Galway

To follow the tradition of saving the best for last, one of the last things I did in Ireland was also one of my very favorite. But that’s probably because it was actually a number of things stretching over the span of 2 days, and I’m a cheater.

Our weekend long coastal road trip started with surfing in Bundoran, something that I would have been excited about regardless of how the rest of the weekend went, even though I’m not sure I can honestly call what I did “surfing”. However, sitting in the Atlantic Ocean, freezing as it was, and looking out at the seascape skyline, the noises of life drowned out by the roaring salty wind, was not a bad way to spend a rainy afternoon.

After chowder and brown bread in a little restaurant overlooking the ocean, our group squeezed into a tiny sports car to spend the rest of the day driving to Galway, getting there just in time to get rooms at a hostel and see the nightlife. That night was a wonderful whirlwind of emotions and expressions, all of us so excited to be right where we were but also so aware of how soon it would all end, and reality would set back in. This was the night I first tried what is now my drink of choice (Jameson and ginger ale, or a “Jammie and Ginger” as I was told to order it) and the night I think of every time I order it at home.

The next day we had a picnic lunch of Subway sandwiches that were suspiciously better than any American Subway sandwich, and then leisurely headed back through the country. We had no time frame, no schedule, and nothing we needed to do, so if anything caught our fancy during the long drive we would stop and explore. That’s how we wound up wandering through cow pastures and exploring abandoned farm houses. We walked through towns small enough that the woman working the front desk at one Bed and Breakfast knew the chef at the hostel a few miles down the road, and if you happened to be asking her where you can find a pizza, not only will she tell you which direction to walk in, but she’ll also tell you to tell the chef “hi”. We stopped in roadside stores and antique shops, a gift shop where I found a charm bracelet that I still wear every day, and tiny towns where the people were so nice I got spoiled by their kindness.

The day lasted long, the sun never seeming to move no matter how far we traveled, as if the sky just wanted to let us see one more thing each mile we passed.

Included in our pit stops were the Burren and the Cliffs of Moher. I’m fully convinced I’ll never see a piece of nature as astounding as the wonders in Ireland. The Burren is a large limestone flat, so untouched that it didn’t feel real to me. This massive spread of silent rocks seemed like it stretched on forever and made me feel both incredibly small and significant all at the same time.

Looking out over the Cliffs of Moher felt like looking at the edge of the Earth, the rocks jutting out and dropping off far below you, with nothing but water surrounding it. Because of this impromptu road trip, I can now say that I’ve watched the sun set into the Atlantic Ocean while sitting on the edge of a 702 ft. cliff, and I think that’s pretty neat.

Everything I did in Ireland stands out in my memory, and probably always will, but this weekend in particular stands out and plays like an old movie reel in my head from time to time. Those last few days were so different from my daily life and so exactly what I always wanted traveling to be. Aimlessly wandering, stumbling upon sights, and falling into accidental adventures, making memories with people in the most natural way. My time in Ireland almost feels like a dream.

And, even though I could talk about my month abroad forever (and I’m sure my friends will attest to that), this will conclude my post series and brief foray into travel writing. I’ll will now resume my regularly scheduled bitching and overzealous comparison making as I continue to try and describe my daily life*.

I didn’t mean to write this last post on St. Patrick’s Day (even though that’s not when I’m publishing it) but, much like the rest of my mini-miracle trip, sometimes the things we don’t plan end up being the most poignant. I’m still unable to fathom how I actually experienced it all, but so inexplicably happy that I did.

Slán abhaile!

*Don’t worry, as soon as I figure out what the hell that is, you’ll be the first to know. I know you were worried.

Croagh Patrick

Writing about mountains is ripe for writing clichés and big statements about overcoming hurdles and physically accomplishing a goal. So if you hate that kind of corny thing then stop reading now, because in Ireland I hiked up a mountain and that’s exactly how I’m going to write about it. I know my weaknesses. I’m not above a mountain metaphor, although I was above a few things when I was on the top of Croagh Patrick. *waiting for laugh*

And now time for some facts: Croagh Patrick is a 2,507 ft. tall mountain and the name is translated to “Patrick’s (as in St. Patrick) Stack”. I can only assume it’s called that due to the fact that most of the hike is made up of loose rocks stacked on top of each other, and “St. Patrick’s Easy Peasy Stroll up a Soft Grassy Hill” would just be a mouthful, in addition to a lie.

So, in Ireland, I climbed a mountain. And I mean climbed, like with hands and knees involved, instead of just hiked, but that’s mostly because half the time I had to keep myself from falling back down. But I did it, and considering the bowl of geography that I’m accustomed to, I’m pretty proud of myself.

The walk started off easy, if anything it was just long, but that was before the elevation kicked in. This gave my little hiking crew time to pace ourselves and realize that we were going to be a lot slower than everyone else. I didn’t mind though. The highest thing I’d ever hiked at home was the levee blocking the river, and that only takes about 20 steps to do. I was excited to have such a definitive point of reference to be able to say I had done. Such a bucket list kind of thing to check off, that I didn’t care how long it was going to take or how exhausted I’d be afterwards. I was going to get to say I’d climbed a mountain.

During our journey, a friend made a nice point that I think about often, about how clearly laid out your goals are when you’re hiking. You can see right in front of you how far you’ve got to go, and you can look behind you to see how far you’ve come. You get to make a decision with every step while you’re walking. You can feel your own exhaustion and you can either stop, turn around and just look at all you’ve accomplished, or, if you’re so inclined, you can muster up the strength to make it to the top. The view might be beautiful where you are, and you might feel proud at what you’ve done, and if you’re happy then that’s great. But maybe, if you saw what you’re looking at from just 20 feet higher, it might look even better. The decision is all yours.

If I’m being honest, with every few feet, I loved the view. And I know I’m the kind of person to get comfortable where I’m at, and apparently this applies to mountain climbing too. Occasionally we would break and I would look out on the postcard perfect view, my legs wobbly and my lungs tight. When the views are as beautiful as they are in Ireland, it’s hard to imagine that struggling for 20 more feet would make it look any prettier, and it would be easy to just sit here and relax. But that’s kind of the whole point I think.

A top of the mountain selfie, because why not if you’re there

Sometimes times are exhausting, and sometimes you feel like you’ll never make it to the top of anything, much less the tallest mountain you’ve ever seen. And there’s something to be said for being happy where you are, but there’s also something about being literally on top of the world that makes all the struggle worth it.

Come on, I had to link to this song

 

Dublin

According to a hasty google search, Dublin is Ireland’s capital city and the oldest known time of settlement is 140 AD. According to the one time I visited Dublin, when you get off the bus at Earl St. and O’Connell, there’s a Vietnamese restaurant close by that serves really delicious duck noodles and if you leave from Cavan in the morning you’ll probably get there right on time to eat lunch.

I think about my trip to Dublin when I want to feel brave. In Dublin I did things that I had never done at home, just little things, like rely on public transportation, but big things to me. My far more adventurous cousin and I had wanted to use one of our free afternoons to go somewhere and, since I was too nervous to take a plane trip to Scotland, we settled on a bus trip to the city. One morning we* decided that day was the day and we would just go. I remember feeling terrified to leave the place we were staying, with limited means of communication and a very fuzzy idea of what direction we were headed in, but also realizing that if we didn’t leave that morning we never would.

After breakfast we announced our intent to travel, and two other people from the group decided they wanted to see Dublin as well. Here marks the beginning of both the longest and most fun bus trip I have ever experienced, and as such the bus trip that I will forever use as a standard marker for bus trips. In fact, most of my memories of the Dublin Day are from the six total hours I spent riding with this ragtag group of people, and not of the time we actually spent in the city.

 

Walking through Dublin reminded me of walking through New Orleans in a way that I wasn’t expecting. The dichotomy of being in a modern city surrounded by ancient buildings, the loud hustle and bustle of all kinds of languages in all kinds of accents, and the busy buzz that comes from knowing everything is happening and it’s all happening right where you are. This never ending excitement is what I love about cities and is why I thoroughly enjoyed exploring Dublin.

There is so much history and so many things to learn in Dublin. Or so I hear. Once we stepped down in front of the sprawling spire, which I really admired and am very curious about, we knew we only had a few hours before the bus to take us back home would leave from a station that we didn’t know the location of. Much of our exploring was in the hopes that we could figure out left from right so, while I wouldn’t call our tour “traditional” by any means, it was enthralling to just let the wind take us wherever we wanted in this new but somehow familiar city.On our tour we found delicious gelato, a shopping center with really great sales, a McDonald’s menu that was suspiciously healthier than the one I’m accustomed to, coffee sold out of almost every corner store, and so many souvenirs. But unfortunately, despite many hours of searching, we were unsuccessful in finding the ever elusive Paprika flavored Pringles before it was time to head back.

Bus rides are perfect for practicing comedy routines and making friendships that will last long after the breaks are pulled. They also work well if you want to have an introspective moment watching green pastures and herds of sheep zoom past the window while you listen to music. Luckily for me, six hours is just enough time to get my fill of both of those things, with an impromptu Irish language lesson from the man in the row behind us thrown in.

*Full Disclosure: “we” should always be read as “she” because I wouldn’t have done anything if my cousin hadn’t been with me.

Glendalough

The weather lately has been gloomy and grey, and recently I’ve been feeling weighed down in this fog. But, in an attempt to lift my own spirits and be thankful for each moment, I couldn’t help but think about how much this Louisiana winter weather reminds me of the cloudy, windy, and wet summer I spent in Ireland.

And mostly because I haven’t added anything to this blog in way too long, I’m going to use this tiny seed of inspiration to try and grow another post in my Ireland series.

Glendalough translates to “Valley of the Two Lakes” and walking through it felt like exploring a perfect little terrarium that I could live in forever. There were sunny sandy beaches, rolling green pastures, medieval ruins, and a hiking trail that put you through every kind of weather as you traveled from a wooded forest to the top of a rocky cliff.

I drank from a river, got pelted with hail, dried off in the sun, and bought a coffee from a cart after. It’s a whole world contained in a few miles. Also it looked like Lord of the Rings could have been filmed there. So basically I loved it.

I felt very small there and it still feels unreal when I think about it. Like I Blue Skidoo-ed into a post card of a place that is too beautiful to actually exist.

Presently, I have felt very detached and separated from life. A lot of transitions have made me very aware time and the passing of it, and left me feeling like an outsider watching a puppet version of myself go about her day (hence the 5 month absence on here. It’s hard to type with puppet fingers.) And yes, I am being dramatic, but I’m a dramatic person so there you go.

Writing about my trip to Ireland started as a way to document my memories, but then got halted as my emotional life flip flopped and I tried to find a way to cope. I’m determined to finish this series however, and I’m determined to keep doing the things I love, even if it’s hard and even if it feels a little pointless right now. Doing anything feels better than sitting around and waiting, hoping that things fix themselves, so this is my take two at feeling normal.

Glendalough is a great memory right now because it is a perfect example of how letting go can work out for the best. Change has always been hard for me and not being able to letting go of the past is the main reason why. I’m a bit of an emotional hoarder, as it is.

But this glacial valley only came to be after major geological changes came through and then only grew into what it is now over many, many years. I’m telling myself that things get better over time, and I’m trying to let that be. I’m using Glendalough as my example.

Cavan

It was the summer of 2015. That was when Taylor Swift’s “Bad Blood” was taking over the airwaves, and when I couldn’t wait to be a barista at Starbucks, and I learned that relationships rarely work out how you think they will. That was the summer I went to Ireland.

This is the first of a few posts breaking down the experiences I had abroad and, as I’m sure is obvious, a rip off of the opening scene from Dirty Dancing, one of my favorite ridiculous 80s movies and second only behind Top Gun.

Oddly enough, after a brash decision to cut my long locks off into a curly bob that unintentionally resembles Jennifer Grey’s, I’ve been finding myself more and more relating to her character Baby and the experiences she has during a summer vacation. Not to mention that, because of said haircut, more than a few people in our study abroad group took to nicknaming me Baby- and it didn’t occur to me to mind.

The first place I saw in Ireland, and the place where some of my most precious memories are set, is the small town of Cavan.

This is the school building where I stayed with around 20 strangers-turned-friends, in a room that overlooked a soccer field and was surrounded by hills and cows. This is where we would trudge the long walking path back to after nights in the small town nearby that we would visit for coffee, or shopping, or traditional Irish music in pubs and pop music in clubs, and sometimes even late night pizzas. The many stairwells are always freezing but the showers, even though in the basement, always have hot water and the hallways are perfect for loudly singing Walk the Moon’s “Shut Up and Dance” after bonding with a new friend over their music. Or listening to another friend belt “I Will Always Love You”. Or just to Whip and Nae Nae in. Really the whole place is very musical, and that’s not even including the tear jerkingly beautiful harmonies we would hear during daily mass and adoration.

There’s a fire pit that begs to be used every chilly night, with the swing nearby and myriad of fallen tree branches to choose from for burning. The sun sets late and rises early and it is not even a little impossible to spend an entire night out by a fire learning songs on old guitars or seeing who can do the best cartoon impressions (it’s me, by the way, and anyone who disagrees can eat my shorts). While there aren’t that many hours of darkness in Ireland in June, the few that they do have are perfect for counting the stars from a laid out blanket, dancing in the headlights of a parked car, or lighting lanterns and setting them free -or in our case straight into a tree.

A friend with a soul as beautiful as this church encouraged me to think about angels in ways I had never considered before, specifically just how many can fit into a church this size.

The town itself was as welcoming as the people in it, and I’ve been spoiled by their kindred spirits.

Cavan was the backdrop to so much personal growth for me, but none of what I could have seen at the time. Becoming instant friends with the four other girls that I shared a room with, bonding over meals in the living room, and swapping stories with people from all over the country weren’t things that I knew would happen when I left for this trip, but they have regardless. I know people who do amazing things now and, through them, I know that I can do amazing things as well. Because of Cavan and because of the people that I met while I was there I know that I am a person capable and deserving of love. And I know that every other human is too. I know that the only separation from a person being a stranger and becoming a friend is a smile and a hello. This might be a large thought to put to such a small place but the space that Cavan takes up in my heart is huge.

It is possible that I’m remembering the Emerald Isle with rose colored glasses on, and it is possible that I’m being biased when telling you that Cavan is fantastic. But the one thing you can take away from my experiences there is that, even if it hurts you to go into something new, doing so with an open heart and an open mind leaves you open to positive experiences.

Recently for me, my life and my plans have taken a bit of a 180, and so leaving for Ireland felt a little bittersweet. Many aspects of my home life were changing, despite my attempts at keeping them the same, and I wasn’t sure what to expect from new people in a new place. As it turned out, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. I learned that people who know nothing of my life at home can experience the same emotions I had been wading through, and I learned that doing things on your own for nobody but yourself isn’t selfish or bad but necessary to grow.

Cavan was the perfect setting for my personal growth, and now, being back at home, when I get discouraged with my current situation, I can have these memories in this place where I had the time of my life*.

*it is also possible that I was just looking for an excuse to use this gif, because I love this scene so much.

Home

A study abroad program. A month long trip with a non-profit organization. A retreat. A vacation. A holiday. There’s a million ways that I could try and fail to summarize the past 3 weeks that I spent in Ireland. Just ask the man at the customs desk in the London airport. “Life changing” evidently doesn’t fly in Heathrow, even though that’s exactly what it was.

I know that I’m being cheesier than my maw maw’s macaroni but, after a few hiccups in my daily life, from job changes to relationship status edits, my first international journey could not have come at a better time.

Over the course of 3 weeks, in association with the wonderful people at Direction For Our Times, my cousin and I were able to stay in Cavan while we galavanted all over Dublin, Knock, Galway, and back again. The people that we stayed with were so unnecessarily kind and accommodating that I was honestly caught off guard and might have gotten a little swept away in the magic of it all.

Somehow even more magical than the scenery were the people that I met who became fast but true friends. One of those friends, in fact, is the reason that I’m even writing this post.

Nothing will compare to actually experiencing my time in Ireland but, for the sake of wanting to post pictures and try to relive it, I plan on posting bit by bit summaries of the best summer vacation I have ever had.

I’ll save sentimentalities for later because, trust me, there were and will be plenty. To keep it short and sweet I’ll leave you with a song that my new friend recommended to me.

The funniest part about this trip was realizing just how many meanings the word “home” can have. I thought I knew for sure when I left exactly where my home was, where I belonged, and who I belonged with. I knew where I was leaving and so I certainly knew where I was going back to. I talked about life back home most of the time that I was away from it. I already knew that you can never really leave home but, little by little, I realized that you can’t fully take it with you either. There’s a piece of my heart that got left behind, somewhere between Bundoran and the Cliffs of Moher probably, although Glendalough was particular beautiful as well, but more importantly there’s so many things that I get to keep with me forever now.

I’m so excited to share with y’all all of the things I’ve seen and learned and, if anything, just give you a little glimpse of the most beautiful country I’ve ever seen. Expect a follow up soon!