little things

if there's one thing i can say about Europe, it's that the differences are all in the little things.

it's good to be home.

fortnight

i leave in two weeks. a fortnight. 14 days.

i leave for my adventures in budapest, berlin, venice, and london. i keep repeating those cities, in that order, like a mantra. i tried to add in chicago, but it threw off the rhythm. because i have a rhythm now. not the musical kind. everyone knows that i can't keep a steady beat going. but i have a rhythm to how i live here, in ireland, because i DO live here.

at least for two more weeks.

i'm not sure how i feel. happy, sad, elated, tired, grumpy, nostalgic, excited, worried...

yes. i feel all of those things and there isn't a damn thing i can do about it because i am leaving and there isn't enough time left to sort out my feelings. i have just enough time left to enjoy it while it lasts.

i have two weeks.

tools of the trade

i wrenched my back. this phrase leads me to a cacophony of puns and thoughts that have to do with tools.

getting screwed.
getting hammered.
hammer toes.
getting nailed.

none of them are quite as painful as a wrenched back. god, this is miserable.

Pre-Post-Posting

Well then. Now that I'm back in Ireland, fully re-adjusted and re-settled, I would like to say this:

Where did the semester go? I can't believe it's almost over. I know I haven't been writing much for the past several weeks, but there's a perfectly good reason for it -- I've been traveling. A lot. And I'll be traveling more at the very end of the semester before I come home to my Chicago.

Oh, did you want to hear about Paris? And London? I promise I'll recount the adventures as soon as I can decode my random scribblings on various receipts, cocktail napkins, brochures, and coasters. I scribbled a lot.

For now, I'll be buried in my schoolbooks.

the end of the adventure

oh dear. this is it. the end. it is monday now and we spent sunday going to the sherlock holmes museum, the war cabinet rooms (churchill museum) and then walked around a bunch to see big ben, parliament, and then found a place to eat. we finished up sunday with a jack the ripper tour at night, which was kinda spooky, but mostly annoying because of the people in the massive crowd who had seen "From Hell" with Johnny Depp and considered themselves 'experts' on te subject. tools.

monday was short and sweet. very sweet. we went back to the muffin man, where i think i will always go to whenever i am in london. the cupcakes were outstanding and the food was delightful. i will miss the muffin man.

we flew out on monday (today's post) and got back to ireland safe and sound. then we proceeded to watch "From Hell" and reinforce the belief that people are dumb. dinner was had. bus timetables were looked at.

it was a nice adventure. i don't want it to end.

London Calling

I must be Irish. There's no other explanation for how I reacted, or rather, WANTED to react to the British customs officer when we left Paris...

picture this:
a long hallway in the train station, the French customs officer five feet in front of me, and the British customs officer stationed five feet beyond that...

FRENCH OFFICER: Do you have anything to declare?
ME: Nope. Just going to London.
FRENCH OFFICER: Okay. Move ahead.

I walk a few feet and come to the British officer.

BRIT: Do you have identification?
(I pull out my passport and Irish "Garda National Immigration Bureau" card -- GNIB card)
ME: Yep. Here ya go.
BRIT: Hm. Ireland, eh?
ME: Yes, I'm studying there.
BRIT: I take it that you mean SOUTHERN Ireland then?

MY THOUGHTS: What?! SOUTHERN??? How DARE you call it SOUTHERN! It's the REPUBLIC! Nothing you would know of, you English ASSHOLE! They broke their backs for YOUR country, and now you have the nerve to describe the majority of an island your ancestors attempted to colonize as a REGION? How DARE you?!?

ME: (after some nudging from Evan) Ahem. YES. Southern Ireland.
BRIT: Enjoy your visit. Move ahead.

GRRRRRRR. Maybe it's having been in Ireland for a few months, maybe it was the fact that I knew my history, but man, that guy annoyed me.

That was the last irritation I suffered from during my time in London, though. Evan and I took another bicycle tour, where our guide turned out to be Irish. I felt a certain kinship with him from recognizing his accent as Cork, and we conversed as I would with any of my friends from Limerick.

We saw the palace, although it was a bit disappointing after having visited Versailles, which made the English palaces look like a two-bedroom ranch-style house in the suburbs, comparatively. We saw some beautiful monuments, the National Gallery, the Portrait Gallery, and a messload of other places. The biggest difference I saw was how Paris looked like it might fall apart if you shook it too hard or stomped your feet. It was delicate. London is a SOLID city -- stable, reliable, and above all, intimidating. I also enjoy the fact that they speak English there.

We went to see "Les Miserables" near Piccadilly Circus on Friday night, which kindled my interest in seeing as many big shows as possible now: "The Lion King," "Chicago," "Wicked..." I want to see them all. As soon as possible. You should too.

You should also visit the Churchill Bunkers. This is easily the BEST museum I have ever been to -- it was interactive, informational, and, because Churchill was such a character, thoroughly entertaining.

The weekend and our trip concluded with a visit to the British Museum and dinner with friends. It was fairly amazing. You should try it sometime.

travel itinerary

Leaving Paris might have been a sadder event had it not been for the way I left. On a train. A BULLET train. Specifically, the bullet train that goes from Paris to London. In TWO hours.

We spent our last day in Paris (for now) tromping through the gardens and visiting St. Sulpice. You may remember St. Sulpice as the church that Dan Brown (hack, hack -- what? I have a cough. HACK.) made famous in "The DaVinci Code."

I have a shy, slightly strained relationship with religion. It's a subject that requires more attention than I can give to a simple posting, but put plainly, I don't know how to relate to it. Yet, walking into this church, which by the way, was the first church that looked... authentic, threw me off. It was massive, of course, but it was also being utilized in the manner for which it was meant. People were PRAYING. For real.

There was a woman who was taking water from a particular saint's altar, most likely asking for help with her garden, because that was what the saint (I wish I could remember who it was) seemed to exist for. I kept thinking, "Why is she here instead of, well, TENDING to her garden? Wouldn't that make more sense?"

Europe is full of churches. I knew that when I signed up for this adventure. What I didn't know was how it would affect me. It scares me, but also reassures me that people have a guide, whether it be Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, VooDoo, or what-have-you.

After consulting all the guides I've gotten for traveling, it doesn't seem as strange now to see other people consulting their spiritual guides. After all, it's the best way to get where we want to get to.