Day Sixteen-Twenty-One: Izzy at Barbers, Service Learning Placement, Pablo Picante, and Midnight 3o Redemption

Live music at Barbers is always a must. But this Tuesday was extra special because I met Izzy. She greeted me with a smile and tail wags and is one of the cutest doggos I have ever met ! Her owners, of which I did not catch their names, are Dublin natives. They were also very friendly to me and recommended that if I like the music at Barbers, that I should take my friends to Walshes for bluegrass.

A lovely couple, and dare I say, an even lovelier dog. But moving on. 

My Service Learning course is volunteer centered. So after handing in my resume, my professor decided to set me up at the SWICN Clubhouse, an after school program for kids interested in technology and art. The location is around a 2o minute walk from school and neighbors the original Guinness factory in an area called “The Liberties”. 

As you might imagine, I am quite excited. Working with kids and doing art is basically my element. But I’m also nervous because I’m me so that’s fun. I have 3 weeks before I am allowed to begin working with the middle schoolers and high school students as a Youth Service Volunteer, but the anticipation is enough to get my heartrate up. More to come with that !

On one of the colder nights, we decided to dine out at a Mexican chain called Picante Pablo. Granted that they had a 1o euro deal for a burrito and beer, everyone was pretty eager to check it out. I recommend the veggie burrito, with a spinach tortilla and loads of guacamole. Not to mention the Sol beer for as a refreshing and light option.

Also ! It snowed here ! I mean, it was definitely more of a thick and sticky rain, but apparently, that’s Irish snow ! Who knew. All the while, I thought I was getting away from snowy spotty Lincoln weather… 

To end this entry on a high note, Midnight 3o (the name of our group for trivia night) were able to redeem ourselves (more or less) by finishing in not last, but 6th place ! This time around we had some help from some fellow Americans in our Swuite, but once it came to knowing famous faces…. Our chances of winning four bottles of wine were as good as gone. Alas. We have time yet.

Day Fifteen: Glendalough

What and where is Glendalough ? Great question. You sound like me, 3o minutes before I boarded the bus to accompany my classmates to the countryside for the majority of the day.

I didn’t realize how nice it was to be outside of the city until we were passing through these rolling hills of great, green, grass covered pastures, littered with rams, small houses, and sheep. Though the mood for the day had initially been foggy like the weather, I was optimistic. 

The ride was nearly an hour. We arrived at the Glendalough Visitor’s Center, where we were greeted and directed towards an interactive space to learn the history of monasteries within Ireland. There was also a brief film that gave indication as to what to expect when we began our voyage on foot.

We had to cross a bridge in order to get to the cemetery, where the monasteries and 3o meter tall round tower had been built in the 6th-century, and I made a poorly timed “tole troll” joke that I enjoyed much more than others. 

Taking the first few steps within the monastery, our guide mentioned how individuals chased by the law would claim sanctuary within the moss covered and weathered walls. They would become monks and devote themselves to looking after the Celtic headstones, the Irish round tower, and everything in between. 

The cemetery was cloaked in a razor thin layer of mist. It hung just above the trees. Walking amidst the stones and the grass, the air was rich and clean.

We made our way through the densely crowded trees by a dirt path. By the time we got to our rondeau for lunch, we were standing before a lake. The sheets of rain pelted our backs but the mountains that stood on either side of us framed the landscape perfectly. You almost didn’t mind the rain.

It came and went in waves. However, we were lucky enough to make it to the lookout point of one of the mountains, a 3o minute hike from the lake, at a time when the rain was scarce and the fog sparse. The view looked onto two lakes with trees reaching in every direction. The color scheme was pale and somber compared to the vibrant hues of the forest (a combination somewhere between Narnia and Lord of the Rings), but the spectacle was well worth the trek. 

The day was soon over and before I knew it, I was inhaling a Boojum burrito bowl back in Dublin. After a much needed nap, we left for Cobblestones, a very famous pub in Dublin, and squeezed through the door to the ambience of string instruments, laughter, and beer glasses clinking. 

It was everything I believed an authentic Irish pub would be. After accidently ordering the wrong drink but getting to pour it myself, I decided I liked Cobblestones very much. Soon our laughter and loud voices joined the chorus of others, and the remaining hours of the night ticked away.

Day Eleven-Fourteen: Barbers Trivia/Open Mic Night and Bogmen

I tried to take it easy for a couple of days. This meant my days consisted of school, Netflix (Rick and Morty mostly), Settlers of Catan, card games, coffee runs when I couldn’t talk myself into saving money, and attending much anticipated events at our convenient and carefree Barbers.

Midnight 3o (what we have decided to call our group), unfortunately is not good at trivia. When I carry a team on movie and music knowledge alone, you know we’re in trouble. But we still have time to work our way up from 2nd to last.

I broke up Barber visits with a trip to the Irish National Museum. Lucky for me, I didn’t have to go out of my way because one of my classes (centered around Popular Culture in Ireland) decided to take a field trip there. From what I could tell, they had four different sections strewn about the museum. I focused mainly on the Viking age and Pagan time. It was within one of these areas that I discovered the famous and terribly fascinating Bogmen, individuals who I understood to have fallen into these wetlands, drowned, and mummified (for decades upon decades due to the high nutrients found in the soil).

Their skin resembled brown leather just as their hair did straw coils. It was unreal. 

A professor from my home University made sure to mention the Bogmen in our Irish Literature and Nationalism class, so I was happy to have the chance to see them in person and see for myself their antiquity. I look forward to telling him about the experience upon my return.

On a side note, I have really began to enjoy grilled pb&j’s, as well as, over medium eggs on toast as staples in my day to day life. There has been the occasional splurge of frozen pizza with ranch… but considering a small container of Hidden Valley is nearly eight euro… the sprees are far and few between.

But to draw this post to a conclusion, Barber’s Open Mic Thursday was something to be seen. By the time my group remembered that it was indeed Open Mic Night, we rushed over to see the tail end of the performances. We didn’t, however, miss our go-to bartender bringing everyone to their feel as he shredded on his guitar. He had some killer pipes too. 

Needless to say, I am and will continue to be on the prowl for more fun events to attend in the future. It helps when you talk to native Dubliners. You might need a Guinness or two in you before you work up the courage to approach one, but it can be done.

Day Ten: Back to Dublin and Super Bowl Sunday

Since I am obviously imperious to the ramifications of lack of sleep (we had to wake up at 4:3o am to make the bus that would take us to the airport and then home, getting a total of three hours of sleep) I hopped on the bandwagon of watching the 49’ers and Chiefs face off at a club downtown. For an individual who struggles watching the Huskers play back at home, even with the luxury of watching them in Memorial Stadium, you can imagine how I felt about my partaking in said event. But I’m American. And so is football. And I would be besmirching my family name, as well as, Nebraska if I did not bite the bullet and go.

So I saddled up and went. And naturally, I had a ton of fun. The bar was serving fries and wings and Guinness and they had a huge section of the bar reserved for the game and its fans. We met US students from all over the states and played pong in the corner during the commercials until our hearts were content. It was glorious.

Day Nine: Iceland ll (Golden Circle, Blue Lagoon, and Northern Lights Tours)

Day two in Reykjavik was an early rise. Luckily, we had worked it out so our bus would pick us up from our hostel, but missing it meant that no tour would happen. So. Being the nervous nelly’s that we were, and jittery with excitement, we gave ourselves a cushiony 3o minute buffer. 

Another top five food to try in Iceland was the Skyr (a dairy product that’s technically cheese, but the consistency, taste, and flavoring of your typical yogurt cup), so naturally, I recommend we get some from the vending machine. It was good. I hate to say, nothing too special, but I seriously doubt an Icelandian is likely to read any of this so. No repercussions.

Bundled up in layers, my new Icelandic wool hat, and grey wool scarf (gifted to me by my lovely oldest sister who is better at anticipating my needs than myself apparently), I hopped on the bus and rode off into the countryside where once again, lay snow and emptiness as far as the eye could see. 

It was hypnotic to watch the sunrise. Snail its way to over the snow and dirt and slight plateaus across the valleys. But eventually it rose higher and just in time for our first stop at Gullfoss Waterfall.

A partially frozen waterfall out in the middle of nowhere seemed exactly like the type of thing one would find in Iceland. Just obscure enough to pass as a must see. And it was. The wind that bit at every inch of my body was hard to ignore, but standing before the rushing water and gulls of fresh air, was well worth it. The color was finally rejuvenated into the sky and the almost silent rush of water was an experience unlike many others.

I did my best to capture a sliver of the spectacle before making my way back on the bus to our second stop. The Geysir Hot Spring.

Iceland is home to numerous geysers and volcanoes, but Geysir, the fastest erupting geyser in the world and the most active in Iceland, goes off every five to six minutes. On calm days where the wind isn’t egregious, Geysir projects nearly 50 meters (160 ft) in the air. Lucky for us, it performed accordingly.

Being near the hot spring was also warmer than the cliff of Gullfoss, so it was nice to have some sensation back where I had lost it. We proceeded to make a quick stop inside the visitor’s center for some fish and chips (which I ought to say, was much better prepared than the plate I had had back at O’Shea’s in Dublin) and left for our final destination in the first series of tours.

I can say with confidence that our last stop was my absolute favorite. I didn’t know what to expect from the Thingvellir National Park, but what I saw was so much more than I could have imagined. I was convinced I was looking at a photograph. The most picturesque thing you can think of. The brilliant sun perched at its highest point in the sky, granting color and reflection and shimmer and life into everything sitting below it. The lake that reached to the corners of the earth gave canvas to the subtle yellows and pinks watercolored with the clouds. I breathed. It was beautiful. I had no words. Just disbelief and awe and pure, unrefined happiness. 

Too soon we left to fulfill the rest of the days’ events. But little did I know what the Blue Lagoon had in store. 

On our way towards the entrance of the complex that sheltered the hot spring, parallel walls of volcanic rock, dusted with a touch of frost, navigated a path towards the rising steam. We checked in, took a rinse in the showers as policy enforced, then headed to the back where we could enter the water by ramp. 

It was the first time I had felt my toes all day and it was heavenly. I think my three friends shared similar sentiments, considering the chorus of sighs we shared as we walked deeper and deeper into the lagoon. 

We emerged through a cave into a space where a mixture between steam and fog hung in the air like curtains. You couldn’t see two arms lengths in front of you. Despite the busyness, it felt as though we were there alone. It was wicked. 

With the passes that we had purchased, we were allotted one beverage from the bar and one face mask. I helped myself to a sparkling pomegranate wine, or something of the sorts. All I remember was its sweetness and bubbles and then the emptiness of my glass. But the face mask tied me over until I indulged in a second beverage, the Icelandic Gull Beer, and waded in the water with my head tilted back to watch the fog open crevices of the night sky I could peak through.

It was without question the surrealist thing I have ever done in my entire life.

Reinvigorated and ready to rock and roll, we set out to complete our time in Iceland with a hunt for northern lights. The bus arrived around 1o:3o and by 11 we were far enough outside Reykjavik to begin our search. Our tour guide was absolutely captivating. From the moment we set foot on the bus, he was interacting with us, telling us stories of the aurora borealis during the age of the Vikings, and making light of the cold that once more threatened to pick away at me.

He had fun things to share, like the belief that if a child was conceived under the lights, they would be bestowed a blessed life. But by the same coin, if a woman who was already with child looked onto the lights, her baby would be born cross eyed. 

Charming little Norse tales.

We were thirty minutes outside the city before I knew it, and the hunt was officially on. All we could see was the dim glow of snow in the ground and darkness. Hardly did the stars even show in the sky. Things were looking grim.

Our guide, who had anticipated the following, was in the middle of telling us the likelihood from here on out of finding any lights. On a scale of six, our conditions were a solid two. But in the middle of his telling us the factors that went into this ranking, gasps from the left side (my side) of the bus burst out. Cutting him short. A wisp of air, the faintest tint of green had stretched across the sky before us and over our heads. 

“Pull over!”, our guide boomed.

Within moments, we flooded outside the bus into the excruciatingly chilly air. All we could do was look up, standing silently, in awe. Gazing at the streak of deep green as it whittled down in the distance. We waited. Watched. Every breath an ache. Until there was an eruption from where the light had disappeared. 

Where there had been next to nothing, now appeared three separate beams of light. The dullness of color suddenly evolved into an electric green, joined by a washed out yellow and hint of red. The stars in the sky, as bright and beautiful as they had grown paled in comparison. As our eyes continued to adjust to the dark surrounding us, the hues only intensified. They danced, twirled in and around itself. Shifted ever so slightly then leapt bounds ahead. 

Evidently the Vikings didn’t find the aurora borealis all that interesting because there is almost no kept record of it. But either they were spoiled rotten or short a few screws. Perhaps even a mix of both. 

But I was elated. Euphoric. Enraptured. Utterly and overwhelmingly grateful. I don’t think I will experience anything like it ever again. Being in a place unlike any I ever have before, with people I had known a handful of days. Living and breathing in the heavenly phenomenon as it unraveled before me. 

The perfect close to the past 36 hours came with the delivery of pizza. Exhausted and rolling in hunger, Dominoes was our saving grace. We filled up, passed out in our beds, then left the following morning with tired bodies but lifted spirits. It was the trip of a lifetime.

Day Eight: Iceland l

When I woke up, I tripped out of bed because I was so excited to get a jump on the day. (Which is a nicer way of saying I was very much sleepy and disoriented and actually just tripped because I’m blind and clumsy). I finished my packing, headed to meet the others, and before I knew it, was off to the airport.

On a side note: Taxi drivers are always interesting to talk to. They have the inside scoop on how to see the city, when to see it, and everything you never knew you needed to know in between. But back to Iceland. 

In the air, all I saw was clouds. Clouds and ocean. Endless and infinite. It didn’t look like I was headed anywhere. I honestly panicked for a second thinking that I blew loads of my money flying to a place that didn’t exist. 

It wasn’t until we were a minute from landing that I saw a morsel of Iceland. And then suddenly, all of it. A great big brown and white desolate plain of barrenness. There was a single road that stretched across the ground and that was it. Not a single tree in sight (I later learned that this was because of the vikings who depleted them for their ships, leaving only 3% of Iceland with trees). 

The airport popped up out of nowhere. It was the only thing I could see for what seemed like miles. And to continue our shared dismay, the Icelandic krona was an enigma. Not to mention the exchange rate was subpar.

But we figured out enough of what we needed to pay for a bus ride to our “Bus Hostel” and make our way to town through the nearby park. The snow on the ground reminded me of home. As did the sun. Being the only ounce of warmth I could feel that was coming from my fuzzy socks. But it was great.

The buildings were tall and few and it looked like every place was closed, until we made it closer towards the center of Reykjavik. Thankfully, we stumbled upon an indoor food court. I got talking with a woman behind the counter, and before I knew it knew, she had convinced me to try their artic char, a cross between trout and salmon, on a bed of grilled onions, cappers, olive oil, and mashed potatoes. 

I could not have imagined a better meal. The char was seasoned to the nines making every bite extremely rich in flavor, and watching the fish cooked by handheld torch was the cherry on top. 

Over the moon, we set out to find the coast and take in the city from an ocean perspective. After passing a street that housed a succession of rainbow buildings, admiring mesmerizing street art, and slipping on black ice that had been mistaken as your regular sidewalk, a yellow lighthouse, just beyond the Höfði house (a memorial to the beginning of the end of the Cold War erected in 1986) split the horizon. It broke up the landscape from land, to water, and mountain.

It was breathtaking. On the outer rim of dark water bridged a line of grey and white mountains, making the yellow lighthouse that much more animated. I don’t know if it was due to weather or simply their nature, but the mountains looked as if a haze hung over them, distorting their sharp edges and distinctive features from my already bline eye. It made one question if they were really there at all, or if it were merely a trick of light. 

But it was all the same extraordinary. We sauntered off along the coast. Enjoying the sun as it slowly set in the blue grey sky. Soon the night lights were on. We were stopping in shops, wading down streets, and looking for the Hallgrímskirkja, or the Church of Iceland, without knowing that that was what we were looking for. Granted that the steeple of the church was the only thing illuminating the night sky (apart from the shimmering half moon), it wasn’t hard to find.

The structure was grand, massive, and constructed using what looked like tan concrete. It reached out with every cardinal direction, and upon reflection, I almost wonder if the aerial view would reveal the church to be shaped like a cross. The door that loomed over us was crafted to hold red glass and the wood that lined the entry was intricately molded and shaped with aesthetic patterns. Above the door peered stained glass, in a myriad of color, at least twice the size in comparison. And in front of it all stood a proud statue of Leif Erikson, founder of Reykjavik. 

It was fun to interact with the space. See a keystone of the city and a piece of Icelandic history. Not to mention, our stop at Joylato (my new favorite gelato place, run by a really nice old guy that laughed when I sampled the dark chocolate gelato because of the pure euphoria that came over me) on our way home. Having had done research and learning that gelato was within the top five foods you had to try when in Iceland, it was the perfect conclusion to a wonderfully long day.

Day Four-Seven: Jameson Distillery, Temple Bar, Coffee and Chess Chinese

The next fews days were centered around school, food, and sightseeing. Having been told that the Guinness Brewery tour was overrated, we made our way to the Jameson Distillery.

I think it is fair to say that we all enjoyed the tasting session that concluded the tour the most. I, however, only confirmed my suspicions. I really don’t like whiskey.

It was really interesting to compare the different whiskeys though, that much I cannot deny. 

The thing setting Jameson apart from its competitors was the simple fact that their whiskey is distilled three times, as opposed to the regular two. When they talked about the smoothness of the drink, I could actually feel it. The taste would disappear immediately (of which I was thankful) and the angel tears (not the “legs” as they are typically referred, because the Irish are “more poetic”) that ran down the sides of the glass called back to the “Angel’s Share” of Jameson whiskey (the 2% of total production) that evaporates through distilling every year. 

Walking through the giftshop as we exited the building, I ambitiously purchased some whiskey infused chocolate (my curiosity and chocolate love got the best of me) and received a free drink voucher from the open bar. I hesitantly tried the Jameson and Ginger, the most recommended drink, and to my dismay, did not want to vomit. 

I took that W and paraded away, eager to explore more of the city.

By happenstance, I learned that my school is two blocks away from Temple Bar. Imagine me, a cappuccino in my hand, waltzing through the cobblestone streets with two of my roomies, surprised to see a Papa John’s in Ireland of all places, and then realizing oh, hey wait, is that,… THE Temple Bar ?

The glistening red paint should have been hard to miss, but I guess I didn’t know what to expect (even though I had seen numerous pictures of the building before going abroad). It existed more in my head than in real life. But hey, there it was all the same.

I didn’t know what I would miss most from the states, where food is concerned at least, but my stomach quickly told me: Chinese Food. So I happily discovered Chess Chinese in walking distance of Swuites, and chowed down on some veggie fried rice with sweet and sour sauce. Absolutely delectable.

I saved the address to my google maps and can happily report, I plan on being a loyal customer. 

Day Three: Bray Day

As if we had not had enough spontaneity within the past 36 hours, our group decided to travel to Bray, a small coastal town an hour south of Dublin. 

Treating ourselves to breakfast at WUFF and indulging in a caramel macchiato (which is very different than it is in the US,… basically a shot of coffee) with a side of strawberry and nutella pancakes, we jumped on the train. 

In just under an hour, we were looking across the expanse of Muir Éireann, the ocean bordering the rocky coast. We walked through a neighborhood to get to the main street (admiring door art along the way) and suddenly took in the many buildings, restaurants, dogs, and haunted manor before us. 

The stoney beach was unexpected, each smoothed over and gentle to the touch. I could not help but think of my mom, a rock collecting (stealing) enthusiast, who would be having a hay day if she were here. So naturally a pocketed a stone I particularly liked and made my way to the main event. 

Bray Head and Cliff Walk. A paved and organic path to the top of a hillside that overlooked the town, the bay, and every rolling hill in between. Enjoying our meander to the top, I took photos of plants, stone walls, and soaked up all of the green I had been deprived of in the city.

It was not until we made our way up the hillside that things started to get tricky. We had found a path that looked like it might lead to the top, or at least we thought it was a path. Whether it was or not was never truly confirmed nor denied. Still, eager to begin our climb, we headed vertically up the muddy path.

Our optimism quickly plunged when the rain came down and threatened our already tedious climb. To say morale was running low would be a bit of an… understatement. It got to the point where the only option we had was to continue going up, because to go down would mean sliding uncontrollably down and off of the cliff. 

It seemed like a lifetime. We would stomp up and up and up the hill but look around and get seemingly nowhere. Until the top of the white cross peaked over the brush. 

With success in sight, we trudged on, and were rewarded with a breathtaking view of the town and wilderness and ocean below. When I tell the story of our trip and show people pictures, I plan to tell them that we had timed the walk perfectly so that we would see the sunset. The rays of light cut through the overcast and onto the color of the landscape. 

We grabbed a group picture from a couple with a chocolate lab, then discovered a second, much less steep and questionable path opposite from the direction we had come. Happy day. We cheerfully made our way down the tranquil trail, enjoying the sun set before us in the middle of the sky, and ended up at the Ocean Bar and Grill where I selected a mushroom rossioto to savor and warm me.

Having our travels and hunger fulfilled, we boarded the next train home, played brain teasers to keep us from sleep, and enjoyed the company of hot chocolate as we trudged home.

I also made the spontaneous decision (accredited to my oldest sister advising me to do what sounded fun and not waste opportunities) to join a handful of my newfound friends on a trip to Iceland the coming weekend. 

Why not right ?

Day Two: Orientation and Bus Tour

Negligent of the sleep our bodies undoubtedly needed, the second morning was an early rise. Knowing that we had orientation and had not yet located the whereabouts of our school, I think it was safe to say we all were a bit anxious about navigation. However, using our cumulative wit (and trusty google maps), we made easy work of the one-ways, river walks, tram rails, and winding roads, until we arrived at a building sandwiched between coffee shops and bakeries. I am almost certain I heard both my mother and wallet sigh simultaneously at this discovery. I, however, could not be more thrilled. 

After four flights of stairs, we arrived windlessly to a hallway. Looking into one of the rooms, we were met once again with a smiling face, “Céad Míle Fáilte”, and gestured to file into the room. 

A quick introduction ensued, followed by a rundown of what the semester was going to look like and what to expect. We met some of our teachers, asked a few questions, and before we knew it, were off to have lunch at a hipster-esc restaurant around the corner. 

Helping myself to avocado toast, I met new people, talked with one of our Dublin-native advisors about his life (mostly his friendship with the Irish Prime Minister, who is the first openly gay Taoiseach of Ireland) and the Ireland election coming up, then made my way outside to the bus stop for our bus tour. 

We drove by the Spire of Dublin, the IMMA (Irish Museum of Modern Art), the National Museum, the Dublin Zoo, the Guinness Distillery, Jameson Distillery, the Samuel Beckett Bridge (more commonly known as the Harp Bridge that was erected during a time of economic growth), the Garden of Remembrance and Children of Lir statue (that was visited by Queen Elizabeth II, to pay homage to Irish soldiers in WWI in 1998, which was a gesture of reconciliation and goodwill), learned a brief history about O’Connell street during the failed rebellion from 1916-1921 (led by Patrick Peirce), and made a stop at the Papal Cross in Phoenix Park where over one million people joined the Pope on a field of grass for a Catholic service in 1979. 

It was an incredibly thorough and informative ride. Seeing the city from a bus, as one might imagine, was also very different than seeing it on foot. It made it easier to grasp how intricate and interwoven Dublin is to the places I am used to, but it also made the act of exploring it much more tangible. 

Though it had already seemed like a fulfilling enough day, my roomies and I felt that we could not miss the Gaelic Football face-off of the season. Dublin vs. Kerry (Cork), Dublin being the returning champ 5 years in a row. So, without a moment’s hesitation or a concern for the rules of the game, we purchased our tickets in the standing bleachers and walked the 50+ minutes to the stadium. Running into crowds, dead ends, and some sexually aroused homeless men, we eventually found our way to the ticket collection and into the stadium. 

Unbeknownst to them, one of our friends bought a premiere ticket so they were seated in a section by themselves and closer to the field. But the rest of the group, myself included, enjoyed our nosebleed “seats”, at the tippy top of the stadium, in the chilling high wind, engulfed in Irish slander and exclamation. It was entertaining, to say the least.

At one point, I explained to the man next to me (who had given our misfitted group a sideways glance) that this was the first game my friends and I had been to. I then asked him if he had any tips for understanding the game. “Tips?” He replied hoarsely. “Just watch it!”. 

It’s safe to say that I took his advice. And that I did not bother him again. 

As I understood it, the game plays 15 v 15, one of which is a goalie. There is a field post like you would see in football and there is a soccer net. If you scored through the posts, you would be awarded one point, achieving this by kicking or throwing the ball. If you scored through the net, you would get three points, but you could only do this by kicking the ball, which made it more difficult. As far as the lines on the field went, I would say they were somewhere between a mix of soccer and basketball marks. You could throw the ball to one another, kick it to one another, and carry the ball for five steps at a time before you had to touch it to the ground or to your foot.

There were rules about tackling and penalty kicks that I did not quite understand, but otherwise, I felt competent at understanding the game. Despite the desolate temperature, it was an exciting experience. Even when my fingers went numb, the cheering that shook the stadium was more than enough to keep me on my feet in roaring support.

It was not until halftime that my roaring stomach called me away from the game and in pursuit of food.  Three others conquered. We promptly left, meeting a cross guard on our way back to Swuites (who was very keen on knowing our opinion on Trump), and after over an hour or so of wandering aimlessly through neighborhoods and darkly lit city streets, we stumbled into St. Patrick’s Cathedral. At this point we admitted defeat. 

We had no idea where we were. 

But, whether it was by stroke of luck or our silent prayers to St. Patrick, we eventually recognized a building. Our tired feet carried us back to our rooms where we happily crashed and awaited the next days’ adventures.

Day One: “Céad Míle Fáilte”

In Gaelic, this phrase translates to “One hundred thousand welcomes” and was some of the first words that I heard upon my arrival in Dublin, Ireland. From what I can tell, this welcoming is distributed generously to foreigners, to reassure them through their travels and embrace their differences. To me, this gracious and warming gesture was confirmation. Confirmation that I had chosen, of anywhere in the world, the most perfect place to spend my time abroad.

One thousand welcomes ? Are you kidding ? How lucky am I ! And I’m only a fraction Irish.

Not to say it effortless to get to Dublin, more so a hop, skip, and a jump through Immigration that barred me entry into the Republic for upwards of a half-hour. But other than that, the Irish have been nothing by smiles from cheek to cheek and charm from head to toe. 

I arrived early in the morning. The sky still black. The air was cool, crisp, clean to breathe, reminding me of a Nebraskan morning in late fall. I was a bit disoriented from my travels but oddly enough, not at all tired. Instead, my body pulsed with energy and anticipation. I wanted to see Dublin. I did not want to wait a second longer than I had to to take it all in. 

Of course, however, I first had to find my CEA group and transportation from the airport, before I could act on any of my impulses. It was not long before I stumbled into others that were in the same boat as me and corralled off in a taxi to our Swuites Residence. 

To my surprise, the accommodations were much nicer than I had anticipated. A room and bathroom to myself, top-notch security, and a cafe that was vegan/vegetarian-friendly all of thirty seconds from my bed. After getting a quick tour of the building, I tried settling into my room, before I plopped down in the living space awaiting to meet someone. 

Encouraged to go to a grocery store and purchase a SIM card, I was joined by a handful of my roommates and other students we had met in the lobby, to explore the area of Grangegorman and make our way to the Spire. During the twenty-five minute walk it took us to get there, we discovered a grocery store around the corner of our swuites, various marks of street art, numerous restaurants, and even more pubs. It was a cool evening but I do not think anyone paid much mind to it. We simply sauntered our way up and down the streets, mouths slightly ajar, and eyes opened wide. 

Once we collected everything we needed, we made a quick way back. By the time that all of our flatmates had arrived and been introduced, it was late and we were hungry. As five Americans and one German, we made our way to a restaurant called O’Shea’s Merchant (which I was particularly interested in because of my Great Aunt Jean O’Shea), where our German roommate had enjoyed a pint of Guinness, as well as, fish and chips earlier that week. Though I did not indulge in a Guinness myself, of which my father would most likely be ashamed, I did devour some cod, chips (fries), rose, smushed peas (a popular condiment) and sugarless ketchup (of which the difference was quite distinct), as Irish cadences and booming retirement party laughs echoed off the walls.

It was a lovely night.