Coming Soon: The Subcontinental Adventures (?)

Hey Everyone

So many of you known that I've been stressing out with the process of finding a co-op for next term - well, things appear to be settled. I've been offered a position at the Deshpande Foundation in Hubli, India working as an intern/instructor within their social entrepreneurship Fellowship Program.

It's a 6-month co-op; Hubli is a smallish city (small compared to cities like Mumbai or New Delhi, not compared to Boston). I'm supposed to be starting January 5. Flights and travel and everything aren't worked out yet, so I don't know the exact time I'll be leaving the States, but it means my time at home will be pretty limited.

I'm including links to the Foundation's website if anyone is interested in learning more about who I'll be working with, more specific information on my position is below.

About the Deshpande Fellowship Program (DFP):

At its core, the Deshpande Fellowship Program (DFP) is a training program – a six month, residential training program that prepares young adults with varying years of work experience to start their own social enterprise. The course is designed for both breadth and depth. The material covers a range of topics to the degree that participants are capable of both implementing and managing necessary processes for their own enterprise. The modules are meant to be rigorous, challenging fellows to stretch their limits and prepare them for the obstacles they may meet as they pursue their new social ventures.

The English and Computer/Technology Instructor(s) is an integral member of the Deshpande Fellowship Program staff team. The instructor will spend the first several weeks developing a comprehensive curriculum on English and technology, two months running an intensive training program followed by four months of consultation/instruction as needed.

Here's some general information on job responsibilities, my understanding is that these will be developed and added to as we go:

• Serve as the point person and lead facilitator for English/Computer instruction.
• Revise the comprehensive curriculum for training DFP fellows in the following: English grammar, technical (business) writing, speech, presentation skills, computer basics and Internet use.
• Teach & help fellows to improve in English, presentation skills, technical writing, reading & effective communication.
• Re-design and edit GLOCAL (DFP) magazine, develop DFP success stories and narrative through articles. Showcase student talent and achievements.
• Set the system for Alumni network building.
• Edit documents produced by the fellows and provide specific, individual feedback to each fellow as to how they can improve.
  
• Participate in program events and gatherings to support and enhance cultural exchange.
• Prepare DFP Marketing Materials (brochure & booklet).

More information on the Deshpande Foundation
More information on the Fellowship Program (DFP)

This is something that I've been working on getting for months now and it's a great opportunity :) If someone asked me in August or September what my first choice would be for my next co-op, this was at the top of the list. I think it will be a great challenge but I'm looking forward to doing something new, and I expect the work to be very rewarding, if difficult.

Only thing I'm bummed about is being home for such a short time!! Thanks everyone for your support!

LOL

Here's something that the Irish Independent brought to my attention today and that I will probably be watching like 10x per day for like...the rest of my life.



Also love that we were just rocking out to Bohemian Rhapsody last night at the Slipper. Gotta love the intense mutual appreciation that builds for songs like this especially after a couple drinks - air guitar and all. Brilliant, truly, and wanted to share with anyone who hasn't seen this yet. Enjoy!!! Over and over again!!

Well! Here we go!

Jeez, guys, busy as ever, and missing everyone as always.

This past week has probably been my low point here, as can be seen in the post below. However! We are adopting a new strategy. Enough of that noise! I'm on the offensive now! In a manner of speaking. Whatever that means. I'm still working it out.

As you can maybe see, the sleep deprivation still hasn't quite been remedied. I got sick again last week, which resulted in me missing several classes. Took Friday as a recovery day, and quite literally did NOT move from my bed for the entirety of the day, until about 4 or 5 pm. At first I felt guilty that I was missing hours for my internship, and guilty that I wasn't in the library studying or prepping for any one of the assignments I've got up in the air in the moment, but I decided that I needed to get better. So, instead of all that, I stayed in bed, ordered delivery, and watched old episodes of the West Wing on my computer. I'm serious, that's all I did for the whole day. That's right guys, I let LOOSE ;) And it was fantastic.

Saturday was an interesting day. By the afternoon, I was feeling healthy again, and ready to be productive, but alas there was something more important than work to address. It has been pointed out to me that over the past few months I may have not been the best friend that I could be to a lot of you, in various ways and for various reasons that we don't need to get into now. If any of you feel as if that is the case, as if I've been taking a bit too much advantage of your friendship, or in any way taking you for granted, I am sorry. Very sorry. The new strategy mentioned above involves adopting new behavior and attempting a new outlook over many areas of my life right now, and a big part of that is trying to make right this thing in particular. I really do love you all and despite appearances sometimes, I do very much appreciate everything that all of you do for me.

I talked to my Dad on Saturday evening for the first time in quite a while. He, like other family, was worried about how I was getting along here and could tell just by my voice that I was upset. He asked me what was going on and I told him - trying to successfully juggle schoolwork, internship, the co-op search and my relationships with friends didn't seem to be going very well, and was definitely taking a toll. Like he can usually do, he cheered me up. Somehow we managed to get on the topic of kilts - he wants me to bring him back one for Christmas so that he can wear it to Christmas parties and show it off to his friends. I swore up and down that kilts were Scottish and didn't have anything to do with Ireland, but that I would see what I could do. Turns out there are Irish kilts too, so don't I feel like an idiot. At the end of the conversation Dad told me to go out and have some drinks on him, it sounded like I needed a good time and I shouldn't be stressing so much in a place where I'm missing out on so much fun. With that endorsement, I got together with a few of my favorite people here and headed to my favorite pub, where we had a great night of laughter, conversation, flirtation and ridicule with some of the locals and our favorite bartenders. It was a much needed respite.


Highlights of the evening:

1) Being told by a bartender who had never met me before that the beer I was drinking (Smithwicks Irish Ale) was only for dirty hillbilly men and that I wouldn't be drinking any more. The following conversation ensued.

Me: You can't just not serve me the beer I want. I like Smithwicks! Whats wrong with liking Smithwicks?!
BT: I told you already. I'm not serving you another pint of that trash. It's not suitable. Pick something else.
*I glare at BT for several seconds but he does not comply. Silence ensues.*
Me: So if hypothetically I asked for a Budweis---
BT: Are you kidding me woman? You're in Ireland and you're ordering a Budweiser? No, you can drink that shit back home.
Me: It's better here!
BT: Bullshit.
*More glaring*
Me: Fine! Why don't you just give me what you think I should be drinking then!
*BT contemplates the taps, then pours a Heineken* (Note: There is no light beer here. What had just occurred was along the lines of ordering a beer like a Dogfish or something else with strength, and then being refused only to be served a Bud Light.)
Me: Seriously?
BT: *smirking* That'll be 4.60, m'dear.

2) Our BT buddies had been sneaking us free food from the big private party going on in the other room for most of the night. Upon finishing a chicken wing, and unaware of the insult he was committing, Will popped the bone into his now-empty pint glass to be disposed of. He was - of course - instantly chastised by the bartenders, but they made peace and Will ordered another pint of stout.

A little while later, one of the BTs, Paddy, came out and told us that we should get ready, because something really funny was going to happen soon. Over the course of the next few minutes, the other bartenders stopped by our side of the bar and told us the same thing, and they were clearly excited, but insisted on keeping us in suspense as to what it would be. We were all intrigued - including Will - and persisted in questioning the bartenders as to what was going to happen, but they wouldn't give it up. They just kept coming back around. "Seriously guys, like 10 minutes, its gonna get real funny in here." "I'm telling you guys. 5 more minutes. Hysterical, seriously."

By this point, Will had gotten down to the final stretch of his Beamish pint. We didn't notice that for whatever reason, all three bartenders had gathered at our end of the bar. As he went to toss the rest of it back, enough of the opaque stout moved so as to reveal the chicken bone, which had been sitting at the bottom of his pint for the entire time he had been drinking it. Trust me when I say, ladies and gentlemen, that hilarity ensued.

Generally it was a really good time with the bartenders and the locals and it was a good mental health experience in that it reminded me of all the fun I should be having here and made me resolve to do everything I can to make more time for such things.

Sunday was a day lost to recovery and work, but Monday I got up bright and early to write my paper on the problems surrounding the re-emergence of populism in Latin America. Got it done on time, happy with it, and it was nice to write about something that I actually enjoy learning about and have a real opinion on. (The potato famine, while interesting, didn't exactly inspire a lot of excitement when it came time to write about it). I did the paper! I went to class! Both classes! I went to the gym! And then, after all of it, I went out to celebrate a friend's birthday at the very same pub. It was the first time in a long time that I felt productive and accomplished and was still able to have fun. The plan is to try to do more to incorporate this kind of a thing on a regular basis. After all, there's less than 4 weeks left! I'm missing out!

Anyhow, I'm optimistic. I'm starting to get a handle on work. I've been given amnesty by my professors in the light of sickness-related absences and such. I've rallied, and we're giving this another go in the home stretch.

I'm heading off to Geneva and Paris this weekend to visit some friends from back home. I'm looking forward to it, because we will have all just missed out on seeing all of your beautiful faces during Thanksgiving. Should be great, it's my last chance to really get out of the city, and I'm really pumped to spend sometime with Cathy and Jay.

I know I'm behind on this guys but as always I appreciate the readership. Take care and everyone please enjoy your Thanksgiving! I'll be thinking of all of you :)

Homesick?

Disclaimer: This post is a soul-searching post. It wasn't really written for you. This is one of those times where this blog isn't so much that as it is a journal. I organize my thoughts by talking them out. When for whatever reason that doesn't seem feasible, I write them down. As such, this post is scattered, nonsensical and possibly more than a little bit whiny.

.....

About a 15-20 minute walk from our campus here at DCU is a shopping center called Omni. We probably hit Omni at least once per week. From there, we can catch the bus to the airport, we can get our American fast-food fix (it sports a Subway, a McDonalds, and a Burger King), we can mail our postcards and we can get our groceries.

I was on a grocery trip today and when I wandered through the wine aisle, for the first time since I've been here I found a small section of Argentine malbecs. The malbec is a wine that I became familiar with as it was the perfect companion to the delicious red meats of Buenos Aires, but it stuck with me. I liked its strength, the heady punch it had. When it became my wine of choice even after I returned to Boston, I would look at the bottle's Mendoza wine label and remember a great trip where I met some amazing people and had an amazing adventure. People who know me well know that I'm a creature of habit. I find comfort in things like eating the same kind of sandwich, drinking the same kind of smoothie, the same kind of wine. I find something I like and I stick with it. I found the malbec in Argentina, and I stuck with it in Boston.

I haven't thought until right now whether or not there might be a deeper meaning to why I do that. I always thought it was because I was lazy, or uncomplicated in that way - where if I found something I like, why ignore it? Why not embrace it? But thinking about it right now, I think there might be something else to it.

I move around a lot. In two years, I've lived in three different countries, in all of seven different "homes". For someone who hates packing up and moving around more than pretty much anything, it seems like I've made quite the habit of it. When I feel homesick, I don't long for a place. I don't think about a house or an apartment. More than anything I think of people - friends mostly, but lately, surrounded by the unfamiliar, the people who make my sandwiches at ABP, my smoothies at Freshens, my meals at Bombay get quite a bit of affection as well. I miss being able to walk into a place and be recognized, I miss getting my food before I even order because everyone knows what I want. That might sound spoiled and high maintenance but that's not how its meant - I also miss being comfortable enough in a place that I get teased by the staff for being there 3+ times per week.

Pretty soon after I started out on these adventures of mine, I realized how important home is to me. I cannot even begin to describe the value that I put on the friendships I have - they are the most important thing in the world to me, and I would go to the ends of the earth to protect them. For years, home has been less of a place for me, and more so a group of people that I've relied on to fill that gap. I absolutely do not underestimate the incredible opportunities that have allowed me to make my college experience into what it has been, but recently I've realized that it has come at what I believe to be a considerable cost. Since I've began college, I have never actually been able to settle. I can't go more than a few months without having to put relationships on hold, without having to pick up and readjust, restructure my support system, come up with a new strategy to deal with life's challenges. Maybe that's why I take the comfort I do in things that seem so trivial - ABP's smoked turkey club wrap, Freshens' Caribbean Craze smoothie, the raspberry chipotle chicken salad at Quiznos. As stupid as it sounds, those things are home to me. They're comforting. Just like sitting down with a good malbec is comforting.

Just a little over a month ago I had to write an essay stating why I would make a good candidate for the international co-op program. I said that I thrive on new challenges. I believed that to be true when I wrote it, and I guess I'm not quite ready to discount it yet. But here I am, in a foreign country, taking some of the most difficult courses I've ever taken, busier than I've ever been, with great opportunities to both learn from and make an impression on a new place, and seemingly endless challenges - projects for work that require that I roll together all of my experiences in international education to create a new, comprehensive product; projects for classes that require that I collaborate across time zones to produce a product in conjunction with students across an ocean; the search for a co-op job that requires me to establish an un-ignorable presence from thousands of miles away. Do I feel challenged? Absolutely. Am I thriving? Absolutely not. I am anxious. I am exhausted. I feel more isolated than I've ever felt in my life, as if slowly but steadily I'm being stripped of every support system I've managed to build for myself, and as if every new challenge is just a reminder of that fact. I feel weak, and because of that I feel quite a bit terrified, because I find myself under the impression that there is no end in sight.

This week I got an email from one of the best friends anyone could ask for. It talked about nostalgia, it reminisced for a time when all of us could be a little bit more careless, when we didn't have to think about things like GPAs and careers and student loans and resumes and interviews. When we had summer vacations and could stay up all night watching movies and talking and driving til the sun came up and then sleep all day the next day, guilt-free. When we could spend money on concerts and road trips instead of on rent and bills. Someone probably told me that those were going to be the best years of my life but I kind of wish I had paid more attention.

I sound so old! I sound so jaded! And I HATE it. I hate that dumb things like real life are getting in the way of me being young and carefree and happy. The kicker is? I don't ever remember feeling carefree, even back then. I guess I'm a little worried that I might have missed my chance.

I'm rambling. I have a pile of work that I can't even bring myself to look at. Work about suicide bombings and terrorist politics and the questionable feasibility of "true" democratic politics in Latin America. Sometimes I wish that 3 years ago when I got myself into this stuff someone had slapped me across the face and reminded me that I do actually like things like cinema studies and art.

The Omni center is fully decked out in all of the Christmas glory that any mall deserves. Anamatronic Santas and glittery trees hanging from the ceiling and everything else. It has been for a couple weeks now. Seemed early to me too. Then I realized it's because we'd missed Thanksgiving. I've never been without at least some sort of Thanksgiving before.

I bought the malbec in the supermarket today. I was excited for it. But for some reason I almost don't want to touch it. I bought it because it was something familiar that I could be nostalgic for. I thought it reminded me of home, but I guess these days I can't quite pin down what home even is anymore. Sometimes it feels like it doesn't exist at all.

BARCA BARCA BARCA

Hello!!

So again with the regrets for not being able to post as often - I've got a few different posts going now and someday the skies will clear and I'll be able to finish everything and get back on track with this, which I WISH could be higher on the list of priorities for me.

But at the moment I'm on vacation and as my travel partner is still struggling with the concept of wakefulness I get to take a moment and talk about it for a bit. Isn't that exciting? I think so.

Alas, the story of how I came to be here is a little bit sad. We're in the midst of Reading Week here at DCU, meaning no classes Monday-Friday. I had planned a 6-night trip to Spain - 2 nights each in Barcelona, Sevilla, and Madrid and was looking forward to getting away from the school work and be able to do one real trip, have myself an actual mini-backpacking experience, as I have been much busier than I expected to be and it would be nice to get away and see a little bit of a beautiful country. Unfortunately, at the last minute I decided that there really was too much work to do and that I couldn't afford to be put more behind by a week-long trip, so the trip was shortened to just the two nights in Barcelona.

Some of you knew me the last time I went to Barcelona...that little mini-exchange my junior year of high school. I came back and was absolutely certain that I had found my future home - plans were made in my mind that I would go back some day and live there, study there in college then somehow find a job. Things didn't work out that way, once I reached college it was Buenos Aires that drew me in and I'm glad it did, and once I arrived down there I saw many parallels between that city and what I remembered of Barcelona, and I loved it.

And now, more than 5 years later, I'm back! Just for a short couple days but already I'm remembering the feeling that the city gave me the last time I was here. It's beautiful, the people are friendly, the weather is nice - basically just one of the more gorgeous places in the world that you can imagine. And, as any city is going to be much different when you're 21 than when you're 16, its like discovering it all over again. The hostel is a blast, the worldwide Australian invasion (seriously - they're everywhere) makes for a very good time. Last night on a whim we joined a group from the hostel on a cross-city journey that stopped to pick up people from the sister hostels and eventually ended up, drunk, at the Barcelona stadium for a match...Barcelona against, well, someone else. Barca demolished them 5-0 after toying with them and not scoring at all in the first half - it was a good time and had us nicely worn out at the end. After spinning our wheels for a while we decided that we were content to just head back and sleep, and such a good decision it was, as I was running on something like 7 hours since Sunday and Will was on something similar.

Now, we're well rested, Will is up and ready to go, and we're off to do some power sight-seeing/lunch eating before we have to figure out what tonight will bring. Anyway, thought I'd get you all an update and I'll talk to you soon.

Love you all and take care!

"I'm not buying you a fucking gin tonic." Part I

So hello everybody, I've missed you.

I'm attempting this post now, at 9:43 pm on Thursday evening, and let me just say that I will be extremely impressed with myself if this gets done before Monday. Why? Well, let me just say that I am BUSY. I know that a lot of you probably know what I'm talking about seeing as you're either coming through or just came through midterm season, but honestly, I don't even remember what it feels like to be well-rested. Since about 2:30 this afternoon I've felt as though I'm seconds away from collapse. And as I start this I'm in bed under my comforter, eyes heavy. But I miss this blog, and even more than that I miss your comments. The difference in the frequency of posts between this month and September physically pains me. So I'm going to try.

As many of you know, a couple weeks ago I took a trip with my group from CIEE to the West. In four days we hit Westport, Connemara, and Galway. There are some pictures up already, and if I have time I'll get the rest up this weekend, but I'll post a direct link to the album for all of you non-facebookers out there.

It was a great trip. We stayed in a lovely adorable little hotel in Westport, which is a lovely adorable little town that has maybe 5 or 6 little pubs, all on the same street. CIEE took care of us - our hotel was three stars and each night we had delicious 3 course dinners and full Irish breakfasts every morning if we could haul our still-drunk asses out of bed in time to enjoy them, all paid for by the program.

The reason we were out west wasn't for a vacation (although after hostel beds and the rock-hard number I have in my dorm room it was close enough for me). In our CIEE core course, History and Culture of Modern Ireland, we were at the time studying the Great Irish Potato Famine, which I actually have a rather large paper (10+ pages) due on in about 48 hours, which naturally I haven't started. The west of Ireland was the region hit most harshly by the famine, so the museums that we were going to were originally the homes of wealthy landlords who evicted their poor, dying, peasant tenants and the sites that we were seeing tended to be the sites of Famine monuments or memorials. The trip actually would have been quite depressing if it wasn't for the fact that we have a great group and that that part of the country is actually mind-blowingly beautiful.


I don't feel the need to go into details of the museums, they're your standard "what a horrifying rift between rich and poor" fare. And, well, the monuments you can see for yourselves in the pictures (which, because I'm me and I love to write, generally come with very descriptive explanations of historical or sociological importance). So if you're interested, I would encourage you to check those out. What made the trip was the people, the fun, the being away from the city and classes, and the beauty of the location. And so, I present to you...

Part One: The Land.

We saw Croagh Patrick and Connemara on our first full day. Croagh Patrick is a mountain named for the infamous Saint Patrick, about 20 minutes drive outside of Westport, where we were staying. Climbing it is considered to be an act of pilgrimage for Irish Catholics. Even going a TINY fraction of the way up was tough for us, many of whom were battling hangovers from the night before (oops). Regardless, you didn't have to go very far up to get amazing views - as the name "Westport" implies - the city (and the mountain) are right on the Western Irish coast, meaning from our post near the base of the mountain we could still see out into the islands that littered that area of the coast - lucky for us, the weather was gorgeous and the views were pretty spectacular.

(ali iannotti, ladies and gentlemen)

Afterwards, on to Connemara, the heart of Famine country. Connemara is a region that straddles the counties of Mayo (where Westport is) and Galway, home of (predictably) Galway City, one of Ireland's main cultural centers and the birthplace of the Claddagh ring - you know the one I mean. There isn't really a whole lot going on in Connemara. Most of the landscape is wayyy to mountainous to make farming or settlement feasible and the flat land is mostly bog, meaning the earth is too transitional to make developed transport feasible. Thus, we all piled in to the stuffy, airless, smelly bus for a 2-3 hour drive over the Connemara bog roads, which are never greatly invested in because they'll only have to be redone in a couple years anyway. I felt like CRAP. I hate buses. We all know this.

So, after being virtually unable to look out the windows for most of the journey, I was overjoyed when Don said we'd be making a stop. All I could think about was fresh air. The second the bus stop I flew out of my seat, up the aisle, and down the stairs. When outside, I gulped the fresh air and looked up to this:


RIDICULOUSLY gorgeous, and this was just our first glimpse. The whole group of us just milled about the area, completely stunned by our surroundings. The mountains towering around us on all sides, the mirror-like reflections in the water, the crystal-clear skies - we were very fortunate, I consider it a miracle that for the entire trip the typical Irish fog and rain was kept at bay. Alas, once we got back on the bus, I was again indisposed and could only sneak quick glances out at the scenery around us. Luckily, I had Will, who has a very masculine fascination with expensive toys and was thus more than happy to take over the use of my camera to document the surroundings.

As beautiful as the scenery was, it was tempered by the area's history. The same roads that we were standing and driving on had been walked 150 years ago by the dying poor in search of assistance from their wealthy neighbors, assistance that the landlords and the gentry, largely of English or Anglo-Irish descent, were unwilling to give. There was a huge level of animosity between the English and the native Irish, who made up the vast majority of the peasant class, and they Irish were undoubtedly considered the lowest of the low within their very own country. It is a very sad truth that the English had the means to assist the Irish during this natural disaster, which more than halved the national population in a space of 3 or 4 years, a loss of population that came from disease, malnutrition, and mass emigration in order to escape what was essentially a dying country. The loss of life and the lack of action on the part of the English (although at the time the Irish were considered - politically - to be British citizens), was so bad in fact, that the purpose of the paper I'm to be writing this weekend is to analyze on what level the Famine was a natural disaster, and on what level it could be considered a genocide by the English of the native Irish. (Heavy stuff, I know.)

Anyway, Croagh Patrick and Connemara were without a doubt the most notable parts of the trip from a traveling perspective. Galway was a cool city, but by then the weather had caught up with us and in the middle of the day on a Friday there really wasn't a lot going on. It's another port city, much larger than Westport, that plays host to one of Ireland's major universities and is as such a great cultural center with a lot of cool restaurants, pubs, and shops. But, as we only had a few hours to explore the city, it probably has more to offer that I haven't seen.

That's all for now - I have to say that I am pretty impressed with myself that I got a post up tonight - just an hour ago it was a brutal battle to keep my eyes open for any significant period of time. Please, comment away - a side effect of being this busy and tired is that I've been feeling extra isolated these days, and I'm missing being able to see and talk to you guys more than I can really express. As always (and maybe even a little bit more now) your comments mean the world to me and I love hearing from all of you.

Also, if you want to send something a little more tangible, it only costs a dollar or so to send a letter. The address is up in a previous post, and I cannot even describe the feelings of joy and well-being that overwhelm me when there's mail (and I don't get much). I can safely say that I would love you forever.

You can see the rest of the pictures from Croagh Patrick and Connemara HERE. More photos (from Galway, etc) to come.

Stay tuned for Part II: That One Time In Ireland When It Was Kinda Like I Had A Social Life.

The Indian Food Adventures

Alright, so most of you know that I'm obsessed with Indian food. Those who didn't know probably got some idea from the post below. For the readers who still haven't gotten the memo...I'm obsessed with Indian food.

In Boston approximately a 4 minute walk from where I've been living for the past year or two there is a wonderful little Indian joint that sports a $7 lunch buffet every day of the week, plus a delicious if slightly more pricey dinner/takeout menu. As such, I'd say it's not unusual for me while in Boston to eat Indian food 2 or 3 times/week, easily.

But alas, as much as I would have liked it to, Bombay Cafe did not relocate to Dublin with me. So, a large amount of my time in my first month here was devoted to finding an adequate substitute. As you might have gleaned from the post below, that search was wrought with frustration. While living in Dublin's center at the Four Courts Hostel, there were several places that were easily accessible, but they were pricey and all together not that impressive. After a couple tries, I resigned myself to the truth that no matter how hard I tried, it was going to be very difficult to come across food with a respectable level of spice. I also resigned myself to the fact that like everything in this country, any take-out would be pretty damn expensive.

Shortly after my frustrations drove me to post that beautiful picture below and demand assistance from friends and family in the form of recipes, I discovered a wonderful website called http://www.just-eat.ie/, a website which is in essence the Irish version of Foodler. I entered in my postal district and out popped a list of restaurants that would deliver to me. A couple of them were Indian, and one was actually reasonably priced (€2 delivery fee aside). I immediately ordered chicken tikka masala, garlic naan, and onion bhajee (a pekora-like structure made from just onions). After quite a bit of confusion in the ordering/delivery process, (they had to call to confirm something and their Indian/Irish English was COMPLETELY uncompatible with my American English - it took both of us repeating ourselves at least 3 times per sentence before the understood anything. Also, they can't deliver directly to the dorms and my phone was deciding not to pick up any calls at that particular moment) I met him outside the residence reception, paid up, and proceeded to gorge myself.

Was it spicy? No. Was it amazing? No. But it was close enough to the food that I loved and craved that it was the best ever, and what normally would have lasted me a good 2 meals was gone within an hour. I was so full and satisfied that I thought I surely would never have such cravings for Indian food again. This was Wednesday. I ordered again on Friday.

I managed to rope in my friends Kelsy and Meghan (who had never had Indian food?!?!!) to wait with me so that we could avoid the missed-call fiasco again. I saw someone pull up and my phone rang. I answered.

Me: Hello!
Delivery Guy: Hi, it's me from Gill's Tandoori. I'm parked in the same place I was parked yesterday.
Me: It wasn't yesterday!!
*Delivery Guy hangs up*

Pretty hilarious, I know. Anyway, got my food and not only was I able to save half of it for a delicious leftover meal the next day, but I was able to control myself enough that I was even able to spare some samples for Meghan, Kelsy, and Tom (who joined us later and was an instant fan of onion bhajee), who are all now newly-converted Indian foodies.

Since then, the Indian fever has spread. Subathra, another girl in our program, was able to loan me some spices for my (several) attempts at vegetable pekoras, attempts which in the last 2 batches have actually acheived some success. (And I managed not to completely maul myself while deep-frying!!!! Those of you who have seen my left hand know what a feat that is) With the help of Subathra's expertise, we've also managed to put together 2 feasts. Our home-cooking has actually managed to supress my desire to order in again, which is never easy, so I must thus declare the Indian Food Adventures to be a roaring success.

But, as most of us know, nothing will ever replace Bombay Cafe. Cheers!!

Alright Alright!!

Haha Carmen your comment on my last post made my day so this one, short as it may be, goes out to you :)

It's been a week?!!? That might be the longest I've gone so far this trip. It's been a little busy, my friends. And by a little I mean I barely have time to think. But, as exhausting as busyness is, it does afford for many things to blog about, so Carmen (and others) you can look forward to quite a few this week as I get caught up.

What's been going on? Well classes are in full swing now - I'm taking four. I managed to avoid the usual study-abroad-is-like-a-vacation syndrome by getting myself into classes that are widely considered to be the most difficult. Woo!! I'm taking one course that is required by my CIEE program, which I have with all of the 18 other American students that are being hosted here by CIEE. It's not the only study abroad program here, so there are many other Americans wandering around campus...we're just the most spoiled.

Anyway, the CIEE core course is History and Culture of Modern Ireland and is team-taught by our program director Don (who is amazing) and his colleague Noel (a very eccentric Northern Ireland-er who gets caught up in tangents about Protestant dinner parties and jigsaw puzzles). Don's half is pretty engaging, but usually after 10 minutes of Noel talking we all find ourselves decorating our notebooks. Interesting guy, but probably better suited to having a conversation than to leading a class. My other courses include two senior-level political science courses, Contemporary Politics of Latin America and Political Terrorism, as well as a post-grad level literature-based course entitled The Experience of War, in which we look at things like speeches, novels, art and films produced around the era of the World Wars and discuss how they illustrate the cultural impact of conflict. All the courses are interesting and all of the lecturers are good, but once I got all of the syllabi (sp?) together I realized that by the end of the term I would be producing at the very least 6 research papers, all over 10 pages in length (and the majority of which are due in my final week here). Nice work, Elisha, nice work. Good choices.

So if that wasn't enough, I took on an internship here as well. You have three guesses where I ended up. Yes, that's right, I'm currently devoting 10-15 hours per week to the International Office at Dublin City University. The internship in itself isn't stressful at all, the people are nice and I've been given a couple projects that are challenging enough to be interesting but not worrisome. The issue is having 15 hours per week that I'm not researching papers or going over notes or doing reading for class. (The "required" readings for all of my classes combined tops 300 pages/week, easily)

In addition to classes and internships and whatnot, I try to go to the gym every day, which gives me a wake-up call of 8 am at the latest on Monday - Thursday in order to be able to get to class/work by 10. On those 4 days, I'm pretty much going non-stop from 8 to about 4 or 5. Add to that cooking dinner, relaxing a bit, hanging out with friends and (hopefully) getting some reading done, and you've got a pretty full day. No classes on Fridays, which is nice, and was exciting at the beginning of the semester due to its prospects for travel. However now, time and money are slipping away at incredible speeds, and trips that I promised myself are steadily getting cut from the calendar as I have to increase my considerations for my bank account and for my academic well-being.

It's tough, and the fact that I have to limit myself here, curb the sense of adventure for the sakes of rationality and responsibility tends to bring on bouts of homesickness, exhaustion, and even sometimes depression. Another major time commitment is the pursuit of an international co-op for next semester, and the daily frustrations of trying to get advisors to connect and answer emails and give the help you need when you're five hours ahead and across an ocean don't make things any easier. Thoughts of being home in Boston come every day, where I could camp out outside the co-op office til I got an answer, where I'd be taking classes taught in a style that was familiar, where I knew what was expected of me, and where I could unwind with good friends who I knew well with a pint of beer that would cost significantly less than €4.50 (~$6.75).

But the people here are generally great, and our CIEE core course includes 2 4-day trips around Ireland that are entirely paid for, one of which I just got back from (posts and pictures soon, once I can get my internet to let me upload!). I must admit, it was nice to get out of the city and away from classes and work for a little bit, to stay in a 3-star hotel with a nice cushy bed and free breakfast and 3-course dinners every day. We had a lot of fun, got to see more of this beautiful country, and we have another one to look forward to coming up in a couple weeks.

Anyway, time to shower and get ready for a trip to the grocery store so I can stock up on things for the week and for our Sunday potluck that I think we might try to institute as a weekly deal. Stay tuned for tales of the beautiful West, drunken program directors, crazily obnoxious Greek roommates, and a continuation of the Indian Food Adventures. Love you guys, hope all is well. If you haven't already, hit me up with your address to be put on the postcard list. Take care!

This is my new porn.

Bombay Cafe I MISS YOU!!!

Danny if you're reading this please get your pekora recipe to me ASAP. That goes for anyone else with Indian food recipes that can be done somewhat easily and with limited ingredients. Seriously. Dying.

NOTHING. SPICY. IN. THIS. COUNTRY.

To Dublin readers: We need to remedy this soon. I think my addiction might be underestimated here.

Boston readers: Please assist by harassing Danny until he complies.

Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

The Netherlands!! September 17 - 21.

Busy weeks equal delayed posts, but here it is, and I'm hoping to get an accompanying photo album up on Facebook soon as well, which I'll link to for the non-Facebookies among us.

So after one week here in the hostel in Dublin, I woke up early and returned to Dublin Airport to start on my first side-trip from Ireland. I hopped on my first-ever Ryanair flight and headed off to Eindhoven, the first stop on my journey where I would be meeting my old friend Lennart before catching the train heading back to his hometown.

I hadn't seen Lennart since Kassandra and I escorted him to Ezeiza Airport in Buenos Aires at then end of our six months together at la Universidad del Salvador. That was over a year ago. He was one of those friends that you make while abroad and (because you have no one else) they become like family. You learn as much about each other in the span of a few months as some people learn in lifetimes. We saw each other nearly every day, lived less than four blocks from each other, ate together, partied together, traveled together. Then, with these friends, at the end of your time together, you branch off and go your separate ways, and in all likelihood the next time you see each other won't be for years if at all. It's one of the "double-edged sword" aspects of doing this.

IT WAS SO GOOD TO SEE HIM!! Weird. But good. We both acknowledged on a couple of occasions how strange it was to be seeing each other again. It wouldn't have been as strange to be reunited in BsAs. That was our world. This was his world, his real life and not his abroad life. I encountered the same feelings visiting Isabelle in Montreal or hosting her in Boston. When we're together in these places, I feel like once in a while the feeling sneaks up on you, that this simply might not be where you belong. After arriving on Thursday, I think it took at least until Saturday, even early Sunday, before Lennart and I were back in our old rhythm, when we had finally adjusted to seeing each other in this new place.

The trip was a lot of fun. After a week of the hostel and living on cheap Irish food, it was fantastic to head to Lennart's home town of Duiven and meet the de Lange family, sleep in my room, and eat home-cooked meals. Their hospitality was incredible and greatly appreciated.

The weekend was a bit of a whirlwind. Almost directly after dinner Lennart drove us out to Arnhem, about a 15 minute drive from Duiven, where he went to school and lived until recently. I got have some drinks and meet his friends, including a host of very handsome and very charming Dutch men who insured that I didn't pay for a drink the entire time. Whenever I protested the response was "Don't be ridiculous! Have fun! Welcome to the Netherlands!"

Friday we caught another train for an hour's trip across the little country to Amsterdam. What a fucking beautiful city. Weaving in and out of the streets and canals was incredible. We walked everywhere - up and down the city, the Red Light District, the shopping districts, the government houses - by the end of the day we were exhausted and hopped a tram back to Centraal Station to avoid having to cross the entire city by foot again. I failed to charge my camera battery before leaving (which Lennart didn't hesitate to rail on me for, over and over) so unfortunately I couldn't go as photographically nuts there as I wanted to. It's a beautiful place.

Honestly, I was in the Netherlands primarily to visit Lennart so going into the details of Amsterdam doesn't really seem necessary to me, but because it's such an infamous city in the States (and everywhere I suppose), I guess it would be irresponsible not to go into a little more detail here.

Does it smell like weed everywhere? No. It's like living on a college campus, walk around in normalcy and occasionally catch a whiff of something on someone. I had heard from a Dutch girl on the way over that the passage of the no-smoking-indoors laws that have been sweeping the globe had finally reached the Amsterdam coffeehouses (it's a fairly recent development in Dublin pubs as well). That's right folks, apparently you are no longer allowed to smoke inside the coffeehouses. Thus, all the smoking we witnessed, or that I noticed, happened around small outdoor café tables or rather pathetically as someone was sitting on the curbs of the crowded sidewalks. Kind of takes away from it a little, I think. Glasswear and other paraphernalia, including seeds, were sold openly in the same cornershops that would sell coffee or postcards in another city, and were comparatively very cheap. Nearly half of the postcards sold in the city had genitalia involved somehow in their design, often in rather disgusting ways. Need more detail? Conjure up an image, and now think "overzealous piercings". Maybe you came close.

Unfortunately, I think Amsterdam might be less famous for its architectural and physical beauty than it is for things like the coffeehouses and the Red Light District, which are things that I just didn't find very exciting. Lennart warned me before we got to the city of what I could expect in the District as far as far as comments and other things went. He used the term that I had taught him when we were in Argentina and dubbed it "very sketchy". He was very worried about my sensibilities, which he clearly thinks are a bit more delicate than they actually are.

I guess the effect is different during the day. It's more of a tourist trap and less of a working district. Interesting but not necessarily impressive. It was situated along just one more beautiful canal with old buildings growing up around it. If you ignored the neon signs it'd be just another neighborhood. But because of where we were, in addition to passing the usual bars and coffeehouses we would be passing windows where girls of all shapes and sizes were displaying themselves, simply looking very bored.

After exploring more of the city, we got back on the train, stopping in Utrecht (largest train station in the Netherlands - it's like a mall) where we had to connect for the train to Arnhem, to have dinner in the city center along the canal before heading back home Arnhem and then hopping the bus to Duiven for the night. Saturday held the open market in Arnhem, where I bought €10 worth of Dutch cheese which I would later smuggle back to Ireland in my carry-on (so delicious). Lennart had a 16k to run that evening, so after a energy-giving pasta lunch we headed back to Amsterdam by car for Nike's Dam-to-Dam race. After dropping Lennart and his brother off, the de Lange's drove us out to an open-air museum so I could see some of the old famous Dutch windmills. The windmills used to be responsible for pumping the water out of the ground, thus keeping the Netherlands (a country that is almost entirely below sea-level) from being buried under the ocean. They were quite impressive.

After a quick meal at McDonalds (fries come with mayo there, and you can sub out fries for a decent-sized salad at no extra cost) we headed to the finish line. Lennart managed to finish in time to beat the family record. We then headed back to Duiven for a relaxed evening of wine, cheese, and conversation out in the de Lange's beautiful garden.

Sunday held more trains and more trams, this time to the Hague. Mrs. de Lange had told me before we left that she loved the Hague, that it had a "grandeur" to it that couldn't be found in many other places. She's right. The Hague is the seat of government in the Netherlands, and houses many beautiful and impressive palaces and embassies and the like. As I had charged my camera battery by this time, there are a lot more pictures here. Lennart got me to try the Dutch "haring" (herring), which is a small fish that has been gutted and scaled, but that you eat without forks or knives, it's simply given to you on a napkin with a pile of chopped onion. You take the fish by the tail, roll it around in the onion (it's slimy so the onion sticks) then lift it up over your head, tip your head back, and lower it into your mouth. You look ridiculous, but it's pretty damn good.

After wandering the Hague a bit we caught a tram out to the coast and had lunch in the beach-town of Scheveningen. We walked the beach, collected some shells, got our jeans wet and got some ice cream before heading back. How nice to end my weekend by getting my feet wet in the other side of the Atlantic (technically the North Sea, I guess, but whatever).

Once we were home in Duiven once again it was pretty much just resting and chatting before getting driven out to Arnhem in on Monday morning to get the shuttle over the border into Germany to the Weeze airport outside Düsseldorf, where my flight was delayed for an hour or two before Ryanair flight #2 and back to Dublin to start Week One (see below).

It was a great trip. My first experience with the intercity train systems so prevalent in Europe. To me, the trains seemed almost tiring, hopping on and off, making connections, etc etc, but to the Dutch it's second nature. Lennart has several hours of commute by train every day to his job at Nike. I'd be interested to tally up my total travel time for the weekend - it seemed like a lot. But it's a great way to see the country. It's always good to see new places, and to reconnect with old friends, and I got to do both at the same time :)

Week One (Long, I know! A lot's happened!)

Well everyone, it's been about a week since I've done any kind of real post, maybe more. Things have been super busy!! The rest of the people in the CIEE program (as well as most of the other international students and freshmen starting at DCU) got in this past Sunday/Monday, so it has been a week full of meeting new people, getting settled in the new place, figuring out class schedules and internships, etc etc, with a little bit of partying and tourism thrown in there for good measure. As I was thrown into all of this directly after a fairly tiring extended weekend in Holland, I've been exhausted and it's just as of this morning that I'm starting to feel human again. (I'm still not unpacked)

This week brought us orientation activities, winding expeditions in search of the neighborhood grocery store/shopping center, pub nights out at a nearby bar (now a favorite) and Arthur's Day (see below). After going through all of this with the program people, I have to say I'm really happy with the group we have here. The CIEE people come from all over the country with all kinds of backgrounds, interests and majors, and for the most part everyone seems genuinely interested in meeting good people and having a good time. Which is all we can ask, right? Well, maybe we could ask for a few more guys to be in the mix, too. Not that the two (2) that we do have aren't wonderful :)

My apartment has 5 bedrooms and a pretty decent sized lounge/kitchen area. As of now I've met two of my roommates, the lovely Meghan (a fellow CIEE-er who hails from equal parts Nebraska and South Carolina) and Alex, a 44-year old Greek. Nice enough, but I gotta say it's a little strange living with a man quite close to my father's age. We also think there is someone else living in room E, but we have never seen this person. A tall-boy can of Miller Draft sitting warm in one of cupboard hints toward someone of the male persuasion, but that's all we got. Room D, to all our knowledge, also remains empty.

College Park is the dorm complex we all live in, 3 large buildings divided into several "houses" oriented around a central courtyard. The setup is actually quite convenient, in that it is conducive to communicating without using our phone credit. I.e., stand in the courtyard and shout up in the general direction of the person's room that you are looking for. Studies have found that the frequency, volume, and general obnoxiousness of this particular mode of communication positively correlates with the number of pints consumed across the street at Matt Weldon's Pub. (My room faces the rear of the building, thankfully)

Once again, after another week in and around the city of Dublin, it has been reinforced that the Irish culture is brilliant, warm, and still endlessly surprising to me. The people, generally, are open to the point of making me incredulous of their openness. After 2 or 3 visits, the bartenders at the pub across the street know our names and greet us loudly and warmly when we arrive, shouting around and joking with us as we sit at the bar and have a good time. People on the street are quick to offer helps if we're lost and confused, and once you get a couple drinks in any one of these people, you've made a new best friend for the night, and longer if you're willing. Without a doubt, the city favors the friendly. The people who get the most out of it are the people willing to walk up to anyone, have a conversation with anyone, share a laugh with anyone. I'm trying to get over whatever remains of my shyness after Argentina, because here it's only holding me back.

Yesterday, in the midst of one of the most touristy things of my life, was one of the most touching experiences that I can remember. All of the international students were invited out to Causey Farm, a working farm-turned-tourist attraction about an hour outside the city. After an hour's bus ride past rolling green hills and the occasional castle, we arrived at the farm and were swept off into a day of forced Irish dancing, drumming, bread-baking, cow-milking, pig-chasing, and bog-jumping, to name just a few of the activities.

The group of international students from DCU was at least 75, possibly up to 100 or so. At the end of the day, we were all gathered into a big meeting hall for a dinner of potato leek soup and the traditional Irish soda bread that we had made ourselves earlier in the day. After the meal, they cleared out the tables and chairs to make a big open space in the middle. A few of the farmhands grabbed instruments and started off the end of the night with a few songs. The owner of the farm said that it was traditional in Ireland to get a group of people together and for people to entertain themselves with dancing or singing or stories or whatever else. He used the Irish word for "visit", which I don't remember but looked up and might be "cuairt". He said that what made the tradition special was that it would never be the same, but would always change based on the people you were with and what they brought to the table in that particular moment.

Groups from different countries got up together to sing songs or do dances unique to them. Tom, a particularly outgoing guy from our group, played harmonica. It took a while, but eventually people were getting up and doing things on their own, sometimes borrowing one of the farmhands' instruments, sometimes singing songs that the entire group could join into, for example we had acoustic guitar versions of "Knockin on Heaven's Door" and an a capella version of Journey's "Don't Stop Believing". As fun as this was, the most striking were the traditional Irish pieces given to us by the farmhands and the Causey family.

In a lull when everyone was still a little shy to get up, the owner told us that the kids we had seen running around all belonged to him and his wife, and although most of them had gone to bed one (Rosie, perhaps, about 6 years old) was still up, and asked her if she'd be up for singing a song for everyone. It was clear that the owners and the farmhands were like family, and the little girl was sitting behind the guy playing the guitar. He turned to face her, and started playing very softly, smiling warmly to encourage her. Everyone in the room got entirely silent and watched this beautiful little blonde-haired rosy-cheeked girl shyly start singing:

In Dublin's Fair City
Where the girls are so pretty
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone
As she wheel'd her wheel barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

Chorus
Alive, alive o!, alive, alive o!
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

She was a fishmonger
But sure 'twas no wonder
For so were her father and mother before
And they each wheel'd their barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

Chorus

She died of a fever
And no one could save her
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone
But her ghost wheels her barrow
Through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive, alive o!

Chorus

By the third chorus those of us who hadn't known the song (quite famous in Ireland) were able to join in for the chorus. The farmhand accompanying her on guitar would softly sing along with her so that she could keep going if she momentarily forgot the words. The amazing thing was that everyone was singing so softly, so that no one would drown out the voice of the little girl. And through the whole thing she was singing quietly, her big eyes looking around the room at all of us, as if she wasn't quite sure what to do with all the attention, but was proud that all the attention was on her and that everyone was so amazed by what was happening.

Having this song sung by that little girl, and having everyone join in to support her, was the height of this entire experience and actually moved me to tears. It was absolutely an entirely beautiful moment.

The guitarist graced us with quiet soulful versions of two favorites, the Irish "Galway Girl" and Nina Simone's "Black is the Color of My True Love's Hair", which was sad enough to bring a couple of the tears back (why am I such a sap?).

More than anything, I think it was the experience that was moving. To be a part of something like that, so special just as the owner described it, as touristy as the day might have been it was one of the first times that I really felt like I could be at home in Ireland. And it's because they want you to be at home there, they were all so sweet, making sure we had a good time and telling us to come back whenever. It was fantastic. I can't really convey it with words, I really need to start bringing that video camera around with me. *puts it in purse*

That's all for now, classes/internship starts tomorrow so I'll be up bright and early (7:30 wake up call if I want to make it to the gym before work). So once I finish my glass of wine and maybe get some photos up, it's off to bed. I'll check in soon with some tales of this coming week and perhaps of the Netherlands as well.

Keep in touch!! Miss you guys

P.S. The "Black is the Color" above is not the original Nina Simone version, but better captures the tone of what I heard. And it's put to photos of Ireland! How suitable.

Arthur's Day

Today was the 250th anniversary of Guinness, which began in 1759. As you can imagine, this is a fairly big deal here in Dublin. The Storehouse was taken over by concerts and parties, and every pub in the city was filled with people who all held up their glasses at 17:59 (5:59 pm) to the man who started it all.




I'm happy to say that I was able to take part in the celebrations, here of all places. Good times today, all.

New Address! (Finally)

Elisha Clark
w103 B - Campus Residences
Dublin City University
Glasnevin
Dublin 9
Ireland

Mail is encouraged!! Feel free to send letters, cards, care packages, financial contributions, etc.

I'm kidding about the financial contributions. Unless you're actually game for that. If you are, email me and I'll hook you up with some routing numbers. I'll say that I'm kidding only because I think it'd be tacky not to.

No, but seriously...jk.

The past few days have held considerable amounts of traveling, drinking, and walking around. I am clearly (as demonstrated to some extent by this post) tired to the point of delirium.

That's all for now.

AHEM, some thoughts on this blog

Hello!

So things are a little bit crazy here with orientation and meeting all of these crazy-cool people, in the program and out, so alas you might have to wait a little bit longer for any post accounting for either that stuff or the mainland Europe stuff that I got up to this past weekend. Not only is orientation crazy, but I'm currently trying to pull together co-op for next semester, and apparently that means I need to write a 6+ page paper for the co-op department. Apparently I need to prove in this paper that I'm a nice person with cultural awareness who isn't going to fuck up too badly if you dump me in another country for 6 months. Maybe I can just send them the links to these blogs!! Probably not. Argh. No. Time.

Anyway, speaking of blogs!! I have a request for you readers. Apparently, there are more of you than I thought, which is so great. And a lot of time, I get comments and feedback about the blog through email or AIM or Facebook or something where you guys tell me that you like it or you love it or you think its a boring piece of trash, and that's AWESOME. Thank you, seriously. It's wonderful to get the feedback.

HOWEVER. This blog is just as much for me as it is for you guys, perhaps more so. Now, while abroad, it's my connection to home and all of you. Later in life after I've returned or when I'm off somewhere else doing something different, it's going to be my connection to my time here, and my key way of looking back.

Maybe what some of you don't realize is that what YOU think of these posts, what you think about what I do or what you have to say to me during this time, all of that a key part of this experience for me. That you read it at all is a great thing for me, but I'm going to request just a little bit more of you. Because it turns out, I have no way of knowing who reads, or what they like, without you all telling me.

SO, if everyone could bear with me for a second and move your eyes down to the bottom of this post, where it says "posted by Elisha at a-time-when-she-should-be-showering-and-not-blogging". Now move them to the right. See that little link? The one that says "Comments" with a number next to it? That's the one, yes. Leave it for now, but head back to that when we're done here.

Blog comments basically make my world go round. It lets me know that people are reading, what they thought, if they liked it, but mostly just that they're reading. And that is a truly fantastic feeling. So from now on, I beseech all of you: as much as you can when you read, leave a little comment afterward and tell me what you thought. Some of these posts have one comment now. Some have two. But most have none. Do you have any idea how happy it would make me if I logged into blogger and saw 10, 15 comments on a new post??? More?? For the rest of the day I would be flying, seriously. Even if its just something small that you might think to be worthless, like a smiley face. It just lets me know that you're out there. And later, when I look back on this experience, I'll be able to look and see how much my friends and family supported me being here. And that's all part of it.

Example: say I do something crazy like jump off a cliff, again, and then write about it here. You hit "comment" and say something like "Holy fucking shit Elisha, have you lost your damn mind???" and then later, after all that, we can discuss my questionable sanity via AIM, email, skype, what have you.

Think you can do that for me? Work with me here, guys. Love you all.

To the parents of potentially younger readers: sorry for the swearing :S

Getting ready to say "goodbye" to Holland...

...and "hello" to a new home.

Well everyone, it's been a couple of days but as most of you know I took a short trip over to visit Lennart, an old friend from the Buenos Aires days. Thus, I've been chilling out in and exploring the Netherlands since Thursday evening and I've had quite the lovely time with Lennart and his family.

There will most certainly be a more detailed post with thoughts on our various adventures, pictures. etc. But for now, I'm just sitting alone upstairs while Lennart is unwinding with a bath (the crazy man ran a 16k race yesterday!), and I'm reflecting on my thoughts on returning to Dublin tomorrow.

I've always balked a bit at being thrown into situations where I have to meet a bunch of new people. Even a party where I have to meet and coexist for a couple hours can be intimidating, and these are people that I have to be with for 3 months!! I still have no idea who my roommates are, or where they come from, or even if they'll be there when I move into my room tomorrow, and of the 18 other CIEE students I've only met Ali and Rebecca from Northeastern, and then only briefly. The next week of orientation and the following week of beginning classes will certainly be intimidating, but then interesting and exciting as well. It's been far too long since I've been taking classes and I will very nerdily say that I am looking forward to it quite a bit.

More than anything else, though, I am looking forward to getting settled in my own apartment. With my own room. And my own bed. I realize now that it has been over a month since I was at "home" in my Gainsborough apartment, before I got swept into the bustle of packing and moving and preparation. Then it was a 10 days or so back in CT, which was just a rush of seeing people and getting things done, with no time to rest, then back up to Boston for 9 days of sleeping on couches and living out of suitcases, then 8 days of hostel beds, noise, and strangers in Dublin, and now 4 more of living out of a backpack in a house that's not my own (not that the de Lange family hasn't been entirely lovely-they've been exquisite). A new friend that I met in the hostel put it quite well - after backpacking around Europe for quite some time, she said that thing she was looking forward to the most was to have her own designated place where she could set down her tooth brush, and leave it there. I felt exhausted before I even left Boston - now I feel like nothing in the world could fill me with more joy than the prospect of unpacking my suitcases, stocking the fridge, setting down my toothbrush, and settling in for a good night of sleep in my own bed. It will be a temporary home, but a home nonetheless, and I am absolutely thrilled at the thought of it.

So as far as all that goes - don't be surprised if for the next few days I don't want to do anything except cuddle with a pillow in my new room under my own comforter. I can't say if that means there will be new posts sooner or later. But I'm sure all of you will forgive me if I say I really don't care.

All I can think about is my bed.

Ahhh!

I know I said that there would be no posting for a couple days, but Don dropped me at the airport with HOURS to kill before my flight so here I am, paying exorbitant fees for internet access at these adorable little "SurfBox" booths in the main terminal.

I checked out of the hostel this morning around 8:30 and proceeded with my very awesome, very full and strategically packed new rucksack and my little wheeling suitcase over to O'Connell Street, the huge main boulevard in Dublin where I would be hopping the bus to DCU to drop off my suitcase and get a ride to the airport, hopefully without any mishaps. Last time I tried this I ended up on the wrong bus but thanks to several very helpful passengers, it all worked out fine, just took a bit longer.

So after waiting a few minutes the 19a arrived and I hopped on to confirm with the driver that this was indeed the bus I wanted.

"Hi sorry, does this bus go to DCU?"
"Yes it does."

I dropped in my fare and started heading toward the back but the driver stopped me.

"Hang on there love. You can catch the 4, the 4a, the 11, or the 19a. They'll all take you there."
"OK thank you!"
"You got it? The 4, the 4a, the 11, or the 19a."
"4-4a-11 19a, thanks!"

I was pretty sure that these numbers were different from the numbers that were given to me at the beginning of the week when I went into the Dublin Bus Office to ask about which routes to take, but clearly my memory of those numbers couldn't have been that great, as I ended up getting on the wrong bus that time.

Anyway, I made it to DCU without any mishap and even managed to remember enough of the campus to get to Don's office without having to call and pathetically ask for help (again). The door was open and I got there.

"Don! I made it! I didn't get lost at all!" I announced proudly.

Don was sitting at his desk behind a folded newspaper. He looked over the paper at me, chuckled, and tossed the paper down on the desk so that I could see the front page."

"Just be glad you weren't on THAT bus!"

Wtf?!?!

Departure and Arrival, Part II: The Destination

So to continue from before, some story of my first day or so (started this post on Friday, got a little distracted by other things):

Don scooped me up at the airport a bit before 9 and it was from this point forward that I got to see my first glimpses of the city that would be my home for the next three months. It took me a while in my tired, confused state to get the hang of small talk again, never mind navigating the small talk with Don's accent and somewhat mumbly, gruff demeanor. As he shuffled me off to his car, Don complimented me on my light packing (I was incredulous) and seemed appalled at the lax security for visitors to his country, as well as irritated with the scare tactics and information given by the immigration officer.

We popped my bags into the trunk of Don's car and I walked to the door to jump in. When I got to the door I looked down and saw a steering wheel and gauges. I immediately moved to the other side of the car to get into the passenger's side, attempting to be as smooth as possible. The quizzical look I received from Don once we were both settled in the car told me that I probably failed in being smooth at all (are any of us surprised?).

Anyhow, we buckled in and were off. As much as it pains me to admit it, I found myself channeling my mother during the drive university. You know what I'm talking about, Mom. When you *GASP* and clutch the side of the car any time I take a turn, or stop, or slow down, or go straight, or park...

But I had an excuse. Being in the passenger's seat (which is on the wrong side) while driving on the *wrong* side of the road is FREAKY. Every time we had to take a right turn, I saw my life flash before my eyes. After getting a couple sidelong glances from Don I explained that it wasn't that I didn't have faith in his motoring skills, but that it was really quite weird to be on the opposite side of the road. He didn't seem to be very impressed. But then, after spending a little more time with him, it would seem that he rarely does.

In order to avoid rush hour traffic into the center of the city where my hostel is, Don said that we would take a detour into the village where the university is so he could give me a quick tour and give my my bearings. It seemed like a nice place, lots of ugly buildings that appear to have been built in the 60s or 70s, but its got a bit of charm to it. While I'm told the campus sits on 85 acres or so, that didn't seem to be the case at all. The campus felt smaller than Northeastern's. And quieter, but that could just be that classes weren't yet in session.

Don took me around and showed me where I'd be living and a couple other key places before taking me out again and showing me where I could catch the bus into the city. Buses run for €1.60 into the city center and take around 20 minutes from DCU. My first time out there I grabbed the wrong one, so it took a little longer (oops). Also, for the buses, you kind of have to know your shit. There's no announcing of stops like on the Boston lines. Makes for a bit of an adventure.

After the brief tour driving into the city, Don gave me some insight into the city's layout and how it works. Possibly the most helpful thing that he said was that in order to understand Dublin I had to stop thinking of it as a city and more as a series of villages that over hundreds of years have simply grown into each other. After he said this it was clear why instead of a steady increase in the hustle and bustle as we got closer to the center, it was more of a rise and fall.

On the way in Don would point out one thing or the other, older areas of the city that were starting to become more gentrified, storefronts closed as a result of the recession, different types or architecture or government projects that he approved or disapproved of. (One landmark that no one really seems to get is the Spire, left, which was erected by the government on O'Connell St as a way to mark the coming of the new millennium. This was during the "Celtic Tiger" economic period before the global recession, when the government had money to burn) Don felt it was enough to say that the Spire was stupid and worthless. The guide of the walking tour that I took the following day was kind enough to share some of the Dubs' more colorful terms for the monument, such as "The Stiletto in the Ghetto" and "The Stiffy on the Liffey" (the Liffey being the river that runs through the center of the city, dividing the North and South sides).

Despite Don's constant swearing about the traffic (which being from Boston I barely noticed) we arrived at the Four Courts hostel without much delay. Don dropped me off and I grabbed my bags and headed in, checked in a little bit early but they were cool with it. The hostel's nice. Now, at the time of writing, I've found it's gotten a bit old, but there's only so much of the noise and drunken debauchery that you can take when you're traveling alone and working on recovering from a rough couple weeks of preparation. Despite being tired of it nearly a week later, I would still recommend the Four Courts to anyone looking for a Dublin hostel for a short stay.

The next few days brought a walking tour of the city and a self-guided tour of the Guinness storehouse in St. James's Gate. Impressions? It's a cool city, but smaller than expected. At the hostel, I've made a point of trying every day to explore a little bit more, be it as simple as going on a walk for an hour, leaving the hostel and every day setting out in a different direction. So far, for me, the people make the city. Dubliners have proven to be super helpful and super friendly at every turn, such as my banking problems discussed below or when I do flaky things like get on the wrong bus. I'm done with being in the city on my own though. This week was good to relax a bit and get acclimated some, but I'm looking forward to Monday when I can move into my apartment, meet my roommates and the other people on the program, and have a social life again. I miss it.

For those of you not on Facebook, you can check out some photos with details of the first days HERE.

Thanks for reading!! I'm heading off to the Netherlands tomorrow to visit an old friend from Buenos Aires, so there will be more photos and posting to come next week, I'm sure. I wanted to get this up before I took off. Also, I won't be on the computer much (what will I do with myself?) but on one of my recent explorations I bought myself a little journal that I can keep in my purse. I was pretty excited about the purchase, and it will keep me from losing the thoughts that occur to me sometimes as I'm on the go.

Hope everything's well across the pond, miss you guys as usual.

We both speak English! Really, we do!

So here at the hostel as part of security we have a "security pass" that has to be exchanged every day for a new one of a different color. It's basically just a colored piece of paper that says "SECURITY PASS" on it and then has your room number, bed number, and date written in on it.

I was heading out today to grab some food and as it was the first time I had left the hostel today (It's been a sleepy day. Lots of naps.) I handed over my security pass (green) for its yellow replacement . Man With Long Hair #2 (I have failed to be social enough to learn their names, so in my head I refer to them by their distinguishing features. Unfortunately, several of them look very similar) busted out his pad and asked me what room and bed I was in.

"Room three-oh-one, bed eight."
"Which bed?"
"Eight?"
"You mean eight?"
"Isn't that what I said?"
"Eight, like the number. Not like the past-tense of 'to eat'."

When, at this point, I pouted and said that I failed to hear the difference, Man With Long Hair #2 laughed and proceeded to look me up in the computer. He was joined in his reverie by Man With Long Hair #1 and Tall Man With Long Hair In A Ponytail. After confirming that my reservation was through tomorrow, he handed over the new pass.

"Cheers!"

This marks the first time that I've been made fun of for my accent...when speaking my native language. And I still don't hear the difference.

*pouts*

Random post #1

So what do you do when the weather in Dublin has finally returned to normal from the sunny happiness that it's been so far and you're feeling a little down and are tired of listening to the Beastie Boys and Fat Boy Slim on the hostel stereo?

You google "puffins" so you can find pictures like THIS to make you feel better.

That's all for now :)

And then you wonder...

Is someone trying to tell you something? Like maybe you should have just stayed home? What are you doing, just flying off to different countries, as if you don't have a care in the world? Don't you know your place in this universe? What are you thinking? People can't just go wherever they want, do whatever they want to do. Go back to Boston and go to school there like the college student you're supposed to be. Nice try, but let's be serious.

Back when I made the choice to come here, it was an easy one. And a happy one. I was thrilled to think of what I was accomplishing - spending nearly as much time towards my degree out of the country as I've spent in it. Experiencing my classes as opposed to just listening to them. How cool was that?

Then, as time went on, after the decision was already made, it became more difficult to stick to the convictions that were once so effortless. There are two sides to every story, and suddenly the sad side was facing up, the side where I was going to be leaving everyone behind me in Boston, possibly to be gone from the city forever by the time I got back, where all of a sudden it's clear that I'm leaving a city and people that I really do love more than anything, only to fly off to a country where I know nothing and no one. Some know better than others how difficult it really was to stick with my choice, to go from excitement, to telling myself that despite whatever misgivings I might have in the moment I had made the right decision, and then eventually to telling myself that whether or not I made the right decision it was too late to do anything about it one way or the other, when despite how I felt I knew I had reached the point of no return.

But I got through it. I survived the emotionally harrowing last couple weeks and with quite a bit of support from the bests of friends, I managed to force myself through that gate and onto that plane, and I immediately buckled myself in so that I would stay there. Then, 8 or 9 or however many hours later, I arrived, and guess what? It was pretty great.

So what's brought all of this on? Flying high in the first day or so, and then what? Bank of America, is what. Before leaving the States, literally minutes before hopping in the cab to the airport, I had called the number that some lovely teller in the Copley branch had supplied so that I could alert them of my journey. They asked me a billion questions, asking for details of deposits and credit lines and dates and times, and apparently, in the midst of all of the stress and such, I answered one of these questions wrong. I didn't become aware of this until Friday, rather late in the evening. Bank of America had not attempted to notify me in anyway that my accounts had been frozen, but instead I only discovered this when I tried to alert them via their online chat tool of further travel plans. I was told that the process to get them reactivated couldn't be taken care of online, so I would have to call in.

What followed was the single most ridiculous, most frustrating, and most disheartening encounter I hold in recent memory.

A few of you already know the details. In summary, once, after some arguing, I managed to convince them that it would be impossible for me to come into the bank to clear it up, it took multiple international faxes, a ton of international call time, and considerable bitchiness and general harassment of them on my part to get anything accomplished at all. The process took two full days, and cost me a considerable amount of money (that I didn't have). The bank was unable to consider that faxing documents overseas and making international phone calls - not to mention other important things like eating - all cost money, a commodity that is difficult to come by when you're alone in a foreign country with no access to your bank accounts. Possibly most frustrating was their failure to recognize any urgency in the case - not once did I receive a follow up of any kind - any communication came from my hunting them down to move things along.

Saturday night brought the low point of my time here so far. I was up late in a hostel that was alternately oppressively empty and silent or horribly loud as the other residents came and went in groups to the pubs or wherever else. After making 2 trips to an internet cafe that day already to send faxes which continued to be either unreadable or unreceived, I was once again using up calling credit and having nothing to show for it, and I was more exhausted than I've been since I've arrived. After being told again that I needed to re-fax, I did so, and once again despite assurance that I would be contacted as soon as the fax was received, I had to wait an hour and then call again on my dime. Thanks to a sympathetic soul on the other line (at long last) the issue was finally resolved at 2 am Irish time.

It's easy to feel alone when instead of out in the city that you're supposed to be enjoying, you're stuck in a hostel. You're trying desperately to communicate a problem to bank employees over a often too-faint connection, isolating yourself from the people out there that you should be meeting. Attempting to resolve a problem as quickly as possible, but feeling an absence of any effort or concern from the other side. I remember it being painful to be on the computer in the middle of the night, waiting for a call and trying to figure out another, more efficient means of communicating what had to be done, and seeing friends in the States sign off so that they could enjoy their Saturday nights with the friends that I had left behind.

Thank Christ for the Irish, though. After understanding my situation, the staff at the internet cafe I'd been using to copy and fax my passport, driver's license, bank card, etc refused to accept any money from me. "No, not til you get this figured out," they said.

Maybe it was the stress, or the exhaustion, but that kind of sympathy from a complete stranger touched me pretty intensely. I felt a mixture of deep gratitude and a touch of anger - how could it be that someone that didn't know me at all, that had a business to run, and had no stake whatsoever in whether or not my problem was resolved, had my back more than my own bank, back in my own country?

Now, a day later, I might be even more grateful for that kindness. Dealing with the doubts that I had before any of this occurred, I really do think that it would be possible for that kind of ordeal to break whatever spirit I'd managed to muster in my first couple days. Having that moment and that sympathy to reflect on, it made it clear that problem didn't come about because I came to Ireland. It had nothing to do with where I had come to, or that I had come at all. The problem was somewhere else. Those thoughts brought me clear through the part where I might have been bitter about being here, thinking that if I had never come I wouldn't be dealing with any of it and would have money to go buy a sandwich down the street if I was hungry.

Instead, I get to look at that Irish sympathy, kindness and goodwill as a reason to be glad I came :)