell house at 8 am Saturday morning. After an hour bus ride, we stopped at Tyrellspass Castle for tea and scones. Yes, a CASTLE. Normal.  I've never liked scones much, but these scones made me a believer. So buttery and moist. Tea is really a miracle cure--you always feel calm and warm after drinking tea. Slowly but surely, everyone in the program is becoming an avid tea-drinker. It's pretty funny hearing boys talk about how they're dying for a cup of tea. 

We had another hour or so before we passed through Galway. On the ride west, Kevin Whelan (the O'Connell centre director) gave us a description of the areas we were driving through. Kevin is delightfully knowledgeable, but he's also very long-winded and easily distractible. It was quite the tour. As we drove through the country, peppered with houses with thatched roofs, Kevin gave us a feel for what these little towns are like. They're made up of (in his words) a "charch" a "schooool" and a "pub"--"that's all ya need." He grew up in a little town similar to the ones we passed, and it sounds like he cherished his time there. Everyone in the community knows and supports each other. He and his brothers played hurling for their parish all their lives. In a typical Kevin Whelan style, he went off on a rant about hurling--how the county league works, how they're practically professionals, the teams he hates, the teams he loves, how the men on the hurling leagues become town heros, etc.  "Cut some people in these towns, and they'll bleed hurlin." Then I think he finally recognized he had drifted a bit off topic, and he hastily let us know that we had just passed Galway bay.

Galway was beautiful. I wish we could have experienced it more fully. We never actually got out of the bus in Galway, so I had to settle for watching it fly by from the bus windows. The weather was changing every 5 minutes. One moment it was blue skies and sun, and the next we had a sudden downpour. During the clear moments, I could see that Galway Bay and the Shannon River were both full of brilliantly white little egrets--so exotic and beautiful! Whenever it rained, I got a little anxious. Being on a giant bus on tiny roads with pouring rain is not a good combination. Especially after my family's run-in with a tour bus....(for those who don't know the story: 9 years ago my family was traveling around Ireland. Our rental car faced off with a tour bus...and lost. We slid up against a cobblestone wall and were stuck in a ditch for 2 hours. Luckily we fetched the town bartender, his son, a farmer, and a tractor to tow us out).  It was odd being on the other side of the face-off. Our bus driver was very responsible though. He slowed to a near stop when he was going around curves, and always pulled over to the side to let cars drive past him. Good boy.

Then we stopped in Ballyvaughan for lunch--there was a lovely little fruit market that did the trick. It was pouring the whole time we were there. Kevin felt a bit depressed about the weather, and he thought that such heavy rains might get in the way of our hike. Luckily, the weather was looking out for us. It was clear skies by the time we arrived at the Burren. The Burren is this huge area covered in limestone that stretches across Northern Clare into County Galway. Apparently the rocks were shaped by ancient seas, then shifting tectonic plates made the ground break, resulting in thousands of "grikes"--huge gaps between the limestone rocks running perfectly parallel to one another. Most of the fissures run north/south, but some lay east/west, making a mysterious grid on the earth. I never knew a place could be so desolate and so beautiful at the same time. Our tour guide, Brendan, is an expert of the Burren. He knows every flower, every fissure, every type of limestone. In fact, he's working on this huge government project that is trying to allow farmers to work the land in the Burren again.

 

Brendan told us SO MUCH about the Burren (for example, the yarrow flower cures arthritis AND, if a young woman places a yarrow under her pillow, she will dream of her future husband. Pretty nifty)--but I can hardly remember any of it. I kept getting distracted by the magnificent scenery. It was a gray, mysterious, windy day...perfect conditions for the scenery. Here we were, hiking (and i mean HIKING. It was STEEP) around a 5,000+ year old landscape. The monuments, fences, tombs, and shelters that were built on this rock are genius. The most fascinating figures in the burren, however, were the hundreds of limestone arches laying on the ground. Apparently (this is kind of gross), farmers would stuff the arches with dung-pats, then cover the arches with grass to keep it warm over the winter. The wind would rush through the cracks in the arches, making the dung-pats stick together and dry out. When the spring came, the farmers would burn the dung-pats to make fuel. GENIUS. The technology in the Burren is really mind-blowing. Because the rocks are such odd, pointy shapes, the fences and tombs they made have held sturdy against the sea's mighty wind for thousands and thousands of years. Having Brendan there made me appreciate it so much more than I would have otherwise. I would have just thought it was a pretty thing to look at. Knowing the history made it such a rich experience.

My favorite moment was near the end of our visit to the Burren. We had just taken a group picture in an old fort. We were rowdy and exhausted and about to head back to the bus. Kevin stepped in and asked us to have a minute of silence to soak it all in. "Look at the person next to you. Look around you. Look where you're standing. Let it wash over you. Feel the wind, smell the sea, hear the birds chirping. You are a part of history." A few people giggled at first but eventually everyone did as they were told. Thank goodness Kevin had us do that--I will always remember that moment. The rocks that stretched on for miles, the sea ahead of us, the wind blowing...it was really spectacular. We all had huge smiles on our faces by the end of the silent moment.

Hopping onto the bus, Kevin pulled me aside and said "You look so bleedin Irish out there, really, I can't believe how Irish you look." I liked feeling Irish. And it was a treat being in MY county. When they were describing the traits of county Clare, I felt proud that I shared the same name as the county--the people of Clare are known to be the friendliest, most vibrant people in Ireland. Kevin told us that the people of Clare have such a great life to them, and they show that through their amazing spirit, dancing, and music. There are over 800 (WOW) people in county Clare making a living playing traditional Irish music. What an incredible place to share my name with! All day, when Kevin or Eimear uttered the name Clare, I fell more and more in love with my name. I've always thought my name was pretty, but I didn't think much about it. I liked my middle name more. But this last weekend convinced me. The Irish say Clare in the most beautiful way. They hit the "C" hard, as if they were saying "kite," letting out a little breath with it. Then they extend the "a", and give the "r" a wonderful roundness. "Clahrrre." I love it.

Then, if we hadn't had enough rugged beauty for one day, we were off the the cliffs of Moher. I've been before with my parents, so I had walked on the little path close to the edge before. But no way was Notre Dame going to allow that sort of behavior. We had to stay a good 10-15 feet away from the edge, behind a wall. To ensure we followed their instructions, they told us horror stories of tourists being blown off the cliffs every year.

The coolest guy you will ever meet. Kevin Whelan, everybody. 

Before we left the gorgeous cliffs, we (groan...) sang the ND fight song. It was the ND Michigan game that day, so I understood the desire to sing it, but COME ON folks, we're in IRELAND. The other people on the cliffs stood and watched us with bemused looks on their faces. But they looked a little confused when some of us started cheering "Goooooo Irish..."

The Cliffs

Then we raced to mass at St. Patrick's church in a little town called Fanore (different than Kilfenora, momma). A little seaside town where every SINGLE person goes to church on saturday nights. Many came in a bit late, but soon every seat was filled and people had to stand in the back. There was a visiting priest from Tipperary that evening, and he had the most stereotypical leprechaun-y Irish accent I'd ever heard! He gave a beautiful sermon. I think I'll go to mass more often while I'm in Ireland. It was so different than the preachy sermons I tend to hear in America. There was no silly hand holding. There was no wandering, tuneless, droaning songs. There was just a priest, sharing a struggle from his past with us, explaining how he got through it. Explaining the power of forgiveness, the ability to let things go. He was like a therapist. It was so calming, so simple, so refreshing. Then, at the closing of mass, he said that he got the feeling that Fanore was hosting some visitors, and everyone in the church chuckled. He said he could tell that we were all American since we were grinning from ear to ear (apparently Irish people never smile!!??!). He chatted with us all for a moment or two and led a prayer for our year of studies and for our travels.

Then on to the Hylands Burren Hotel in Ballyvaughan where we enjoyed a three course meal (my meal consisted of seafood chowder, sirloin steak, and Baileys cheesecake...Notre Dame certainly treats ya right!). We raced through dinner and hurried to a local pub where we hoped to bribe them into playing the U of M vs. ND game. 40 people buying 40 pints can be pretty convincing. It was a fun night, all of us packed into the pub cheering like crazy. The few Irish people that were there looked so confused (and amused) by our screaming. One Irish guy exclaimed--"What's a "down?" How the feck is this game played? They could be speakin feckin Russian for all I know..." He decided to just cheer, with vigor, whenever the rest of us cheered. At the end of the third quarter, we all realized we didn't have McCarthy of the Indiana State Police to read the glorious safe-driving pun. So Stevie Biddle and my friend Caroline and I developed one of our own and Stevie played the part of McCarthy. "Blah blah blah safe drinking, safe driving. AND REMEMBER...if you play with fire in pubs, you might get BURRENED."  The pub went wild. We are big losers.

Day 2 in County Clare was no less fantastic. After an Irish breakfast at the hotel, we headed to Doolin to catch a ferry. Doolin was hosting their annual matchmakin festival, where all the old bachelors in the village hope to finally find their wife. Score! Kevin tried to convince us all to attend. We politely declined. On the way, we got caught in a major (MAJOR) traffic jam--an entire village was headed to church. It took us nearly 20 minutes to drive 20 yards. Only in a little village in Ireland could CHURCH cause a traffic jam. Here's the situation: Our giant bus had to make a sharp turn RIGHT next to a church. There were about 40 cars parked on the side of the tiny road. There were about 60 people and their children streaming into the church, walking right in the middle of the road. And there were 5 old men and woman that didn't know how to drive heading right at us. Due to parallel parkers, the road had become, essentially, a one way street. These people were playing chicken with our bus. Due to a few stubborn/confused old men that didn't know how to reverse, the lineup of cars grew from 4 or 5 to almost 30.

Chaos

Kevin and Mick had to hop out and explain the situation to every single car (starting with the ones farthest away). Apparently, all these cars didn't see the bus!?!? Slowly but surely, 30 cars reversed, and 30 cars parallel parked along the side of the road. Eimear and I couldn't stop laughing. She said even SHE had never experienced a traffic jam like this before. It was right out of a tv show.  Anyways, we finally got through.

Medieval Underground Church and graveyard

We took a ferry to Inis Oirr, one of the Aran Islands (I don't think it is THE craggy island, but I think shots of the island were used in the infamous Father Ted episodes...). Unfortunately the waves weren't too kind to us that morning, and there were quite a few that got seasick in our group. We hiked around the island with Michael Gibbons (Mick) and got a fabulous history of the medieval O'Brien castle, a shipwreck, and graveyard, an underground church....the list goes on an on. I love having such knowledgeable tour guides. Caroline said the scenery reminded her of Maine in some ways--a very rugged, gray, mysterious beauty. Hearing all the history of the O'Brien kingdom and the farmers that once lived there increased the island's mystery even more.

O'Brien Castle and farmer's plots

We took a ferry to the base of the cliffs of Moher and got to check out the cliffs from the other side. Spectacular. A lot of people took dramamine before they hopped onto that ferry again, so there were some drowsy, though less-seasick, travelers. For some reason the waves didn't bother me much. In fact, I was in the very front of the ferry for the first half of the ride with Stevie, Caroline, Walker, and Maisie. Once the waves got more and more threatening (and we all were soaking wet), I had to seek shelter in the slightly-more-calm back of the ferry. I have to admit, I was thankful when I stepped back onto solid ground once more. Completely exhausted and invigorated, we headed back to good old Dublin.

I was hoping this would be a shorter entry than last time, but obviously I failed. There's just too much to write about! My mom may be the only one that reads every word of this...but I'm ok with that. The past three days haven't been quite as exciting, so maybe my entires will become more tame with time. Maybe.

Cheers,
Clare Mairead

Cheers...and some panic

My 49.5 lb and 49.3 lb suitcases were zipped, I had said goodbye to Kevin and the family, and I was seated safely on my flight to Dublin. I thought the hard part was over.  But then I realized that I was completely alone in a foreign country. For an entire year.

The first day was a blurry, exhausted welcome. Kevin Whelan chatted my ear off for about 20 minutes in the airport while we were waiting for the other two girls to arrive and go through customs. Normally I would have enjoyed his accent and chitchat, but in my sleepy state (cursing the sleeping pill that had not even begun to wear off), I found the conversation impossibly confusing. I tried to be reasonably outgoing--he recognized this and congratulated me. He was positive I'd fit in well in Irish culture, since conversation is less about exchange of information, and more about entertainment.  As he told me this, I became aware that I was doing a very poor job of "entertaining" him. I didn't even have the energy to ask him to repeat himself when his accent became too thick to understand. So I just nodded a lot and asked him where I could get some coffee.

The O'Connell house is just as charming as I pictured it. Cobblestone streets, colored doors, the whole bit. They greeted us with tea and biscuits, which was a miracle cure for my sleepy state. Then it was down to business. We got mobiles, we packed our suitcases into taxis, we grabbed leftover gear from last years' students.  I got my room key and made my way up three impossibly long flights of stairs with my backpack, suitcases, and school bag. My shoulders were aching like crazy, exhaustion hadn't disappeared, and my room looked horribly bare. But it was all worth it for the view from our common room. Trinity college is spectacular. It feels like Hogwarts, and then some. Not many Trinity students had arrived yet, and the grounds were silent. You could hear the birds chirping, the cars passing by from what felt like miles away. I felt a powerful peace, and let myself really relax for a moment. Then, I discovered my phone was missing.

About two hours later--after I'd gone back to the O'Connell house, searched through dozens of bags, hauled about three garbage bags worth of pillows/hangers/hairdryers and straighteners back to Trinity, then searched through everything all over again (making a complete mess of my room), I determined that my phone was, in fact, gone. I used my calling card to call my mom (of course) on the last few minutes on Marah's Vodafone.  I talked to my mom for about 5 minutes before a pre-recorded message from an Irish woman cheerfully told me that I "Do not have enough minutes to continue this call. Please top up!"

I told myself to try to have a good time. "YOU'RE IN IRELAND!" I kept repeating to myself.  I had to keep reminding myself to relax and open my eyes to what's around me. Siomha and Mike, the two other ND-Trinity students, went to grab a bite with me. We were taking our time, soaking in Grafton street, when it began to pour without warning. All three of us cursed the sky, feeling incredibly insulted that Ireland would rain on us on our first day. Looking like tourists, we ducked under an awning and looked around, frustrated with our situation. The Dubliners popped up their hoods and umbrellas without a second thought. We ducked into the closest pub/cafe we could find. Tea and grilled cheese sammys were just the ticket. It was around 7 o'clock, and we were all planning on going to sleep around 8, so we raced back to Trinity.

I wanted to really soak it all up. I put on my gorgeous raincoat and walked around the peaceful campus. I was trying to salvage the hectic day. I loved the cobblestone street, the buttery, the Samuel Beckett theatre, the boys at rugby practice. But then I suddenly felt lonely. Overwhelmingly lonely. Not to mention frustrated by my lack of phone/sheets/food/towels/etc. I decided to try to call my mom again, just to get some kind of comfort. After about an hour trying to use my calling card on a pay phone (about 6 apathetic Indian men with thick accents got to listen to me yell at them), I just paid for a call to the states on my credit card.

A word to the wise--never make a 30 minute phone call from Dublin to Michigan. It will cost you 68 dollars.

After a panicky phone call, I realized that I hadn't slept in literally 48 hours, and THAT might have something to do with my devastated state.

On to day 2. Everything looks better in the morning. We had a walking tour of the city. Kind of. I was put in Eimur's walking group. Eimur, a young Irish woman working at the O'Connell house, didn't feel quite up to the historical walking tour that Joe Stranix or Kevin Whelan had in mind.  She decided, instead, to show us the best bars, the cheapest restaurants, the cheapest grocery stores, and best clothing shops. This kind of tour would have been utterly FANTASTIC if I had had a remarkable memory and wasn't still jet lagged. But I remember slim to none of that tour. Much of the tour was spent trying to convince myself that I was going to make friends here. Quickly discovering that I was the most outgoing person in the group (surprise, surprise), I tried not to be too talkative. But, somehow, I still ended up as the clown. People chatted with me a bit, answered all my questions, and laughed a little too hard at all my jokes, but they all looked a little terrified. Eimur thought I was delightful though, so there's something.

That night, Siomha, Mike, and I pooled our resources and made dinner--rice and soup. I definitely had to go shopping the next day. At around 8:30, I got a call from a girl at UCD, inviting me over. They were going out. Of course I wanted to go. I grabbed the 6 euro bottle of wine I had bought at Tesco (they didn't card me! woo!), threw on an Irish-y dress (basically anything dark, and grungy, with tights and boots) and headed out to find the 10 bus. Eimur told me there was a 10 bus that would take me to UCD close by Trinity. Unfortunately, her version of "close" wasn't mine. I went about 20 yards and passed four different bus stops. None of them served the number 10 bus. So, I took a taxi.

Never. Again.

It cost me 14 euro. The little old man was very sweet....he kept calling me pumpkin and advised me to stay away from the "fuckin black cabs, fuckin blacks takin over this fuckin country ruinin my whole fuckin life." As much as I enjoyed listening to his...wise...advice, I was pretty pissed when some UCD kids told me that the cab ride shouldn't have cost a bit more than 9 or 10 euro. But, I got there. In one piece. I had a lovely time with a couple girls from Notre Dame--Mary, Caroline, and Maisie (short for Mairead!). Then we met up with one of their Irish roommates and his friends and made our way to the UCD student bar.

Drum roll.....I had my first Ireland Guinness. The first few sips were great. Nice and smooth. But then I realized I had to drink the entire thing. About a half an hour later, my stomach was full, and I still had about a quarter of it left. My friends were itching to get going to Dublin, so I passed it off to a thankful UCD-ND kid who finished it off for me in one gulp. I spent the rest of the evening with some 15 UCD kids, as we struggled to get on and off the bus in one piece. We went to a bar called Flannery's, which was great.  We met a bunch of unfriendly and very unsober Georgetown kids who convinced us all to go to a club. The club was, I believe, called Coppers, and packed with Irish kids. We were just about the only Americans there. However, the music was ENTIRELY American. After a couple renditions of "I'm on a boat" and "Low," in addition to some Blink 182, I was ready to head out. A couple Irish guys had a good time torturing us and making fun of us for being American, but they backed off a little when they heard my name was Clare Mairead Cooney and Maisie's name was Mairead O'Malley.

Day 3

(I'm going to try to keep this short because this is becoming obscenely long)

Tons of shopping. I felt like I was getting a bit more organized. It took me the ENTIRE day to get everything I needed (a HUGE trip to Dunnes, a trip to Moore st. for some fresh fruit and veggies, a very shady trip to an underground Moneygram station where I was nearly mugged/attacked/offered tattoos and hair extensions about 15 times). Then I came home and cooked my little heart out. I made pesto pasta (whole-wheat, of course) with mushrooms and chicken (that I sliced and cooked myself, thank you). Then I made cooked the chicken, onions, and peppers for fajitas for the next day. It was all pretty delicious, if I do say so myself.

I wanted to go see Happy Days at the Samuel Beckett theatre on campus. I'm not a huge fan of Beckett. I always get a little bored during the performance, and I always leave feeling depressed. But this time I wanted to go see Happy Days anyway because I wanted to get a feel for what the student players group was like. I called up Becky Sees, stage manager extraordinaire and coerced her into coming over to Trinity from UCD.

Unfortunately, the show didn't have any students in it. No Trinity student are back yet, so the players group was hosting a professional show. The show had just two people in it. But it may as well have been a one-woman show. I don't want to get into it....but I'll give you the brief, depressing description. Basically the stage consisted of a woman visible from only the waist up, the rest of her body buried in a pile of dirt. She was an incredibly talkative, ditzy, optimistic mess, and the entire time she is talking to her husband Willie behind her, who we never see. She cannot leave her hole. All she can do is go through her purse, brush her teeth, brush her hair, file her nails, and look at the shot gun in her purse with curiosity. She constantly begs Willie to look at her, to come over to her hole. When he gives a grunt in reply to her begging, she exclaims "Oooh! Willie! You ARE talkative today. Ahh...this will have been a happy day."--Talk about depressing. In the second act, she is buried entirely in the dirt, with only her head and neck visible. She is much less optimistic. Willie has stopped responding to her entirely. That was when it REALLY hit me that she was slowly but surely sinking into her grave. Her husband and she had lost all connection. She was stuck in her position. We are all stuck in our ways. We are all on our way to our graves. Then, in the last moments of the play, Willie makes his way to his wife. They are both near death, and he can barely move. He touches her cheek, for the first time in years. She explodes with bitter rage, miserable that he abandoned her for so many years.... It was a crazy play to watch. Very well done, but very depressing all the same. It was inspiring in a way, too.  An encouragement to really live in the moment, experience joy IN the moment, not AFTER the fact. Kick out rosy retrospection entirely and enjoy what you are CURRENTLY experiencing. Not "this will have been a happy day," but "This IS a happy day." It's certainly something to think about, in your marriage, in your life, in your relationships.

So, naturally, I was determined to make the best of the night. Becky and I ran to my room in Front Square, squealing in the pouring rain. Siomha, Mike, Becky and I made our way to Messers MacGuire and had a "point."  I had one of their own brews....an Oktoberfest. The rest got a Guinness. We were a quiet group (especially when we got into discussions about Happy Days) and I felt a couple pangs for Kevin and Pat and the fam (I'm used to loud people!) but I had a good time. To end the night, the four of us stayed up late eating toast and Nutella, listening to music and swapping stories.

Day 4

Skyping and calling and emailing and organizing. I finally got out of my flat when the UCD kids called me at 3:30 and convinced me to walk around Dublin with them.  Dublin, and Trinity campus itself, are really a different world than I'm used to.  For example, two woman sitting on a bench at Trinity, making out.  A cyclist cursing a bus driver, and the driver stopping the bus JUST to get out and give him the middle finger.  A homeless man telling us that we're ignorant pricks.  An old man peeing right out in the open on a sidewalk--I'm not in Kansas anymore.  Dublin is much faster, much more grungy, much more heroin-filled, and much rainier than I ever expected. It's not all that dramatic though. There are some things that I love, some things that I expected from the trips to Ireland I went on when I was 11 and 14. I love hearing live music on the street (nearly every person is singing something by mumford and sons).  I love the cobblestone street, the friendly little men. I love the accents (and mine is nearly perfect...I'm not trying to put one on at all, but quite a few of my words..."sorry" and "cool" for example, are becoming completely Irish).  Dublin is just a bit rough around the edges.


So. In total. It was a messy first few days. Lots of tears. Lots of fear. Lots of calls home. But also lots of excitement. And each day, it's getting easier. Tomorrow I'm off to Galway!! I couldn't be more excited. I'm ready for the country. I'm ready to remember why I loved Ireland so much. Maybe I have some bones to pick with Dublin, but Ireland and I will get along just fine.

Cheers,
Clare Mairead

P.S. I'm sorry for the length. This is hardly a blog...it's more a diary that I encourage you all to read (I've kept out a lot of things, to protect the innocent!)

P.P.S. I kind of have to go by Clare Mairead, don't I? After all, I'm in Ireland.

P.P.P.S. I miss wine. Beer is painful.