14 Feb 2015

Abby contemplated going to Mullingar all day yesterday until finally asking me last night what we should do. “I think we should just go. Because if we don’t, you will regret that we didn’t,” I told her. Besides, it was another town to see in Ireland and I was always up for exploring a new palce. So with that, our decision was made for the day. At the ungodly hour of 6 a.m., Abby and I groaned and got out of bed to begin the morning. I had my things packed for our B&B, giving me a few extra minutes to sleep before getting up for the day. By 7:15 a.m., we were out the door and walking towards the bus station. The sky was dark and our bodies were slow, but we made it to the bus just in time to grab a comfy seat. With both of our heads resting on my travel pillow, we closed our eyes for the long bus ride until the morning sun bursted from the sky. In no time with a little sleep, we had arrived in Anthlone. Since I seem to never smoothly navigate public transportation, I paced around the Anthlone bus station, looked at the arrival and departure screen a dozen times, and finally asked a worker about the bus when it was a few minutes before we were supposed to leave. “That’s your bus right there,” the employee pointed and nodded me in the right direction. Before we arrived in Mullingar, Abby and I contemplated what we would tell people when they asked what brought us to Mullingar. I refused to admit it was because of One Direction’s Niall Horan. It was not… I swear… (okay, at least not entirely…). Abby didn’t think they would ask, but I was nearly certain they would knowing the Irish. They are always curious and will ask a thousand questions to visitors turning a 5 minute conversation into 20 minutes. Our cover up soon became that we had come to see the “lakes,” which is apparently a tourist attraction for Mullingar. The bus came to a halt several yards away from the bus station as the grumpy bus driver grabbed our bags from underneath the bus and saw us on our way. I just hoped that the train station would have a storage room for luggage or otherwise, we were going to have to tote Abby’s huge suitcase and my large hiking backpack around the town for the next few hours, which would be a nightmare. My fears were confirmed when we walked in the ghostly train station that looked like it had been closed since the 1800s. Only an employee picking up trash showed any sign of life in the area. Without any place to put our luggage, Abby and I walked towards town to see if a hotel would kindly guide us to a place to store it.

In the closest hotel to the train station, I prepped lines of convincing for whoever would greet me at the desk. A woman talking to a guest buzzed us in the door where we stood a good distance behind the guest in front of us. She waved us forward when he left and I started to explain. “Hi, do you know where we could store our luggage? We are only here for a few hours and just need a place to put them for a little while,” I explained. “ If you are only here for a little while, you can just leave them here. I’d be happy to store them for you,” the woman replied. Ecstatic, I thanked her as we handed her our heavy pieces of luggage. Of course, she asked what we were doing in Mullingar with curiosity, and part of me picked up from her facial expression that she didn’t quite believe we were simply “passing through on the way to Dublin,” like I told her. As we walked out of the hotel, I turned to Abby and said, “See? That is why I love the Irish!” I could not have been more excited that we were able to store our luggage, and for free!

Feeling a thousand pounds lighter, we walked toward the town center to find a cafe to get some breakfast before moseying around the town. Down a side street was a cute cafe that appeared to be full of locals. Abby and I ordered a coffee and pastry while I consciously kept my voice low and tried not to show any signs of being a tourists around the locals. It was so fun to see the town’s residents come in and pick up their cakes where the employees greeted them by names, or the father and son who seemed to have just come from a sports practice and were enjoying the Saturday afternoon spending time with one another. Over our morning breakfast of coffee and pastries, Abby read the Irish newspaper while I indulged my delightful treats. To continue our venture around Mullingar, we walked through the town center until stumbling across a park with the greenest of grass and a lake in the center. A school sat to the left of the park where parents casually conversed while waiting to pick up they kids after a day at school. In the playground, a few kids played on the swings that appeared to be much more sophisticated than the ones I grew up with, which Abby and I laughed about like and compared our “olden days” like elderly people. Abby and I walked across the bridge over the pond to a mini exercise area where we played on the walking machine until continuing our walk on this gorgeous day. As we walked passed the tennis courts on the other side of the park, I commented on how active everyone in Mullingar seemed to be. And good looking! The boys and men here sported sweatsuits indicating that their lives resolved around athletics.

Back to the city centre, Abby and I walked in a few shops to browse the merchandise before coming across a petite tourist/antique shop/market. We walked in to find a father smiling as his daughter spoke Irish to the shopkeeper. With their purchased, they left with a friendly good-bye from the shopkeeper who greeted us warmly. “That little girl speaks Irish. I don’t know much Irish at all but she spoke it very well!” He told Abby and me. “Do people not speak Irish?” Abby asked. “No. I know very little but few people my age know how to speak it,” the shopkeeper continued. He kindly asked us what brought us to Mulling and told us he had relatives in America. Already I loved the people of Mullingar. They were all so friendly! I did find it odd that the man who had to be at least 70 years old did not speak any Irish. I would have expected a man of his generation to know Ireland’s official language, but I guess they do not. I also found it ironic that the first time I actually heard Irish being spoken was on the East cost of Ireland and not the West coast that has a much higher population of Irish speakers. With postcards and Abby’s diet coke purchased, we walked into another shop where another kind older man welcomed us to Mullingar. When we finished our conversation with the man, we walked out and spotted the hotel that Niall Horan’s trophy’s were apparently on display was across the rode. I nearly dreaded walking into the hotel, but I boosted up enough confidence to do so as long as Abby walked in first and asked the hotel concierge about the display herself. I pretended to look at the brochures by the entrance of the hotel while Abby walked towards the concierge. But as I took a look around the hotel, I called to Abby and told her to look behind her. The glass case with Niall’s belonging and memorabilia was right behind her. Photos, a signed T-shirt and hat, and at the two trophy’s from an award show sat within the glass case for curious tourists to get a look at the town’s most famous resident. My face turned bright red as we obviously were revealing our true reason for coming to Mullingar, but I swallowed my pride and took my photo with the One Directioner’s goods before rushing out the door as quickly as I could. With my heartbeat slowing down to a normal pace as the embarrassment left my body, Abby and I decided that since it was Valentine’s Day, we had to get one another gifts. A discount store was across the street where we giggled and ran around the store while trying to avoid one another to make our gifts a surprise. I picked up a silly card and a chocolate One Direction egg which I deemed as quite ironic to be purchased in Mullingar. After checking out, we hid the gifts from one another until we got to the train station.

The time was ticking and we had to get our bags before the bus arrived for Dublin. After a quick stop in a woman’s boutique where I purchased two scarves from another friendly and talkative shopkeeper, Abby and I grabbed out bags from the hotel. We thanked the woman for her generosity in taking our bags and scurried off to the train station stop. After exchanging our valentines’s and tasting our chocolates, we waited for the bus to arrive. Soon enough, we were back on the bus and on our way to Dublin. One more bus, a train, and we would be at our B&B in Enniskerry. I thought about the B&B I booked in the quiet countryside of Co. Wicklow. This afternoon when we arrived, I planned on kicking off my shoes, unloading my backpack, and making a cup of tea while Abby and I watch a movie. But like most things in life, my plan did not go so smoothly.

An hour bus ride and we were let off on by the River Liffey in Dublin. Along the way, I felt my ear stopping up. It didn’t hurt, just felt funny. But as soon as we reached Dublin, I knew something was wrong. A searing pain darted through my ear as I gathered my bags and I knew I had a terrible earache. I told Abby about my ear quickly to avoid talking any more than I had to and making my earache worse. As we crossed the bridge to the South side of the city, I fought back the pain as we navigated the crowded streets with our heavy luggage. Dublin is a busy city as it is, and it was twice as busy today being Valentine’s Day. While couples romanticized under the Ha’Penny, I walked with brutal pain until I could not make it one more step. Abby and I searched for food, but had no luck in the busy city. Even the small pizza joint was too crowded to fit our luggage inside.

Absolutely furious, starving, tired, and in scorching pain, I led Abby down street after street in search for a pharmacy. I had to find ear drops to sooth the pain fast. Any other time, there would be a pharmacy on every corner… Finally, we came across a pharmacy where I purchased a bottle of ear drops. Eager to try the remedy, I led Abby to the DART station where we purchased train tickets for Bray, as our B&B host recommended, and I could take a seat to put the drops in my ear. Abby poured the cool liquid into my ear that instantly soothed the pain. I took a big gulp and closed my eyes as the gooey liquid fell into my ear. I have never appreciated a relief from pain so much. But I knew it would not last and I was more than eager to get to the B&B to lay down in a comfy bed. “Al, I think we missed our train,” Abby said as I opened my eyes from a shallow catnap. “What?” I replied fearfully. Abby explained that the sign to Bray did not make sense and that maybe we should be going the other way. Irritated at the complexity of the DART, we hurried to the other side to make the next train. 20 minutes later, we boarded and took a 30 minute scenic trip along the coast to Bray.

When we arrived, I searched my directions from our host to see what our next step would be. I glanced up from my phone to look for the bus, but the one at the station was not the one to Enniskerry. I looked at the bus schedule to find the bus we needed had left 5 minutes ago and we would have to wait another hour for the next one. Desperate to get to our B&B after the long day, I told Abby that I didn’t think I could wait that long and asked if she wanted to take a taxi. She agreed that she was tired of waiting as well and we walked to the front of the line to grab a taxi. The first car held a plump and white haired taxi driver who was reading a newspaper. “Hi, what would be the price of a taxi to Enniskerry?” I asked. “Enniskerry, that would probably by 60 to 70 Euro,” they unfriendly driver spat out. (I have no idea that was with the transportation drivers today…) I turned to Abby and we softly contemplated the taxi. If we split the cost, it would not be too bad. Desperate, we agreed to the fare but the taxi driver seemed less than pleased. As he battled our large luggage in the trunk, we climbed in the seat where I pulled out the directions to the B&B. Thankfully, my ear was holding up for a little while, long enough to get me to the B&B at least. I didn’t have an exact address for the home we were staying at, but directions to the bus stop that should get us in the right direction. I tried to small talk with the driver to keep the air light, but he replied with quick and rash answers, apparently with no desire to do much talking. When we arrived at the bus stop, the calculator showed red numbers of 14.50 Euro. Confused at the low rate, I waited a moment before going through my wallet. The bus driver cleared his throat out and hesitantly said, “That will be 14.50.” Excited but confused at the low rate, Abby and I handed our money to the driver who, for the first time, showed us kindess and care as he made sure we knew where we were going. It was dark and he didn’t want to leave us out in the open by ourselves. I thanked him for his concern but assured him we knew where to go from here. Abby and I laughed as he drove away. “60 or 70 Euro? Yeah right! He just didn’t want to drive us. Didn’t he know he should not have asked Americans if we wanted to pay that fee? Of course we would say yes!” I said to Abby. Abby and I laughed about the irony and walked towards the B&B.

Officially lost and having no idea where we were, I called the host to get directions to her home which was apparently right in front of us. I could not have been more relieved to have finally found the B&B. It was certainly a difficult route to get there, but we were there and that is what mattered. Unsure about where to go in the home, we walked in the front door to see a couple cuddling on the couch while two other individuals sat in the nearby chairs, all facing the tv screen playing a rugby game. The room of people seemed confused for a moment, and I quickly explained that we didn’t know where to go but were here to stay for a few days. The couple on the couch kindly greeted us and a woman walked in the door behind us to greet us. It didn’t take me long to realize that we had come in the wrong entrance, but our host who introduced herself and guided us back out the door and around to another entrance to access our room. Once she gave us a quick tour of the room, she invited us to come in the sitting room with the other guests. Along the way, I asked her where the closest restaurant would be. Abby and I have not eaten since our morning pastries in Mullingar, and we were beyond hungry. She said there was a restaurant near, but that we could take a taxi into the village. Peeved the nearest restraurant was a taxi ride away, I held back my anger and said that would decide what we wanted to do, then walked in the sitting room to join the other guests. My ear was starting to ache again and I desperately wanted to take a shower and crawl in bed, but I mustered up the resentment to the pain enough to make a presentable appearance to the guests. After we met our hosts’s son, his girlfriend, and the two other guests, our host came back in the sitting room to tell us that she could drive us to town since the other couple also was needing a lift. Though I felt that she was being put out of her way to do so, we accepted her offer.

In the village, Abby and I ate a delicious meal at a pub attached to a hotel that seemed to be serving elite residents of couples on dates and golfers who were relaxing after a day on the golf course. Though the food was great, the service was terrible making us have to wait for forever to get the check and sit with empty glasses of water. That is one thing I don’t like about Ireland: poor service in restaurants. Over an hour later, we finally tracked down the waiter to pay the bill and had a cab called to take us to the B&B. At the moment my ear was lacking pain, but I didn’t want to wait too long to get back in the B&B in fear that the pain would strike at any moment.

Finally after a long night, Abby and I were back at the B&B and able to call it a night. To be friendly, we socialized with the couple on the couch before occupying our private bedroom. I asked the son if the Wicklow Mountains were within walking distance and he shrugged his shoulders. He said they would take us at least 4 hours to get to on foot, making it a very long day. I then asked if there was a way to get there like a tour, and he said he didn’t think so. I was irritated and confused. I booked the B&B with plans to see the Wicklow Mountains. The reviews said they were close and Enniskerry is supposed to be “the gateway to the Wicklow Mountains.” And now I am learning that it would be a whole day walk to get to them?! Instead of the mountains, the couple and our host, who had walked into the room and taken a seat after kindling the fire, recommended Abby and I walk to the Powerscourt Waterfall. I tried to control my temper and disappointment while thanking them for their recommendations, but this was just the icing on the cake to a very long and disappointing day between my ear ache and the confusing directions. Abby and I soon made our way to our private bedroom where I crawled in bed with a few more drops of medicine in my ear, thanks to Abby. Before falling asleep, I apologized to Abby that we didn’t get to have an exciting night out but she understood. I promised we would make up for it tomorrow, hoping that my ear would be healed by then.

 

31 Jan 2015

One… My hands clenched to the reins and my heart raced. Two… I took a deep breath and clucked my horse forward. Three… I watched as my horse cuffed his legs and glided over the stonewall. I pushed my body into two-point position and grabbed his mane, forcing myself not to pull back on the reins and disrupt his rhythm. Mid-air I remembered what Felicia told me, “You will be fine, just trust him.” My body catapulted back as my horse’s hooves landed effortless onto the green ground below me. I caught my balance and looked back at the stone wall my horse cleared without touching a single stone. I smiled at our accomplishment and followed the herd of horses in front of me. A few minutes later, we were jumping again.

Desperate to ride a horse, I planned a riding excursion for my Saturday. I was desperate to ride. I needed to ride. Of all the things I have missed the most about home, it has been riding horses. I miss my equestrian team, my horses, and I miss riding. It’s funny how something buries itself so deep in your blood that no matter how hard you try to shake it, you just can’t get rid of the temptation to love it. For me, that is horses. And to cure that urge, I was going riding.

A few weeks ago, I was browsing in the Galway tourism center where I caught sight of an entire row of brochures dedicated specifically to horseback riding. I gathered at least half a dozen pamphlets and emailed the ones closest to Galway. Soon, I received an email from Dartfield Riding Centre and Horse Museum that said they would be happy to pick me up from the bus stop in the town closest to the riding centre. I jumped on the opportunity to have a chance to ride and set up a half day trek for today.

Bright and early Saturday morning, I caught the 10 a.m. bus to Loughrea dressed in my boots and breeches. A woman from the riding facility was waiting at the bus stop when I arrived and drove me to Dartfield.

When we arrived, I followed her inside the facility to greet two men sitting at a table in the lounge. The older man wore a tattered leather hat with a white shirt and vest like I had always envisioned the Irish to dress in. He introduced himself as Willie and then introduced me to the younger man sitting next to him at the table. Willie was the owner of Dartfield and the other man was the blacksmith who had a shop in the building parallel to the dining area. After a warm Irish welcome and conversation, I walked to find my horse in the stables.

Inside the barn, a girl who could not have been much older than me was brushing a big bay horse tied to the outside of a stall. I greeted her and she introduced herself as Felicia. After asking me about my riding experience, she led me a sporty grey horse in a nearby stall. “I’ll let you ride Larry. He is very kind but not for beginners. It sounds like you should be fine on him though,” Felicia said. I smiled and bushed my hand through the soft hair on Larry’s neck.

Once the horses were tacked up, Felicia guided me to the the outdoor arena around the back of the stables to mount. I hadn’t ridden in months, but the instant I swung my leg over Larry’s back, every piece of knowledge came flooding back.

I followed Felicia as she led me through a gate and along a dirt path. A little further down the path, the tree lined open up to a field on the right side. “Okay, we can trot for a little bit,” Felicia said. I nudged Larry into a trot and rode to the rhythm of his gait smiling at the beauty around me. Once Felicia saw that I was doing just fine, she trotted beside me and said, “okay, now we can canter a little, just take it slow.” I clucked Larry into a canter and swayed to his rocky movement. She stopped at a gait that opened up to a lush green field and let me walk through. It was surreal sitting no top of a horse in the picturesque green pasture filled with dozens of fluffy white sheep. Felicia remounted and said that we would walk to the end of the field. The walked through the herd of sheep and I listened to her conversation while taking in every beautiful piece of the Irish landscape surrounding me. When we reached the end of the field, we turned around to walk back. “Okay, we can canter back but just stay behind me,” Felicia said. Excited, I waited for her to canter off before queuing Larry to do the same. As I rode to the rhythm of Larry’s stride, I watched as sheep dodged the oncoming horses. The brisk winter air awaked every one of my senses as I took in the moment. Across the field, Felicia let me follow behind her to jump the small logs spread across the green pasture. As I cleared them effortlessly, she complimented my riding and led me further through the field. We walked towards a strange monument of the sorts. I asked Felicia about the sculpture in the center of the field and she said it was a cross country course. Curious, I asked where the horse jumped it. She showed me and then asked, “Do you want to give it a try?” I of course said yes, but felt my stomach plummet as I thought about soaring over the high jump. I hadn’t ridden in months, let alone jump. I just prayed I could stay on.

I watched a Felicia guided her horse to the jump at a brisk canter and sailed over the wooden jump without any effort. I followed closely behind and to my delight, cleared the jump without any incident. After our ride through the field, the trek was half way through and we were to check in with Willie at the lounge.

“We will tie up the horses and then go in and see what they want. Willie said to come inside in an hour or two,” Felicia said. After trying up our horses, we walked inside to join Willie in the common area. “How was your ride?” Willie asked. “Oh it was wonderful! This is such a beautiful place. I haven’t ridden in so long, it is good to be back on a horse,” I replied. Willie asked Felicia how the ride went, which I understood the underline reasoning for soon enough. Felicia kindly complimented my riding and told Willie about the jumping we did in the field. He looked back at me with something obviously on his mind and then asked, “Do you want to join a fox hunt?” Confused, surprised, and honored for the invite, I immediately said I would love to! How could I refuse that kind of an invitation? Willie said we could eat a quick sandwich while he found out where the hunt was located.

Once we finished our lunch, we met Willie in the front of the stables with our horses. He took Larry’s reins from me and guided him into the horse box with Felicia’s horse like a herd of cows. Saddles and bridles still on and no barrier to separate the two horses, I laughed to myself how simple the Irish make things. In America, it would be an all day affair getting horses properly and safety loaded in a trailer. But in Ireland, it seems to take a mere 5 minutes.

Felicia and I jumped into the car as Willie drove down the motorway that connected to a small country road. We passed beautiful green fields as my heart soared at the fact that I was going to be joining a fox hunt. I just knew that by the end of the day, I would have a story to tell.

As parked cars with attached horse boxes came into sight, Willie pulled to the side of the road and just as quickly, unloaded the horses. He handed me Larry’s reins, which I pulled over my horses’s neck and quickly mounted. I searched for a gate, but realized the only way up the hill to join the fox hunters would be up and over. Up and over the stone wall that is. I gulped back my fear and let my adrenaline kick in. I had a feeling I would need every ounce of it for the afternoon.

Willie and some onlookers moved a few of the stones off the top of the stone wall for us to easily get through. I watched as Felicia clucked her horse over the wall where he scrambled to find footing to walk over the stones. I followed closely behind where Larry took a small leap. In and instant, Felicia pushed her horse into a canter and I followed behind.

I looked up to the top of the field to see the herd of fox hunters standing at the top. The trick was reaching them. Whimsically, Felicia and I eased in our galloping horses in and out of shrubs twice our size to navigate to the top of the hill. A few minutes later, we came to screeching halt in front of a group of horse and riders. Felicia coolly guided her horse to a man and woman dressed in fox hunting attire of long black coats and matching helmets. Their horses were neatly groomed and had the finishing touches of a braided hunter mane as if they were going to a show. I took a look at Larry’s messy grey mane imbeded with dry mud and the sleeve of my bright blue North Face coat. Yes, I look completely out of place for this fox hut, but luckily Felicia’s horse and attire closely resemble mine.

The man and woman didn’t seem bothered at all by my lack of professional appearance and introduced themselves with a warm Irish welcome. When I told them I was a student at NUIG, the woman said she also takes courses at the school. Perplexed, she paused for a moment while the man continued to ask me questions about my courses. “You don’t take a marketing course do you? I guess you don’t since you didn’t mention it, but you look like this girl who helped me find my classroom the other day…” In disbelief I stopped her mid sentence. “Wait! Were you looking for a math class?” She replied yes and the pieces fell together. The other day I was on my way to my global marketing course when a woman stopped me, before I walked inside, and asked if it was a math course. I told her it was not but looked at her schedule to see if I could help her find the right classroom. And as fate would have it, that same woman was on a fox hunt with me. Funny enough, she was not the least bit surprised while I was in complete shock! Ireland truly is a small country…

As we continued to stand, I asked Felicia and the other two, William and Orla (who was Willie’s son and daughter-in-law) what exactly we were doing. I found it odd that the whole group was completely stopped and engaging in conversation while one particular rider in a bright red coat yelled words I could barely understand. Felicia explained that he was the Joint Master, of Master of the Foxhounds. Apparently, there are certain leaders within the group that watch the hounds, guide the hunters, and control and organize the hunt. After a few minutes of learning the rules of the game, it was time to test them out.

The Joint Master galloped after the hounds while the other horses and riders slowly started to pick up speed and follow behind. I watched Felicia closely and guided Larry behind her horse, since I had no idea what I was doing or needed to be doing. We cantered down a path and through a field until reaching a gravel road to ride along. The hunters separated from one another, some galloping ahead while others trotted behind, giving Felicia and me a long straightaway to gallop on the gravel path. We passed fields and a cow farm before meeting the other hunters who were gathered by a stream in the field ahead. We slowed our horses down and I watched her movements as we joined the hunters at a standstill.

Once again, the same routine of stopping, talking, and galloping off took place within a few minutes. But the next time we reached the herd of horses, the hunters had formed a single file line behind one another. Confused, I craned my neck around the corner of the wooded plot to see what they were waiting for. Then, I watched as a horse leaped as its rider catapulted back on the landing. We were not stopping to talking. This time, we were jumping.

My heart raced as I waited to jump the stone wall. Felicia assured me that I would be fine and I followed behind her heavy set horse. A moment later, I was taking a deep breath and pushing the fear from my mind. I nudged Larry into a canter, kept my eyes up to focus on what was ahead (and not below), and soared over the jump. With a sigh of relief, I joined Felicia on the other side of the fence as we galloped off to follow behind the herd of hunters. A few moments later, we were jumping the next stone wall and after a few rounds, the routine seemed settle in: stop and talk, wait for the joint Master to gather all the hounds, gallop after the dogs, jump over stone walls, stop, repeat.

The whole afternoon seemed surreal and I looked around and saw the fox hunters surrouding me in the most picturesque setting. As we walked through a field as the beamed, illuminating the colors of the vibrant green field, I turned to Felicia in disblief and muttered, “It’s just so…. It’s…” She smiled and intervened my pause, “I know! You just can’t put this beauty into words.” I felt the back of my eyes form tears as I smiled. This moment is exactly what I came to Ireland to find.

13 February 2015

Abby and I were up bright and early to take a tour to the Cliffs of Moher and the Burren today. Though the Cliffs are only a short bus ride away from Galway, I have been waiting for Abby to visit before seeing the cliffs since they are one of her topic requests for our trip spent together.

In the early morning hours at the bus station, we quickly found the Lally tour and boarded the bus. A small group of about 12 people were seated on the bus that accelerated down the road with a friendly and talkative bus driver/tour guide. Abby and I listened at first, and then I was ready to tune him out and listen to her music when we approached the motorway. For our tour, we would see the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher amongst a few small photo-opp stops. The Aliwee Caves would be our first stop of the day, but it was such a beautiful day (which you learn to appreciate in Ireland) that I almost hated to go to the caves first rather than see the cliffs. The bus driver understood the rare good weather as well and asked us all to be precise on time so we could get to the cliffs as quickly as possible after the cave tour. When we arrived at the Burren, we had two options: get a tour of the cave or walk around the Burren. Not realizing that it was a two-in-one stop and you had to choose just one, Abby and I bought a ticket for the cave tour.

Everyone gathered for the cave tour and met inside the gift shop and dining area where a tour guide greeted us. I don’t like caves as it is and I should have opted out of the cave before paying the entrance fee. The tour guide spoke with such a soft voice that you made to barely breath to hear him speak over your own breath if you were close to the back, like Abby and me. The cave also advertised that there was an extinct brown bear inside. Well, there was, but not the kind I hoped to find. It was only the bones of a brown bear in the corner surrounded by a wired fence, left where it was barely mentioned. I was at least hoping for a stuffed one or something… By the end of the cave tour, I was more than ready to get the cliffs and growing impatient. After a quick look at the Burren and Co. Clare from the view atop a building, Abby and I were amongst the first on board to go to the Cliffs. Finally, we were on our way to the destination I looked the most forward to seeing.

The bus driver called someone at the Cliffs to confirm we were on our way and to ask about the weather. By what I could by his reaction, the weather must be sunny and dry at the moment making me excited. The half an hour ride was filled with curves and sharp turns that seemed like a backroad, but soon enough we were pulling up to the Cliffs of Moher.

Abby and I jumped out of seats as soon as the bus came to a halt. The sky was bright blue and only a few clouds from the west covered the sky. It was a beautiful day to experience the gigantic cliffs and I wanted to see them while it lasted!

We walked up the path that would allow us to stand atop of the cliffs. People came down the muddy and wet path and formed a line in front of us fearing their shoes would get muddy. They stepped on the small rocks above the surface of the puddle to make their way through the path clogging the tourists behind us. Finally out of the line of people, Abby and I were swaying to the gusts of wind above the cliffs. We paused at one cliff to look at the sea beyond us and how high up we actually were standing. Continuing on the path, we walked through a crater on the cliff where the wind was so strong that we physically could not take another step forward. We each took a moment to embrace the fierce wind and enjoy the beauty around us. Though I wanted to continue to the end of the path, Abby and I decided to turn around since the wind was so strong. No one needed to fall off the cliff today (and yes, it does happen..)!

Once we took a plethora of photos atop the cliffs with a beautiful blue sky, we continued down the path jamming to One Direction’s newest album and taking in the beautiful scenery around us. Apparently a few years ago, there was not a visitor center and the Cliffs were much more “wild”. I wished it was that way again. Though they were an incredible sight to see, their tourist pull seemed to take away their authenticity.

After taking a few last minute photos of the blue sky above the Cliffs, Abby and I walked inside the visitor center’s cafe to warm up with some hot tea. The wind was strong and freezing making the hour and a half visit to the Cliffs today plenty long enough. The tea was just the trick to warm our cold bodies and of course, we could not resisting ordering a slice of the chocolate cake on display.

The time allotment at the Cliffs was growing short, so we rushed out the visitor center to wait for the bus driver just as the rain started to fall. I guess we made it in perfect timing! Before leaving for the journey back to Galway, we stopped in the cute down of Doolin, which is known for its traditional music, for a quick lunch. I ordered my favorite Irish meal, the salmon which of course came with potatoes of every kind in a giant portion.

On the bus ride to Galway, Abby napped as I watched the sun set over the beautiful Irish sky. There is nothing like an Irish sunset when the day is sunny and beautiful. The bus driver stopped along the way back to let us take a photo of the Burren and the castle at Kinvara (which I had to pry Abby from her seat to her to walk to with me) which made breathtaking photos as the sunset above the water.

It has been a full day spent at the Burren and Cliffs of Moher, so Abby and I relaxed for the remainder of the evening with some homemade bruschette and hot tea.

11 Feb 2015

Abby arrives today!!! I was like a kid on Christmas Eve last night as I forced myself to get some sleep even though I was too excited to feel the least bit tired. I had to catch a 9:15 a.m. bus, so I got up early to give myself time to stop by Costa for a latte and walked past Shop Street thinking about the many places and things I would show Abby. On the bus, my stomach was a jumble of nerves mixed with excitement. I thought about how exciting it was that Abby and I were making our dreams come tour and seeing Ireland together. Today was truly the beginning of a grand adventure.

When I arrived in Dublin, I immediately went to the arrival terminal to check on her flight status. I looked away and back towards my spot when I heard, “Hey Al!” and saw Abby grinning with her blue suitcase in tow. Surprised and excited, I replied and met her near the exit where I embraced her in a hug and a, “Welcome to Ireland, Ab!” I talked her through our plan and we both went to a restaurant down the hall to get some lunch, since I was starving. We sat and talked for over an hour until I finally looked at the bus schedule to see when the next bus was departing for Galway.

Two hours later, I was waking Abby up from a nap to show her Galway. We walked to the Long Walk to see the iconic rainbow houses and then continued to walk along the prom. I compared aspects of Ireland to those of the States and explained to Abby different things about the Irish way of life. By the prom, a man flew a propelling flying device that seemed like it would crash at every second. We laughed and ducked when he came too close for comfort and continued down the prom towards Salthill. I hadn’t walked the prom much and it was the perfect opportunity to show Abby. When we came to the aquarium, I laughed at how it resembled Panama City Beach and Abby agreed. Hungry, we decided it was a good place to turn around and walked back to the city. Abby talked about the like at home and claimed I was not missing anything in Paducah, but it seemed to just make me miss my life there more. But I shook off the homesick feeling and remembered the plans I had made for our week together.

Back in the city center, we walked down Shop Street to decide on where to eat. We looked at menus from a few different places and decided to eat at “Trattoria,” an Italian restaurant. The restaurant was quiet but would not stay that way too long thanks to Abby and I laughing and catching up.

Though we both decided to make it an early night and explore the pubs tomorrow, I told her we had to at least pop into Taffee’s to see the music. Intrigued, Abby agreed we could get a pint at my favorite pub, Tig Coilis and the rest of our night was spent catching up at the different pubs around Galway. But I can’t think of a better introduction to Ireland than that!

9 Feb 2015

I’ve been doing just fine, but today I felt the sting of homesickness linger back into my thoughts. It was strange because nothing really triggered it but for maybe the long day at school. That was likely the reason: school. I have found comfort and beauty in Galway, but not in NUIG. I don’t care for the hipster Irish students or the moody and firm lecturers. And heaven forbid that there is ever toilet paper in the bathrooms… Once I finally found a restroom after a 10 minute walk around the maze of a building, there was absolutely no toilet paper. Same scenario for the second one. I guess three times a charm. I miss Belmont the most today: the small classes, dedicated professors, clean and posh buildings, and friends. NUIG has no seating to do any work, is dirty with trash and student messiness, and is crammed with students. While I may have adjusted to Galway, I am far from adjusting to NUIG.

On top of being irritated by school, I was stressed by travel plans. I haven’t made many travel plans and I worried that I would not get the chance to see the places I wanted, especially Paris. My first choice of a city to travel to is Paris. I long for the French cuisine and architecture that this city possesses. Though I “may” get there with Callie, I am not for sure based on when my exams will be (since of course my school won’t tell me until mid-March…).

As I listen to the travel plans others in my class and my roommates have made, I feel a pinch of jealousy that I have yet to leave Ireland. I try to remind myself that I will be traveling with Callie, but even being abroad in Ireland makes me want to travel so badly. There really is not anything holding me back but the costliness of traveling in others countries, but I just can’t shake my doubts. Hopefully I’ll figure out my travel plans soon.

On my way to class, I tried to look at the city around me and find beauty within its walls, but couldn’t shake the feeling of drab. But instead of focusing on the negative, I decided to book a hostel for Abby and I above a pub in the Temple Bar district in Dublin, booked a plane flight to Barcelona to visit my previous roommate, and came up with a list of pubs and restaurants recommended in Galway. Abby’s visit starts tomorrow and I cannot wait to see her!

Feeling accomplished, I made even more travel plans with my friend, Adriene. Within 45 minutes, we decided we were going to Norway at the end of March! And to think I was doubting my travel itinerary for the semester…. In two hours I booked a hostel in Dublin, a flight to Barcelona, and a flight to Norway. Talk about a productive evening.

In much higher spirits, I walked from campus to my apartment where I finished my essay that is due tomorrow and packed my backpack for my bus ride to Dublin in the morning. By noon tomorrow, I’ll be greeting Abby at the airport! I am beyond excited for our trip to start and adventures to be had.

Feb 6-8

A quick synopsis of the rest of my weekend in Dublin:

Guinness Store House

Jameson Distillery Tour

St. Stephen’s Green

Service at St. Patrick’s Cathedral

6 Feb 2015

In all honesty, I should not be going to Dublin. I have been so stressed this week about midterms and being sick that I can’t even imagine leaving and enjoying a trip at this moment. But I told Sarah I would go with her and with a hostel booked, I cannot back out now. That’s the other thing, a hostel. I dread staying in a hostel. I never have and I just do not know what to expect. I’ve heard they were perfectly fine and then I’ve heard horror stories. Either way, I was about to find out for myself.

Since I do not have class on Fridays but Sarah does, we planned to get the noon bus to Dublin. I had gone to Costa for breakfast but still found myself running behind to get ready to leave for the weekend. Since we were staying in a hostel, I made sure that I did not bring anything valuable and packed as lightly as I could to test how light I could pack and still make it for a weekend.

I met Sarah in her apartment and just as we were about to leave, our apartment manager shows up at the door. And if she comes knocking, you know you’ll be stuck for several minutes dealing with her. Finally, Sarah was able to get our apartment manager to leave by us walking out the door in front of her to let her know that we had to catch a bus.

With 10 minutes to spare until our bus leaves, Sarah and I power walked to the bus station where we luckily caught the bus just in time. As I took a seat and a deep breath, I suddenly became excited to go back to Dublin where it all began. The two and a half hour bus ride flew by as Sarah and I talked the whole way there.

We unloaded the bus and started walking to our hostel. Since it would get dark in just a few hours, I suggested to Sarah that we check into the hostel before finding a place to grab lunch even though we were both starving. We found it easily and luckily, it appeared to be off a main road and not too far inland of the North side, much to my relief. The receptionists were kind and handed us our room key and towels.

“So is it going to be safe for us around this area?” I asked concerned.
The receptionist tried to understand my question “What to you mean?” He asked.
“I mean is it safe for us to walk from here to the city.”
“Oh! Yeah, you will be just fine as long as you don’t come back stumbling or go to a strange person’s flat. Just play it safe. But dense there is two of you, you’ll be fine.”

Reassured by his response, I thanked him and we walked up the steps and into our hostel. No one was in the room when we arrived, but it was obviously fully occupied due to the messy covers and luggage stored around all the bed besides the two bottom bunks that Sarah and I would occupy. Here goes nothing… Four sets of bunk beds were placed around the small room and one bathroom with a small shower, sink, toilet, and chair was through the door in the corner. Sarah and I helped one another put the duvet covers around our duvet and then placed our sheets on our bed and pillow case on the pillow. Finished making our beds, I took a seat and looked at my accommodation for the weekend with a sore eye. I still didn’t want to sleep here, but I had to make it work. It would be fine. With our beds made and luggage stowed under our beds, Sarah and I grabbed our coats and walked out the door. Sarah told me the directions to a pancake place she read about in her travel book as I looked at the map to see which direction we needed to walk towards. Hungry and ready to eat, I agreed to her suggestion and we started towards the Temple Bar District.

As we walked through the city, it was evident that this restaurant was out of the way and not easy to find. We walked through a parking lot with motorcycles as a man was taking off his helmet and climbing off his bike.
“Do you need help finding something?” He asked.
Sarah looked at as if he was a con artist, but I admitted that we needed help finding the restaurant. I pulled over Sarah’s map and the man started showing us the road we needed to find.
“I wrote a travel book so I try to help people when I can.” He said after pinpointing the location of the restaurant.
Intrigued, I asked what his travel book was called and he said “Dublin on a Shoe-String”. It is a travel book for people traveling on a budget. How funny it was that we got directions for a man who actually wrote a travel book. I thanked him for his help and we continued on towards Trinity College to the restaurant.

Around Trinity College and down a small side road called Church Lane was a Cathedral in front of us and posh stores surrounding. This was the part of a city I loved. The Molly Malone statue stood by the church, so I took a photo glad that we stumbled across the statue I wanted to see. A few steps further and our destination, Lemon, was on our left. But it was not exactly a pancake restaurant. Apparently, pancakes in Ireland actually mean crepes. So we were going to be eating crepes, not pancakes. The bright themed diner/cafe was decorated in yellows, oranges, and blues like a restaurant at a beach. I ordered a pulled pork sandwich that was delicious and only needed a little more meat and Sarah’s Mexican crepe looked just as good if not better. After our meals, we wandered around the street of the posh area that I instantly loved. This was the part of Dublin I wanted to be in. We went through George’s St. Arcade which had many shops and local eateries and several independently owned shops. A few streets down, we walked in an art store that I fell in love with. I knew it was a place I had to come back to when the semester was coming to an end and I was buying last minute gifts for myself and others. The shop owner was curious about our travel to Dublin and gave us several recommendations to do in the city for the weekend. He said right down the road from the shop was a place with no sign and in all black paint. To get in, you have to knock on the door and wait for someone to let you in since it is exclusive. Curious, Sarah and I tried the place. First, a waiter walked out and told us we had to try another door. The next door over, we knocked again and a young woman greeted us and guided us up the steps. We told her we just wanted to look at a menu and she handed us one while pointing us to take a seat. The place seemed like an old speak easy with Victorian style decor and very classy. I loved the vibe but worried when the eccentric menu did not have any prices. Sarah and I both agreed we should not risk that the drinks were out of our college kid budget, and decided to leave to go elsewhere. Either way, I was glad we found the exclusive pub/bar in Dublin.

Ready for drinks, we walked to the heart of Temple Bar and stopped in well… Temple Bar. Though it is known for the tourist, I love the vibe of the old pub and the music is always wonderful. We got lucky and found a seat right by the band as we sipped on our drinks, Guinness for Sarah and Bulmers for me. The band sang traditional Irish songs that I knew by heart in between acoustic reels and jigs.
As the night grew later, I grew hungrier, since my sandwich was not very big for our late lunch. Sarah took me to the Gourmet Burger Co. where she had been in Cork and said they had great burgers. She was right and it definitely hit the spot. We tried a few other pubs after dinner, but ended up leaving most of them due to the lack in atmosphere, lack in music, or both. We went to a green pub with murals and paintings of Irish themes and decided to stay when we heard the familiar Irish songs coming from upstairs. As the night grew late into 1 a.m., we called it a night and walked towards our hostel.

When we arrived back at our living accommodation for the weekend, I realized I had forgotten to set out my clothes for the next day. Quickly, I realized how inconvenient a hostel could be. While most of the people in our 8 bedroom were asleep, we had to quietly shuffle through our belongings with the light of our phones. Quietly, I crawled into my lower bunk bed, pulling the uncomfortable duvet over my body. When my feet were revealed by the duvets lack in length, I pulled it away from my neck and situated myself, hoping I would not cough with the thin pillow beneath my head. As I attempted to drift off to sleep amongst the snoring in the room, I knew it would not be a night of much sleep.

14 March 2015

I first saw this quote from Eleanor Roosevelt a few years ago and instantly despised it. I’m far from being an adrenaline junkie and certainly not fearless. To be honest, I worry when people drive too fast on the highway, get too close to the edge of the cliff, and I hate going through haunted houses or watching horror films. I guess you could say that I have always played my life pretty safety and I have no interest in being scared. Especially not everyday. But I saw this quote again a few days ago and a new meaning occurred to me. Maybe I am wrong, but I don’t believe that what Eleanor was asking was for me to walk through the haunted house that would make me break out in a cold sweat or stand too closely to the cliff making me fear that every movement my body makes will cause me to plummet to the sea below. No, I believe the fear she was wanting me, and everyone else, to endure was the fear that makes us step out of our comfort zone and do something better for ourselves or even better, someone else. It is the fear of going to a swing dance class by myself when I know no one and nothing about how to dance. It is the fear of picking up the phone to make the phone call to a potential employer asking for an interview. It is the fear to help others in need when you have no idea where to begin. And it is the fear of doing something that goes completely against the normalcy of society. This fear can be the smallest of steps to the biggest of leaps. Each movement we make has an impact on our lives, and the lives of others, and each day we should step out of our comfort zone and do something that scares us. That is the only way we will ever grow, learn, and make an impact in this world.

(right photo source: https://twitter.com/mulcahy_louise)  

5 Feb 2015

Thank God it is Thursday! Today is my last day of classes before the three day weekend and of course, it is also my busiest day. In my Indigenous Arts module, we learned how to play the tin whistle. And with my musical difficulties, I severely struggled. Towards the end of class, I started practicing the notes to the jig without blowing out any noise to spare my ears, and those of my peers. After the class, we were all required to attend the Arts in Action concert featuring Louise Mulcahy, a traditional Irish musician. The young musician with jet black hair and blue eyes reminded me of “Galway Girl” (because her hair was black and her eyes were blue…). She was an incredibly talented musician and I tapped my foot along to the rhythm of reels and jigs played on the tin whistle, flute, and pipes. Listening to the music made me wonder how anyone can sit still as they listen to the lively rhythm and sounds of traditional Irish tunes. It is just another reason why I fell in love with Ireland.

The concert was a wonderful intermission to my hectic day. At 5 p.m. when my final class let out, I sighed in relief and walked back to my apartment exhausted. Though the week is over, I still had a lot of homework to catch up on and I had to finish planning Abby’s trip for next week. Thankfully, I placed the first reservation at a B&B in Enniskerry near the Wicklow Mountains National Park. I am beyond excited to see Abby and take a week off from school! But first, I have to make a dent in some of my school work before leaving for Dublin tomorrow afternoon.

4 Feb 2015

This week it has hit me that I am going to school. I should know this, given the fact that my time spent in Ireland is called “studying abroad,” but being overwhelmed living in a new city, meeting new friends, developing a schedule, and learning how to cope on my own leaves me so mentally and physically exhausted by the end of the day that I couldn’t imagine fitting anything else in. And learning the school system here has been an adventure in itself.

In America, we are graded by continuos assessment through homework, quizzes, several tests, essays, and class projects depending on the class. Therefore, the final exam is not a large percentage of the overall grade, which is why I will spend just as much time calculating how low of a score I can get on an exam to still get my desired grade in a course… But in Ireland, almost all of the classes are assessed by a single exam or essay. Therefore, I have one chance to get a good grade. Talk about a lot of pressure… This also left me confused the first three weeks of classes. What am I supposed to do? Do I actually need to read the recommended readings? Should I be studying for anything? The school system works solely on student independence, so it is up to the student to show up to class, do the reading, write notes, and study for the lectures. No one else will keep me accountable or responsible. In addition, the lecturers (as they are called in Ireland, not professors) give the students the opportunity to read further or learn more about a topic they are interested in. So if you don’t like the topic the lecturer covers for the day, no need to think twice about it! Take enough notes to answer a few questions on an exam, if they are asked, and you are good to go.

As I attend school in Ireland, I have learned that this education system can definitely go both ways: good and bad. It is great, because when I need to miss class for a day trip or any other reason, I don’t have to feel guilty about not showing up, loosing participation points for lack of attendance, or missing an important reading or homework assignment. It also means that I can take interest in topics I like while practically ignoring those I don’t. And the lectures are simply that. Lectures. No interruptions from classmates making comments, asking questions, or anything else. You sit in a seat in a lecture hall and take notes for the class period.

Now, downside to an Irish state university. Having a choice to learn about what you are interested in seems like a great idea initially, but I also have learned through my college education that sometimes you learn the most about topics you are not originally interested in. Couldn’t this can lead to a too narrow-minded education in the courses? In addition, I don’t like the lack of emotion and unfamiliarity that the lecturers give to the class. But with over 100 students taking a single course, I suppose that is necessary. The lack of information is also an irritating component. We don’t get our finals schedules until mid-March, and there is a so-called “spring break” that is known solely based on listening to other students talk about it and analyzing the course schedule to see when there is not class. Knowing exactly what I should be doing for each class is also confusing, but I have started to create a schedule for myself now that I am one month in to my school semester.

But being in Ireland for a month and having modules (what classes are called in Ireland) that last only 12 weeks means that midterms are near… And in addition to keeping to my regular schedule, I have to add midterm essays to my to-do list. Talk about stress… So this week has certainly been stressful configuring what essays are going to be due, what I need to prepare for them, and how to write them by Irish standards.

To add to the massive amount of stress I’ve endured for the week, I opened my email yesterday to realize that one of the courses I signed up for was completely wrong. And the cut off date for any changes in a schedule was Monday… just my luck. As I walked to school, I thought about the different options I had: drop the course completely, change into the course to try to pass it or, or my ideal plan of changing the course to the correct course. I was stressed, irritated with myself, and nervous to see the outcome but as I walked with my blood boiling with anger.

When I got to the registration office, I explained to the guy working the desk about my problem. Kindly, he took a look at the issue and referred me to the international office where he was sure they could help me. With a little sense of hope, I walked across the campus to the international office to be referred to another office. Back down the road, and I walked into a building with the office of the lady in charge for all international students. Great. I am about to endure a brutal lecture about how I should have been more responsible. When I knocked on the door, I was called in by a receptionist sitting at a desk. When I explained my problem as accurately as I could with a tone of regret and despair, the woman absolutely made my day by saying, “Not a problem at all! Just fill out the form and I’ll get it fixed for you.” If this was my home university, I would probably have been turned away, told it could not have been fixed past the due date, and would be lucky if I could have withdrawn from the course with no effect to my GPA. This just shows how incredible the Irish are! They are simply not as concerned with deadlines and time constraints as Americans and will always try their best to fix any problem or issue. So a huge shout out to the NUI:Galway faculty for that!

With my schedule fixed, I could breath a little easier and rub off a little of the stress from the week. And next week, my best friend Abby is coming to visit which gives me a much needed break from a stressful school week!