Wake Me Up when September Ends

To anyone reading this, hello!! It is October 2nd, I am sitting in my kitchen with a blistering-hot cup of coffee, watching a rain shower over the city. 

Thinking of when I was little, there's a very vague memory of being on the balcony of my grandma's apartment, singing "Rain, rain, go away," as it poured over Altoona. I'm one of the people who tell you they can smell the rain, and to me, that "rain" smell transports me back to the memory of smelling wet earth and wet cement as grandma let me sing my heart out. I've been thinking about that little version of me lately, and though some people consider their past selves as no longer part of them and a distant memory, I like to believe that little Meg is still within my soul, always observing who I am becoming. It's grounding to think in that way, as if I can pass through the world so easily for such periods of time because my roots and stability are deeply embedded within having a healthy, connected soul. 

I have been pushing myself more than ever to explore Ireland and what lies beyond the student experience, whether it be acting as a tourist or just truly living beyond the class-gym-room cycle. 

It started out with my roommate asking me if I liked hiking. I told her, well, I'm not much of a person to hike recreationally, but I did summit Ben Nevis in Scotland, so I think I am capable of more than I'd expect to be. Sometimes, when I really can't define the borders of my capabilities, I think of that mountain, or I think of the mental strength I've had to don to survive anything like New Zealand or Ireland thus far. I've worked it down to one detail: regardless of how difficult my days get to be, how much my heart hurts, how many tears I've shed-- I push myself outside, and the feat of doing so usually distracts me in some way or another, leading me into a positive experience to overshadow everything else. In other words, I get out and experience the world outside of my mind.

So, my roommate asks me to go on a hike with her. Doubtful of whether I actually will commit to it (the scaries behind it: a 6+ hour hike... walking for 6 hours straight?...), I book my tickets 2 weeks ahead regardless. 

This has a domino effect. With my Killarney booking, I figured out the Irish rail website. With the Irish rail website, there's an evening where I wake up, thinking of how badly I want to go horseback riding in Ireland. Hasn't happened yet, but while looking through experiences, I come across Booking.com advertising "Cliffs of Moher" experiences. I think: these cliffs look familiar (they were my desktop background for months as a "manifestation" attempt of my acceptance into Cork's program). 

A bit of money later (to compensate for there not being a train back to Cork by the end of the tour), I have a trip booked for Galway, the Aran Islands, and the Cliffs of Moher for the weekend quickly approaching. 

One of my biggest praises for Ireland is the train system. I don't have a car, so I rely on any and every other means of transportation. By now, I've come to understand I'm not a huge fan of shuttles unless they are absolutely necessary. Therefore, to have an efficient, cost-friendly route such as the Irish rail is a blessing which has heightened my experiences in Ireland to memorable many times over in the first month. 

Galway, Cliffs of Moher, Inis Oirr of the Aran Islands (west coast)

After a mild panic on whether I transferred trains correctly, I arrive in Galway at about 10 p.m.; stepping off, I walk past a group of college friends reuniting for a night out between pubs-- collectives of girls my age are walking by, clad in the classic night-out look which I've recognized hundreds of times over: leather jacket, denim mini skirt, black blouse or tanktop. I ease at this recognizable pattern--girls feel safe walking this city at night, and so do I. My phone's almost dead, so I quickly recall the memorization of the Google Maps that I practiced and even wrote in my copy of Jane Eyre. As it turns out, my hostel is around the corner, down the street, and a brief walk to the next left corner. 5 minutes max. To my luck, a girl is leaving, so although it has passed 10pm by this point, I am granted access and ascend to reception. Mildly disheveled from my 5-hour train ride, out of breath from the multiple flights of stairs, and a bit panicked that I forgot a phone charger, I check in at the reception and acquire a phone charger for free (my luck, or perhaps they pitied the look I had on my face). I'm a bit unsettled by the prospect of my first solo trip outside of Cork, so it takes me a good bit of willpower to relax-- my mom can account for this, as she was the one who heard exactly how overpowered I was by the excitement of a setting; otherwise, how else would a hostel be at 10:30pm onwards on a Friday? It was lively, but my nervous system was spent. I made a hot chocolate and not long after, went to bed (some of you who have read my previous entries will recall: I am not a bar-goer, nor a pub-goer, nor any form of a partier). 

For the next two days, my wake-up time is established: 6:45 a.m., no later than 7 a.m. Ever since Scotland, I've set a standard for myself-- if not the first to the breakfast buffet in a hostel (as I was on Saturday), be second. My professors on the Scotland trip set that routine for me, and they don't realize it. Our rule was that, because we were such a big group, we had to eat early so they could restock the breakfast buffet in time for the other hostel guests. 

On Saturday morning, after a hearty breakfast, I head down to reception and get my cute little tag for the Galway Tour Company-- I am a pink ribbon, meaning I was under the guidance of some guy named Paul. Paul was an incredible guy, truly-- he knew just how to strike the strings for American tourists in a way that they'd enjoy their experience in Ireland, whether it be a joke about U2 "With or Without You" (regarding leaving us behind on the island if we were late) or adamantly claiming the beef in the Munster province was the best in the world (which I was sold on). I learned many, many, many facts, all in my notes app. Here they are, pasted and slightly edited:

The sunrise was piercing, golden. I had a solitary breakfast, the first to the buffet, at my hostel. A man was playing upbeat music, and shut it off as he realized a second person had come, but I don’t think he realized that he started my day off on a good and energetic beat with his music.

After breakfast and tidying what I’d carry for my ventures today, I sat back in the now crowded, lively lobby— I'm assuming most beneficiaries of the hostel came after 8- reading Jane Eyre over my second cup of black coffee. 20 minutes until I leave.

Tour guide: Paul

-With or without you by U2 (we discussed this!)

Claddagh ring, heart points in = heart taken; This was in relation to a beautiful ring which emerges from Irish culture, but specifically the region we were within (Galway). The Claddagh ring is credited to a slave named Richard Joyce (held captive by pirates), a goldsmith from the 16th century who made it for his wife. Isn't it so lovely, how many inventions are born out of love?

Everybody spoke Irish up til 1700; Celtic country — history, art, language. After colonization by the British Empire, the language was almost entirely eradicated. This is similar to the treatment that Maori in New Zealand received for speaking Te Reo; they were punished for its use. Thankfully, it is re-emerging, and a fundamental part of childrens' primary school curriculums.

Colonization by England started 1200-1922 (year of independence for Ireland)

Celts were here 500 A.C.

Mass immigration from Ireland in 18th century- social conditions were difficult; harsh laws enforced by English - penal laws. Irish barred from education, church, voting, and property ownership.

Ireland has a 1600 mile tourist route - one of the longest in the world.

Fields / pastures have stone walls- dry stone walls — limestone constructed walls because farmers were poor and they simply dug up limestone to make walls for boundaries. Totaled together there is 400k miles of drystone walls like this.

Clarinbridge home of the oysters - festival for oysters, Paddyburkes pub

The highest number of university students completing their degree and small fees, Ireland is (8,000 euro for tuition). -Jealous, but some Germans I met recently have even CHEAPER tuition-- less than 1,000 euros! I thought this was a remarkable price at the time.

Highest completion rates of any country in the world (#1)

St Patrick’s day is the day they celebrate their Irish identity rather than an Independence Day. St. Patrick was sent by bishop to Ireland in 431, sent to convert the Celtic pagans to Christian’s. He was very successful and Ireland became the center of Christianity in Europe.

The sunken church, 950. Locals dug it out after it sunk into the sand, St. Quavon

Isle of Saints and Scholars

Many schools and towns named after saints

Before the celts arrived in 500, Ireland was mostly woodland— you could cross the entire island branch to branch as a squirrel

Bertie’s Cottage: traditional Irish cottage-- white-washed walls, thatched roof, 2 windows + half-half door (to avoid the window tax)

Irish used red paint / paint windows and doors red to protect from evil and bad luck, so cottages have that color for a reason

Thatched straw roofs were MAJOR staple

Big stone walls covered by lime wash paint (white)

Karstic limestone (set above surface)— covers the whole limestone, 350Ma. During Cretaceous (Ireland was where Brazil is now)— very tropical, all the plants etc. formed a calcite mud

Ice age 14,000 years ago- ice activity stripped away the topsoil to expose the top soil about 8,000 years ago. Solid hills of rock - very fertile area- best beef, because cows thrive.

--end notes--

This was all in precedence to the island and the cliffs experience, so you can imagine Paul was really laying down all the culture on us for our drive there. When we arrived at the docks, it was a brief wait until we were situated on the ferry. I sat by this girl from Chicago-- a solo traveler conquering Europe over the span of 6 weeks, and then an American couple living in Italy. They made great conversation partners for the sail to the island and even gave me some recognition for being a solo traveler in the context of doing it for my studies and to carve a new pathway in my family. It really, really got to my heart; I had only met these people for but a brief boat ride, and they sent me on my way feeling quite accomplished.

Innis Oirr (forgive my different spellings; it's pronounced Innisheer) was a quaint (one of my favorite words) coastal town and quite "rural." The locals spoke Irish to each other and English to us tourists. I made a beeline for the "carriage ride" line. Looking back, I'm thankful I didn't get a bike like I was planning, because I'd later find out that I am not good at keeping bikes in a straight line not long after my return to Cork. The driver of my carriage was an old man who had the appearance of a hard shell, like he'd been in the business for many, many years. His co-pilot was his grandson. If I remember correctly, the Irish Cob pulling the carriage was named Connie. I was DELIGHTED to see Irish Cobs, as I've mentioned a time or two that they're my favorite horse and that I wish I could have one of my own. My favorite pit stops of the island were the ship wreck and the stop to get an Aran sweater, which has a sort-of morbid history (sailors wore Aran sweaters with a family emblem; when they drowned, they were identified by the family emblem). When the carriage ride came to an end and the stone fencing was exchanged for coastal cottages, we departed from our transport and most headed for the beach. Once I'd acquired a sweater, I did the same. One of the beautiful things about travel in places like this is that some people practice their free will better than you do. People were stripping down and sending themselves into the water, seemingly at peace with the idea that their undergarments would be soaked the entire ride back. I did not partake in this, but I had my own contemplative little moment on a craggly rock by water at the far end of the beach.

Soon enough, we were departed from the island in the same ferry which brought us there. I sat on the upper deck again, wondering if we were simply headed from the docks or getting to see the cliffs next, perhaps from another vessel. As I'd discover, the ferry teasingly got farther from the docks and began closing in on the cliffside. I couldn't get enough pictures of the cliffs at a distance, so I hope you have a pleasant picture of just how excited I was when we were brought right below them. The rest of the passengers and I started fervently photographing the cliffs-- especially me, because I love rocks and I am fascinated by very tall structures, and I will never forget their actual beauty when I page through my photos. The geology: flagstone and varying accounts about whether limestone is present. The flagstone was deposited long ago, in the Carboniferous, and deposited interchangeably with shale as the result of a river feeding into the ocean. Some tectonic event shifted certain layers to be vertical. Today, they are continously being eroded by the ocean, resulting in the classic cliff structure. At one point, there was even an archway, but by the time it became a site treaded by humans, the archway had collapsed as a result of the ocean. Nonetheless, there are still cavernous ruts from the waves striking with a particular ferociousness on certain bits of the cliff. Some day, long after our time, they will be archways, too, subject to structural collapse. As Marcus Aurelius says, ad infinitum. As it has been, as it always will be.

Upon return, we boarded the bus and headed to a pub plastered with patches of American police and firefighter forces who had visited and left their tidings-- quite the surprise, a reminder of home. I had beef stew while sitting with this married couple old enough to be my parents. The husband was a English-History professor with a PhD, and the wife had some involvement with television. They made good company, and I found myself in quite a conversation about the sea lions of New Zealand. It was an immense relief to not be eating dinner alone in such a crowded setting, despite my usual loner tendencies. The beef stew was as amazing as expected, served with homemade brown bread. If there's a cuisine staple of Ireland that I'm particularly obsessed with, it's brown bread-- although it is nothing special, just a poorman's bread. But, it is common, fulfilling, and more often than not, cheap. After this dinner, I paced outside to let my food settle, then got complimented by a kind older woman on how well my Aran sweater fit me; such encounters with kind strangers inspire me to be that kind stranger to another person, and break me out of my shell a little more.

Afterwards, we went to the upper vantage point of the cliffs. As above, so below-- breathtaking, of a magnificent scale, and exuding timeless beauty. I truly almost cried tears of joy, because how in the world have I gotten to this point where I've seen such beautiful geological sites? All I can suffice is countless nights of perfectionism over every last grade that I've gotten and putting my heart into what I write, time after time. Relentless rainstorm and soaked coat & sweater aside, I had an incredible time exploring the cliffs in what was practically an excited jog-- a frolic, even. Frolicking atop the Cliffs of Moher.

I got back to Galway at about 7 pm, and concluded my night. The next morning, I set out early to explore the city some more before I checked out, including grabbing a pastry from a modern bakery and a latte (which I think was pecan flavored). I frequently think about the quality of lattes I get, because I was once a barista dishing them out, having to learn about the exact techniques and steam-froth ratios for the milk. I miss those days and my old coworkers, but they're always with me when I make those little assessments in every coffee I drink (especially because out here, drip coffee is a rarity, so espresso is always the coffee style choice). What I would do for a black, drip coffee in this moment!! I miss my coffee maker back home so much.

By 11am Sunday, I was on my way back to Cork, content as ever to return to my bed. This was the first time I had ever looked forward to returning to my own abode in Cork; I missed the solitude, my evening cups of tea, dunking digestives (cookies) while watching my show.

Killarney & Dublin, September's last weekend

A week of classes later (which I've settled into just fine, but nothing extravagant is occurring on campus at this moment), it was time for my second packed weekend. Saturday began with an early awakening, as days predisposed to nature-based activities always do. I prepped hearty hiking snacks & chose a comfortable outfit suitable for the long day ahead. By 8:00 a.m., my roommate, her friend, and I were all on the bus, ready to catch a train to Killarney. Travels initiated, and before long, we were outside the train station with a considerable group of other students who'd be on the hike. I didn't expect it, but I found my day to host many conversations with new faces as I matched hiking paces with every sector of the group at one point or another.

Killarney was quite special; as I was preparing for the hike in the morning, I also prepared my brain to be knowledgeable about the landscapes before me. The mountains are constructed of Devonian Old Red sandstone that was deposited in an ancient sea; these sedimentary rocks were brought up by a grand tectonic collision, then carved by glaciers during Ireland's last ice age. At the base of the mountains resides a mixture of the Old Red sandstones, green, chlorite-fused sandstones, and Carboniferous limestones. I'd find myself excitedly telling my roommate and any listener about these geological facts throughout the day. Much of the hike was flat and accompanied by views of Lough Leane, ever-guarded as it was by the beautiful mountains before it. However, in the second half of the 6 hour hike, we found ourselves ascending (rapidly) the mountain to get a considerable view of the base-level hike which we had just completed-- all of the group, by some subconscious peer pressure to not separate from each other, chose the strenuous route; I survived, and got some of my favorite photos of Ireland's natural beauty so far. As we descended, we made contact with a forest path that seemed like it was inhabited by fairies, carving a mossy pathway to a considerable waterfall hidden in the mountainside. Were there easier pathways? Yes, but the one we took, the "one less traveled" by Robert Frost standards, had many picturesque rewards and a mythical sense of quiescence.

I can see that my last couple of hours spent reading Jane Eyre have bled into my writing, so I will ease up on the descriptors of grand forest settings and lead way into the Steelers' game I attended the next day-- for after our hike, there was no more than a brief McDonald's stop, and then a tiresome train ride home. The next day, despite 12 hours of travel the prior day, I woke up yet again at 6:40ish a.m. to prepare for my trip to Dublin. Thankfully, not much was needed for packing aside from pastimes for the train and a warm sweater. My taxi driver made good morning conversation, and before I knew it, I was facing the path to Dublin: this consisted of a 3-4 hour train ride (my first instance of seeing American football fans in Ireland) & intercity transfers, wherein the amount of football jerseys I was seeing would continuously grow (as would the presence of American accents). Excitement and pride about a sport from home lit up within me as Croke Stadium came into view. After some merchandise shopping (I was really lucky with snagging a hat for dad & a Dublin Steelers' scarf before they sold out) & chicken tenders, I was seated & waiting for the game to begin. If any football game coordinators knew how to elicit Steelers' fans' pride, it was those who coordinated Dublin's-- the spirit was there, and the energy was captivating. My only remark is that I do feel European fans in the proximity could've screamed more over touchdowns or particular moves-- Americans on their third or fourth Guinness were bringing the most heat, the most passion. So, you can only begin to imagine the ending, where we all were biting our nails and cupping our hands over our mouths over what would happen as the Vikings made a threateningly close development with their score. All in all, the Steelers earned their win, and it was a beautiful time. Immediately as the game closed up, I had to scurry my way down and out of a crowd of 75,000 people-- the streets were packed as if a zombie horde of black, yellow, and purple had taken over this part of Dublin. Somehow, in the midst, Bill Murray walked past me behind a secluded part of the railing, which kept him separated from the crowd, dispelling my immediate impression of "Who are these people, getting past the crowd so easily?" BILL MURRAY! All while I was held up for one moment by a pub on the corner of the street, where I desperately needed to make a left. I was one girl, and I was trying to catch a train that threatened to leave me in the next 25 minutes, facing an 18-minute walk to the station without the delay of a horde of 75,000 people. The second I had the chance & the crowd broke up, I was sprinting, past traffic, past horse carriages, past everyone. Did I make my train in exchange for the sacrifice of making multiple people wonder: what was I in such a rush for? Yes!

The train schedule was respected, and I found myself comfortably seated to head back to Cork. A group of older gentlemen inquired about my Steelers scarf and how I thought the game went. They were quite amazed that it was not only my first NFL football game I'd attended, but how far from home I was in attendance, for the fact that I was a proximal, generational Steelers fan. I'd also have the same amazement. Before long, I was back in Cork, getting off the train at 9:45 p.m. and finally reaching my room a little before 10:30 p.m.-- recall that I was out since 7 in the morning. The sleep hit me fast, and I concluded an exhausting but exciting weekend.

End

Here I will close this entry, as I've spent the last two days writing it with as much of an accurate recollection of my recent adventures as I can manage. I hope I've made it a pleasant reading experience, despite the length and changes in tone here and there. Thank you if you've made it this far; it's fun to share the little creative parts of my brain now and then, and to feel like one or two people here and there enjoy it. Don't forget, there are always pictures on my Facebook to see the pictures of these occurrences.

Best,

MaryEllen, Meg, Mary, whatever name I go by for you.