town or bust

Bust. I spent most of the day reading, napping, and cooking. I was told that tonight was, “The big night to go out, because all the Irish students get back to campus.” I suppose it was a big night, for some.

Tonight was the most expensive night I’ve had in Ireland so far, and it was mainly due to cab fare. First, I went to The Stables with Maureen. Met up with some people, but it wasn’t busy at all, comparative to the past few days. We decided to go to ‘town,’ meaning Limerick City. Anthony joined us for the jaunt to Icon, a nightclub, which we promptly left. I took some pictures, but everything closes at 12:30am. That’s right, kids. Ireland, the land of beer and whiskey, has a curfew.

I had a great time with Anthony and Maureen anyways. We wandered the streets, chatted up some folks, and finally took a cab ride back to campus. Highlights of the evening included relentlessly making fun of Anthony for giving his coat to some Romanian girl, “because she was beautiful.” He has yet to get his coat back.

Overall, I’m still intrigued by the city, the culture, and everything that includes, but I am also looking forward to classes. Tomorrow!

moving at the speed of awkward

To recap: Last night was the first “International Student Night” and the International Club set up a meet-and-greet event… in the form of Speed-Dating. For those that don’t know, “speed dating” is a special kind of torture for the Single species. Luckily, I am currently involved and have never had the opportunity to be victimized in this manner when I was single. I was one of the fortunate few last night.

I fell back on the tried-and-true method of “I can’t participate because I’m documenting this with my camera” method. It has worked wonders at weddings. At any rate, I did take part in a few rounds. The footage, or carnage, can be seen here.

Good times. After a few rounds, I decided to walk around the campus. I wound up running into my orientation guide, Steven, and his housemate, Kevin. Coerced back into the fray, I found myself having great ‘craic.’ Craic, pronounced “crack” is a word for ‘fun.’ Irish students are big on craic. Yeah, I’ve already misunderstood it as a horrible drug habit, and had plenty of laughs over the confusion. Now you can too.

After we left The Stables, which is one of two pubs located on campus, my friends and I decided to head to The Lodge, a nightclub we’d heard was great craic. It was something. A nightclub themed to look like a lodge, replete with log-shaped foundations. It was as though I had fallen into some classic fairy tale scene where The Seven Dwarfs might be DJs or Hansel and Gretel emulate The Chemical Brothers. I expected a remix of “Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho, It’s Off to Work We Go.”

I’m not a ‘clubby’ person, but I did attempt to dance, only to be reminded that I have no sense of rhythm despite the obvious, thumping bassline. Ah, well. Snarky comments aside, I actually had a lot of fun.

Have I mentioned my new friends yet? I’ve met a nice little group of American students in addition to the slew of Irish. First, there’s Anthony. He’s hilarious and always manages to be met by interesting characters, without going out his way to meet them. We both go to Northeastern, but I didn’t know him before this trip. Then there’s Maureen, who is a pistol, in her own right. She joined the softball club, and I’m looking forward to hollering my support at her first game. It turns out that Maureen and I grew up in the same suburban region of Illinois. I particularly enjoy her bluntness and sense of camaraderie. Randi is a sweetheart from Penn State, studying Comparative Literature and she seems to exist in an alternate universe where manners and femininity count, and drinking doesn’t exist. I like her universe and I like her. She’s different. Last on the roster is Sarah, a conscientious, intelligent, funny, and insightful young lady from Aurora, Illinois. I feel closest to Sarah, although we hardly know each other. Maybe it’s because we both did Speech Team. That extracurricular is the sort that stays with you your entire life. Or maybe it’s because Sarah knows how important a hug is.

Well, it’s Saturday night, and one of the 6 days that people go out and party. Maureen, Randi, and Sarah decided to come over to my dorm instead. We watched television and chatted, and I had a fantastic time with them. We would have baked cookies, but were deterred by the lack of necessary ingredients. Like baking powder. Another night, perhaps…

Orientation Day 2: The Revenge

It is only my third day here, and I already want to sleep in. The sunrise comes late. I took a few pictures. The dark one is at 8:15am.

And the other is 10am.

As Yeats once wrote, the sunrise is “cold and passionate.” Cold, indeed. I have been freezing since I arrived, and I don’t expect to warm up anytime soon. Let’s do some brief math and then I can describe the rest of the day, shall we?

Late sunrise + COLD = Shama skips the second day of orientation

I missed it, by a long shot, but not entirely of my own doing. The ceiling light in my room burned out, and then my wardrobe door fell off. Yes. Fell. Off. On my foot. After that, I didn’t want to do much of anything, except curse, which thankfully, is widely accepted in Ireland, if not outright encouraged.

After cursing and nursing my sore foot, I went out in search of the orientation group. Wildly unsuccessful. I did get to see more of the campus though, which is, in a word, astounding. I have never had an on-campus experience before, despite my long career in higher educational pursuit. This is different. I wonder what it would have been like had I gone away to school when I was younger.

I probably wouldn’t have gotten up early back then, either.

disorientation meetings

There are orientation meetings today, all day long, and I am already 30 minutes late. I have to figure out the shower and get to a place I can’t even pronounce let alone locate. I’m excited. The last time I tried something I couldn’t pronounce it turned out to be a delicious dish of steamed dandelion stems at a little restaurant in Greektown.

Several hours later…

The day has been long and full of small glimpses of what is to come. I feel as if I have been walking along a corridor full of doorways, and each of them has a keyhole just large enough for me to curiously peek through. I went on a walking tour of the campus today, and it reminded me of the Hogwarts from my fictionalized memory. I met a good many people, many of whom were good to be met. I trudged through the rain with three new friends to a mobile phone store where I purchased a high-tech version of a glass bottle and scrap of paper, all for the low, low cost of 30 euro. I hope the bottle’s signal makes it across the Atlantic. I have people to call. It was pricey, but looking back I think I actually bought a little of the time I needed to make some friends.

I’m still lonely, but more hopeful that things will change. The Irish are charming and brash, and above all, friendly. After the meetings, the tour, the trek to buy a phone, and dinner, I meandered back to my dorm and debated whether or not to head out later with Maureen, to meet up with her future softball team. I like her, and she seems to like me, so I opted to join her even though I was freezing and exhausted.

Long story, short – I made friends. The Irish are relentlessly good talkers, and once Maureen, Anthony, and I were cornered, the only choice we had was to converse. The two fellows we met simply turned around in their seats and started talking.

I am a decent conversationalist when I need to be, but these two were amazing.

One of the better moments happened when Aidan (Irish) started calling my friend Anthony (American) a stupid bint after finding out his relatives come from Cork. Aidan had just finished a good-natured tirade about the “pretentious snobs from Cork.” I jumped in, mock-angrily demanding that he not take that tone of voice with my friend. Aidan paused for a moment, bowed his head, then looked up at me and said, “You’re right. I ought to be a bit angrier,” before bursting into laughter.

I kept thinking, “How do they manage to keep up their banter, the friendly line of questioning, the tidbits of personal history, and opinion on Ireland? Did they practice?” And then it occurred to me: they do practice. I decided that the caricature of the drunk Irishman is unfair. In America, people go to bars and get drunk. In Ireland, people go to pubs to socialize. The result is a country of people that enjoy company, and happen to enjoy it most frequently in a pub.

In Chicago, working in bars, I have seen some disgusting behavior. Things I didn’t see tonight, that I would have expected: drunken girls wearing little more than cocktail napkins, slobbering beasts of drunken men, vomit, annoyed bar staff, and idiots who insist they “can drive just fine.”

The glimpse from the evening’s final outing showed me that for the Irish, a laugh is more important than a drink, but if they can get away with having both, they will.

ghost story

It is 11:15pm here. It is 5:15pm there. Ireland is beautiful, damp, and green, just like I’ve read. Home is far away, yet being here has made me reevaluate where home is. I feel like a ghost here.

I feel like a specter that has been whisked off by a strong wind. I feel transient, transparent, and unsubstantial. Ireland is beautiful, but I miss Chicago. I felt grounded and solid in Chicago. I suppose I felt too solid there, too comfortable, too settled and stagnant. Ireland will cure that. It has already begun.

From the grumpy airport processing officer who eventually laughed at my terrible jokes to the slew of confused international students to the cheerful University Representative, I felt off my game. Maybe it was the airline food. Maybe it was the 8+ hour-long flight. Maybe it was the concept of leaving home for an extended period of time finally sinking in. It is 11:30pm here, and after making a fairly uneventful trip to the grocery shop I have no idea what to do with myself.

I have no phone, no internet, no friends, and no idea where to procure any of these things. I have an orange bedroom and mixed feelings. I have a massive campus to maneuver and an even bigger country to explore. I have the ability to gain substance through experience, just as I have in Chicago. For tonight, I am a ghost in Ireland.

spatial relation

It’s done. I’ve left. When I get back, there won’t be snow on the ground. I’m glad I got to go sledding before I left, even though my pants are still damp from the excursion. I’m sure no one on the plane can tell. Not that I care. I got to go sledding and they didn’t.

The plane. I’m at the point of no return. I’m sad. Really, really sad. On the other hand, I sure do like plane rides. There’s something so fascinating about seeing clouds on their own terms. It’s a little like going to a good friend’s house for the first time. You see them every day, but it’s always at some neutral location, like work, or school, or the bus stop. Clouds are much bigger in their own home.

Right. So, I’ve left. Am I ready? Not at all. I don’t know how anyone can be ready for something they’ve never done before. Scratch that. Astronauts can. Aside from astronauts, I don’t know how anyone can truly be prepared for a new experience. At least I’m prepared for this flight. I’ve taken long flights before and I am ready for this one.

6 hours later…

I’m still on this plane and I’m getting mighty sick of the view. No offense, Clouds. You have a lovely home, I just think I may have overstayed my welcome

sleeper hit

It is the night before I leave for my grand, trans-Atlantic adventure and I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep in the way that one can’t sleep when they are very young and worry that a horrid, stinking monster will eat them as soon as they doze off. I can’t sleep in the way that one can’t sleep the night before a big competition. I can’t sleep in the way that I used to not fall asleep the day before school begins.

I can’t sleep.

This is the first entry I’ve written in several months. In those months I have taken giant steps toward finishing my undergraduate degree, learned to knit, made new friends, gotten back in touch with old friends, and plotted out my final semester of school. Of the many events, trials, and encounters, the most exciting thing has been planning for my semester abroad in Limerick, Ireland.

And I can’t sleep.

I can’t sleep in the “Oh dear God, what have I done?” kind of way. I can’t sleep in the sense that my mind won’t stop whirring like a hand mixer, churning up worry, fear, excitement, curiosity, and a pinch of self-loathing to flavor the filling for my Humble Pie. I plan to bite off more than I can chew.