Wofford College - Study Abroad

a little cloud

I walked down O'Connell Street for what I knew would would be the last time. With the  program winding down and finals on the way, there would be little time for such excursions. All it meant was that I would be leaving Dublin, and knowing this instilled within me a feeling that was neither sad nor sentimental, but Joycean at best.

 

O’Connell Street turned into Parnell, Parnell into Moore, and so on. I passed the vendors and stalls overflowing with fresh vegetables and fruit. 8 Pears for 2 euro. Great deal. Remember when I bought them for the first time and how excited I was. I traced the mental map etched in my mind back to 43/44 Temple Bar. Circa Arts Magazine is relocating. That makes two of us.

 

I stood north of the River Liffey, leaving the Abbey Theatre and An Túr Solais behind. I thought of the General Post Office and the failed insurrection. I thought too of my favorite bookstore—Chapters—and its Barnes & Nobles sized selection of used books.

 

Back down Grafton Street towards St. Stephen’s Green. I walked with the memory of an hour that never ends.

 

The departing bell of the luas rang over the park.  

 

adventures in County Antrim

I was lucky enough to have seen Antrim County a week before it made international headlines. The news, however, did more than make the case for the sectarian-political conflict; it manage to make it a little too real.

After arriving in Belfast and having a quick bite, we hopped in a black cab and began our education on the troubles. Our first stop was the Protestant (Loyalist) Murals. While some commemorate loyalists killed in conflict, others glorify a Loyalist past or Protestant violence.

 

 

This is one of the more famous murals as the UFF member's rifle follows you from every angle.

 

 

 

 

The tour took us to the peace wall next, where Protestants and Catholics alike have left messages calling for an end to the violence. We each left our own messsage (or name) before moving on to the Catholic district where we saw a memorial to those killed in the Clondarf community and the Republican murals. 

  

 

 

   

 

 

We left Belfast and its grim and terrible past and moved on to our lodgings for the night at Portrush. Since it was more a summer tourist spot, the town was more or less empty the whole weekend. But it was here we rediscovered the romantic side of Ireland. A few friends and I took a morning walk along the shore the next morning before leaving for Bushmill's. Although I have lived near the coast all my life, something about the scene was wholly new and invigorating. The feeling only intensified as we drove along the shoreline; inbetween the cliffside and the coast, I found a place forgotten by the "southern" Irish and never imagined by internationals.

And Dunluce Castle was just around the bend.

 

On the Westcoast

Sorry for the delay in posting: entirely the fault of the North Atlantic weather, or so we'll say.

With Temple Bar’s annual Tradfest looming over us and a slew of tourists already pouring into the city, a few friends and I decided to get away for the weekend.After a quick look at bus schedules and some quick decision making, we decided to go to Galway on Ireland’s west coast.

When we stepped off the bus four hours later, we were greeted with gray skies and slick sidewalks. We went and checked into our hostel before embarking on a brief excursion around the city. Galway is surprisingly small, but it felt homey.

After a bite at a little hole in the wall called The Home Plate (where I discovered the vegetarian's dream sandwich), we decided to search for some authentic Irish music to get us through the night. Although I knew Galway was part of the Gaeltacht circuit (a chain of cities in West Ireland deeply rooted in traditional Gaelic culture), I wasn't expecting it to be such a haven for trad music. We ended up at Tig Cóilí, the locals favorite place to get together for a pint and some good music.

It was hard not to dance to the music. It was energetic and fast-paced, and almost seemed to grab you by the arm and swing you into its rhythm. As I sat there listening to the band play, I couldn't help but smile, knowing I was experiencing true trad, rather than a glammed up tourist version. This scene seemed more realistic, and it was almost as if we were all gathered together celebrating life and nothing else.

We were still in the weather's disfavor the next day. With the clouds rolling in and showers virtually guaranteed, we opted not to ferry to the Aryan Islands. Instead, we took a closer look at the city and the surrouding areas. My roommate and I agreed the first stop would have to be Claddagh.

Although the fishing village itself is no more, the history lives on through the world renowned Claddagh ring. Sadly the story of its origin still remains a mystery to us and historians. We do know what the three parts of the ring signify, however; the heart stands for love, the crown for loyalty, and the hands for friendship.

The rest of the day was spent appreciating the city's architecture, pondering the purpose of Spanish Quay, exploring the local musuem, and going to the local market.

 

One of the more popular venues in Galway and around Ireland. Sadly, no pepperjack to be found.

in between the old & new

"Ireland is where strange tales begin
and happy endings are possible."

It's a land of myth and legend, a country built on revolution, the place Oscar Wilde called a nation of brilliant failures with the greatest talkers since the time of the Greeks. 

It's Ireland.

But those who come to or even live in Dublin for a time may not see the city as such. Although it has an impressive history, the city has become a centre for contemporary culture and a well-know haven of secularization.  The infamous Temple Bar for example starts off with espresso and the opening of little shops and ends in pub crawl.

But as I walk the cobbled streets, I think of the thousands of feet that I have walked them before me.  More than that, the art of storytelling still remains a celebrated tradition. Whether it's a recollection of a weekend outside Dublin or a farfetched tale spun for a good craic (I've heard several of these while on the luas tram), it's there. 

In three weeks, I've managed to see Dublin as more than a tourist hotspot, both historic and commerical; it's a culture in itself, one intertwined with antiquity and modernity. People still flock to the theater and spin a tale as well as get their morning Starbucks and get in their weekly shopping  at upscale department stores.

Dublin--no fairytale, but a confusing, interesting world. And I like it.

[some good advice from my host country]