In Which I Go on Multiple Adventures and Catch Cold

And yes I meant to say "catch cold" because that sounds Irish right? I am fitting in, right?

I took no time in starting my travels this semester, and this past weekend I hit the ground running as one might expect, with a day trip to the great city of Dublin. I appealed to my sense of whimsy and adventure by not actually deciding to take the trip until about 11pm the night before, 8 hours before we had to catch the bus to get there. There is something exciting and romantic about getting up before the sun rises (although to be fair it doesn't rise until about 9am here) and hopping on a bus for a wild new city. Dublin! Dublin, IRELAND!

My lovely travel companions!

Sometime in my recent old age (I just turned 21, definitely getting up there) I developed an uncanny inability to stay awake during long bus rides, so instead of watching the sun rise along the Irish countryside as we drove from one coast to the other, I watched the inside of my eyelids as I slept like a rock. In retrospect it was probably for the best considering I was about to spend a good 14 hours on my feet living the tourist life of wandering around like a lost puppy with a map attached to my nose. Thankfully between the three of us we managed to find everything eventually as we each had our distinct travel gifts: the ability to read a map (not me), the ability to ask for directions (most definitely not me) and the ability to retrace our steps and maintain some sense of which way was north. (sort of me,  I should probably be a sailor.)

Perhaps the most wonderful thing about my chosen travel companions was our shared love for books and libraries. In case you didn't know this about me, I have a ridiculous and almost disgusting obsession with books and libraries. I have been known to sit for hours on the floors of the bookstacks of Doheney Library back at USC flipping through book after book simply because I happened to stumble across the "Alice in Wonderland' section or the 'Depression Era Folksongs' section. It was for this reason that our tour of Dublin centered entirely around the written word.

We started out with Trinity College and The Book of Kells. Whoever decided that we should stop illuminating books and just print them in boring, normal script clearly never spent a good amount of time pouring over these pages. (Or maybe they did and thus decided that nobody should spend that much time writing one letter - perhaps a fair point) I read somewhere that it is a three hour process to turn a single page of the Book of Kells. I might be willing to donate a year of my life just to look at every page, it is really that beautiful. What I loved most about the book was not simply the art itself, but the love and devotion to the written word that the painstaking detail exemplified. The detail of the illustrations was rivaled only by some of the doodles that I have done in my notebook during lectures (you know, the ones where you put spirals in spirals in spirals, as if competing with yourself to see how small you can make the next level of spirals), however obviously far more intricate and colorful. Next to the room where the book was kept was The Long Room, or alternatively One of the Only Places I Might Actually Try To Break Into During My Lifetime. We were not allowed to take photos, so I stole one from google to illustrate my point:

Books on books on books. What tortured me the most were the books that were casually tossed atop the carefully shelved manuscripts, suggesting that someone had been browsing their ancient pages recently. Everything was, of course, tediously roped off and guarded by men that would yell at you across the silent room for casually pulling your phone out. Therefore I was forced to be content with the books on display, an exhibit featuring illustrations from across time. This was definitely enjoyable and extremely fascinating, but I would much prefer to browse the library Harry Potter style - late at night, under an invisibility cloak, and without permission.

We then went to the Chester Beatty Library, another collection of ancient books, but these spanned the entire globe in their origins. There were long illustrated scrolls from China and Japan, beautifully illuminated Qurans from all across the middle east, more bibles than I have probably seen in my life (big ol' jew, remember?) and essentially the history of the printed word in the western world, complete with examples from each time period. It was incredible. I am thinking that my future husband test might involve taking him to some big book museum and watching his reaction. If he is equally as content as I am to stare for ages at a book behind glass and attempt to make out what on earth it is about, then he is definitely a keeper.

Later that night we explored the Dublin nightlife and met up with some fellow Americans at the famous "Temple Bar" (after a great deal of confusion about the existence of said bar- did I mention we spent most of our time in Dublin wandering around lost?) where we rubbed elbows (and entire bodies - it was a crowded place) with people from all over Ireland and the world and saw some live music. It just so happened that the night that we were there was also the night that the man holding the world record for longest time spent playing guitar (114 hours. 114 HOURS. That is just about FIVE DAYS) was playing with a band. He also happens to be the fastest guitar player I have ever laid eyes or ears on and was thus thoroughly enjoyable to watch. The band played a range of American pop songs cleverly mashed up with one another as well as traditional Irish drinking songs and American folk songs. We all sang/shouted/(in my case) croaked along with glee and realized with embarrassment that we know all the words of far too many Journey and Carrie Underwood songs.

Finally, exhausted from the long day, we took the last bus back to Galway and readied ourselves for the next day's adventure: The Cliffs of Moher. Which I have just decided will get their own post given how lengthy this one has become.

I will say however that hiking, drinking, going to Dublin, and not sleeping all while you know you are on the verge of catching a cold is actually a bad idea. My sinuses have been punishing me for the past week. But then again did I really ever think I could go to a new place and not become acquainted with the local medical practices within the first few weeks? I should probably give up this blogging thing and just review doctor's offices for a living.

In Which the Sun Comes Out and I Order Tea in Irish

Across the river from campus IN THE SUN!

All I wanted yesterday was to see the sun.  I am amazed that more doctors don't just prescribe sunlight because in my opinion a good sunny day is far more powerful than any medicine out there. (Ok, I suppose the sun won't do much for your strep throat, but at least you will feel happy while in pain?) Somehow, someone in the universe heard my plea and answered it, and I awoke to a beautiful blue sky with not a hint of rain in sight, something I wasn't sure was even possible for Galway. Even though I was coming fresh from a very tepid shower and I had not really gotten an adequate amount of sleep after such an exhausting day yesterday, it seemed like things would be alright in the world. I am here in one of the most beautiful places I have ever lived, surrounded by kind and intelligent people and learning new and interesting things.

This is an old building, there are not many of those in the U. S. of A.

And then I got to Irish class.

First of all I will preface this by saying that Irish is the official language of Ireland, not English, despite the fact that most everyone in the cities speaks primarily English. This means that all of the signs in Ireland and on campus are first in Irish and then in English. Or just in Irish. In fact, most of the buildings on campus are labeled only in Irish, so asking for directions can be a little difficult when you have no idea how to pronounce the name of the place you are trying to find.

Alright, all this is making it sound as though Irish class is the worst thing that has ever happened to me and this is most definitely not true.Honestly I could not be more excited to learn such a fascinating new language, but let me tell you a couple of things about Irish (or Gaelic as some of you may know it) that I learned today. Irish is an oral language that existed for ages without ever being written down. What this means essentially is that looking at written-out Irish makes pretty much no sense. Instead of having certain letters for certain sounds the way English and most other latin-based languages do, someone decided to do away with about a quarter of the letters in the alphabet and instead make those sounds by instead combining different letters of the 18 that they had deemed acceptable for Irish. Example, why have the letter "v" when the combination "mh" is clearly the same sound? Example number two, read this in your head however you think it might be pronounced: "Dia duit, cén chaoi bhfuil tú ?"(This translates to "Hello, how are you?") I promise you that whatever you just said is completely and utterly 100% wrong. Why is that? Well the other thing about Irish is that about 90% of the letters you don't actually say aloud. I have yet to determine if there is an overall pattern to what is and is not pronounced, but it may be just completely arbitrary. I will report back later.

During our break time, our teacher encouraged us to go to the Irish-speaking cafe right next to our classroom. He taught us how to order a cup of tea (a collection of sounds that somewhat resembles swishing water around in your mouth but prettier) and sent us on our merry way. I timidly approached the counter and quickly repeated the sounds that I had just learned to say. The woman at the register smiled at me in surprise and quickly asked in English where I was from. When I said Minnesota she seemed confused and then went on to inform me that my Irish was especially good. Apparently that means that mumbling and slurring sounds around in your mouth= good Irish pronunciation, because for all I know I could have been doing some absurd tongue twister.

Some lovely ladies enjoying the sun and the ability to speak English

Friends in Far Places

I am so thankful for all of the friends that I have all over the world, both old and new.

Today was a very difficult day for me. I lost one of my oldest and dearest friends much too soon and too suddenly, and felt very alone here thousands of miles away. I went to my first classes in utter shock, completely unable to think about trying to be bubbly and cheerful and make new friends, only focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. I wasn't sure what to tell people. Even the people I thought of as my friends here I had only met less than a week ago, and it seemed such an incredible burden to lay upon them to try and talk about what I was going through. 

I am thankful for new friends. Everyone here was so incredibly understanding. Both of my roommates listened to me and talked to me, giving me space when I needed it but also talking to me when I wanted to talk. They took me out this evening to take my mind off of things, which might seem like the alcoholic answer to mourning (this is Ireland after all), but was incredibly thoughtful and sweet of them. They could have let me shut myself in my room and not cared in the slightest, but instead they took their time to make me feel better. I am also very thankful for all of the friends that I have made here. They too were so kind and understanding and wonderful that it makes me so glad that I have somehow managed to find such amazing people within a week of coming here. They might not even have realized the small things that they did that were the most comforting, but it heartens me that people can be so good to each other.

I am also thankful for old friends. My two best friends in the whole world were there for me and willing to talk through things with me despite being thousands of miles away and equally as shell shocked as I was. Such terrible loss has the smallest of silver linings in that it truly makes you think about the love that you have for others. I would be completely and utterly lost without these friends and the ability to talk to them. 

To anyone who has ever considered me a friend, please know that I am so grateful to have you in my life, you have honestly changed it for the better. Call your friends and tell them you love them, they will need you someday. 

In Which I Travel Abroad

Traveling internationally is a confusing thing. Even now, a couple days later, I find myself rather confused about exactly which day it is and how much time has passed, and maybe even the year. I remember stepping off the plane in Dublin, nearly a full 24 hours after I had stepped on to a different plane back in Minnesota despite traveling for only a portion of that time and thinking that this must be what it is like to be Marty McFly.

For anyone who has not guessed, I am currently in the small city of Galway, Ireland where I will be studying this next semester. As an avid fan of music, literature, folklore, and deciphering James Joyce, I figured it would be a welcome holiday from the dry heat and materialism of Los Angeles. Although I have both traveled and lived abroad in the past, this is the first time doing so on my own, and so I have been blessed with many opportunities to make a fool of myself in public, get lost in foreign places, not understand people when they speak to me, and make mistakes, and so I figured I would share these experiences with the world (mostly so that you can laugh at me, but maybe a little so you can see what Ireland is like).

The trip over was a long one, and if ever I thought that international travel solo would be a breeze, it only took a couple hours to realize that that would not be the case. A couple hours of packing that is. Have you ever tried to cram a whole semester of clothing into a single suitcase? I mean, not to play the stereotypical girl but... shoes! How are you supposed to take adequate shoes when they normally arrive in a separate box a little after you? (Thanks a million mom, your willingness to ship the trail of forgotten items that I constantly leave behind is a blessing) (I also understand that this is a first world problem of the highest caliber and I apologize). After finally cramming the final things into my brand new backpacking pack, forgetting to pack deodorant  and putting on the scarf that I could fit nowhere except around my neck, I set off to cross the pond.

I quickly learned something else about international travel solo: if you are dressed like a homeless person because you are wearing all the coats that wouldn't fit in your bag and wearing a giant backpacking pack, you most likely scream "pretentious post-graduation rich college girl off to backpack across europe, explore, adventure, find herself, and also find a husband. As I sat in the Amsterdam airport, awaiting my flight to Dublin and listening to the Lord of the Rings soundtrack that was being played over the loudspeaker, I felt that maybe I really did fit the bill in some ways. Here I was, in a completely different country ALONE using foreign currency and everything. Here I was off on an adventure! A real adventure, not just one where I drive around the suburbs late at night and hope I don't get too lost to find my way home, no this one involved different languages and getting lost, and maybe even danger (in the form of finding my way to the bus from the airport once I reached Dublin... not dragons).
Not to spoil the drama, but I did make it to the bus, and then from the bus to my apartment (book two of my adventure series), and unpacked my things. Thus ends the prequel adventures and onto the main quest: living in Ireland!