Final Thoughts

All ends with new beginnings..and sure enough, here I am once again sitting in a new apartment, starting new classes within a new major, beginning a new job, meeting new people. I am starting over, kind of. And in a sense, that's where I hoped study abroad would put me. When I left, I wanted to distance myself from my life in the US in order to view it with a clearer head and plan accordingly. I needed a change of direction in order to find it. Since then, I've made some changes, I have a better idea of where I'm going and I'm generally excited about where I want to go. That was one take-away from study abroad. Aside from that, I just have a few final thoughts I'd like to share on the whole experience before concluding my blog. This will most likely be my last post (unless I develop some new brain vomit I just can't keep to myself).

When I meet friends and family for the first time after returning from Ireland, a fair number of them tell me, 'Well, you haven't changed too much. Just the same old Amy I remember from 6 months ago.' And I think, huh, 'Interesting, because you've changed.' Maybe not very much, but everybody has changed in at least some respect. And I also think, 'Well, damn. Because that's kind of the point of study abroad.' If I haven't changed, have I learned nothing?

One of the largest changes I notice in myself is a new-found appreciation for where I live. Every day since I've returned I am struck with the realization that I kind of live in a forest which is not very well-known and probably one of the most beautiful places in the world. Yeah, okay: there are quite a few urban areas. Even then, it is NOTHING compared to Europe. Case in point: nobody from Not The US knows where Oregon is on a map. It's North of California. 

We are also spoiled with our trees. I can smell the fresh air and pine each morning, I can see the stars at night, I can watch the deer come down from the nature reserve to eat the flowers from my neighbor's garden. In what I thought was the 'burbs. I'd get to places described by others defining beauty and I'd think, Yeah, I guess this is pretty nice, thinking at the same time about how the Pacific Northwest has some of the tallest trees in the world and the Oregon Coast and the tree and snow covered mountains you fly through as you approach the PDX airport right around sunset (do they do this on purpose?) and the Columbia Gorge. And I realize that it's not fair to compare other places to the Pacific Northwest, because we really do live in a comparatively rugged, unspoiled region of the planet and the type of beauty we have here is not the same type you find in, say, Cork. I guess the real comparison lies not in the natural beauty of these places, but in how easy it is to access it. In Oregon, one is never too far.

It's not that I had to appreciate Europe less to appreciate Oregon and the United States more--it's that my time away from the US highlighted the aspects of its culture that I really identify with. This was especially important to me because, before leaving, I picked out what I didn't agree with and developed a fairly cynical view of American society. (As a side note, I feel like that cynicism is a fairly common trait among my generation, which looks at everything going on and wonders if the world is going to shit and knows that big change needs to come, soon.) The more time I spent away, the more I realized how much of and what aspects of American culture I do identify with and that helped me feel more connected to home. As in, I love the Pacific Northwest. I think this is where I want my home to be for awhile. It's gorgeous, the people are chill, and it's probably one of the best places in the world to be a female engineer.

PNW praising aside, another big topic connected with travel is stereotype-smashing. People tend to say that travel will crush your stereotypes, so I left expecting my stereotypes to be crushed. Maybe it's because I expected it that it didn't really happen. Call me a terrible person--I think traveling actually reinforced them more than it destroyed. For example, before visiting Italy I believed that I would be subjected to a lot more street harassment there than in the US. Yes, it is true. I was promptly honked at while walking down the street a record of 4 times in 5 minutes, beating the previous Corvallis record of 3 times over 20 minutes. However, despite this, I will say that my experience away reinforced my belief that people are more similar than different. I was constantly reminded that we are all driven by the same fears, needs, hopes and desires.

Well, that post certainly became long. I suppose this an abrupt way to end such a rambling post. Then again, I've said what I wanted to and was willing to say and I hope you have all enjoyed reading my blog. With that, go raibh maith agat (thank you), oiche mhaith (good night), and well wishes on all of your own adventures. 

See you on the flip side.

Full Circle

I've been home exactly one week. At once it feels like no time at all...and ages. When I go running, listening to the same Aerosmith music that I listened to in Cork, I can close my eyes and see my Irish running path unfolding before me, meter by meter. When I see a stick lying in the tall grass on the side of the road, I almost have to physically restrain myself from picking it up and...well, where would I move it to? Toss it into the road? Honey, you're in the 'burbs now, I think. And everybody knows everybody. So you probably shouldn't dance to your heart's delight along your new running route (except you do so anyways). You also probably shouldn't try to order a beer at that restaurant, because, girl, you've got over a year to go before that's even legal. Your fingers twitch towards your parents beer...it looks all the more appetizing because it's out of reach. You kind of want to try ordering just because you think it's a dumb law.

That said, I really haven't felt the reverse culture shock so much. Maybe on the plane in Chicago, and the nightmare that is making a connecting flight in the O'Hare airport. I compare Heathrow to Chicago here, and that perhaps is a little unfair because Heathrow's Terminal 5 was voted best terminal in the world, or so I remember. However, the contrast between Europe's extensive transportation system and the US' becomes a little laughable when one spends 2/3 of one's transfer time waiting in the US Citizens Customs line, thinking about how pissed off all of the Americans look while video screens overhead blast energetic, patriotic music with fireworks going off in the background and the words 'Chicago Welcomes You' blink at you in bold letters. Actually, that was one surprising thing: Americans tend to radiate a lot more pissed off vibes at the world than others, in both the way they speak and stand. Interpret that how you will. People seemed happier in Sweden. That said, I am very happy to be back home.

I spent my first Saturday in the States rushing around town and chattering until my dad's eyes glazed over and returned to the paper. IT hit Saturday night: that leveling bulldozer they call jet lag, combined with a cold. I woke up Sunday morning actually delusional with fever, freezing cold, at 2:30 in the morning, not tired. So I romped quietly around the house for the next 6 hours and decided that 'getting back on schedule' was not a top priority with a cold, so I went back to sleep. And woke up terrified that instead of a cold, and jet lag, that I was in fact dying of Tick-Borne Encephalitis EVEN THOUGH supposedly West Sweden does not have ticks that carry that disease. I had all of the symptoms. My life goals kept flashing before my eyes and each time I'd feel a new pang of disappointment: well, I haven't really done anything much yet and I've got things to do before my nervous system fails and I'm bed-ridden or dead. So I take some Advil because I figure this is ridiculous and fever induced, and I go back to sleep. I've done a lot of sleeping these past few days. And also managed to finish True Grit, which, if you haven't read it, is the ultimate American Classic and possibly takes the cake as my favorite book of all time. Mattie Ross don't take no shit from no one.

The Last Things

Two weeks of WWOOFing later, I find myself Thursday morning in a Dublin hostel, awaiting my Aircoach bus back to Cork City. There, I pick up the suitcase I left at the Tourist Information office two weeks ago, do some last minute shopping for the fam (yes, I think I can manage to bring you back some porridge oats, because it seems oats in the US *just don't taste the same*), stock up on a lifetime supply of digestive biscuits (I say for other people...we'll see if they last the flight), and go running through my Cork walking path one last time. Tomorrow is an early 5 am start to catch 3 connecting flights, which should, if everything goes smoothly, put me back in the States by tomorrow evening.

Hands down, I am really excited to see my family. It's been over 5 months since I've seen them and over two weeks since I've talked with them by any other means save email to let them know I'm still in fact alive. Which, I suppose, way back when would have been quite a lot of communication when it now seems like little. In any case, at the same time, I will miss adventuring abroad and all of the wonderful people who have made my time away such a fantastic experience. Thank you all! And to those back home, I am looking forward to seeing you soon!

WWOOFing it in Sweden

Bataholms Gard, Laholm, Sweden

Results of WWOOFing, Week 1:

1 splendidly weeded potato patch

1 tar-painted wooden block 

15 kilos of honey

1 sheep pen

1 cleared sheep pasture

7 happy cows (the oreo kind)

1 sore old grandma

and 2 damn fine piles of wood

The sore old grandma, of course, is myself. Kind of like after going to the gym that first time, every day here I wake up and stumble my way through morning chores nursing the results of the previous day. I've been at Bataholms Gard for a full week and must say that I am pretty proud of my work, particularly my artful and impressive piles of wood. Down by the lake (yes, Bataholms Gard has half of a lake on its property which is the perfect temperature for swimming and is clean enough to drink from), I am working with two other WWOOFers to clear the area of trees and debris that fell during Sweden's winter storms. In a couple weeks, our hosts are going to bring the sheep down to pasture. By next year, grass will cover the area once blanketed with pine needles, carefully cleared and raked by yours truly.

Figure A: Wood Pile 1

Figure B: Wood Pile 2 (Now twice this size)

In any case, I am genuinely glad to be here. I had no idea what to expect, yet I cannot imagine getting luckier. To start, our hosts are both fabulous. I am potentially eating better than I have throughout my entire time in Europe and the accommodation is terrific. The WWOOFers live in a separate cottage on the farm with its own kitchen and bathroom. I have my own comfy bed to sleep in at night and I feel relatively safe. What's more, we are on the West Coast of Sweden, which means that if I get bitten by a tick (and I did, two days ago...wait, and also yesterday, and also today), I probably don't have to worry about my brain turning to mush from Tick-Borne Encephalitis. Those ticks, apparently, only hang out on the East Coast.

WWOOFing Accommodation

I could write a long post about every day here, but I suppose that's not what either of us wants to do (I write it, you read it). So, I suppose I'll describe the highlights. Every morning and evening, I circumnavigate the farm to walk out to the cows, where I then count them (hopefully there are 7), check the voltage in the electric fence (not with my bare hand--that's only happened a handful of times, once with my forehead), check the water tubs, and then check the pressure in the water pumps. That takes about 40 minutes. Then, I usually go down to the lake to clear the sheep pasture. I now have a slightly unhealthy obsession with piling wood, meaning I really want to get the pasture cleared before I leave. However, probably the most exciting thing I've done is some beekeeping. I got all dressed up in the astronaut suit, went out to the hives with Maria (one host), and took a few frames of honey. We pick the wax off with lice combs, then spin the frames in what looks like a really big colander. The pure honey collects on the sides of the basin and drains down, into a waiting bucket.

Gustav, Belinda, Ferdinand, Edvard, Olivia, Dick, and Gertrude 

On my day off, I biked with two other WWOOFers about 20 minutes into Laholm. We continued 20 minutes more from Laholm to the beach, where I partook of the scenic views and The Saltwater Cure. It was a fairly relaxing day, minus the part where I got separated from the group and lost a few times on the way back. Then, last night, I biked with the three other WWOOFers here to the festival grounds right outside of the village of Ysby, which is maybe only 10 minutes away. We had heard there was swing and traditional Swedish dancing. Yes, there was. Only it was a lesson and all of the instructions were in, surprise, Swedish! So we just kind of danced and did our own thing, and tried very hard not to bother the people around us.

Downtown Laholm

And So the Wheel Turns

Monday the 19th of May rolls around and once again I find myself, for the third time in my life, unpinning wall decorations from a college apartment. I've got equal parts Christmas music, dubstep, and Aerosmith playing in the background, consequence of the rather unfortunate lack of internet. It's a homesick killer.

- - -

The last three days comprised a period of intense change for me and I'm not going to lie and say that I was okay. I panicked over my future two weeks in Sweden, I stressed over final packing, I was sad to say goodbye to my Ireland friends, and I was also very homesick knowing that I would not see my family for another two weeks. It was an awkward state of limbo, to know that my study abroad in Ireland had officially ended but that I was not going home. The packing really brought it into perspective. By 10 pm on Monday night, it was apparent to me that not everything in my dorm would fit in two suitcases. You'd think I would have learned a thing or two about how to reasonably handle packing from my preparations for Ireland and from my time in Ireland itself. Nope, not really. So, once again, I resorted to the age-old, tried-and-true tactic of the lost and overwhelmed college student: I called my mom. We had four phone conversations over the course of the next 5 hours, in which I endeavored to delve once more into that state of brutal self-honesty. I achieved that state. The only thing is, there is a very fine line between brutal self-honesty and total apathy--and that is a line very easily crossed. In the end, I didn't care about any item too much. It all seemed so wasteful, throwing away the perfectly good items that I couldn't donate because of an opened package. I ended up just falling asleep, and woke up early the next morning to pack with renewed vigor. I fit everything into two suitcases, with just enough time to feel elated before heading over to the hostel across the street that said they could watch my extra suitcase for two weeks. Eh, that turned out not to be the case. I told the woman at the front desk what I needed to do and her immediate response was, 'Oh God no.' In my slightly dubious mental state, exacerbated by lack of sleep, I panicked instantly: only 7 hours left to get rid of this suitcase. I think she saw that I was just about in tears because the woman at the desk was very good about calling up the tourist information office and asking if I could leave my suitcase there. Yes, they said. And relieved, I made it just out to the front yard of the hostel and lost it. I'm not ashamed. I cried out the stress for a few minutes, said 'No. I don't have time for this,' and headed up to UCC looking like death to close my bank account. I said goodbye to my Ireland friends over a pitcher of hot chocolate at Fellini's. And finally, I went on a meditative cleaning spree to ensure a positive score on the room inspector's chart. Everything that needed to get done, got done. I got up early the next morning to begin my travel day to Sweden, smoothly reached the farm I'm going to WWOOF on for the next two weeks, and now here we are, typing away. Ironically, my internet connection is better here.

Dzogchen Beara

On Saturday evening of the 17th, I returned from my few days' stay at Dzogchen Beara Tibetan Buddhist Center in West Cork. It was a spectacular experience, the first time I'd ever *really* traveled on my own, and possibly the best thing I've done in Ireland all term. The people there seemed like family, united by trust and by purpose. Dzogchen Beara is fairly remote and everybody comes with a specific, similar purpose, so it doesn't feel like the typical hostel experience. Many played instruments and participated in an impromptu Thursday night jam session. Most went to regular morning and afternoon meditation sessions.

Between meditation sessions, I went on two adventures with a couple other ladies staying in the hostel. Both involved long, muddy (but beautiful) hikes through tick-infested woods and a couple streams to get to two brilliant locations: a swimming cove and a modern castle-inspired hotel once meant to be ritzy, but never completed. It reminded us of The Shining, which on one hand made us feel like really cool explorers. On the other hand, we were kind of freaked out when we decided to hitchhike back from the abandoned hotel and the first thing we saw in the back of the truck that picked us up was a chainsaw. I got to hang on for dear life next to it.

Overall, Dzogchen Beara was a lovely place surrounded by lovely people.

A Tibetan Buddhist Adventure

Here I am, done with finals, done with my official UCC term in Ireland...and I'm not flying home for another 3 weeks. What am I doing, you ask? This is where my mom snorted and just about gave me the biggest guffaw of my life. It played out like this:

Me: Yeah, I'm going up to Dublin for a couple days to do some touring. Hit up the archaeology museum again. Heading back to Cork for a day. Then I'm going on a Tibetan Buddhist retreat. I booked myself into this hostel for a few days.

Mom: *snort* YOU DID WHAT?!?!?

Me: I'm going to spend three days at this Tibetan Buddhist center in West Cork, on the Beara peninsula. It's supposed to be beautiful.

Mom: *still snorting* WHAT are you planning on doing there?

Me: Ummmm, I....don't know?

I leave tomorrow, which is why I am posting one day early yet again. I'm heading off to the Dzogchen Beara Tibetan Buddhist center with no idea what to expect, except that there are meditation sessions in the mornings and afternoons and two wonderful cats who may sneak into the hostel cottage. I am not Buddhist. In fact, I don't really belong to any religion. I believe that all religions have their own equally valuable bits of wisdom to impart and I admire the self-discipline that often goes into practicing them. Because of this, I've always wanted to spend a few days at a religious center--and I decided that I might fit in a little better at a Tibetan Buddhist center than a convent. That is why I am going. At the very least, I hope it will be a somewhat relaxing 'collect your thoughts and prepare for the next 2.5 weeks' experience. After this, I come back to Cork for a few days to take care of The Last Things (close bank account, pay apartment fees, clean, pack, etc.), then permanently move out of my apartment early on the 21st of May. From there, I fly to Sweden and plan to spend the last two weeks volunteering on an organic farm. Which I am very excited about and slightly nervous for, as I have absolutely no experience whatsoever working on a farm. Lack of knowledge aside, I am very ready to do some practical, hands-on work.

One Day More

One Day More is my favorite song from Les Mis. So, naturally, I listen to it somewhat regularly. I was doing so yesterday when I realized how accurately it sums up finals. Lines such as:

One day more to revolution
We will nip it in the bud
We'll be ready for these schoolboys
They will wet themselves with blood

and:

Tomorrow is the judgment day

is a fairly accurate description of mental preparations for the start of finals tomorrow. Because I had so many of my final exams in the last two weeks of March, I only have three finals in May: one 3-hour final tomorrow morning, two on Friday, and then I am done for the term. This is nothing compared to what the regular UCC students have to do: the other day, my roommate's Irish engineering friend asked me how finals were going. I told him that I had 3 finals, none of them yet, that I'm still just studying. He just kind of stares at me. 'I still have 10 finals to go,' he said. Keep in mind that these aren't just regular tests--some are worth nearly 100% of one's grade. And, because UCC is on a year-long schedule (though UCC is switching to a semester schedule next year), some of those tests cover material from way back in the fall. Ouch.

Going back to the One Day More theme--and I'm not going to elaborate on this too much--in exceedingly dramatic terms, the song is also a good representation of the end of this study abroad experience. After finals end this Friday, I'm off and my friends are off. Even though I will see them again for a day or so later in May before I really leave, the end of finals is a separation point. Most people I know are excited to be heading home in a few weeks to see their families again. At the same time, I think many also consider Cork a home away from home. This is a good example of the 'double life conflictions' that I, at least, experienced as a study abroad student balancing my life back in the States with that which I've made here. I suppose that 'double life' may have the wrong connotations, but there you go. Alright, back to studying.

False Advertising at its Worst

Yesterday, I got enthused when I found a bag of Bitsa Wispa advertising its purportedly 'revolutionary' re-closable properties. 'This is great,' I thought. 'These must be just like the cool freezer bags my roommate gets at Tesco that don't have a zip-lock or anything!' I opened the bag and spent several moments trying to stick the opening back together. It was not working. So I flipped the bag over and read the label telling me just how this revolutionary technology was supposed to work. "Fold the top over and tape it." Eh, that doesn't really cut it.

Backpacking Highlights: Derry

Day 1
On the first day, I emerged from my apartment with the fat backpack I'd prepared the night before, spent a good 10 minutes double checking passport, money, electricity off, water off, room inspection-ready and nothing going to explode, and satisfied, starry-eyed, headed off to Aras Na Mac Leinn under 6 layers of clothing and a rush of adrenaline to meet my two fellow adventurers on the prime morning of our departure. Free Bird Wymana, finally taking off.

It takes us about 6 hours bus time to travel the length of the island, Cork to Derry. I don't really believe that this trip is happening until we get to Derry, and even then I'm still dubious. Our hostel is called Derry City Independent Hostel, by far the best hostel of our entire trip. Not only do we have a super-chill hostess, but we also have one of the 2 super-chill houses to ourselves. The two sitting rooms have paraphernalia from all over the world decorating the walls. One has comfy couches and a bookshelf. The other has Jenga, in which anonymous masters played one of the world's longest and most intense Jenga games that ever was played (and this girl did not lose).

Since we didn't get in until about 10 pm, most restaurants were closed. Starved without knowing it, we end up in Swanky Franky's, a small fish & chips + southern fried chicken joint with historic Derry photos lining the walls. Chips w/ curry and Heart Attack on a Plate + a very groovy radio station = full satisfaction.  An exclusive reading of 'Royal Assassin' in the hostel sitting room only made the evening better, in which our lovesick hero recounts his pathetic childhood attempts to woo the lovely Molly in his hometown of Buttkeep and a very extensive prologue.

Day 2
Derry is one of those cities which is often paired with Belfast on Northern Ireland tours because the impact of the Troubles is very evident: it was a critical point in the Irish civil rights movement. You have the Bogside murals, depicting stages in the Irish civil rights movement. You have the ancient city walls, within which only Protestants could live at one time. You have the Peace Bridge, joining the majority-Catholic and majority-Protestant sides of the river. And you have the Museum of Free Derry, which charts key events in the progression of the civil rights movements.

Derry (as is preferred by the south and the Northern Ireland Catholic population) or Londonderry (as is preferred by the unionist population) was the site of Bloody Sunday (1972), where 13 Irish civil rights protesters were shot and killed by British soldiers. This is regarded as a current event--and many of the people who give the tours around the Bogside (and many people in general) have direct connections to those directly affected by the events. On our way into Derry, it was interesting to see the 'London' part of some of the road signs with 'Londonderry' scribbled out. Tensions can still get quite high across Northern Ireland, particularly in marching season when majority unionist (mainly Protestants supporting British rule) parades occur in July and August.

3 Weeks, 3 Friends, 3 Elephant-Sized Backpacks, and 1 Heck of a Whirlwind European Tour: Beginnings

You mean it actually happened? Yes, my friends. It actually did. In less than one week before the departure date, with minor emergencies two days before, we 3 friends managed to pull our organization skills together and serve up the European backpacking trip we'd been slowly simmering in our brains since Week 1. The result was delicious. Kind of like...study-abroad-students-who-don't-know-anything-about-traveling-internationally-pursuing-the-unknown-in-the-passionate-wanderings-of-youth-and-having-lots-of-(mis)adventures-and-emerging-in-enough-of-one-piece-to-tell-the-tale. And thus it was: an excellent adventure, a genuine learning experience, an excuse to play blog-hooky...and the point of study abroad. Which is basically like freshman year all over again, or learning outside the classroom. In any case, the plan was this: to explore 8 countries in 20 days. Pack light, tourist hard, and not kill each other.

We headed up to Northern Ireland first, which is a separate country from Ireland and part of the UK, meaning it uses the pound instead of the euro (as a side note, calling Ireland part of the UK over here is a great way to...get punched). There, we spent a day in Derry, a day at the Giant's Causeway, and a day in Belfast. From Belfast, we flew to Edinburgh, spent a day, took a bus down to London. Spent a day. Took the ferry to St Malo, France. Spent two days. Took 3 trains, a metro, two airport shuttles, a flight, and a bus to Lugano, Switzerland (I'm telling you now, direct flights are very much worth the extra money--and not just because they're convenient). Spent 4 whole days (ah, relaxation). Day trip to Milan, Italy. Flew Milan to Barcelona, Spain. Spent two days. Last chance to desperately soak up sun. Warmth. LIGHT. Then, flew to Dublin in time for an afternoon of Viking appreciation in Clontarf and took the evening Aircoach bus back to Cork.

It was truly a whirlwind tour and certainly not enough time to get to know one city, but excellent for tastes nonetheless. Primarily, we stayed in hostels or slept on the floor at friends of friends. We lived on peanut butter and apples and some fairly dubious-looking bags of homemade granola bars, which melted together and which we dubbed with the affectionate nickname 'poop'. Yet we also had at least one very satisfying meal in each city we visited, including haggis pie in Scotland (satisfying spices, man) and classic Spanish seafood paella (plus a banana). 

I had my life bundled up all in one fat purple backpack: three outfits (one for each week), itinerary, food. Neck pouch for the stuff I cared about a little more--a little oversized, leading to very unfortunate instances in which pictures show me looking a little pregnant (NOT the case, to clarify). Sporadic showers. 

All of this was great...and I liked to imagine myself as this really bad-ass, hardcore backpacker on some Indiana Jones adventure trek. Without the snakes, spiders, crazy priests, killer boulders, or temples...of doom. All in good fun.

Overall, things went fairly smoothly. We showed up in each city and found that, each time, our place to stay did in fact exist. We made our flights and trains and buses with only one panic attack and a few Olympic-worthy sprints. We didn't kill each other. And when we returned, we savored the renewed kitchen access, shower access, computer access, and extended period in which to do laundry. Deoderant no longer served as the interim laundry detergent. 

And that my friends, is a cursory summary of the whirlwind European tour. Stay tuned for more detailed tid-bits. Because, after all, travel stories are a little more fun to write about than excruciatingly detailed accounts of how Wymana studies for finals.

Fin

I am done. Two papers, eight exams, and one heck of a week later, I find myself bumming on my bed with a couple of warm shock blankets, the heater luxuriously turned to ON, and dreams of chocolate fudge brownies swimming through my head (not going to happen). I've had a major test every school day for the past week and a half and I am exhausted. This means that I am officially done with four of my seven courses. The other three have finals in May...minor details....

This also means that the month of April is essentially free for travel (and studying on the train). In trying to organize it all, I have a newfound appreciation for the wondrous magic that travel agents work. My friends and I spent a lot of time researching our trip. This is the first occasion that I've ever planned a trip (or trip segment) like this on my own and it was a huge learning curve.

Essentially I made every dumb mistake in the book. A Common Sense Guide to Traveling for Dummies? Yeah, didn't read it. Here are a few lessons I learned:

1. Large cities ACTUALLY have multiple airports...which really aren't that close to each other. The cheap flight from Paris to Milan flies out of Paris you say? It flies out of Paris-Beauvais, which is actually 1.5 hours away from Paris by bus, about a quarter of the way up the country. Better rethink that connecting train--and pay closer attention to which Paris airport you're actually flying out of.

2. Sometimes no connecting train on your travel day will get you in before your flight. As in, no train that day leaves before 6 am. Which is why it's kind of important to check this out before you book your flight.

3. Putting in your travel date to a transportation search engine does not necessarily bring up flights/ferries/trains on that travel day. Small print, big importance.

4. It's a lot less sketchy to book directly through an airline rather than booking through the third-party website that found you the cheapest price.

And thus it was. At the time, I was actually quite upset with myself for the sheer number of planning hiccups I made on my segment of the trip. I felt guilty because I thought I was holding my friends back and didn't know what to do. We needed to trim costs down and I was frustrated because I couldn't find cheaper accommodation in St Malo. Train ticket prices kept rising. Every airline's booking process was pretty sure that I also needed to book a hotel...and a rental car...and travel insurance...and an actual seat. The aisle, or the cargo hold, or the wing for that matter, are NOT IN FACT acceptable methods of traveling on a plane. That said, we got all of our flights booked and our ferry and it was an excellent learning experience.

We are going to be backpacking starting April 1st. Backpacking as in, everything I need is going in my purple backpack. Which means we have the finals week scenario all over again: same outfit for a week? I've been wearing this dress for two.

That said, computer access will be dubious and this may be my last post for the next 3 weeks or so.

Happy St Patrick's Day (+2 days)!

Every time I log into Blogger, I receive the option to look at my blog's stats: how many people viewed it, when, from what browser, on which operating system, from what country. And never have so many people viewed my blog in a single day as they did yesterday, following St Patrick's. 

I would say that I was too busy recovering from St Patrick's revelries to post. That wouldn't be honest. My 9 am archaeology course was only 50% full, so I know many international students were themselves recovering. That said, I did have an action-packed Paddy's Day.

First, let me say that in Ireland, it's not just St Patrick's Day--it's St Patrick's Weekend. The streets were blocked off all weekend for a street festival, complete with food vendors and a stage set up for trad with ceili dancing out front. Lots of energy, great craic.

St Patrick's Day itself is a national holiday. This meant no classes. Instead, a few friends arrived at my apartment around 11:30 that morning, bearing gifts of Ireland-themed face paint and cheer, prepared to deck ourselves all out for the parade downtown. Green t-shirts, tacky budget scarves, flag-capes, and hairbands with flags sticking out of the temples like feelers. Fun with face paint, culminating in Wymana's face-turned Irish flag. It's the only time in your life--no holding back. I was flaunting more spirit for Ireland than I've ever flaunted for the US.

Walking downtown, I felt out of place. Could I possibly be...more spirited...than most? The first time in my life that I have ever been more conspicuously spirited for anything, disregarding the Harry Potter premier? When we arrived downtown, the place was so packed that I couldn't feel awkward. Green everywhere, people crushed against each other on the sidewalk, heavily-accented swearing. Good thing I am taller than most--even then, it was hard to see the parade. 

The parade lasted for 2 hours and by the end, we were all ready for food, drink, and trad. We ended up at a pub across the river called Sin e, one of Cork's heritage pubs offering live trad music til late. It is a small, atmospheric place lined with posters, seats clustered together (you better like your neighbor), and just dim enough to make you feel like you're drinking at night. Downstairs for music, upstairs for large student groups in Paddy's gear brandishing beer and hugging boxes of snack cereal. A group of French guys were drinking a round of whiskey, their friend asleep on the table. A bored-looking bartender came by and woke him up. We decided downstairs next to the music was best. I wished that I could contribute, but unfortunately pre-requisites in that particular setting actually include "being able to sing."

After returning to my place to make a more-or-less traditional meal of colcannon and sausage, my friends and I decided that we wanted to go out. Turns out that clubbing in unicorn leggings was so fun on Friday night that I was really bummed when the bars all kicked us out around 2:30...all weekend, I couldn't stop thinking: Wymana still has moves to bust. Paddy's Day we did not find dancing until late. We did, however, in our search hit a few more heritage pubs. The Holy Cow, the Bodega, the Crane Lane, and finally ended our evening in the Bailey. The Crane Lane looks like a theatre-converted bar. Packed with people, cool atmosphere, excellent music, no dancing. The Bailey's a go-to for the dancing when we can't find anywhere else. Twas fun. However, I think Americans party harder on St Patrick's. Which in a way makes sense: after the Great Famine hit and emigration really accelerated, New York had a larger Irish population than any city in Ireland. And St Patrick's has become a celebration of Irish heritage.

In sum, I expected St Patrick's to be crazy here. Definitely people were out in droves, hitting the pubs that afternoon. But the day itself wasn't crazy--people almost had more energy for the weekend festivities. The most surprising thing was probably the sheer number of couples snogging on the sidewalk...and how many students seemed energetic in archaeology the following morning.

Correction: I have actually been clubbing in unicorn leggings.

Spring Sprang?

Take a moment and consider: would you have used 'sprung'? I was thinking about this the other day and realized that I use 'sprung' and 'sprang' about the same amount. English: I'm glad it's my first language.

In any case, spring is here. Or, at least, it has been for the past 4 days: no rain, hardly a cloud in the sky, warm enough for shorts. My roommate came back from class with a sunburn. It is possible that Ireland can, in fact, have a certain amount of weather stability. Look out: I may actually come back with a tan.

Aside from the weather, another pivotal event marking this week was...wait for it...the submission of my archaeology essay! It was a huge weight off. I walked down to the Connelly Building today (where the Archaeology office is) and dropped this fancy little package of assessment form-title page-fact vomit-where the facts were before they were vomit into this big wooden drop box and it was wonderful. Not only that, but in the process I met another engineer from the US studying abroad. The first. It was kind of like what I imagine winning a few thousand dollars on jeopardy feels like.

The combined effects of this meeting, the AR Paper: Submitted, and the sun all put me in a springy mood. So I made my first pie for dinner. It wasn't the most masterful piece of cooking art. I didn't make enough dough...didn't have the right sort of flour...nor the right sort of sugar...nor did I actually have a pie dish. I just lined a too-large tray with foil and kind of tried to turn up the edges to contain the fruit juices. Which worked--more or less. It just looked kind of like my pie caught the plague. 'Twas delicious, however.

For those of you curious, I did not actually go clubbing in the unicorn leggings referred to in last week's blog addition. Yet, I shall forever bear their vivid memory, burned into my brain.

Looking forward, this coming weekend is St Patrick's Day weekend. Yep, the whole weekend is apparently crazy and filled with events. We have Monday off of school. To illustrate this, my history professor was talking about Ireland's role as a peacekeeper in the UN, found it funny, and said "You go out Paddy's Day weekend and you'll be sure to see a lot of peacekeeping." So we'll see what happens, I guess. In any case, I'm jazzed to be in Ireland for St Patrick's Day.

Thursday Again

Wait, what? Thursday again? The days are flying by so fast, I'm losing track. Summer plans in motion, end-of-term assessments in motion, t - 3 weeks of class until Easter Recess. It is officially crunch time.

This past week has been defined by extensive study sessions: library sessions between classes, evening dates with my word processor and set of reading notes. A single study lamp on to set the mood, a bit of light jazz to spice it with cozy. I am trying so hard to bust out the essays.

That said, I have been out 'n about a bit, chomh maith. This evening, I went downtown to do some much-needed shopping. 'Twas raining, Wymana was grumpy. She'd been walking around in the rain (and subsequently damp clothes) all day. Then she stopped in Penney's, a department store for super-cheap clothes. Her two friends decided she needed to try something on: a pair of unicorn print leggings. Very unique. The only unicorn print leggings I have ever seen in my life. "Here," they said. "You can go clubbing in this." "Very funny," I say. "I might as well poop skittles."

So I went ahead and modeled the unicorn print leggings for them, imagining a vibrant start to the beginning of a propitious modeling career. All rainbows and unicorns. Wymana was in a much better mood after this.

Post-shopping, I had a lovely time at a UCC book club and didn't get back to my apartment until after 9 pm. (Note that most UCC events happen Thursday nights, as the majority of Irish students leave for the weekend. Friday = max exodus of students with suitcases to the bus stops). At this point, I realized that I hadn't had dinner, nor what one could really call a lunch. I was starving. More than that, I was severely behind on my vegetable intake for the day and needed to take care of some near-expiration bean sprouts in the fridge. So I made possibly the spiciest curry that I have ever had in my life. There's a scene in the Mel Brooks movie Spaceballs where Dark Helmet shouts "MY BRAINS ARE FLYING INTO MY FEET." Well, make that the dinner edition and it's an accurate representation of my curry. My southwestern family would be proud.

Ceili Sunday

I spent my Sunday afternoon today at a ceili. Not at some fancy ceili venue--nope, downtown in the middle of the street. A ceili is Irish social dancing, much like OSU's country western nights. There's line dance, set dancing, waltzing, two-step, and plenty of other partner dances. I didn't know how to do anything, but I didn't need to. A) It's too much fun to be embarrassed at how awkward you are; and B) There are plenty of lovely people to help you along. Half of the instruction was in Gaelic and that was lovely, too. I turned to my friend and told her, "Yep. 'Agus.' I got that." I can tell when someone is connecting two phrases in Gaelic. Actually though, many of the words used to give direction dancing I had heard before in my Gaelic class. So really, going to the ceili was just like studying for my Spoken Irish class...kind of. Well, it's why I'm here. I had great craic, met wonderful people, and it was an overall wonderful experience. In fact, it's probably the most fun I've had all winter. I also figured out how to properly swing someone ceili-style, which is very fortunate because I've accidentally butt-grabbed people on two separate occasions trying to swing them. Both cases were very awkward.

Research, Rugby, and Other Assorted Random Ramblings (starting with 'R')

This week started off like every other week of my life: with grand ambitions of Being Productive. I don't just mean short-term productive, as in Do Your Homework. I mean, Revolutionize Your Study Habits productive...Become a Better Person productive...Start Planning Your Future productive. And like every other week, my lofty ambitions didn't go as planned. Looking back, however, a lot of important things did happen this week.

I started it off--if you can call Sunday the start--with a day trip to Waterford. Two friends and I caught the noon:40 bus from Cork's main bus station and two hours later arrived in Waterford. It isn't a huge city, but has the 5th largest population in Ireland. It is also apparently Ireland's oldest city. Founded by Vikings, Waterford contains plenty of historic sites to visit. As we had very limited time, we chose to go to the old Viking Reginald's Tower, which is now a sort of Viking museum containing various artifacts of the time and a presentation covering the history of the city based from the history of the Tower. I particularly liked learning the general history of the entire city, as it is somewhat similar to Cork's. And guess who's in the process of busting out an essay on the archaeology of Early Medieval Cork? I was digging the connections. 

Unfortunately, by the time we were done in the Tower, the supposedly excellent Medieval Museum was closed. So we booked it through the pouring rain into a nearby cathedral. Cathedrals are generally spectacular fun for the architecture. That you will feel like a puny little human as soon as you enter is a given. What took me off guard in this cathedral were the ornaments hanging from the ceiling: chandeliers of Waterford crystal. I don't know much about crystal. In fact, "yeah, whatever" probably best sums up my feelings towards it. I don't think it's particularly beautiful. But people like to make a big deal about Waterford crystal: it is highly advertised and probably the main way in which the city differentiates itself. Not by its "oldest city in Ireland" status, or museum, or intense history of Vikings and uprisings and plague. By its crystal. I suppose people come for the crystal and stay for the history. Or maybe just to conduct photo shoots in the sweet Viking stand-ups about the historic center. Hey, to each their own....

(Obviously I am better husband material.)

Sunday past and with little work completed on my archaeology paper, I awoke Monday morning with fierce determination to finish my paper THIS week. That result remains to be seen. I did, however, spend a good chunk of time on Monday and Tuesday in the Special Collections and Archives center of the library researching. That was quite the experience, especially when one considers that this is really the first time Wymana has taken liberal arts courses. First, I had hardly any idea what to expect, or how to access the Special Collections, or where it was. I found it in a quiet corner of the basement, a moderate room fronted by an office and row of cubbies. This corner did not remain quiet for long, as Wymana obviously had no idea what she was doing and could not understand half of what the librarian at the counter was telling her. This can be attributed to two factors: a heavy Irish accent and uncommonly forceful speech not unlike yelling. Regardless, it all worked out in the end. I had to lock up everything that was not a laptop, notebook, and pencil (pens and laptop cases are not allowed). And when I finally entered the room...access to crazy old books dating to the early 1800s, falling apart. It was intense--not only handling the books, but also the study atmosphere. There's something about the Special Collections and Archives center that makes Facebook an extremely guilty study break. Which meant that my study density was incredibly high...when I wasn't trying to hide my computer screen.

Despite these two events, probably the defining factor of my week was and is the stress: everything is due around the same time, and that due date is really not too far off. I have quite a bit of work to do in terms of reading, writing papers, and studying for exams. 

In addition to schoolwork, I was also concerned with finalising plans for this summer and for the upcoming school year. On Wednesday, I interviewed for a job for next year through OSU's College of Engineering. The interview was conducted over Skype, something that I was worried about because I could imagine about 10 different technology-related disasters to go with a Skype call. My computer might freeze, or automatically shut off, or Windows might not boot, or Windows might boot but crash, or Skype might crash, or something might decide to update (yes you, Windows), or the internet connection might give out. All of which happen regularly. Luckily, none of these things happened and the interview was technologically successful. I was very lucky to have a friend who lent me her room and internet connection at another UCC dorm, since the internet connection at my apartment is not strong enough to simultaneously support video and audio streaming through Skype. And as if that wasn't cool enough, she hiked with me afterwards IN THE RAIN to the nearby Centra grocery so I could find some discount ice cream. It was wonderful.

Interesting fact: I have not yet come across froyo and ice cream isn't super easy to find outside the main grocery stores. Chocolate and caramel and candy bar squares, however, occur in very large quantities.

Most recently, I attended a girl's rugby match against UCC's rival, CIT (Cork Institute of Technology) this evening. My friend is on the team and I had my camera ready for some hardcore proud-parenting. Let's just say I will be a little more cautious next time I bother her about the spider haunting her bedroom, most likely the closet.

There were some pretty intense tackles. (Also: note that every member on each team is wearing a prom dress. This was a special event game to help raise donations to charity.)

Wymana Meets R & G Week

When I was getting ready to leave for UCC, one of my friends came up to me and said, "You are going to come back so buff." And I replied, "?......????.....What?" Have you seen my lifting ability? No? That's probably because it doesn't exist. However, let us consider yesterday:

I WENT TO THE GYM. A friend *dragged* me to UCC's Mardyke (much like OSU's Dixon) Tuesday afternoon, and plans to do so every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon from now on. After accidentally setting off the Mardyke's "Unaccounted-For Visitor" alarm and a number of unsuccessful squat-turned butt-plants, I am successfully on my way to returning...buff.

Needless to say, I was the world's biggest grandma getting out of bed this morning. Everything felt stiff and sore. What I lacked in eloquence of movement, I made up for in grumbling. But in truth, I enjoyed my time at the Mardyke quite a lot.

Which doesn't really bring me to my next point, but here it is: This week is R & G week at UCC. That means that while I am happily sitting inside, cup of tea in hand, writing INCREDIBLY FASCINATING blog posts, most other people are out getting drunk for charity. R & G stands for Raise and Give. This week is a huge deal for UCC. Essentially, all the clubs and societies host activities to raise money for charity. The Physics and Astronomy Society hosts Zombie Outbreak, UCC's version of Humans vs. Zombies. Top 40 music blasts at the campus Old Bar (yeah, there are 2 bars on campus) from morning until night. And parties are brewing by 6 pm on College Road, which runs adjacent to campus. It's a crazy week to be out. Trying to get down College Road Monday night at 6 was like playing Frogger: College Edition. Sidestep very evidently inebriated bro stumbling down sidewalk. Dodge large group of 4-inch hot pink stilettos. Look up and see arms brandishing beer bottles out second story windows. Take evasive action and decide to avoid sidewalk. Though the official goal of the week is to earn as much money as possible for that special cause, it's secondary association is as an excuse to show up to class with a bad hangover. In sum, R & G week makes Thirsty Thursdays look like middle school.

I spent the evening discussing pop culture literature at the UCC Chaplaincy book group. It was wonderful.

However, it is possible that my silent monologue may be cut short in a few minutes by friends determined to go for a pint and some nightlife downtown.

With that in mind, I regurgitate this concluding bit of advice in the knowledge that this may be my last entry (and also because I recently re-watched some Firefly):

That Special Level of Hell: A place reserved for child molesters and people who don't replace the empty toilet paper roll on the bathroom dispenser.

Go raibh maith agat. Oiche mhaith agus go n-eiri leat.

La Fheile Vailintin

La Fheile Vailintin sona dhuit!

One of the most wonderful things about language courses is that they make a big deal out of the holidays. As a result, I now have several handy Valentine's Day-themed phrases to bust out at the nightclubs downtown...or maybe I will just harass friends with Gaelic love notes "from Gollum," who happens to be a major flirt.

A ghra mo chroi, preciousss.

No hopes dashed though, since we all know his true affections lie dissolved in the fires of Mount Doom. That aside, I hope everyone has a wonderful Valentine's Day. I think of Valentine's Day as a sort of pseudo-Thanksgiving, and I just want to give a shout out to all the wonderful people back home and in Ireland that I have the fortune to know. Thank you guys for making my day, every day. I love you all.

Cooking, An Aimsir, and Other Fearsome Things: Part 2

So all UCC events are cancelled from 3 pm on owing to the terrible weather. What does that mean?

Time to heat things up with a little help from my badass cooking skillz.

I had grand ambitions to make stew. I had equally grand ambitions to finish making my sweet potato casserole. Both take about 1.5 hours worth of combined cooking and prep time. Well, I like to think that I have a lot of patience. I'm like an earthquake in that I can take a lot of pressure until I unexpectedly blow up. Not so when it comes to anything food related. Give me a frying pan, a bit of thawed meat, and any vegetable...and I can whip you (but mostly me) up a delicious stir-fry in under 20 minutes. I'm not really into the delayed gratification thing. A pot for stewing and an oven for baking leads to dreams of doing--which I'm great at forsaking. But I'd been talking about the stew, and the casserole, and I was excited. Full steam ahead, I was going for it.

What ensued was the epitome of the common 'struggle bus'.

It was truly terrible. I was so excited to jump right into the stew that I forgot the key commandment from A Dummy's Guide to Cooking With Meat. Step 1: Defrost the meat. Oops. I remove my diced beef from the freezer, and, low and behold, it is a stiff block that would probably shatter if I dropped it. I try breaking it up via stabbing by kitchen knife. Beef does not budge. The only way I see this ending is badly, so I drop the idea with the knife and go stare at my computer screen like it will magically tell me what to do. All praise to The Google? Not so. I decide I'll put the stubborn meat back in the fridge and make the stew on Saturday. The most painful part of this decision is knowing that I got the meat yesterday and for some reason stuffed it in the freezer instead of the fridge. (What was that flutter at my ear? Could it be...common sense? Ah no, probably just that dumb fly, following me around like a piece of rotting fruit).

Dreams of stewed goodness dashed and mind in disarray, wymana desperately tries to salvage the afternoon by resorting to Plan B: Casserole. Wayward flour blots out the counter, interspersed with orange droplets of mashed sweet potato that look like I gave the kitchen some exotic strain of chicken pox. Clean, organized cooking practices? Please. When this girl goes cooking, it's go big or go home. (And we all know that she is a neurotic neat-freak, in which case she will do a bang-up job cleaning the kitchen afterwards following the same philosophy). And thus it follows. She beats those eggs, she crushes those walnuts in her bare fist, she accidentally uses up the rest of the communal butter (that's a lot of butter...damn). By the time I'm pouring the mixture into the pan, the counter is a mess and my roommates are giving the stove a wide berth. They come in with amused but apprehensive looks, asking how it's going. I have no idea what I am doing! In principle, I do. But it's a catchy theme from last term and sums up my flustered state perfectly. I realize that I am talking to myself when one comes in and gives me a strange look. You all right? Yep...sniffle...I just put it in the oven. Oh, I say. Yeah, I have a cold...I'm not actually overcome with emotion at my cooking endeavours. I think I've probably looked on the brink of tears all day due to sinus congestion.

Oven pre-heated, timer set, Energy Level +5000 playlist queued, cleaning targets acquired. The kitchen looks spotless by the time I'm done busting moves to the Step Up soundtrack.

The casserole is a delicious-looking bar of gold when the timer goes off. One apprehensive bite morphs into dinner. I savor it to the El Dorado theme song. And as of one hour ago, I don't have food poisoning. Which is a major plus, considering I may have seen a bit of red in the egg. But come to think about it, that might have just been the dye off the shell I dropped in.

Cooking, An Aimsir, and Other Fearsome Things: Part 1

Today began like the most typical of days. I woke up at 8 am, not by my alarm clock but because I had to pee. I lay in bed for half an hour, no intention of leaving, enjoying the merciful warmth provided by my comforter and two wool blankets. To avoid paying extra electricity expenses at the end of the term, our apartment (meaning the collective 6 people living in it) rarely turn the heater on. To enter the kitchen one must first acquire a hat, a scarf, and some hard-core layering skills. So I put off getting up for awhile, choosing to listen to the fascinating gusting noises coming from near my window. Wind? Rain? My grumpy heater vent? Or just sleep deprivation? In Ireland, you can't really tell. Frankly, grumpy wymana didn't care--she figured that by this point she was probably seasoned to handle any horrible Irish weather the gods could throw her way. But as per usual, the gods had different ideas. Wymana lazily bats her curtains aside to check the sky. Grey. Deceptively unassuming.

It is very fortunate that my Gaelic class currently happens to be covering the weather unit. I have a lot to say about the weather this week and I also have some vocab to study for tomorrow's quiz. In such a case, I do not feel guilty at all about a weather rant. So, with the help of a well-loved workbook and a shaky memory, here it is in all its glory:

An Luan: Ta an ghrian ag taitneamh. Ta se tirim, ta an aimsir go deas beaganin. The first beautiful day I think I've experienced in Ireland, so far. I could feel the Vitamin D soaking into my skin, the instant happy. The hills were alive. Spring in the weather, in my mood, and in my step.

An Mhairt: Ta se an-fhuar, ta se ag cur baisti, agus ta se ag cur sneachta. More like slushing, actually. Whatever is falling from the sky has to be as wet as possible. Grumpy wymana returns from her long grocery adventuring looking an-fhliuch. With a little extra dose of grumpy.

Agus....

Inniu: Ta an aimsir go hannais ar fad, ar fad. Ta se an-ghaofar (with gusts up to 150 km/h), ta se ag cur baisti, agus ta se an-fhuar. Think yesterday was bad? Today just blew it out of the water.

It was so bad that they actually cancelled all classes from 3 pm on. Too bad my last class ended at 3. I did some pretty hard-core adventuring to get there. The deal was the wind: on several occasions, it was blowing so hard that one could not move forward. Trees were down, power lines were down, trucks were down. Celtic Mythology ended at 1 pm, the power flickering throughout the entire hour. Walking back, I was ushered into the West Wing of the Main Quad and out of the open by a security official. Apparently slate was flying off the West Wing roof. Five minutes later, I watched a tree crack and fall in the parking lot. A little ways towards my next class, a huge tree had cracked and taken down a power line (and half of the power line's pole). I squeezed past the broken trunk, then did some intense Indiana Jones-style tree-hugging to avoid the completely flooded sidewalk. By 3 pm, UCC was telling faculty and students not to leave the buildings they were in. Well, by about 3:20 pm I'd missed all of the notifications and was back at my apartment, curled up in a warm pair of sweatpants with my emergency jar of shock nutella and a box of tissues.

2014 could perhaps be the beginning of the apocalypse.

Archaeology Field Trip to West Cork

Last weekend my archaeology class had a field trip out to West Cork. Because the class is so large, our professor divided us into two groups based on last name. Well, initially this was a huge disappointment. It somehow turns out that almost everyone I've met at UCC happens to have a last name between A and N. Except, obviously, myself. So I was like, alright, great, flying solo, we can work with this--you just need to activate a little social know-how (Social know-how? Even in the future nothing works) and it will turn out alright. So I got on the bus, and sat down next to the window, and fully expected to fall asleep on our way to the first destination. Except I didn't. I ended up talking to other students for the entirety of the bus rides there and back, and met some really nice people. And it was great.

The first place we visited was Garranes Ringfort. This was a potentially royal ringfort with pottery dating back to the 5th - 7th centuries. It has quite a few trenches. Also, it's just hanging out in the middle of a farmer's field. For a long time, farmers where hesitant to work fields around ringfort ruins for fear of disturbing the fairy folk thought to make their homes in the mounds.

The second place was Ballinacarriga Tower House, supposedly older than its 1585 date. It's got what was probably a Catholic chapel on the top floor--probably on the top floor because the practice of Catholicism was outlawed to make way for Protestantism at the time. Which didn't work out so well. Currently, Ireland is around 85% Catholic.

Below: View from the top floor of the tower house.

Below: Look carefully at the stone and you will see the sculptures. In the second, there are representations of the Crucifixion and the Instruments of the Passion.

The third place we visited was Coppinger's Court. It was a 4-story house built in 1616 and is in the process of falling down. To get there, we slogged through several mud puddles in a farm field and jumped an electric fence. Our professor just stands next to it and goes, oh yeah, well that's live, so...be careful. And we all felt somewhat adventurous. The cows watched our muddy splashing with amusement. 

Though there were no restrictions on where the cows could wander, all students had to stay at least a gable's length from the house. Well, this rebel was up close before our professor got there to tell us to stay away, but he was very adamant that the house was very dangerous and we were NOT to go inside. That said, he then tell us he's going to check out the newly-fallen chimney that was still standing this past fall. And wanders inside. Um, I'll meet you back at the bus, he says. Indiana Jones has spoken.

Our last stop was to the Drombeg Stone Circle and nearby fulacht fiadh. The fulacht fiadh was probably a place where the ancient Irish cooked large portions of meat in a water-filled trench using heated stones.

The fulacht fiadh:

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The stone circle:

It is possible that, in more recent history, the stone circle was sometimes used as a site of Catholic mass. Many masses were held out in the country when Catholicism was outlawed in favor of Protestantism.

Madam Rosmerta

I'm a pretty big Harry Potter nerd. Don't bust out the trivia on me, because I'd probably do awful. But just because I don't remember every fantastic little detail doesn't mean that my mind isn't partitioned into a Hogwarts side and a real world side (much like my computer). That said, I discovered a fun Harry Potter fact in class this week...in Celtic Religion and Mythology, no less:

In order to claim valid kingship in old Ireland, kings had to fulfill several tests. One of these was to undergo a "sacred marriage." Basically, the king had to take a woman as a consort. This woman symbolized the goddess figure and the sovereignty of Ireland. She was also heavily associated with the role of Pouring Drink. Lug, the most important god for the old Irish, had a consort named Rosmerta. Together, they fulfill the above roles.

Now consider Madam Rosmerta from Harry Potter and how she runs a pub.

Bam.