delayed reaction

the countdown began yesterday. since then, i have noticed two things.

1) i have NO patience for my housemates anymore. i have a pavlovian response to their presence and especially the door-slamming.

2) i am getting more homesick every day. it's like i delayed my homesickness to the very end, and now it's coming at me HARD.

sigh. i just want to come home.

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.

where there's a will...

Synopsis: Evan and Shama are at it again! Even though they have a big trip ahead of them, the two decide that they have time for one more Irish adventure... or do they? Will they make the only bus to Tipperary, or not? And what about getting back to Limerick? These two might be in over their heads! Let's find out!

I have been continually surprised and pleased by what Evan and I can accomplish, with our collective wills. Maybe our wits need a bit of work, but we have determination down cold. What began as a whim to visit the Rock of Cashel in Tipperary turned into a series of maps, routes, bus timetables, and frequent quizzical glances. We finally decided to throw a metaphorical dart and go wherever the next bus out of town would take us. And then we realized that would be stupid.

It was a Sunday, and Sundays mean little to no public transportation in a country that already gets by with the bare minimum in public transit. Exhibit one: We tried to catch a bus into Limerick City at 10:30am only to find out at the bus stop that the busses don't even start running until 11am. I miss you, my temperamental, but ever-present CTA.

Well, we finally made it to the bus station and looked at every possible destination for the day, decided that neither place sounded too appealing and that we still wanted to go to Tipperary. So, we took a bus to the airport and got a rental car. Yep, more adventures in driving on the other side of the road! Wheeee!

Once again, I was reminded of how destination points are nice, but getting there is the fun part. We cruised the Irish roads for a while, and eventually made it to the Rock of Cashel. The Rock of Cashel is the Swiss Army knife of historic buildings. A castle, a fortress, and a church, this place does it all! I was particularly taken by the fresco work. It was neat.

Know what else is neat? Hurling. After Cashel, Evan remembered a hurling match that our Croke Park guide mentioned from the other day. He also remembered that it wasn't far from Cashel, so, off we went! We caught the second half of the game and rooted for opposing teams-- Evan shouting for the Home team, and myself hooting for the (supposed) underdogs from Dublin. It was, once again, a heckuva match, with Tipperary winning by just a little bit. It was still fun to holler.

The rest of the evening was a blur (except for the very distinct memory of driving on the wrong side of the road for a few minutes -- that is a vivid memory). We made it back and packed our bags for Paris, relieved to have a car to get to the airport the next day. Is there anything we can't do, when there's the will to do it? Oh yeah, the laundry.

the calm after the storm

commercial break

saturday, march 28th. we are still and silent, watching television and reflecting on the weekend in dublin. brian has left. he's probably just about home now, settled into his place, looking at familiar surroundings.

we sit on the couch under blankets and watch television until it gets dark. we don't move to turn on the lights. we are that tired. we think about everything we have done and everywhere we have gone in the past week.

it was all very fascinating, but now, now we are tired and want nothing more than to sit in the dark and watch television.

we'll be back after this brief bout of exhaustion.

the spin-off series

Synopsis: Evan, Brian, and Shama bid a fond farewell to Maureen, Brittany, and Marc as they head off to Dublin. The three reach the bustling city and find their hostel, Oliver St. John Gogarty's, named for a scoundrel of a man. Will the three friends have adventures worthy of this notorious man?

Also in this episode: A trip to the Guinness Storehouse, a visit to The Book of Kells, and the Trinity College library. Evan decides he wants a hurley after a tour of Croke Park Stadium. Shama discovers her new ability to fall asleep standing up, and Brian departs for the U.S. leaving Evan and Shama to their own devices. Music for this episode provided by the mysterious "Silver Fox."

A lot happened in the few days we spent in Dublin, and I wish I could remember the details, but alas -- I went and got older, and my memory isn't what it used to be. Of course, the pictures are what really tell the story. I'm glad we started our visit with the Guinness Storehouse. It was more of a museum, re-telling the history of the dark stuff. It's got some history, including a 9,000 year lease Arthur Guinness took out on the building when he first began the brewery. It's true that there is poetry in a pint of Guinness. There's poetry in all of Dublin. If you can get to the tippy-top of the storehouse, you'll see it all laid out for you, through the observation deck. If you're lucky, there might be a rainbow waiting there for you too, like it was for us. The city is astounding, and to have it so immersed in it's own history through Joyce's works is fascinating. I might give Joyce another shot.

The Temple Bar area is a whole other adventure, albeit a bit tourist-y. Then again, we're tourists, so what's the harm? The pubs were pretty, bright, and full of rowdy, boisterous people. We did miss our friends, Kevin and Evans though. Those Welshmen were great. We had a nice night out, but I was so tired that I excused myself a bit early, even though I was missing the traditional music stylings of a man only known as, "The Silver Fox."

The next day, we said goodbye to Brian. Then we went to Trinity College. Gorgeous, majestic, old Trinity College. It was strange to walk into the campus straight off of the main streets. It was an entirely different world. I loved looking at the Book of Kells, and Evan and I marveled at the work that was put into it. The library was even better. I want every library to look like Trinity's.

Evan and I decided to take a tour of Croke Park Stadium before heading back to Limerick. I don't know much about sports in general or Irish sports in particular, but I know how much pride a country and city takes in its sports by the look of their stadiums. Ahem, U.S. Cellular Field? I'm talking to you. Croke Park Stadium took my breath away. Maybe it was because of the size. Maybe it was because of all the walking we did. Either way, Evan and I took the tour with a few other people-- an older couple-- and we quickly found out that the gentleman used to play. I couldn't figure out whether or not I was in the presence of a Babe Ruth, or a really good Little League coach. I don't suppose it really mattered, because in Ireland, the players don't get paid. That's right. They play because it's a privilege, and honor, and they WANT to.

cliffs notes

Synopsis: In this episode, the gang gets "Moher" than they bargained for! (laugh track here) The six travelers road-trip to Clare to take in the view at the Cliffs of Moher. After the group splits up, Evan, Brian, and Shama do a little rock-hopping at The Burren and wind up in Galway. They meet (supporting characters) Kevin and Evans and have a wild night with the Welshmen! But that's not all! After a harrowing ferry-boat journey to the Aran Islands the next day, the trio must decide how close to the edge they really want to go...

Adventure, excitement, drama, and comedy!

Well, it may not have been as action-packed as all that. It might be a cliche, but the real reward of traveling is in the journey, not necessarily the destination. This might be especially true when the journey involves driving on the opposite side of the road, learning how to drive a stick shift, learning how to take the parking brake off in order to drive a stick shift, making rest stops at charming little towns for lunch, meeting the locals, or in our case, meeting other visitors. Kevin and Evans (yes, those were really their names) were a couple of friendly fellas from Wales who were in Galway for a marathon. They kept us laughing until nearly 2am. It's a wonder that we made the ferry to the Aran Islands the next morning, but boy am I glad we did.

The Aran Islands surprised me. It felt so... OLD. We visited a ring-fort that was no longer a ring because half of it fell off with the cliff it was built on. Scary, I know. Here's Evan's take on the cliff at Inis Mor (one of the three islands that make up the Aran Islands). We did a lot of walking (even though my boot broke) and climbing, ooohing and ahhhing. We even got our "authentic Aran sweaters" which weren't even made on the island! Hooray for being tourists! My sweater has a giant neck-hole and Evan's smells a bit like sheep urine. Now THAT'S authentic.

reality tv meets situation comedy

I watch too much television. I admit it. I tried to be one of those people that didn't own a television and only read books, magazines, newspapers, and the backs of cereal boxes, but I have come the firm and absolute conclusion that I am a tv junkie.

"What does your sitcom addiction have to do with anything, Shama?" I hear you ask. Well, here's what:

This and the next several posts focus on my time traveling around Ireland, Paris, and London from March 20th to April 6th, and for the sake of keeping a record for myself while making the stories entertaining for all three of my readers, the posts are going to read like this:

Synopsis: In this episode we meet Evan and Brian, brothers from Chicago who travel to Ireland to meet their gal-pal, Shama, who has been studying there since January. We also meet Brittany and Marc, good friends of Maureen's, who, coincidentally, also hail from Chicago. Maureen and Shama have become fast friends, but will their friends do the same? We'd better hope so, because all six of them are going to crammed into a tiny car for several hours while they drive to Cork, Clare, and Galway! That is, if Shama can even direct them from the airport to the University! Annoying hilarity ensues!

Also in this episode: Evan and Brian get used to their new surroundings, Evan discovers he is the only one of the group that knows how to drive a stick shift, the gang goes on a quest for eloquence, but not before they get sidetracked by... a circus! What could happen next?

Right. You get the picture.

In real life, I did have a surprisingly hard time directing us from the airport to the campus, even though Evan showed no difficulty in driving on the other side of the road. We got everyone settled and took a stroll to the ruins Maureen and I stumbled upon, went out for a pint at the campus pub, and called it a night. The next day, all six of us crammed ourselves into the little car Evan had the foresight to rent and we drove down to Cork (pronounced "Cahr-kh" by the locals) to see and make out with one Blarney stone. Yes, I know the locals all pee on it at night. What I didn't know was why people kiss the Blarney Stone. It's told that the smoocher will be granted the gift of eloquent conversation, if they manage to make it up several million steps then hang upside-down to kiss the seemingly-ordinary stone. We were all pretty excited, some more than others.

BRITTANY: Come on, bitches! I wanna get some fuckin' eloquence!

Indeed.

Irish Prom

okay, so it's not REALLY prom, but it certainly felt like it. i had a cool dress, no date, and a messload of fun people to spend the evening with. it was actually the Clubs and Societies Ball, and it was held to award outstanding clubs and societies for their extraordinary efforts and accomplishments. it was also an excuse for everyone to get really dressed up, have a great meal, dance, drink, and do it all in a fancy-shmancy hotel.

the catch: you had to buy your (pricey) tickets in advance. luckily, i already had mine, through the debate society. i've mentioned in several previous posts how much i love these people, but i also want to mention that they were up for multiple awards this year. if i had been allowed to vote, i would have voted for them twice. so, i already had my ticket, which they reserved for me before i even knew this thing was happening. god love 'em.

the awards portion was nice, the band was good, and everyone looked fabulous. my favorite part of the evening? as usual, it was dessert, which i got to enjoy twice because of the empty seat at the table which got served anyway. it was a trio consisting of a chocolate mousse, raspberry sorbet, and a strawberry tartlet. i didn't know if i would ever get as delicious of a dessert ever again, so i took a picture of it.

and then i ate it.

Saint Patrick's Day

... is a holiday here. An honest-to-goodness holiday. I'm not entirely sure of which holiday I can equate it to though. Some of it reminded me of Memorial Day. When I walked out of the house today I was greeted by blaring music, footballs being tossed around, people sitting outside on the grass or on couches they had dragged out. There was a scent of barbecue and beer in the air. The weather was outstanding, and I think Spring is finally poking her head out from behind the dreary damp in the form of a million bright yellow daffodils.

It also felt a little bit like Chicago today. Specifically, the day of the South Side Irish Parade. Except without the mobs and drunken buffoonery. Well, no mobs at least.

Is this a drinking holiday? Sure, but I'm from Chicago, where Flag Day could be considered a drinking holiday. Did I indulge? Not really. I was happy enough to down my Fanta and just watch as everyone around me joked, drank, and generally had a good time. They tried to subject me to "beer pressure," but I was happy enough knowing that I was in Ireland for this event. Who wouldn't be?

As the day progressed, I kept thinking that it felt a bit like Halloween too. Everyone was dressed in their finest of cheap, gaudy, green hair ornaments, hoodies, boas, or in some cases, capes. It felt a little bit like New Year's. The noise, the celebratory greetings, the jovial hollers of, "Happy Saint Paddy's Day!"

Of all the holidays it felt like, it occurred to me that it couldn't be compared to any holidays I've experienced in America because, quite simply, this is not America. Well, maybe it felt a little like Christmas too.

the hyphenated world

Identifying with a culture, class, religion and country has always been a strange fascination for me. I know I have written about the multi-cultural aspects of Ireland before, and I have also written about my own minor identity crises, but I still don't quite know what it is I truly identify with or how much it even matters these days. We are all hyphenated, to a degree.

Pakistani-Indian-Muslim-Middle-Class-American? In Ireland.

Ireland has a strange history of being oppressed and colonized, while struggling to find its own true voice in the world, and for that my sympathies go out to this country. But what about the fact that the Irish language is dying? What about the fact that Yeats CHOSE to write his masterpieces in the language of the oppressors? Why do we allow our native languages to be overshadowed by English?

I am trying to learn French. I have a bit of Spanish. I can understand most Urdu very well. I try very hard to pick up Irish phrases, but it's so unlike any other language I've ever heard that I can't make sense of what I read and how it should be pronounced, and I LOVE that.

When my mother speaks to me in Urdu, I hear her in English.
Yo le puedo oír sólo en inglés.
Je peux vous entendre seulement dans l'anglais.
Ich kann nur Sie auf Englisch hören.

I can only hear you in English. I can only dream in English. Yet, I have a heritage that is older than America, and I can't access it. And that makes me unbearably sad. When I see Irish words on the street signs and hear it on television, I feel so hopeful that this country will never let its language die, the way I let it die within myself. And why did I let it die? To belong.

All anyone wants is a sense that they belong somewhere. It's home. But what I didn't realize, growing up as a first-generation Pakistani-Indian in America, is that I would never fully belong in America. I have a strong grasp of English, and I have centralized my education on it, but I will never be without the hyphen -- that divisive line which reminds me of a past that hold precedence over my present and my future.

So, why is it that there is only 10 percent of Ireland that speaks Irish? What happens in 20 years, when it's only 5 percent? And then what? Will this gorgeous language become obsolete?

I saw a short movie today in class that made me weep. Yes. I WEPT. Here it is. I hope nothing gets lost in the translation.

wild horses can't tear me away

i don't think they were actually wild horses. they were more like tame ponies. maureen and i took another long walk today, to see some other ruins near the campus, and came across some gorgeous animals. two ponies, grazing in what looked like a football field. huh.

we approach, they whinny. we move towards them, they move away. they were calm and regal, and we were fascinated.

horses. just grazing. they were so relaxed it made me think about all the other animals i've seen since i've been here. the dogs aren't on leashes, and they never bark or chase one another. it must be the environment. things just move so much more slowly here. the Irish make jokes about how nothing ever starts on time here. parties don't usually start until about midnight. teachers are late, but never too late, to classes. time moves at a different pace here.

i know that in America, the clocks have been changed, which mean that I am now only 5 hours ahead instead of 6. this is odd. Ireland won't switch their clocks until April. i wish i had the time to find out the reasoning for it, but the one thing that is on a deadline are my essays, and i have more than a few of them to do.

homework. sigh. tear me away.

don't get your knackers in a bunch

i learned some new words today. they make me giggle.

KNACKER: a somewhat insulting term for an Irish person of a, um, nomadic background. basically, they're what Americans refer to as 'white trash.'

HALF (insert a number 1-12): actually means 'half PAST' the hour. this confused me for a short while and i was showing up at events a full hour early, wondering where in the hell everyone was.

HOOVER: it's a vacuum cleaner.

GOOD LUCK: is the Irish version of 'goodbye.' kinda says something about the level of optimism in a country where they'll wish you good luck instead of goodbye, eh?

THANKS A MILLION: standard Irish version of saying 'thank you.' i rather like it.

hurling!

i love learning about Ireland. i love learning about the sports Ireland holds dear. the result of this love led me to go to my first hurling match. it was a lotta fun and kinda confusing, but then again, i've had a rocky relationship with sports. don't believe me? i've put together a short video to prove it.

one of my favorite observations during the day was the fact that the advertising on the arena walls were all for banks, or ice cream, or sporting equipment. it was nice not to see ads for beer everywhere. i can dig that. even though Ireland has a reputation for drinking, it doesn't touch their love of a good hurling match where guys beat the crap out of each other.

a beautiful day

I missed you today, my dear Chicago. I missed your changeable weather, your steady hum of traffic, people, electricity, and crisp, lake breeze. I missed you, and you will always be mine, but today... today, I belonged to Lahinch.

Lahinch reminds me of the Ireland I dreamt of. Well, except for the surfing. People SURF here. There were cliffs and rocky beaches. There was dancing and hiking. There was a waterfall surrounded by brightly-painted homes that set a scene for the movie in my head. But it isn't a movie anymore. It's now a memory, and an experience that I won't be able to describe in this entry. It was magical.

I did things today that I have never done in Chicago, and that isn't to say I can't do them in Chicago, it's simply that it never occurred to me to do them at home. I learned how set dancing works. It's amazing. I can't actually dance, because, like most forms of dancing, a sense of rhythm is required. Ah, well. 7-4 time? What IS that?

The rocky beaches of Lahinch rekindled a dormant sense of adventure. I hopped, stepped, slid ankle-deep into wave pools, but I also got to see mussels, barnacles, shells and stuff that I never noticed existing on the shores of Lake Michigan. Are there any of these weird little ecosystems back home, I wonder?

I climbed up a near-vertical rock-face, simply because it was there. I had fun doing it, and I loved the sense of danger. I play it too safe in Chicago. Climbing is fun. So are tours.

Tours are amazing! I plan on taking every single Chicago tour I can, when I return. We were shown The Burren, which is a plot of land that looks like the Earth got angry and shoved limestone platforms up to the surface, as if to say, "I'm tougher than you think." I didn't know our planet could do that.

I didn't know our planet could have such magnificent caves. I figured everything had been discovered by now, and therefore lose its magnificence. Apparently not. I thought bats would be more frightening. I thought guided tours were lame. I thought I would get tired of the landscape in Ireland. I thought I might be able to dance. I thought I knew things, but I learned today that there is always something else to be amazed by. Thank you, Lahinch. It has been a beautiful day.

i'm a lame-ass.

i don't go out as much as everyone else does.

the status on my facebook page said, "Shama is studying." to which i received an array of concern from people asking if i was sick or if everything was okay, because it IS friday night, and who studies on a friday night? i tell you who -- lame-asses like me.

i actually managed to shame myself into going out tonight at the last-minute.

this might prove to be a bad idea since tomorrow is the trip to lahinch and that means being at the bus stop at 7:45am. then again, i AM in ireland. when in rome...

food, glorious food

it's hard to eat here. i can't tell if my nutrition is suffering because this is college or because i'm in a foreign country.

i eat like crap here. it has to stop.

my daily intake of vitamins and minerals tend to come from the following: a box of chips (potato wedges), a capri-sonne juice pouch or two, and a sandwich of cheese and... more cheese.

i'm having people over for meatloaf on wednesday. correction, i'm having some IRISH people over for meatloaf on wednesday, namely because they said, "Meatloaf? What's that? We've only heard of it on 'The Simpsons.'" no kidding. this will be my third attempt to make one, and i'm not sure how it's going to play out. i can't seem to find the ingredients that i normally keep, and i am instead finding all kind of ingredients i never thought i would have use for. foods like: beets. they are fresh from the garden, but i don't think i actually LIKE beets.

god, i'm starving. i'm not saying i can't eat, i'm saying that i don't really enjoy food right now. it's there to provide some sustenance.

note: the KFC here does not sell mashed potatoes. so much disappointment.

while the getting is good

i am making plans to travel.

i am making plans to travel outside of Ireland. this involves a certain amount of familiarity with Ryanair, and other 'airbus' companies. i have no such knowledge, and am therefore 'winging it,' to be punny.

first destination: Barcelona.

Barcelona promises to be a city of culture, class, and architecture. it also scares the living shit out of me. i spent the day reading reviews of hostels and travel blogs. getting robbed? no thank you. bed bugs? NO THANK YOU.

i'm scared now. i don't want to get robbed. or infested.

i booked a hostel that is located just outside of the city centre because i'm honestly frightened of what could happen in the city itself.

regardless, i'm going, and it has made me stop to think about what else i could see while i'm here.

i'm going to Venice, Italy. i want to see this city before it sinks. when i think of Venice, i consider the fact that i never got to see New Orleans before Katrina hit it, and i will always and forever regret that. I also considered Iceland because of the fact that its economy collapsed in on itself, like a lawn chair. i wonder what the country looks like now. and then, there is Greenland.

Greenland is a curiosity simply because i want to see glaciers while i still can. i watched parts of "Planet Earth" and it rekindled my love for my planet and every corner of it. i love the idea of Greenland. so does this guy. hit track 6 and have a good time.

this weekend

i wish i'd gone to tipperary with maureen and andrea, but the bronchitis isn't gonna go away if i keep giving it a reason to stay, now will it?

here's where i DIDN'T go this weekend. oh well.

perpetual motion machine

I've never been one for politics, but I try to stay informed, which is one of the many reasons I joined the UL Debate Society. The Irish Times Debate Final was last night. It's a big to-do, and the motion made me realize how much more informed I could be.

"This House believes the partition of Ireland should remain permanent."

Whoa. It's a heavy topic. I'm going to attempt the briefest summary I can muster of Irish history now. Bear with me.

432 - Ireland is Christianized by St. Patrick whose influence lead to cultural/educational growth. Catholicism is the thing to do.

800-1100 - Vikings! They show up and say, "We wanna fight!" but then decide to hang out and become farmers and stuff. Everybody seems cool until...

One of the Irish kings gets a little gung-ho about seizing power and land and stuff, so he asks the Normans from England to do him a solid, but Normans show up at the party and decide not to leave for about 400 years. Not only do they overstay their welcome, but they rearrange the furniture, eat all the food, don't chip in for beer, and set up the feudal system which makes everybody pissed off in a passive-aggressive way.

1536-1685 - Henry8@England writes: Hey Ireland! What's up? Listen, that Catholic platform you've run your system on for like, a thousand years, isn't working for me. I like this other platform, Protestant much better. Try it. No? Fine, then I'm gonna crash your system and delete a bunch of your stuff. Then, I'll send my friend Scot over to do a re-install. He's kinda like me. You'll like him. Promise.

1685-1690 - SOMEHOW a Catholic (James) gets the throne in England, but he only has it for a little while before William of Orange snags it. Willie follows Jimmy to IE and wins The Battle of Boyne. There's this Protestant organization in the North called the Orange Order that really like Willie.

1691-1793 - Oppression, oppression, oppression. Exploitation. Oppression.

1798 - The United Irishmen! Catholics, Protestants, liberty, freedom, and equality are on one side, while the Big, Bad Brits are on the other side. The Brits kick everybody's ass (sorry, I mean 'arse') and make Ireland part of Britain with The Act of Union.

1800s - Struggle, struggle. Tenancy system breakdown. Struggle, struggle.

Famine. I will make no attempt to joke about this, as it is one of the most horrifying events in history.

1912 - The Brits decide to throw IE a bone and offer up Home Rule which would give them (a little) independence. The Protestants in the North don't want to be outnumbered by the Catholics, so they say, "Um... no thank you." Then, these other guys, the Fenians, say, "Hey, we really want full independence and we're gonna fight for it. So there." They fight, but get their asses handed to them by the Brits.

1919-1922 - The War of Independence finally gets everybody's attention and negotiations between Irish Nationalists and the Brits result in the division of IE (North: Ulster and The Rest: Irish Free State) which causes a civil war. Finally, the division is solidified, and IE becomes The Republic of Ireland in 1949.

1925-1950 - But wait! There's more! The IRA! Guerilla activities against the Brits in the North are carried out by the minority Catholics until the Brits decide to send in some troops to straighten things out and make it all proper and shit.

1998 - The Belfast Agreement becomes the hesitant move toward peace by way of reform, reestablishment, and reducing the British military presence in the North. The IRA also decides to put the guns down. Phew.

Now, back to the motion from the debate. Partition should remain permanent. The debate was a history lesson from every side. I got a chance to hear opinions from both sides of the fence, and I think I learned more in those two hours than I could have in a semester of class. I hope you learned something just now, too.

The funniest thing is how this debate was structured. It was in the style of the Irish Times, which is distinctly different from British Parliamentary style. Then again, why on earth would you want to argue in the style of a country that caused the debate in the first place?

(crossing) the fault line

The hot water has gone out again. I think it's funny to say that it's 'gone out.' Where did it go? Is it running errands or on a date?

"Have you seen the hot water, dear?"
"No. Not for some time now. I think it went out."
"Did it leave a note?"
"No, but it never does. You know how hot water is."

While I'm busy personifying things, I would also like to mention the Launderette. The name "Launderette" conjures an image of a sweet, petite lady, dressed in a pleasantly starched apron and bonnet. She clucks her tongue at me when I try to put too many clothes in the washing machine and reassures me that powdered detergent will be fine, although I still worry about the dandruff-like flakes that may not wash off.

Sweet as she is, she costs quite a bit for her services. I have to use tokens to do my laundry. It's approximately 5 euro per wash and semi-dry. 7.10 for one wash and two dryer tokens. In U.S. dollars, that's about... $9.00. Yikes.

"It has to be done, dear," she says to me.

And she's right. Since I've been here, I have tried to maintain my personal sense of style while being aware of youthful, Irish fashion. It's tough. I wasn't really prepared for the onslaught of dresses, tights, ballet flats, scarves, and jewelry that dominate a young lady's wardrobe. Despite packing a moderate amount of clothing, I find that I have too many clothes, yet too few options. Is it silly to worry about appearances? Sure, but I always have, and I'm not sure how to stop now. Oh, you didn't know? I'm superficial and a little vain.

So, for the sake of vanity, I do laundry once a week, and this particular week I did something I thought I would never do. I'm so sorry, but I had to use the dryer before they locked the doors.

"It has to be done, dear," Launderette said. She winked at me and clucked her tongue at you for leaving your things in the dryer for FOUR HOURS. I just want to apologize for handling your personal items, and I sincerely hope I don't have to do it again. You had some questionable attire.

Hey, Launderette? I have a few favors to ask of you. Next time you see some hot water, would you tell it to please come home? Thanks. You're great.