Done With School!!!

Hey everyone! Sorry that it's been such a long time since I've updated my blog.... After getting back from spring break, I had lots of hopes and dreams of relating all my traveling adventures. But then I got bogged down in papers, schoolwork, and studying for finals (although, it must be admitted, it was still nowhere near as much work as I would have had if I'd been back at CMC).

Anyway, it's been over a month since my last blog post, and in that month school drew to a close. And about time, too! I finished off my last final exam this morning, and now I'm totally done. I won't, however, be returning to the states for another two weeks. This upcoming week, I'll be spending several more days in London, which will be a fun way to end my semester. For the final week and half, I'll just be here in Belfast, hanging around, maybe taking a day trip here or there, and getting ready to come back home.

To be perfectly honest, I'm more than ready to get back to the States. Don't get me wrong, the whole study abroad thing has been fun; I've learned a lot about myself and all that, visited some interesting places, met some new people, and done most (or all) of the stuff that a person studying abroad is supposed to do. But there have definitely been negatives, too, and I'm ready to get back home to my friends and my REAL school!

Alright, well, now that I have a little bit of time where I'm doing nothing, maybe I'll try to finish my spring break travel tales.... Or perhaps they will remain an unfinished story, a book without an ending, a couplet out if rhyme. You get the idea. We'll just see what happens.... All the best to all of you out there! I hope everyone's ready for summer!

No Place Like London (Part 2: Saturday, March 15)

Ahhh, the first day in London! My first chance to get out and about and explore the city! And what a day it was, too. Beautiful, sunny, almost, dare I say (what's that feeling called again?), warm. Not quite; I still needed my coat, but very nice indeed.

Well, after loading our stuff into a locker in the storage room of our hostel (and buying a padlock that could actually fit onto the locker!), Shea and I set out. We had an adventure to attend; a special tour that Shea had discovered, given by a somewhat well known group (supposedly....) called the Blue Badge Tours. Best of all, it was FREE! And, you know, if the price is right.... All we had to do was get to the front steps of the Marylebone Church at 10:00am. And get there we did. After catching the metro to the Baker Street tube station, we had about 45 minutes to find the church and wait for the tour to begin. Which was fine with me; I was gazing around the home-street of the great Sherlock Holmes like the fat kid in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory stared at that beautiful, delicious flowing river of chocolate. Mmmmm.... Baker Street. There was even a statue of Holmes himself, which (darn it!) I didn't get a picture of. But it was great. Better still, in our brief wanderings before the tour started, Shea and I found a wee place that only the two of us would get excited about:

That's right, friends and neighbors! A Beatles Store! And if the stuff in there wasn't as expensive as it was, that would've been the end of me right there.....

Well, the Blue Badge tour, entitled "Great British Music - 250 Years of the Music Scene," proved to be interesting, but probably not quite what Shea and I had been expecting. The focus turned out to be mostly on classical composers and performers, although there were spatterings of more recent (and substantially more famous) performers thrown in to make things interesting. We saw, for instance, the Methodist church where a young Elton John used to play the piano on Sundays, and the apartment of Jane Asher, Paul McCartney's long-time girlfriend during the height of Beatlemania. So that was cool. And the weather held out throught it all!

After lunch, Shea and I took a stroll in Regent's Park, a rather large, somewhat opulent, but certainly very beautiful park just a block north of the Baker Street station. Strolling in a foreign park is always a good time; the trees, plants, and animals that are all around you are lovely and soothing, and though it all feels familiar, you can still retain the impression of exoticism that makes a vacation so intriguing and fun. Anyway....

We had decided to spend a bit of time in the National Gallery, so, after completing our stroll around the park, we departed for the Charing Cross tube station. But can you imagine the scene we were confronted with when we popped out of the station and turned the corner into Trafalgar square? A mass of people, some shouting, most quietly standing or walking, many wielding large picket signs.... Shea and I had stumbled onto the remnants of a massive anti-war rally that had apparently been going on in Trafalgar Square since noon. The protest was over, and all of the people left in the Square were merely the stragglers, the die-hards, and the simply bored, none of whom wanted to go home quite yet.

Wading our way through a sea (well, perhaps, "puddle" would be a more apt description...) of "World's #1 Terrorist" (adorned with a portrait of George W. Bush, of course) and "Free Palestine" signs, we mounted the steps of the National Gallery and got to drown our protestor-inspired indignation at the wrongs of the world in great art. Fun, fun....

Upon leaving the gallery, the weather, which had proven itself so amenable just hours before, had turned against us. With a passion. The wind blew, the rain fell, and the cold... froze? I guess that's the only verb that "cold" can actually do. Anyway, point is, it started pouring. Which meant that shelter had to be taken - in a Costa Coffee shop! Exxxcellent....

After the warmth of a cup of my favorite poison, Shea and I had to brave the rain, return to our hostel to grab our luggage, and take the metro to Kensington, where we were meeting a friend, Chris, who had agreed to let us stay at his flat for the next two days. And a dinner of Chinese food and two hours of Blood Diamond later, we were ready for bed.

We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Eurotrip Post to Bring You....

A wee story, involving a floor of Irishman, two Americans, and a guitar.

They came to me like two shy children asking their "cool" uncle to teach them how to go fishing (or some other equally uncle-esque activity....). Neither wanted to admit how much they each wanted me to do what they wanted me to do.

"Jeremy," David said, pointing, "Ryan is down... you know what would really cheer him up? If you played for him on the guitar."

"Fuck off, David," Ryan quickly chimed in. "It's David, Jeremy, David wants you to play for us... him... on the guitar."

I looked at them both, bemused, and then at Kevin and Barry, who were also lurking in the hallway, waiting for my answer. "You guys want me to play the guitar for you?" I asked, turning back to David and Ryan. They both nodded. "OK." I said. "I'll do it. Get Connor's amp, and we'll play in the kitchen." Off they went, scampering to Connor's room; once again, I couldn't help comparing them to a couple of 10-year-olds. Strangely, the comparison might not be so far off the mark....

We set up in the kitchen, with the whole floor gathered around to listen. It was like a camp-fire sing-along. Inside. Without the camp-fire. But there was singing along. So the characterization is half right! It took a couple goes at some Guns N' Roses songs (played especially for Ryan, who had requested them) before I was warmed up, but then I went on with some Beethoven, Oasis, The Beatles, and, well, a bit of everything in between. I'd like to point out that I'm not a particularly good guitar player; they didn't seem to mind. It seemed like they genuinely enjoyed every minute of it, and you should have seem 'em singing along during "Wonderwall!" Ahh, it was a good time....

Ryan had a go at it, of course. I think he has dreams of being a rock star. At present, he'll have to settle for being in a punk band; he can't play guitar. At all. Didn't stop him. He bashed away on the open strings (occasionally attempting - sometimes with success - to play a fretted note) for quite a while, until David, er, I'll say "politely suggested" that he pass the guitar to somebody else. Which leads us to....

"Play 'Smells Like Teen Spirit!'" This was James, a friend of the guys' who doesn't live on the floor.

"Fuck off!" Barry, guitar in hand, strummed the first chord of the song, "I hate that bloody song. It annoys me."

"Come on..." James said. "I'll sing along!"

"You'll sing along?" Moving his fingers down one string, Barry shifted to the second chord. "You're not singing."

"I will, I will...."

Barry kept playing, but James still wasn't singing. "Stop being a fucking weak poof! 'I'll sing along.' Bah!"

"I don't know the words!" James protested. "I can't bloody understand them." He hummed a few bars. "All I know is 'With the lights out.... It's less dangerous....'"

"Here we are now, entertain us." I finished the lyric for him.

"Yeah!" He said, smiling.

Barry had gone back to the beginning and got to the fourth power chord. "Fuck this!" He said for the third time. "I'm not playing it!"

"Ahhh, no, play on!" Ryan, who had been sitting quietly off to the side since relinquishing the guitar broke in. His admonition got the gang through two verses of "Teen Spirit," no singing. It seems that James wasn't the only one who didn't know the words.....

And, it's 11:00pm and I'm tired from being up late last night playing guitar in the kitchen. So it's off to bed for me. I'll try and get back on those posting re: my Eurotrip. Sorry the blog has been a little sparse lately. Now you stay classy, San Diego (and elsewhere)!

No Place Like London (Part 1: Arrival)

I have sailed the world
Beheld its wonders
From the Dardanelles
To the mountains of Peru,
But there's no place like....

London. The first city I visited on my travels, and, indeed, one that I've dreamed of visiting for as long as I can remember. Ever since the Sherlock Holmes stories as a kid, ever since Disney's The Great Mouse Detective (a movie that I still love), ever since the books I've read and the dreams I've dreamt, London has been this semi-mythical place across the sea. A place where the famous authors, poets, musicians, politicians that I know and love have lived and died and made history. And so it was with great excitement that I rolled into Liverpool Street station on a train from the London Stansted airport; my first glimpses of the city from the train had been less than inspiring - as most of you, no doubt, may expect, the portions of the city immediately around the over-ground train tracks aren't exactly the nicest areas around. But now that I was in the thick of it, I expected things to improve dramatically. And, although it took a tad longer than expected, they did.

After arriving at the station, I had planned on walking to the hostel where I was meeting the one, the only, Ms. Shea Kinser, old friend and crusader for justice extraordinaire. Now, on the map it looked simple enough. Not even a mile away... just a hop, skip, and a jump over London Bridge... a straight shot. Trust me, dear readers, if there's anybody who can screw something like that up, it's yours truly. It's a skill. I rather pride myself in it. So I set out from the station, gunning for a bridge. Didn't exactly seem like it would be the most difficult thing to find. And it probably wouldn't have been - if I had been going in the right direction. About ten minutes later, I had realized my error, tossed my plan to walk, and gotten one of those quaint-looking cabs. Ahhh... a much easier solution. I also had a rather pleasant talk with the cab-driver, who recommended Indian restaurants in Brick Lane, which, he was quick to point out, had been the setting of a rather famous recent British novel. I told him that I had read this very novel (uninspiringly entitled Brick Lane) for a college class, but he insisted on explaining the plot to me anyway. I didn't mind. I also learned from my cab-driving friend that my accent is unexplainable: when I first told him that I had come to London from Belfast, he commented that I didn't sound Irish; when I told him that I was an American studying abroad, he told me I didn't sound American either. It makes me wonder what I sound like.... I suppose I will never quite know. Finally, I got to hear Mr. Cabbie's thoughts on the American presidential election, namely his fervent belief that if Obama gets elected, he's going to end up like JFK (which is to say, dead). Definitely an interesting fellow, but, hey, he got me where I needed to go, and he was a card to talk to.

Having thus arrived, through vehicular means, at the St. Christopher's Orient Espresso hostel, I promptly strolled into the lobby, where I found the ever-patient Shea awaiting my arrival. It's always a pleasure to see an old friend again, and, after apologizing for my late arrival and telling her about my cartographical incompetence, we checked into the hostel, went out to dinner at a nice little Chinese restaurant, and sketched out a plan for the following day. I had been in London for about 2 hours, and already my adventures had begun. And that's the way it should be.

Back in Belfast!!!

I'm baaaaaaaaaaaack!

Please expect about a billion posts about my recent trip. They'll take a while to write, though, so don't worry. They'll probably keep going up until the semester's over....

Leaving on a Jet Plane #2

Hey guys! Well, it seems that spring break is upon us all... Ireland is no different; except for the fact that schools here get a three week break, instead of a single week. Sorry all! Since I've got a little while before I need to get back to school, I've got a little bit of a Eurotrip planned: first, I'm off to England, to explore London, visit Bristol, and then make a proverbial pilgrimage to Liverpool - the hometown of the single greatest band on earth, the Beatles! Pretty cool, eh?

After England, I'm off to Dublin to meet up with Alisha and Kana (who you'll know if you go to CMC; if not, it doesn't really matter), which should be a good time. Then I'm off on my own, off to spend three days in Paris and then several days in Pisa/Florence. Phew! Sounds awesome, but it also sounds scary. Especially because I don't speak either French or Italian.... Oh well. I guess I get to be the "dumb American tourist."

Well, anyway, since I'm off on my trip, I won't be around for a little while. Two and a half weeks, to be more precise. While I am hoping to have some kind of internet access every so often, there are no guarantees; so, if you e-mail me and I don't get back to you for a little while, don't worry. I don't hate you, and (hopefully) I'm not dead. I just don't have a computer around. So there you go!

Alright, well, I'd like to wish everyone a happy spring break! I hope that you all have a fun and relaxing time before our final push to finish off the semester! Soon, it'll be summer again and we'll get to relax (or, of course, work) as much as we want! Talk to you soon, guys! Rock on!

Traditional Irish Music Fun #2

Here's another video of the traditional music troika from Fibber Magee's. In this video, you can see (several times) the aforementioned drunk lady.... She kept dancing into my shots, which was annoying, at times, except that now I can remember her humorous antics for as long as my computer's memory banks hold out. Anyway, near the end, you'll notice two other people - a couple, actually - who come into the video for a wee bit. Now they knew the appropriate dances to be dancing to Irish traditional music! Hat's off to them!

Traditional Irish Music Fun #1

Hey! Well, this past week was a great week for Irish traditional music. On Wednesday night, I went out to a pub with one of my friends and spent about an hour watching this awesome three-piece Irish band rock out with a slew of music, including typical Irish traditional and old-school American country. Heck, they even played a cover of Rat Packer Dean Martin's song "Little Old Wine Drinker Me"! It was a good time... We even got some entertainment to go with our music: this older woman (who had obviously had too many "spirits") was under the impression that traditional Irish music was made for club dancing. It isn't. But that didn't stop her... During nearly every song, she was out there on the dance floor shaking her groove thang. It was awkward. But amusing. She came *this* close to falling down so many times...

Well, here's a short video of the band. There are more to come, hopefully, but this'll do for now. I'm not sure what song they're playing; they did a number of my all-time favorites (including "Whiskey in the Jar" and "The Leaving of Liverpool"), but this is a song that I've never heard before. I also can't understand the lyrics well enough to Google it, so if any of ya'll want to give that a go, then let me know what you come up with, eh!

The Tensions (Like the Troubles, But Less Violent)

Hey everybody! Sorry I haven't written an update for you guys in a while... I guess I've been a bit busier recently than I expected. Anyway, here's a post on a topic that I've been meaning to write about for a while; hopefully, I'll be able to give it the attention and care that I feel it requires.

Well, I suppose that we've all heard of the Troubles. Or, at least, the IRA, Irish car bombs (NOT the drink!), and Protestant-Catholic ethnic violence. For those of you who might not be so familiar with the history of this stuff, well, it's kind of complicated and goes back a long, long time. So, simple version: the Troubles basically lasted for 30 years - from the major Catholic civil-rights protests and campaigns in Northern Ireland starting in 1968, to the signing of the Good Friday Agreement in 1998. This was a bad, bloody thirty years, and Belfast was the frontline of the Catholic-Protestant power struggle. I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that I'm living in what was once the bloodiest city in Ireland.

The Troubles are over, now, of course. The provisional IRA has given up it's weapons, and Sinn Féin and the DUP (don't worry, there'll be another blog on this stuff) are sharing power up in the Irish Parliament at Stormont. But the central problem - distrust and mutual dislike between Catholics and Protestants - remains. One of the most surprising things that I've encountered during my time here has been the extent of Catholic-Protestant hostilities, or, at least, the central importance of the distinciton between the two religious groups. Let me give you an example...

A couple weeks ago, I went into my kitchen to fix myself some instant coffee (hey, it's not the Motley, but it's better than nothing...). Well, two of my floormates were in there talking religion. One of them, a clearly nationalist Catholic (I have this sinking feeling that he would be "connected" - i.e. in the provisional IRA - if the Troubles were still going on), was going on about how "deposing the government and victimless crimes don't disqualify you from Heaven." Well, I asked him what counted as "victimless crimes" and was subsequently sucked into a conversation/grilling/lesson that would last over two hours. After explaining a number of things that he believed consituted "victimless crimes" (including smuggling petrol, bank robbery, insurance fraud, and - most disturbingly, but I think he was kidding - killing gays and Gypsies), this fellow and one of my other floormates decided to find out how much I knew about Irish ethnic issues. (NOTE: all of my floormates are Catholic, with the exception of one atheist; on this particular day, since no one bothered to ask me what I was, I guess I was an "honorary Catholic").

Anyway, they grilled me for about an hour, listing off places, people, names, weapons, clothing, dates, and character traits; the task was simple: identify these things as either Catholic or Protestant. I didn't do so badly, except for the places.... Well, when they couldn't think of anything else to ask me, they decided that it would be a good idea to teach me how to differentiate between Catholics and Protestants on sight. This proved to be a revealing glimpse into common Catholic/Protestant stereotypes... For instance, if a person is wearing nice shoes, he's Protestant. If his shoes are old and worn, he's Catholic. Any male with long hair is a Protestant. If you can't drive well, or keep a messy and overgrown garden, you're Catholic. Basically, the general stereotype was that the Protestants are generally more affluent and well-to-do than their Catholic counterparts; which can, supposedly, be seen in their choice of clothing, accessories, etc.

After all of this instruction, there was only one thing left to do: test me, of course! So we had to stand at the kitchen window for about half an hour, waiting for people to pass by so that I could label them as either Catholic or Protestant. It was definitely kind of an eerie experience... I mean, you always hear about stereotyping, racism, and prejudice, but to actually be in a place where stereotypes are the order of the day - and to even participate in this stereotyping yourself - is decidedly creepy. I mean, the guys on my floor are all good guys; I don't think that they'd necessarily pick their friends based on religious differences, but their attitudes towards the whole religious split are certainly revealing.

Well, I think I'll cut this off here, for now. This Protestant-Catholic issue will probably be addressed again, but we'll see...

Giant's Causeway Trip

Hey, hey everybody! Well, it might have been a few days, but I haven't forgotten about you. Just been busy with class things, dinner cooking, and other such activities, that's all...

Well, this past weekend, I went on a day trip to the Giant's Causeway, an amazing area of geological formations and towering, picturesque cliffs along the coast of Ireland in County Antrim. The Causeway is the most-visited tourist attraction in Northern Ireland and considered by some to be the "Eighth Wonder of the World." (Note: due to the destruction of 6 of the previous 7 wonders of the world, results are inconclusive). Anyway, the trip was amazing! Here are just a couple of pictures:

Well, as you can see, it was pretty impressive. Basically, the "crown jewel" of the Causeway (which you can kind of see in the top picture) is the pathway of hexagonal (sometimes pentagonal) basalt pillars that leads out into the ocean. The same pillars can also be found at other places around the Causeway, but the picture above shows part of the main formation.

While geological and meteorological history are certainly interesting, one of the factors that makes the Giant's Causeway so fascinating and magical comes from the realm of myth and legend. Which, I have to admit, is much more to my taste. According to ancient Irish legends, the causeway was built by the giant Finn McCool (Irish: Fionn mac Cumhaill). Apparently, you see, there was this running feud between Finn and a Scottish giant, Benandonner, who, obviously enough, lived across the Irish Sea in Scotland. Well, every day, Finn would stand up on a mountain near the future sight of the causeway, and he and the Scottish giant would shout obscenities at one another across the ocean. One day, however, something that one (or both) of them said - an insult against one of their giant mothers, perhaps? - pissed both of them off so much, that they decided they'd build a bridge across the sea and engage in some good, old-fashioned fisticuffs.

So off they went, building the bridge from their respective homelands. Well, halfway through his work on his side of the bridge, Finn McCool looked up and saw Benandonner off in the distance. Even from that distance away, he realized that the Scottish giant was substantially bigger than he was. Which, of course, didn't bode well for the upcoming fight. So he did what any of us would do in such a situation: he ran off home to his wife and begged her to help him. Being the brains of the McCool clan, Mrs. McCool came up with an ingenious plan. She dressed Finn up as a baby and put him into a cradle.

Well, pretty soon, Benandonner had finished the Scottish-Irish landbridge and had arrived in Antrim looking for Finn. Upon coming to his adversary's house, Benandonner (politely?) asked Mrs. McCool where the deuce her husband was. Mrs. M told the Scottish giant that her husband was off in the countryside for a bit, but that he would be returning home shortly. Meanwhile, she invited Benandonner inside to wait for Finn to "return." Upon entering the house, however, Benandonner noticed the "baby" in the enormous cradle and stopped dead cold. Giants have never been known for their cognitive capabilities (see above), and the gas in Benandonner's mental tank seems to have been running on empty. Regardless, he took one look at the so-called baby and thought to himself: "Shite! If this is the size of Finn McCool's baby, then Finn himself most be one big, bad son-of-a-leprechaun!" Promptly excusing himself from Mrs. McCool's hospitality, Benandonner fled back across the Irish Sea, tearing up the causeway as he went.

And all that's left of that original giant's causeway, is what we can see in the present day at Giant's Causeway. And now you know.

Time for a Song...

Well, everyone, I don't have much to say at present. The main reason that I'm posting this is because I've discovered a new (well, "new" is relative, of course - the song itself is actually rather old) song that, surprisingly, I had never heard before until a few days ago. It fits in rather well with last week's visit to the Kilmainham Gaol, since many Irishmen and women were imprisoned there during the Great Famine for stealing food. I really liked this song a lot, even if it is sad, so I just wanted to share it with you. It was recently covered by (here they are again...) the Dropkick Murphys, so you may have heard it before: here's "The Fields of Athenry."

The Dubliners: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YtQ6a8gA7qk
Paddy Reilly: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v9InnXP64To
Dropkick Murphys: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=10agPj0Vzu4

The Fields of Athenry (Pete St. John)
By a lonely prison wall
I heard a young girl calling
"Michael, they have taken you away.
For you stole Trevelyn's corn,
So the young might see the morn.
Now a prison ship lies waiting in the bay."

Low lie the Fields of Athenry
Where once we watched the small free birds fly.
Our love was on the wing, we had dreams and songs to sing
Now it's so lonely 'round the Fields of Athenry.

By a lonely prison wall
I heard a young man calling
"Nothing matters, Mary, when you're free.
Against the Famine and the Crown
I fought, they cut me down.
Now you must raise our child with dignity."

Low lie the Fields of Athenry
Where once we watched the small free birds fly.
Our love was on the wing, we had dreams and songs to sing
Now it's so lonely 'round the Fields of Athenry.

By a lonely harbor wall
She watched the last star falling
As that prison ship sailed out against the sky
Sure she'll wait and hope and pray
For her love in Botany Bay.
It's so lonely 'round the Fields of Athenry.

Low lie the Fields of Athenry
Where once we watched the small free birds fly.
Our love was on the wing, we had dreams and songs to sing
It's so lonely 'round the Fields of Athenry.

Rocky Road to Dublin (Part 2: Saturday)

Alright, I believe that I left you all on last Friday night. I'm sure you've just been waiting on pins and needles to hear about Saturday. Well, your wait, my friends, is over. Saturday commences, thus:

Being the up-and-at-'em gent that I am, I got up around 7:30am to stroll around the area of the city where our hostel was located. It was a very pleasant walk, with the frosty air biting through my wool jacket, and plenty of steam and smoke drifting up out of the old brick chimneys of nearby businesses. I walked along the quay beside the River Liffey and got a rather nice picture of day breaking over the buildings on the other side of the river. Here it is:

After everyone else decided to get up, and breakfast was had by all, we set out on a "Hop On, Hop Off" bus tour of the city. It was definitely a good way to get around and still be able to see everything that you wanted to see. A bunch of us got off at Saint Stephen's Green, a lovely park not too far from the main city center, and spent a while walking around, looking at the flowers and trees, and admiring the ponds. Very nice, and quite relaxing. We had to cut our visit a little short, though, in order to hop another bus and go to the Kilmainham Gaol - which, for some reason that none of us can quite figure out, our study abroad program was paying for us to tour. While not something that I probably would have chosen to see on my own, the jail was certainly interesting; it was first built in 1796 and served as a jailhouse for Irish criminals and political prisoners up until the Irish Civil War. Some of the jail's more famous former inhabitants (or death-sentence victims) include Henry Joy McCracken; Joseph Plunkett, Patrick Pearse, and James Connolly (influential leaders of the 1916 Easter Rising); and Éamon de Valera (future Prime Minister and President of the Republic of Ireland). Certainly an interesting, though rather depressing tour.

Well, after the jail, most of the study abroad group and I parted ways. You see, there is a certain beer that's made in Ireland, rather famous, really, called "Guinness." Perhaps you've heard of it? Well, Mr. Arthur Guinness, the creator of said beer, built his St. James' Gate Brewery (aka the Guinness Storehouse) in Dublin, where it continues to pump out 3 million pints of the stuff every day (as the bus driver said, "We do our best to drink every last one"). In addition to its colossal output, the St. James' Gate Brewery has also become a major tourist attraction - which I'm sure that the free pint at the end of the tour has absolutely nothing to do with. For some of us, however, beer just isn't all that great. The one time that I tried a bit of Guinness, it tasted like burnt bread (or something...) mixed with a large helping of evil. So the prospect of touring the factory (where they have to keep the evil in specially sealed vats, no doubt) just wasn't all that appealing. So, to make a long story short, just about everyone went to the Guinness storehouse. Which left me and two others to go on to Phoenix Park.

Phoenix Park, for those unfamiliar with Dublin, is enormous. There's simply no other word to describe it. It's everything that you ever wanted in a park: there are numerous sports fields, plenty of wide open space, walking paths, trees, flowers, a zoo, the American ambassador's residence, and the Áras an Uachtaráin (the residence of the President of Ireland). Yup. I bet you always wanted a park that had the president's house in it. There's also an enormous cross that was erected for Pope John Paul II's visit to Dublin in 1979. All in all, it was an amazing place, but it was impossible to see everything without canceling the rest of the afternoon. It was a tempting offer, though...

Next on the agenda was the Garden of Remembrance. I don't have much to say about it. For now, at least. By this point in the afternoon, I was a bit tired. And most of you, I think, know what I like to do when I'm tired. For those of you who don't, no; the answer is not sleep. Freya, Danielle, and Christine know the answer... Unfortunately, since the Motley happened to be about 4000 miles away, I had to settle for coffee that was less good and more expensive. But it was coffee, nonetheless.

Once the caffeine jones had been sufficiently satiated, I proceeded to walk to the National Gallery, where I spent the rest of the afternoon. It was grand! Almost like being back in SoCal at the Huntington. Difficult to say which is better, of course. I saw a great many fabulous painting, including "The Cottage Girl" by Thomas Gainsborough, a painting that I studied in the great Professor Warner's "Literature and the Visual Arts" class. Other highlights were some paintings by Tomas Roberts (I think they were a set, since they were all of the Lucan House in Demesne), a couple of paintings by Monet, some works by Claude Lorrain, and a painting by one of my all-time favorites, the late, great Mr. John Constable. In short, put me in an art gallery or museum, and I have a self-perpetuating source of entertainment.

That was it for the site-seeing, sadly enough. After dinner, though, some friends and I went on a quest for some good Irish traditional music, which, being in Ireland, was surprisingly difficult to find. The first place we went would have been successful (we got there just as the singer was finishing up my title-song "The Wild Rover"), but it was packed to the gills and we couldn't get in! From there, the quest went downhill for a while, until we finally found a little place with live music that wasn't of the annoying dance/DJ variety. We got inside just as the band was finishing a song, and eagerly awaited their next number, which turned out to be.... "Leaving on a Jet Plane" by John Denver. Oh, no! This wasn't Irish traditional music! Oh, but it was... after that they got around to playing "Whiskey in the Jar" and some other songs, finally ending with "Country Road" and playing Van Morrison's "Brown-Eyed Girl" as their finale. Phew!

So, here's a little video clip that I took of the band playing "Whiskey in the Jar." Sorry it's only about 10 seconds... I didn't really know how much space I had left on my camera memory card, so I decided to cut it a little short.

And that was Saturday in Dublin! Pretty exciting, eh?

Rocky Road to Dublin (Part 1: Friday)

This previous weekend, all of the students from my study abroad program and I went on a trip to Dublin, the capital city of the Republic of Ireland. Maybe you've heard of it? You know... Biggest Irish city? Home of James Joyce? Yeah that Dublin. Is there any other?

Anyways, we all left Belfast on the 2:00pm train on Friday afternoon. Riding the train in Ireland is always a spectacular experience: watching the countryside go by out of the train windows really drives home Ireland's reputation for scenic beauty. Plenty of rolling green fields, quaint country houses, surreal and sublime seashores, and, of course, plenty of sheep. Beautiful stuff.

We got in to Dublin at about 4:00pm, and had a couple of hours to wander about the city before going to dinner. A couple friends and I crossed over the River Liffey on one of the many bridges (not the famous Ha' Penny bridge, but we'll get there eventually) and spent about an hour or so exploring the Temple Bar area. Pretty awesome place! A little too touristy, perhaps, but there was definitely plenty to see. Street performers were all over the place: people plucking away on guitars and fiddles, fire-eaters/swingers, pipers, accordian-players, and drummers. It was sort of like a big party out in the street. Which, I guess, is basically exactly what it was supposed to be. Anyway...

We had dinner at a chain place called Apache Pizza. Yeah, yeah, I know... the Apache Indians have nothing to do with pizza. Don't ask questions; just read the Ten Indian Commandments, enjoy your pizza, and everything will be OK...

After dinner, our study abroad program was kind enough to pay for us all to attend a play at the Gaiety Theatre, a musical by Willy Russell called Blood Brothers. A nature-vs.-nurture tale of twins seperated at birth who go on to become best friends - "blood brothers" - and then, eventually, enemies, the musical was a great way for me to experience an Irish theatrical event. And I actually thought it was pretty good. Not the best musical I'd ever seen, but not as bad as the rest of the study abroad students made it out to be; although, yes, the constant references to Marilyn Monroe and the creepy Dr.-Seuss-meets-Mephistopheles narrator certainly warrant some jokes. Personally, I wouldn't have minded if Russell had pulled a Stephen Sondheim and capped the narrator mid-play....

Well, as soon as the play was over it was off to the pubs for most people. I went for a bit, to a pub down the street from the (real) Temple Bar, but it was packed full - reminded me a bit of being in the mosh pit at that Megadeth concert I went to a few years back. Without the thrashing, of course. Anyway, I didn't stick around for too long. Which is just as well: a couple of the more adventurous (sic: foolish) folks spent over $50 on alcohol, so it couldn't have ended too well. Alright, I'm going to head off to the gym in a few minutes, but expect posts on Saturday and Sunday following shortly.

And I leave you with a song: here's two links - one by the Dublin City Workingman's Band (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6459e8evb4A) and one by the Orthodox Celts (oddly enough, this band is from Belgrade; just thought you might find that interesting; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MDTlQ9xgtGk).

The Rocky Road to Dublin (Irish Traditional)
In the merry month of June from me home I started,
Left the girls of Tuam so nearly broken hearted,
Saluted Father dear, kissed me darling mother,
Drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother,

Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born,
Cut a stout blackthorn to banish ghosts and goblins;
In a brand new pair of brogues to rattle o'er the bogs
And frighten all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin,

(Chorus):
One two three four five,
Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road
And all the way to Dublin, Whack fol la de dah!

In Mullingar that night I rested limbs so weary
Started by daylight next morning bright and early
Took a drop of the pure to keep me heart from sinking;
That's a Paddy's cure whenever he's on drinking

See the lassies smile, laughing all the while
At me darlin' style, 'twould set your heart a bubblin'
Asked me was I hired, wages I required
Till I was almost tired of the rocky road to Dublin,

(Chorus)

In Dublin next arrived, I thought it be a pity
To be soon deprived a view of that fine city.
Decided to take a stroll, all among the quality;
Me bundle it was stole, all in a neat locality.

Something crossed me mind, when I looked behind,
No bundle could I find upon me stick a wobblin'
Enquiring for the rogue, they said me Connaught brogue
Wasn't much in vogue on the rocky road to Dublin,

(Chorus)

From there I got away, me spirits never falling,
Landed on the quay, just as the ship was sailing.
The Captain at me roared, said that no room had he;
When I jumped aboard, a cabin found for Paddy.

Down among the pigs, played some funny rigs,
Danced some hearty jigs, the water round me bubbling;
When off to Holyhead wished meself was dead,
Or better far instead on the rocky road to Dublin,

(Chorus)

The boys of Liverpool, when we were safely landed,
Called meself a fool, I could no longer stand it.
Blood began to boil, temper I was losing;
Poor old Erin's Isle they began abusing.

"Hurrah me soul!" says I, let the shillelagh fly.
Some Galway boys were nigh and saw I was a hobble in,
With a loud "hurray!" joined in the fray.
Soon we cleared the way on the rocky road to Dublin,

(Chorus)

V-Day in Belfast

Yes, yes.... It's happened again. No, don't fret. It happens every year, and most of us have gotten used to it by now. That's right, friends and neighbors: it's Valentine's Day. For some, it's a day of happiness and joy, a time to contemplate and cherish the person that they love, and other mushy, ain't-that-sweet activities. For the majority, however, (and perhaps I'm just a cynic) Valentine's Day is just another cheap, tacky holiday - possibly invented for the sole purpose of selling V-day cards, flowers, chocolate, and those bloody stuffed bears. People peg Christmas as a "hollow" holiday, painting it with the dreaded brush of materialism and excess; it's a pity they couldn't have picked a more deserving (not to mention easier) target.

But don't worry: if you're reading this blog, I won't suck all the fun out of your Valentine's Day. Go out, have fun, eat chocolate! Whatever. In fact, in honor of V-Day, I've got a little song for you - a marvellous little ditty that you may have heard before. It's a song called "Courtin' in the Kitchen," and it's sort of like the Irish traditional version of "Love Stinks" from The Wedding Singer. There are a great many versions of this song, one of the more recent of which was recorded by The Dropkick Murphys (of "Shipping Up to Boston" fame). NOTE: their version is (erroneously?) entitled "Captain Kelly's Kitchen." However, for the better, more traditional, sound, I'd recommend the version recorded by The Clancy Brothers. In fact, here: have some youTube links...

The Clancy Brothers: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2qpUboB7AKU
The Dropkick Murphys: http://youtube.com/watch?v=agro9miL3bA&feature=related (for the song itself); http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qaRfjbhRW3Y (for the Irish dancing girls; sorry, the sound is terrible)
Ronnie Drew: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d4LmPFAFCu4 (of the Dubliners; another good Irish trad. version)

And, without further ado, the lyrics:

Courtin' in the Kitchen (Irish Traditional)
Come single belle and beau, unto me pay attention
Don't ever fall in love, for it's the devil's own invention
For once I fell in love with a maiden so bewitching
Miss Henrietta Bell out in Captain Kelly's kitchen

With me toora loora la and me toora loora laddie
And me toora loora la and me toora loora laddie

At the age of seventeen I was 'prenticed to a grocer
Not far from Stephen's Green where Miss Henri' used to go sir
Her manners were sublime and she set me heart a-twitchin'
When she invited me to a hooley in the kitchen

With me toora loora la and me toora loora laddie
And me toora loora la and me toora loora laddie

Oh, next Sunday bein' the day that we were to have the flare-up
I dressed meself quite gay and I frizzed and oiled me hair up
The Captain had no wife and he had gone a-fishin'
And we kicked up high life down below stairs in the kitchen

With me toora loora la and me toora loora laddie
And me toora loora la and me toora loora laddie

With her arm around me waist, she slyly hinted marriage
To the door in dreadful haste came Captain Kelly's carriage
Her eyes were full of hate and poison she was spittin'
When the Captain at the door, walked right into the kitchen

With me toora loora la and me toora loora laddie
And me toora loora la and me toora loora laddie

When the Captain came downstairs, though he saw me situation
In despite of all me prayers I was marched off to the station
For me they'd take no bail, but to get home I was itchin'
But I had to tell the tale, how I came into the kitchen

With me toora loora la and me toora loora laddie
And me toora loora la and me toora loora laddie

Now, I said she did invite me, but she gave a flat denial
For assault she did indict me, and I was sent for trial
She swore I robbed the house and in spite of all her schreechin'
And I got six months hard for me courtin' in the kitchen

With me toora loora la and me toora loora laddie
And me toora loora la and me toora loora laddie


Happy Valentine's Day, mates!

Nirvana in Navan? Not quite... (But close)

Greetings, friends and neighbors! Well, this past weekend, all of the study abroad students (including, of course, your humble narrator) had a "homestay" in the wee town of Navan, down south of the border in the full-fledged Republic of Ireland. A homestay, for those of you who don't know, is a period of time - sometimes as little as 2 1/2 days (like ours) sometimes as long as a year, or longer(?) - that a foreign student stays with a native family in their study-abroad location. Pretty self-explanatory, really. Anyway...

So, Navan and the homestay. Well, it got off to a rough start when the bus taking us down to Navan got lost and didn't pick us up for 40 minutes. Meh; it happens. Upon arrival, though, things got crazy - and awesome - pretty quickly. I was staying with a family of three, which also happened to be hosting a year-long German exchange student. So, all told, it was me, the four of them, and two other students from my program. A lot of people, that! The family was incredibly, incredibly nice. First, the father showed me his music room. Bloody wonderful! With the exception of a good electric guitar, he had all of the musical toys that I'd ever dreamed of: recording equipment, great amps, guitar pedals, a twelve-string (drool...), drum machines, and, best of all, a bloody guitar synthesizer! (Note: a guitar synthesizer can make a guitar sound like any instrument - glorious!). Now, he was away for the weekend, but, with the simple advice of "Don't break my shit, dude!" he left me to play around to my heart's content. My crowning achievement of the weekend was playing Bach's "Toccata in Fugue" with the guitar synth set to "organ." Bloody beautiful! One of the other study abroad students was in the shower at the time and claimed that it sounded like Dracula's castle. Ha, ha! Well, I do what can...

Anyway, on to the mother. Sooooo nice! Not only did she feed us (that is, a LOT), but she was also full of advice, cooking ideas, and other useful bits of knowledge. But wait, there's more: she also took us to the nearby town of Trim, where there's an absolutely gorgeous castle (which, for those of you are movie buffs, was actually used in the movie Braveheart). Fun times! But wait, there's more: she gave me an egg poacher. A bloody egg poacher! Can you believe it? I had been telling her that I was going to look for one at the store, and she just pulls an old one out of the back room and gives it to me! Bless her heart! Like I said, soooo nice...



Finally, the wee girl, Emma. Six years old. You know, that age where they have an infinite supply of energy. Oi! She was certainly a cute and nice little girl, but after playing with her for several hours... Well, let's just say it was exhausting.

So, in short, it was a good time in Navan. It only goes to show that having a good homestay can definitely increase your appreciation for a place. The inverse of this statement also applies, and there were certainly some people who didn't have such good experiences...

Well, perhaps I'll get some more detail on these things later. For now, cheers for reading, and I hope that you're all enjoying the updates!

The Song for the Carrickfergus Adventure

The glory of Carrickfergus calls for a song: so here's a rousing little number by Gaelic Storm (from their self-titled album) called "Johnny Jump Up." It'll be in honor of my pint of cider. Don't worry - the effects are greatly exaggerated.

"Johnny Jump Up"
I'll tell you a story that happened to me
One day, as I went down to Cork by the Lee:
The sun, it was bright, and the day, it was warm.
Thinks I, "A cold pint wouldn't do me no harm".

I went to the barman; I says, "Give me a stout!" -
Says the barman, "I'm sorry: the beer is sold out;
Try whiskey or vodka ten years in the wood" -
Says I, "I'll try cider - I hear that it's good".

Chorus:
O never! O never! O never again!
If I live to a hundred or a hundred and ten!
For I fell to the ground, and I couldn't get up,
After drinking a pint of that Johnny Jump Up!

After lowering the third, I headed straight for the yard,
Where I bumped into Brophy, the big civic guard.
"Come here to me, boy - don't you know I'm the law?";
Well I up with my first, and I shattered his jaw!

He fell to the ground with his knees doubled up,
But it wasn't I hit him; 'twas the Johnny Jump up!
The next thing I saw, down in Cork by the Lee,
Was a cripple on crutches, and he beckoned to me.

"I'm afraid for my life - I'll be hit by a car!
Would you help me across to the Railwaymen's Bar?"
And, after three pints of that cider so sweet,
He threw down his crutches, and he danced on his feet.

Chorus

I went down the Lee Road a friend for to see.
They had him in a madhouse in Cork by the Lee.
And, when I got there - the truth I do tell -
They had the poor bugger locked up in a cell!

Says the doctor to him, "Say these words, if you can:'
Round the ragged rocks the ragged rascal ran' " -
"Tell them I'm not crazy! Tell them I'm not mad!
'Twas only six pints of that cider I had!"

Chorus

A man died in the Union by the name of McNabb.
They washed him and laid him outside on a slab,
And, after the coroner his measure did take,
His wife brought him home to a bloody fine wake.

'Twas about twelve o'clock, and the beer, it was high,
When the corpse, he sat up, and he said, with a cry,
"I can't get to Heaven! They won't let me up,
'Til I bring them a bit of the Johnny Jump Up!"

Chorus

The Carrickfergus Adventure

At about 8:45 this morning, two friends and I, having nothing better to do (no class on Thursdays! Woo hoo!), set out for the nearby town of Carrickfergus (care-ick-fur-guss). The journey was a short and fun one - once we found the railway station! If any of you are ever planning on visiting Ireland, please remember this: a lot of stuff is tucked away in strange, random places. Even big things, like railway stations. We wandered up and down the street that the station was supposedly on, until we gave up and asked a random passerby - who directed us to a random, weird building emblazoned with the monicer: "Botanic: Suburban." Now, we were looking for the Botanic Station, and here it was; nowhere along the front, however, did it say Botanic Station. Craziness! Anyway...


A thirty minute train ride later, we were there: the wee town of Carrickfergus, built on the coast of the Belfast Lough, which connects to the northern part of the Irish Sea. After asking the somewhat snarky Irish receptionist at the train station to direct us towards "the water" ("Go down the street, under the arch down there, and go straight... there's a lot of water down around that way"), we wandered down to the waterfront. Amazing! The town was really quaint and pretty, with lots of interesting-looking shops and bakeries. The waterfront was absolutely beautiful, and it certainly helped that there was another castle built right along the coast! Which, of course, we promptly decided to explore (exploration fee: 3 quid).


Absolutely great fun, though. The castle was bigger, older, and certainly more amusing than the Belfast Castle this past weekend. Definitely got a lot of excellent pictures out of it. Here's one of them:

Very nice! This is the castle keep, the biggest of the castle towers, and the one in which the king and company had their large feasts and such. Pretty cool...

Well, after our self-guided tour of the castle, we decided to grab some lunch at a local pub. It was a place called Wetherspoon, and apparently it's sort of a chain pub. It seems to be kind of a big deal. It even has it's own magazine. Very flash! Anyway, lunch was delicious. I ended up getting a crayfish sandwich, which was definitely a good choice. I did, however, end up doing some expected and unexpected drinking... For the fun of it (and, of course, for the taste), I'd ordered a shot of Jameson's whiskey. Little did I know, however, that my meal (mmm... crayfish) came with a free pint of something. Taken aback, I got a pint of Strongbow cider. It was tasty, I must say. A bit like Martenelli's sparkling cider but, of course, "hard." Meh. I'd advise certain others (back in Claremont, some of them, and scattered around elsewhere as well) not to get any ideas; I'm not going to be joining you at TNC anytime soon. If ever.

After lunch, we wandered along the waterfront and explored the marina. Unfortunately, we had to catch the 1:30pm train back to Belfast, so that was the extent of the exploring for the day. But it was glorious! So if you ever find yourself in the vicinity of Carrickfergus, fear not: it's an amazing place, and you'll have yourself a grand old time.

Castles in the Hills

Phew! Well, it's been a few days since my last post, so I figured you guys might like an update. This past Saturday, a few friends and I hopped a bus and headed for the hills. Contrary to the impression often given by the weather, Belfast is surrounded by beautiful, rolling green hills (well, except for the side that's on the coast). On sunny days, you can see them from the University district; climbing up to the library tower offers an even better few. Very nice!

Anyway, in the Northern part of the city there lies a particular hill, Cave Hill, which is pretty famous. Apparently it was the home of some of the ancient settlers of the Belfast area, and it's been pretty important ever since. Nowadays, there's a very beautiful castle built on the hill, and there are walking trails, and even a zoo nearby. It's a great place for an outing. Even if it's raining.

Which it was.

No matter. You get a little wet, and, so what? Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger (unless it makes you really sick; then you'll be weaker - poor thing!). Anyway, the castle is very scenic, especially from below. Observe:

Anyway, I suppose it's a little on the smaller side, maybe, as far as castles go. But it's still very beautiful and ornate. Definitely an excellent place to visit, and I'm hoping to go back and explore the hillside a bit more when the weather is a bit more conducive to exploring.

Alright, well, for more info on the castle, check out this link. Lots of stuff there. Or Wikipedia it. I'm out, but I'll post again soon, hopefully!

A Song for A'Singin'

Hey everyone! Well, I've made it through the first real week of the semester. Classes seem like they'll be pretty interesting, and I definitely enjoyed only paying $50 for books for the entire semester. Of course, the $300 or so that I saved is going to be piddled away on food, travel, and the pathetic exchange rate in general; still, it's a welcome change to exit the college bookstore without that dark, sick, I-just-dropped-a-couple-grand on books feeling.

Well, I guess there isn't much new to report; so I'll regale you with another song from my Irish/Celtic repertoire. Now, there are, of course, a great many Irish songs that have to do with drinking. There are also many which have to do with death. However, it seems that any song which combines these two topics will almost invariably be humorous. "Finnegan's Wake" - the traditional Irish song that inspired James Joyce's novel of the same name - is a perfect example (it'll be posted here, eventually; be patient!). Tonight, however, I give you one of my favorites: a rousing little number called "The Night Pat Murphy Died." Download it. Now! Get the version by Great Big Sea off of their album Rant and Roar. The moral of this story (if you're Irish, at least, and planning on having a wake held in your honor) is to be likable and be liked. Otherwise, well, there will be a good time had by all at your wake - except for you, of course. You're dead!

The Night Pat Murphy Died (traditional Newfoundland folk song; I know, I know... that's in Canada! But it was written by Canadians of Irish descent, so it's all good):

Oh the night that Paddy Murphy died, is a night I'll never forget
Some of the boys got loaded drunk, and they ain't got sober yet;
As long as a bottle was passed around every man was feelin' gay
O'Leary came with the bagpipes, some music for to play...

Chorus:
That's how they showed their respect for Paddy Murphy
That's how they showed their honour and their pride;
They said it was a sin and shame and they winked at one another
And every drink in the place was full the night Pat Murphy died

As Mrs. Murphy sat in the corner pouring out her grief
Kelly and his gang came tearing down the street
They went into an empty room and a bottle of whiskey stole
They put the bottle with the corpse to keep that whiskey cold

Chorus

About two o'clock in the morning after emptying the jug
Doyle rolls up the ice box lid to see poor Paddy's mug
We stopped the clock so Mrs. Murphy couldn't tell the time
And at a quarter after two we argued it was nine

Chorus

They stopped the hearse on George Street outside Sundance Saloon
They all went in at half past eight and staggered out at noon
They went up to the graveyard, so holy and sublime
Found out when they got there, they'd left the corpse behind!

Chorus

Oh the night that Paddy Murphy died is a night I'll never forget
Some of the boys got loaded drunk and they ain't been sober yet;
As long as a bottle was passed around every man was feelin' gay
O'Leary came with the bagpipes, some music for to play

Chorus

The Elusive "Feckin" Taxi

Now I'm not one for gratuitous or excessive swearing (unless it happens to be immensely amusing), but I saw these things driving around the city and thought that they were hilarious. I swore that, some day, I would get a picture of one, and, yesterday afternoon, I succeeded. So, without further ado, allow me to present the Feckin' Taxi:

I hope that this picture is good enough for you guys to read most of what it says. It seems like Blogspot or Blogger or whatever this blog-hosting site is doesn't really upload pictures too well, so if you'd like to see it better I think I'll post it on my Facebook page as well.

Anyway, at first I thought that these taxis and the "Drink Feckin' Responsibly" signs that I saw around were either a joke or Ireland's unique way of battling excessive drinking. No, no... Come on people, we're talking about the Irish here! Look closer at the taxi and you'll see a web site: http://www.feckinwhiskey.com/. That's right, friends and neighbors - it's a brand of whiskey! More specifically, a "whiskey for the rogue in all of us." Feckin' Irish Whiskey. Oh, Jeremy... you naive prat...

Right. Well, I thought that the feckin' taxis were amusing, and hopefully you do too! Maybe I'll write some more on the topic of the word "feckin'" later. Until next time...

Irish Language Lesson #2

Imagine, if you will, a small college campus in the United States. Perhaps this college is in the south-west, perhaps, dare I say, even in southern California. Now, imagine yourself as a student at said college, conversing with another student regarding his TNC activities the previous Thursday.

"How was the party?" You might say.

"The party?" he replies, "Oh, it was great. There was really great crack."

Freeze frame. Now, at the aforementioned college campus in the US, your reaction to the above statement would probably be one of shock and, quite possibly, disgust. Who knew that this gent, who you've no doubt known for a bit and possibly even taken classes with was a coke-head all along? Shocking, shocking... Kids these days, and all that. And who knew that pure crack-cocaine was a TNC staple? Some of us had our suspicions, but I digress...

But, to the point. In Ireland, you'll hear the word "crack" a lot. Or, rather, you'll hear a word that sounds exactly like "crack." This word is actually an Irish word: "craic." And if there's one thing the Irish know about, it's craic. The specific dictionary definition of the term is rather elusive; Wikipedia describes it as "fun, enjoyment, abandonment, or lighthearted mischief; often in the context of drinking or music" (for more, see here). Basically, craic is fun; it's the good time that the Irish have had after a night of drinking, dancing, clubbing, talking, going to a coffee house, or any other fun sort of social activity.

So, being such a large part of Irish life, craic comes up often in conversation. In fact, one common Irish greeting is "How's the craic?" Needless to say, if an Irishman ever confronts you with this greeting, don't be fooled. Unless he's Jack Nicholson's character from The Departed, he's probably not asking you about the quality of the crack-cocaine in your neighborhood. A suitable response might be, "Great, how are you?" or something similar.

Other common uses of the word craic obviously concern pubs, clubs, or other hang outs. To say that a place has "great craic" is an excellent compliment. We Americans here are still a little self-conscious about using the term, however; you know how it is.... We don't want to look like stupid Americans trying to fit in. It'll come, though, it'll come.

But, I see no reason not to use the term in my blog communications, so good night, and here's hoping that you all have a good bit of craic tonight and for the rest of the week!

A Wee Bit on the City Center

So I promised you guys a bit more on the city, and have, so far, failed to deliver. Apologies all around! Forgive me, won't you?


Anyway, I've only got a little time before I have to figure out what I'm eating for dinner (living without a dining hall and set eating hours is - I'm stealing an album title here - 100% oi!), but I thought that I'd take a minute to describe the city center for you guys. Here's a picture of city hall, with the Belfast Eye next to it.

Basically, city hall is kind of the heart of Belfast; everything seems to branch out from there. City hall and the eye take up an entire square block and are certainly very impressive, particularly at night. Hopefully, I'll get a night picture sometime to show you what that's like!

Anyway, in and around the city center are Belfast's major shopping streets. There are several variety shops, which are all very interesting, and a couple of malls, which are basically the same as malls in the US. Rather boring, those. I'm hoping to go back to one particular variety shop tomorrow, though - it's a sort of army surplus stores (plenty of old Soviet Union-era military hats and Che Guevara-style berets for everyone!). I might pick up a rucksack there; it seems like both of my backpacks are a little big to haul around the wee bit of stuff that I need for my few-and-far-between classes. Anyway...

I actually interrupted the writing of this post about 3 hours ago to walk over to the movie theater (or should I say "theatre?") to see Sweeney Todd. Ahhh, yes. Give me some good old American blood and gore. Well... I guess the original musical was written by an American and a Brit, so we'll say the credit goes half and half. Johnny Depp was brilliant, of course, but really the movie best serves as a huge example of how Stephen Sondheim must have some serious issues...

I'm a little tired now, so perhaps I'll get around to discussing some more stuff later.

City Streets and Sights

Yesterday afternoon a group of friends and I spent about six hours wandering around in central Belfast. It was brilliant, let me tell you. Now, it may sound strange, but the central thing to keep in mind is this: apparently, the Irish really know how to make (or, rather, remake) a city. For a place that didn't have any tourists for about 30 years, Belfast is remarkably tourist/foreign-student friendly. Many of the city's main sight-seeing opportunities are located near the main city center - about a 30 minute walk from my dorm building - but, to make matters even easier, every block seems to be outfitted with an information pole that includes a map of the surrounding area and shows you exactly where you are! A good thing, too... with all of the winding roads, sidestreets, and back alleys that connect the side streets, getting lost seemed like it was going to be a frequent occurrence.

Well, the first place worth noting in our ramblings about the city was a fabulous farmer's-market known as St. George's Marketplace. For those of you who go to Claremont, imagine the weekly Sunday morning farmer's market in the Village, just bigger, Irish, and even more awesome. Basically, St. George's was everything that I hoped Ireland as a whole would be; I'm not sure that I'd actually been truly happy here until I walked into that place. Of course, the food stalls and the crafts were amazing and everybody was really friendly, but nothing could top the music. Brilliant! There was a three piece Irish band (composed of a fiddler, a guitarist, and a pianist) playing in the middle of the market, and listening to them was one of the more wonderful things that I've done recently. It was actually pretty amazing; not only did they play traditional Irish songs - like "The Star of the County Down" and "The Irish Rover" - but they also covered some songs from well-known pop artists, notably "I'm Gonna Be 500 Miles" (originally by The Proclaimers, but also covered - brilliantly - by the Toy Dolls) and "Brown Eyed Girl" by Van Morrison! In short, the market is, as Austin Powers would say, definitely my bag, baby, and I wouldn't be surprised to find myself over there every week.

After leaving the market, we wandered along the River Lagan, one of the major Northern Irish rivers, which runs through central Belfast. Here's a little picture (not a very good one, sorry) of the river, as well as part of the industrial district (over on the left) and a couple riverside apartment buildings (on the right). Apparently, the apartments in there cost something like a million pounds apiece; have some fun and do the math and figure out how many dollars that is today.

More on the rest of the city sometime soon, but, in the mean time, how about a song for you?

"The Star of the County Down" (Traditional N. Irish Ballad)

Near Banbridge town, in the County Down
One morning in July
Down a boreen green came a sweet colleen
And she smiled as she passed me by.
She looked so sweet from her two white feet
To the sheen of her nut-brown hair
Such a coaxing elf, I'd to shake myself
To make sure I was standing there.

(Chorus)
From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay
And from Galway to Dublin town
No maid I've seen like the sweet colleen
That I met in the County Down.

As she onward sped I shook my head
And I gazed with a feeling rare
And I said, says I, to a passerby
"Who's the maid with the nut-brown hair?"
He smiled at me, and with pride says he,
"That's the gem of Ireland's crown.
She's young Rosie McCann from the banks of the Bann
She's the star of the County Down."

(Chorus)

I've travelled a bit, but never was hit
Since my roving career began
But fair and square I surrendered there
To the charms of young Rose McCann.
I'd a heart to let and no tenant yet
Did I meet with in shawl or gown
But in she went and I asked no rent
From the star of the County Down.

(Chorus)

At the crossroads fair I'll be surely there
And I'll dress in my Sunday clothes
And I'll try sheep's eyes, and deludhering lies
On the heart of the nut-brown rose.
No pipe I'll smoke, no horse I'll yoke
Though with rust my plow turns brown
Till a smiling bride by my own fireside
Sits the star of the County Down.

(Chorus)

Irish Language Lesson #1

Alrighty friends and neighbors, we're going to do the old Sesame Street drill... Today's word is "céilidh." Say it with me now. Do you think you can? OK, here's the pronunciation: "kay-lee." How'd we get that, then? Don't ask...

Anyways, a céilidh is a fancy (that is, Irish/Scottish Gaelic) term for a party or other fun type of event; however, a céilidh nearly always involves dancing. I had the pleasure of attending just such a céilidh yesterday evening, where I danced the night away to traditional Irish music. Quite a bit of fun, really. The dances had some pretty elaborate names: this Irish fellow was teaching all of the international students old céilidh dances like "The Walls of Limerick" and "The Seige of Ennis" (which, if I may say so, definitely sounded like "The Sage of Venice" when I heard the guy say it in his thick Irish accent). As this same fellow said, the Irish "dance from the waste down." Hence the Riverdance focus on the crazy tapping and kicking movements of the legs. Most of the dances at the céilidh involved this kicking/tapping combination, usually with a two rows of two, three, or four dancers facing each other.

Ah, yes. There was much kicking, much tapping, and much spinning and changing positions. But the strangest dance was definitely this little number known as the "Waves of Tory." In this dance, two long lines of people (one of all girls, the other all guys, preferably) did the typical kicking and tapping and moving back and forth for a bit - but there's a catch. Once this is over, the two lines march around, duck under an arch formed by the lead couple, and reform the line. But wait... there's more! Each couple then joins one hand to form their own mini-arch and then moves up and down the line going over and under the other couples, which, apparently, is meant to emulate the very waves that the dance is named after. No worries if you can't picture this; I hardly could, and I was watching it and then doing it! It was certainly a good time, though.

For anyone who's interested, I can teach an Irish dance class when I get to the states... I'll definitely need the money after the exchange rate over here!

Alright, a good night to one and all! With luck, I'll have another post for you soon!

Coming Attractions...

Right. So I don't really have time now to write a blog post; if I sleep in again tomorrow it'll be the death of me! But here's a list of coming attractions:

- the North Irish assembly at Stormont

- Irish dancing at a good old-fashioned céilidh.

- the quick-talking Irishmen

- life without a dining hall

And a picture to tide you over, how about:

Belfast Blitzkrieg

It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door... You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to. - Bilbo Baggins, The Fellowship of the Ring

A dangerous business, indeed. Well, I made it to Belfast - it's been less than forty-eight hours since I arrived, but it already feels like I've been here for an eternity. That's just the way it goes, I think. The first glimpse of Belfast City from the window of the airplane was an astounding one; we arrived at about 8:30am local time, and the sun was only just rising. And rise it did. Brilliantly. High above the city, with the early-morning lights glinting down below, and nothing but green, lush fields around it, the sun rose as a fiery red ball, casting everything in a flame-tinged, eerie sort of light. Very beautiful... Unfortunately, we quickly descended beneath some clouds, and more blew in and covered the sky. It's basically been raining off and on ever since!

Well, it would probably take a while to tell about everything that I've been up to, so I'll try and make it short by just verifying what you all already know: the Irish - specifically, here in Belfast, the Northern Irish, and, hence, the British - love football. Which is to say, soccer. But let's stick to British terminology. In the pubs last night, all the television sets were airing the match between Arsenal (one of - if not the - most famous football clubs around; they're based out of north London) and Tottenham Hotspur (aka the Spurs; also based in London), and it could definitely get pretty raucous, let me tell you... Collective cheering, shouts, glass banging when goals were scored or dangerous shots blocked, collective booing at a goal by the opposing team or, especially, at goal-post hitting misses by the fan favorites. I'm not entirely sure of the reason, but everyone, and I mean everyone, was backing Tottenham. No one was rooting for Arsenal. A little confusing; I don't exactly know why every North Irishman that I met backed one London-based team so vehemently against the other... hopefully, I'll find out someday!

One way or another, though, the Irishmen and the Spurs had their way: the final score was 6-2 in favor of Tottenham. Very interesting... apparently, the Spurs' victory allows them to advance to the League Cup final. Sounds exciting, but, being but a silly American, I'm not sure that I quite grasp the importance of the event. Still fun to watch, though.

Alright, check back again soon for more... I'll try not to be sleep deprived when I write it!

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Greetings and salutations, my friends! A good day to you, and many thanks for taking the time to read this blog! Well, come Monday morning I'm leaving for my semester-long study abroad program in Belfast, Northern Ireland. I'm sure that it should prove to be exciting...

Well, while I'm away, I want to be able to keep you all updated as to my experiences, adventures, travels, and anything else that comes to mind. Hence, this blog.

Now, I'm sure that some of you (if anyone is bothering to read this, that is) are probably wondering about the title: The Wild Rover. Yes, yes... I know. I am not now, nor have I ever been, particularly "wild." Alright, well, to be perfectly honest, I filched the title from a traditional Irish folk song. A great song, really; one of those rousing Irish pub songs that involves clapping or glass-banging from the clientele. I've included the lyrics below for your enjoyment, and, if you'd like to download it on your little music downloading programs, I'd recommend the version recorded by The Pogues and included as an extra track on the most recent rerelease of their album Red Roses for Me. Indeed...

Alright, well, I hope to talk to you all and give you an update soon! Thanks for your time, and I hope that I can keep you entertained throughout the semester! Goodnight!

"The Wild Rover" (Irish folk song)
I've been a wild rover for many a year,
And I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer
But now I'm returning with gold in great store,
And I promise to play the wild rover no more

And it's no, nay, never! (clap, clap, clap)
No nay never no more.
Will I play the wild rover?
No never no more...

I went to an alehouse I used to frequent,
And I told the landlady my money was spent.
I asked her for credit, she answered me, 'Nay,
sure a custom like yours I could get any day!'

And it's no, nay, never! (clap, clap, clap)
No nay never no more.
Will I play the wild rover?
No never no more...

And from my pocket I took sovereigns bright,
And the landlady's eyes, they lit up with delight
She said, 'I have whiskeys and wines of the best,
And the words that I spoke, sure were only in jest!'

And it's no, nay, never! (clap, clap, clap)
No nay never no more.
Will I play the wild rover?
No never no more...

I'll go home to my parents, confess what I've done,
And I'll ask them to pardon their prodigal son.
And if they forgive me as oft-times before,
Then I promise I'll play the wild rover no more.

And it's no, nay, never! (clap, clap, clap)
No nay never no more.
Will I play the wild rover?
No never no more!

(clap, clap, clap)