It has been ages since I have blogged. The last time I connected with WorldByMegs I had just returned from a much-needed solo journey in Austria and Germany. Since then, classes have ended and my best friend from Colorado paid me a visit! It has been a rich few weeks with travels to Galway and a field trip to Colaiste na Rinne, an entirely Irish-speaking area of the country. It was refreshing to have a piece of home with me in Ireland for two weeks. There is a centering quality to solitude, but that quality can also be found in the people who are most familiar with our centers. Mari and I are both rapidly changing and evolving in our lives, and our worlds are so vastly different. It is always reassuring and comforting to have that foundation of sisterhood, no matter the circumstances. After that refreshing two weeks, I had a day to do laundry before taking off for 9 days in Italy. I flew into Rome last night, landing after dark around 8:30. It took a bus and a tram to get to my air B and B which is located about 20 minutes outside of the Rome city centre. I arrived on Easter Sunday, and Rome was bustling. Even in the dark. On my bus ride into the city it was clear that Rome had an element that was all its own. Bustling, busy, booming. There were people of every culture and every breed around every corner and groups of nuns and priests walking through the streets together. I was amazed at all the scam artists working day and night with the tourists: fake cabbies, souvenir kiosks, “car washes” at red lights. I realized I was up against a lot in this city. I write to you now from a magical café called “The British Corner,” which is lavishly decorated with precious china and ceramic dogs. The two men working behind the counter wear white oxfords and black vests, sipping their nightly espresso out of toy sized cups. Buzzing above me is “Somewhere Over the Rainbow,” Wizard of Oz edition. Fitting, I suppose. While I sip Italian red picking at a local cheese and meat plate. Deeply comforting, if nothing else. My first day in Rome was a whirlwind. As it turns out, the entire world flocks to Rome on Easter. Dozens of languages tongued my ears as I walked the cobblestone streets. I couldn’t make it 100 meters without being blocked by a scam artist who forced me to be rude for my own safety. Each magnificent site was robbed of its beauty by the crowds, the shouting, the scams, and the difficulty to just stand still and admire. Today I am extremely grateful for the chance to have seen the Spanish steps, the Forum, the Trevi Fountain, the Coliseum, the Santa Maria Maggiore, and a few other churches. I moved as gracefully and as peacefully as I could, attempting to remain undisrupted by the crowds and noise, but I could not shake the insecurity as I approached each site. I walked through 3 metal detectors today and never took my hand off my purse. I saw countless military officers holding machine guns patrolling popular sites. And I told about 4 scam artists to step off after their bartering and badgering was too aggressive for comfort. I regret to say that when I look back on this day, I will be able to say I visited these places, but these memories will not carry the sentiment of peace and awe that they deserve. Already they are sort of all stuck in a blender, and my head was doing the stirring the whole time. Tomorrow I will be in the Vatican. I am aware that I will face the same challenges, but my goal is to find that peaceful headspace, one where I can move like liquid and inhale the experience. Those are the ones that give us life.
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A 12-hour day of travel ended with overwhelming confusion and the kindness of a non-English speaking train conductor when I flew to Germany. My plan was to arrive in Munich around 8pm and hop on a train directly to Salzburg where I would stay for 3 days. I stared at the train times on the platform and realized that staring wouldn’t change it to English, and I sure as hell didn’t speak German. What had I gotten myself into? A train arrived and sat there just long enough for me to decide to get on. Hoping it would take me somewhere I needed to go. My data roaming wasn’t working on my phone. No wifi. I had no idea where I was or where I was headed. All I had was the word of a kind woman who, a split second before the doors shut, told me, “Salzburg? Oh this is your train. Munich first, then to Salzburg.” She was right. But I ended up having to take 3 trains and one taxi just to arrive at my hostel in Salzburg. My heart was racing for those 2 hours. I thought it was going to jump out of my chest. Pulling into the Salzburg station was like arriving home, in a place entirely new. I looked out the window of the train at 10:30pm and saw just a silhouette of the fairy-tale fortress sitting atop the city lights all aglow. A smile exploded on my face and I nearly ran out the train doors to find a taxi. My heart raced all night, I couldn’t believe I actually made it. I spent my first day wandering. I walked around the city and found the perfect local café for brunch. I was hopelessly isolated by the language barrier, consumed in self-doubt and apologetic insecurity for coming to a land and forcing them to speak my language. The welcoming nature of the staff made me feel less so, and I found confidence in the discomfort. After I ate I walked around the city centre. I devoured cheese strudels (my weakness) at every opportunity. I hiked up to the fortress and I must have circled it 3 times. It has grown into a tourist trap, but the views are nothing short of extraordinary. Rivers, cities, forests, mountains. As far as the eye can see is pure magic from the top of that mountain. I returned to the fortress later that night for a Mozart Concert. Three violins, a piano, and a cello sound-tracked a dreamy two hours in the ballroom of the fortress. I was whisked away with the music. Each note was so dramatic, there was not a single person in the room whose soul remained present. The angry echo of the piano and the sweet sob of the violin was gut wrenchingly beautiful; and magnificently played with such pleasant acoustics. The next day I was awoken to an Austrian breakfast in the lobby. Bread, cheese, meat, heaven. I walked to the bus stop where I would be transported out of the city and into the clouds. Along the way I met an Australian couple: Pseudo-parents that adopted me for an hour or two. The mountain too unsafe to climb at this time of year, I took the cable car up, up up. Soaring high above the clouds. The whole world fell into suspension while I walked into this other one. The mountains played peekaboo behind the clouds, only revealing their majesty to those who really worked for it. I found a nook with a never-ending view, and I sat there for an hour or so. I paired my energy with this new world, grounding myself in yoga on the snowy earth. I bent in new ways, seeing the Alps hang from the sky like if I turned they would stab me. I didn’t want to leave. This fairy tale city and its breathtaking outskirts captured every part of my heart and soul that I have to give, and I already ache to return. As I become more settled here in Cork, time has begun to slow down. Life is less of a whirlwind and more comfortable and routine. After booking my tickets and housing for spring break, I realized what limited means I have, and am therefore terrified to travel until then. I have been taking day trips still and focusing energies on some of my internal obstacles while I dive deeper into my new home. As I now find myself completely independent with no pressing schedule or responsibilities, I have found it fruitful to ask myself the big question of “why am I here? What do I hope to accomplish for myself?” And thus begins my meditative journey not just through Ireland, but also through myself. When my life was a whirlwind and I was travelling and still unfamiliar with my setting, I found my entire world to be absolute chaos. I lost my key 3 times, I was drinking like a fish (but I mean, I’m in Ireland), I left my glasses in a different city, my phone was constantly dying, and I was walking through my days in a scatterbrained daze without a plan or a thought. I had begun to float. I noticed a downward slope that occurred very slowly. Because life actually settled very quickly for me, I just didn’t realize it. Things slowed down after about 3 weeks or a month here, but once they did, I didn’t go out searching for much more. I maintained the mindset I had upon my first arrival, which was much akin to freefalling, waiting for life to happen to me. I found myself scattered and thoughtless, never focusing my mind on any goals. Then, recently, I found myself very idle. I wondered how this could happen, because I am in Ireland! Then I realized, idleness doesn’t just “happen,” and nor does action. They are choices we make. I maintained the mindset I had upon my first arrival, which was much akin to freefalling, waiting for life to happen to me. I have become very close with one girl here named Megan. I have met other people and have hung out with them, yet Megan is the only person I have found a worthwile connection with. Most people don’t seem to be on my wavelength. Every girl I have met so far has found some foreign beauty (or multiple) to love for a few months or a new addiction to blacking out. The old lady in me is past all that, and I didn’t come here for the same sex, drugs, and alcohol drama I can get at home. I came for peace and understanding within. I came to prove my independence and to feel that breathless moment at the foot of an old castle. I came for goosebumps sitting by the seashore. I came to lay in the blinding green grass of the velvety hills. But I also came for internal discovery as much as external. Megan left for some solo travel last weekend, leaving me like Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone. I found myself murmuring utterances to myself in my room because I had gone days without talking to someone. I produced some of the best art and literature I’ve done in ages, and I also found myself so deeply buried in thoughts I felt very, very heavy. Some of my anxious habits grew rampant in that time, many without me even noticing. After an argument and very honest conversation with my boyfriend back home during the same weekend, I conducted diligent introspection upon my habits, my thought processes, and my goals. I’m a very introspective person, and still I recall these thoughts as some of the most difficult to face and some of the most honest self-reflection I have ever had. Following this, I was able to finish off the weekend with some beautiful meditation about what I want for myself, here and in the future, and how I can make it happen. Since my meditation I have become more detail oriented, focusing on goals, time-management, and taking action. I still spend quite a bit of time alone, so I am currently practicing becoming comfortable with my thoughts. I had an epiphany that my anxious thoughts are not nice ones. They are hurtful and destructive, and they are in no way the way I would speak to a friend or someone I love. Therefore, my practice has been focusing on being friends with myself and coexisting comfortably with the parts of my mind that challenge me and test me. With the support of my mom who has seen me breakdown countless times about things like this, and my loving and gentle boyfriend at home, I have found so much courage that I didn’t know I lacked or lost. I feel fearless against myself and I am constantly working to take action while I am here and never waste a second with negativity. I have started working out diligently, I am working to eat healthier, and I have become more conscious of my anxious habits, which is the first step in stopping them. I find myself chasing daily goals, which makes it easier to fill idle time. I find myself comfortable in my own presence and finding so much more sunshine in this rainy place. I begin every day and end every night with sun salutation, where my breath begins with the statement of my intention: mindfulness, intention, control, and self-love. Those words radiate through my heart all day, setting a higher goal on their own. It makes me proud to say that through both painful and beautiful meditation, I have answered the question of why I am here, and through all of these practices I am seeking to live to that standard every day. Yesterday, at the suggestion of my boyfriend, I took a day trip to Kinsale, my favorite city in Southern Ireland. I told him I wasn't going to go because it was supposed to rain, and I ended up having one of the best days on my trip so far. I went to my favorite cafe there and had eggs benedict and tea. I spoke to a very kind toothless Irishman, I walked about 3km up a very steep hill but good lord was it beautiful. I smelled the flowers in someone's very well-maintained garden, and I found this little mushroom outside of the 12 acre fort on the top of the hill where I think I left a piece of my heart. To top it all off, I treated myself to a mid-afternoon brew on the beach and watched kids and families laugh and play on the rocks. My heart felt full, and it felt good using my own energy to fill it. I reminded myself of that courage and lightness I briefly lost. There is far more warmth, even in the cold wet air of Ireland. As American children, we were taught to never talk to stranger; whereas in Ireland, not doing so is considered rude. Not to mention, you will miss out on the best part of Irish culture. The overall friendliness. Now, that is not to say that everyone in Ireland is a wonderful person, because that is not true of any place. But there is a more inviting and welcoming attitude throughout Ireland, which feels very special. I have learned more from the men and women I have met than I will in any book or class or even from Mother Nature. These small interactions quilt together an eclectic and vibrant image of the Irish experience I will never forget.
So, to the couple that I met on my first night in Limerick, when I was lonely and jet lagged, and pretty much faking it: I will never forget you. I was lost and confused. There was so much to take in that I might as well have been blind until that moment. They heard my accent when I ordered, and praised me for coming on a journey such as this one. They talked to me about the growth I will experience, what Cork is like, and what to do at night in Limerick while I was all alone. They invited me to meet them at a club after dinner! They were kind, authentic, and welcoming. They will never know this, but they made me feel like I may find a home here. I have learned more from the men and women I have met than I will in any book or class or even from Mother Nature. To my first Cork cab driver who was quirky and chatty, I will never forget you. He drove me through the crucial parts of Cork in order to familiarize me with this great city that I now call home. He introduced me at reception so I could easily get settled. When all was said and done, we wouldn’t accept a tip. “Oh gosh no,” he said. “We have to take care of our students.” He will never know this, but he made a chaotic time very simple and smooth. To the little old lady in a pink fur coat and a matching hat, I will never forget you. She took off her gloves and wandered through the vacant seats at the coffee shop, yet she asked if she could sit with me. I felt a sense of pride that she chose me, I won’t lie. Maybe she thought I looked welcoming. For whatever reason, I am so happy she sat down with me. She spoke musically, like each statement was a question. She made the sign of the cross before taking a sip of her tea, and talked to me about the sheer comfort of porridge, and how her jacket is her favorite cheap purchase ever. She said hello and goodbye to every employee at the restaurant when she finished her tea. She will never know this, but she made me feel like I was travelling with my grandmother again. To the beautiful and spunky Irish girl in Belfast who complimented me at the bar when I was overtired and underdressed, I will never forget you. She said my old, ratty fleece was “beautiful,” and that I “rocked it.” She invited us to sit with her and her brother, and we spoke like old friends. I felt like I was with my gals at home again. We talked about tinder boys, Chance the Rapper, and spending Valentines Day alone. We exchanged info and she hopes to take us out again on St. Paddy’s day in Dublin. She will never know this, but she made me laugh harder than I have this entire trip, she made me feel like friends weren’t so far out of reach. To the mystic man who saw my soul in the greenhouse, who spoke like velvet and had eyes like the morning sun, I will never forget you. He looked like a well-studied philosopher, very sharp and very wise. He told me, “the problem with the world is that we don’t love each other enough,” before hugging me and filling my heart with joy. What he will never know, or what he may know, is that the joy and free kindness I felt while talking to him, I felt compelled to spread. To all these people whom I have met and who I have yet to meet, thank you and god bless you. This experience would be hollow without my short times with you, and you will never know the energy you have given me. the joy and free kindness I felt while talking to him, I felt compelled to spread. Megstakes: -Missed a train stop looking at my phone for open gelato places, had to ride the train all the way back to where we came from and then all the way back again. -Lost my key on the first day in a hostel -Found the key under the covers in my bed (???) -went out a few nights ago without enough layers, and now I there is snot over literally everything I own. -Bought a blow-up mattress for a friend, told her “IT WON’T BLOW UP! YOU HAVE TO HELP!” she takes one look and tells me, “um, you have to connect the tube to the bed.” -got a little too curious at a harbor, ran downhill on wet cement, FELL HARD. *Gallery Update Coming Soon* The tropical grasses in the greenhouse brushed our arms like a gentle caress from a familiar lover. The spidery succulents above our heads hung low and danced in front of our eyes in a haunting stupor. Our eyes were flooded with green in a tropical blur. This magical experience was in the greenhouse of the Belfast Botanic Gardens. The large white structure was vaguely reminiscent of Golden Gate Park, and this slice of the States felt warm in a new place. It was a tight squeeze on either side of the trees, ferns, and succulents, and people passed each other with great discomfort. A huddle of visitors were stopped staring at a particular plant that is extremely rare and odd looking. Devil’s Tongue is a tall tree-like plant that has mastered self-defense. When it is in bloom, it omits an odor of rotting flesh, which steers away any threat. It also attracts flies which helps it to pollenate. The coolest part is that this rancid smelling plant stands majestic and beautiful, proud and colorful. It was admiring this strange offspring of Mother Nature that we first had an encounter with the two old men in front of us. One of them commented on the way my friend talks with her hands so vibrantly. I was intrigued because he didn’t comment on our accents or our backpacks or any of the usual conversation starters. It was a true characteristic that he noticed right away. We then entered one of the side rooms where they housed flowers like lilies and daffodils, and the man turned around to talk with us again. He said, “Where are you girls from in the states?” He was sharply dressed, very sophisticated looking. He had a professorial look, and very soft eyes. He had white hair but glowed with youth and vitality. We exchanged pleasantries about our hometowns and then began to speak more about Ireland. About the accents, the people, and the mindsets. He quickly realized my friend’s pragmatism and asked her zodiac sign. When she carefully replied, “Scorpio,” he said “Ah, yes. You are very logical, very clever, and very pragmatic. You are probably a phenomenal listener, and if someone hurts you, you are unlikely to forget it. What’s most important is that while you are a pragmatist, you are very down to earth and often spiritual. Ah, how lovely. And what about you, love?” He turned to me. Megan and I are shocked. Stunned. Stupefied. He hit her right on the nose. And it wasn’t creepy, it was kind harmless, gentle, almost mystic. I was obviously curious. My inner child screaming, “oooohh do me do me!!!!” I said I am a water sign too, I am an Aquarius. “No, he said, you are an air sign. You are the water bearer, not the water. It is very important, you bring lots of vitality. Studying probably comes very easily to you, and when you do something you probably bury yourself in it. Mozart was a classic Aquarian. The work came so easily to him, and he gave his life to it. You need and want love, but you need your space. You won’t like to feel non-independent. There’s a good deal of detachment that you need and are comfortable with. You are in the clouds a lot, one day here, one day there. What is your boyfriend’s sign?” Stunned, again, I replied, “Capricorn.” He lit up. “Oh, so clever. He’s reliable. So stubborn,” he said with a shake of the head. “Probably worries about money a lot. But most importantly, very faithful. You will teach each other so much about life,” he said with a radiant smile. He then did the same analysis for my friend’s boyfriend. Also very accurate. We learned that he was in a band, floating around as a missionary from Calcutta to Brazil. He said that “if there is a God, he has a heart. He believes in making people smile. You can’t always fix their problems and take away their pain or give them what they need, but God made us to laugh. It was so lovely to meet you girls, I hope you have a beautiful time in Ireland, and Godbless You.” And then he hugged us. This was the 4th person we have met in Belfast that talked to us simply because. Simply for a smile. Sorry Dad, but last week was not one for school. I treated myself to some hiking boots, and I was ready for some new adventures. We were taking day trips left and right, and we left Thursday afternoon for an overnighter in Killarney to see as much of the National Park as we could in two days. Killarney lies just west of Cork and is home to the Ring of Kerry, tourist magnet. I didn’t want to do a whole tour of the ring, I just wanted to hike around and see what we could find. And that’s exactly what we did. There were treasures around every corner.
We stayed the night at a hostel in an all girl’s room. It was well kept and nicer than any dorm I have every lived in. They fed us free breakfast and coffee in the morning and free dinner at night. We went out for a drink to explore the town and stumbled upon a small local bar with just a few people sitting quietly, chatting with the bartender. We were exhausted, so we decided this was our speed. We hung out there for a bit, and had two beers while we reflected and planned. We met a Canadian who had just done the Ring of Kerry, a wonderful woman who had come to visit her wife (the chef), and the bartender who doesn’t talk much, but when he does, he’s probably making fun of you. It ended up being a grand ol’ time for two lost American girls in a tiny Irish town. The next day we snuck out early to hit the trails as early as possible. I turned off my phone first thing in the morning, which was the best decision I could have made. I actually spent the day in the forest, not staring at the forest through a screen. I felt free. First stop was Ross Castle. It was only 2km in, and a hike in Killarney is like your friendly neighborhood parkway. No hills, no rocks, just nice calm paths. We reached Ross Castle by about 9, and the morning fog had started to lift. We could see the mountains across the water and the small islands facing the castle. Everything was so crisp and fresh. We sat on a warped wooden benched and watched the water for about 15 minutes in total silence. It was beautiful. 2 swans were swimming just on the shore near us. I had never seen a swan in real life until then. My friend Megan simply turned to me and said, “you know they mate for life?” My heart was so warm in that moment. I actually spent the day in the forest, not staring at the forest through a screen. I felt free. We made our way next to the Muckross Abbey. This was my favorite part. It was a bit of a haul because we had to hike out of the park and then back in, but it was so worth it. On the way we found the perfect spot for lunch with a gorgeous view of the mountains. Trees were bent and twisted all around us like royal archways and rocks were formed like benches on the water. It was a thing of pure beauty. It was the stuff of fairytales. The abbey came about 7km in. You know that feeling when you walk into an old place and you don’t see the history, you can feel it? It is like the lives there never left, and you share their breath, their steps, their home. There was a 600 year old tree standing in the middle of the abbey. Swirling its way through the stone and out the ceiling, arms reaching wide out over the graveyard beneath it. Bedrooms and Sacristy’s and Choir rooms and Fireplaces, you could see all of them, walk through all of them. There is a difference between seeing a place, photographing it, and experiencing it. Being with it, feeling it. This Abbey welcomed the latter. We came across the Muckross House a few miles down but we didn’t stop for a tour. By this point in the day it was blue sky and gorgeous weather. This hasn’t happened in weeks in Ireland, so we intended to make the most of it. Stay outside, and hike as far as possible. Our mecca as the Torc Waterfall at the base of the closest mountain. On the way we passed strange marshlands with grassy waters reminiscent of Tolkien. We passed cows and sheep and views of snow-capped mountains. We passed lakes and rivers and stone bridges. I think that’s what I love so much about this terrain, you always get a bit of everything. The waterfall was unmatched for anything I had ever seen in my life. Loud, Roaring, Marvelous, Fierce; she was sublime. Both Megan and I threw off our packs upon arrival and climbed as close as we could to the water without getting swept away. In that moment I remembered how important it is to feel small. And how if anything is more powerful than man, its Mother Earth. Megan, an environmentalist, turned to me and said, “It’s when I see things like this that I don’t understand how people can just not care.” We walked back to the train station, stopped for pizza and for warmth in a small church nearby. We tallied up our mileage for the day at nearly 25mi. Our legs were stiff and heads in the clouds, but I don’t think our hearts had ever been so at peace. Its where we belong. With our roots. I’d walk for days in that forest. I’d never leave. Thank you for all your majesty, Killarney. Until Next Time… Megstakes:
Today began with the premature awakening to an unnecessarily loud alarm at 7:00am. I was up most of the night. Weird dreams, loud apartment, warm, cold, warm, cold. One of those nights. I did not want to get out of bed, but today we had planned to go hiking with the UCC Mountaineering Club in the Knockmealdown Mountains which tower about two hours away from Cork. And yes, that is ACTUALLY what the mountains are called. I figured the Mountaineering Club would be the perfect way to get acquainted here. Anyone who likes spending that much time in nature is my kind of person: authentic and grounded, looking for beauty in every place around them. Every weekend, for 7 euro, 50 lucky students get to head on one of their trips anywhere in the countryside for a remote and challenging hike. Today was the first of many. It was two hours to the trailhead, and I knew if I slept on the bus that I would be a gonner for the hike, so I kept myself awake. As soon as we pulled up we knew the weather was grim, (and I mean GRIM) but this wasn’t a huge hike, we figured lets just head up! Its just walking in the rain! WELL: “Trails” in Ireland are more like wherever you can step. You kind of just follow the rocks and the river. In the pouring rain like today, we were slipping and sliding up lose rock while a stream formed and poured to the base of the mountain beneath our feet. It was kind of beautiful to experience such a remote kind of hiking. We headed straight up the rocky river to the first summit, where there was so much fog we couldn’t see any further than 10 feet ahead of us. The wind blew our eyes rosy red and chilly sniffles were echoing like percussion in the wind. We traversed 2 summits over, occasionally stopping to wring out our gloves our shake out our hoods. The echo of the rain on my hood got so loud I had to take it off occasionally, just because it made me feel so attacked, so claustrophobic. I preferred to score my hike with the giggle of the bubbling stream forming beneath my feet or the whisper of the breeze in my hair. Once we reached our third summit we had been hiking for about 2 and ½ hours. We were spent. Each breath felt like one underwater, but we had to keep moving. Each gust of wind felt like a knife in the face, but we had to keep moving. The best part was, there wasn’t a single soul in our group who wasn’t exhilarated in that moment. Something about the challenge ignited the sense of adventure in all of us. I think that’s the best way to feel alive. Get yourself to the top of a mountain. You have no choice but to get yourself down. Might as well enjoy the stroll while you’re at it. Something about the challenge ignited the sense of adventure in all of us. I think that's the best way to feel alive. We couldn’t turn around and go down the way we came. The rocks were glistening under a bubbling stream and it was straight down. That’s 50 concussions waiting to happen. The only way to get down before we all turned hypothermic was to bushwack down to the nearest road and walk to the bus. So that’s what we did. A few of us, myself included, were wearing running shoes because we didn’t understand the intensity of the hike. So the wet rock and the dense mud became mildly problematic, especially upon our descent. I figured out that the best way to dodge the slippery obstacles was to step on the nearest plants, but UGH it just broke my little heart to crush a plant with every step. I tried to avoid doing this by making switchbacks, but I fell 6 times. I think it was just 6…my apologies to the bus driver who had to clean up our muddy mess after this trip. Eventually I gave up protecting the plants and I knew it was my life or theirs, so SORRY LITTLE FELLAS. I want to survive this day. My sleeves were dripping wet and I had soaked through 3 of my layers. (I’m suing you Patagonia.) But I WAS SO HAPPY!!!! I had never seen the landscape I was seeing and I certainly had never been stuck on a mountain in a storm like that. One of the Irish leaders walked past me and started singing to himself as he skipped through the bushes and the rocks. We stumbled across a hole in the hill and they started yelling, “It’s a leprechaun hole!!! We’ve got to get him out!” The Irishman attempted to summon the “leprechaun” from his home while we tiptoed down the muddy marshlands, blinding by the frosty fog. We reached the bus with so much relief and joy, looking back on the mountain covered by ominous fog saying, “holy shit, we were in that. We climbed that.” I think that’s the best thing about hiking. You conquer a mountain by midday, and by evening you’re reminding yourself what a strong person you are. There is always a solution, always an adventure, and you always have a choice. A choice to be bold, patient, open minded, and happy. Because, the way I see it, Anything can put a smile on your face if you let it. We had to take off all our clothes on the bus to avoid hypothermia, and luckily I had one dry layer. But my mesh leggings and running shoes hadn’t done the best job keeping my lower half warm, or even remotely dry. You know when you are so cold you can feel your insides shiver a little bit? That was me the whole way back. But that thrilling adventure was worth every raindrop, every gust of wind, every buttcheek in the mud, and certainly every item of clothing hanging to dry in my bathroom right now. Because it is those wild adventures that deeply connect you with the earth and with yourself. They remind you what is dear about yourself and your surroundings, that there is always a solution, always an adventure, and that you have a choice. A choice to be whiny and fearful, or a choice to be bold, patient, open minded, and happy. Because the way I see it, anything can put a smile on your face if you let it. And boy, this sure did. Sometimes I think I was born for days like this. Thanks for the reminder, Ireland. PS: Check out the gallery for loads more pics! Courtesy of my good friend Megan Hester until my camera arrives. (THANKS MOM!!) MEGSTAKES: -didn't bring hiking boots to Ireland -obviously fell numerous times -held my water bottle between my thighs on the bus (while multitasking) and squirted water all over my crotch. So I started the rainy hike with a wet crotch and butt. -Pretty confident that one of the times I fell I landed straight in a pile of sheep poop. Please enjoy this pic I posted on Instagram that makes me feel like we are a strong fellowship carrying a very powerful ring to Mordor: HI WORLD! It has been so long since I have gotten on this blog, and I have definitely been neglecting a lot of the writing and artistic things I hoped to cultivate while in Ireland. However, I spent the weekend making beautiful day trips through lands I had never seen before, and walking across stone that had flowers spitting out of its cracks, and eating at restaurants painted pink and yellow and blue, and listening to traditional music about the 1916 revolution that touched my heart in ways I had never felt before. Needless to say that feeling of inspiration came back so quickly, and words and colors and ideas flooded my mind like a hurricane all week. Now it is time to pour them into this blog that I love so much.
I think it is starting to settle in that this is not a vacation. I mean… I actually LIVE in Ireland. I have to wash my clothes, scrub my toilet, buy my groceries, take the trash out, the whole nine yards. I mean, I’m not complaining, but it feels different than you expect it to. I mean its studying abroad! You expect it to be travel every weekend and going out every night and living life on the run. But 5 months is a long time, and in order to make this place my home, I have to do all the chores, all the errands, all the budgeting, all the schoolwork; just like normal. Sometimes I wake up and I have to remind myself where I am and how I got here. I have found that these chores and errands are a grounding practice, making me feel more tethered to this environment and this world, and thus allowing me to integrate further. Without them I just kind of float, waiting for the next adventure. Luckily there is always an adventure around the corner, so any insipid, day-to-day life never lasts too long. This weekend we hopped on a bus to Kinsale. This was my second time going. Kinsale is this cute little fishing town that sits just south of Cork on the southern tip of Ireland. Its full of rich history such as battles and old forts and Viking attacks. But now it is populated by kind, vibrant people that paint the sleepy town with a colorful smile. I went to Kinsale alone my first weekend here, at the suggestion of my boyfriend who had visited before. This town did not disappoint. I mean every single road is tiny and walkable and all the shops are brightly coloured. My friend and I wandered around with our cameras tasting candy and touching trees. We wandered through an old church and graveyard where we found a memorial for fishermen who had died recently in an accident at sea. Everything was dead, except for the blooms in that memorial. The next day we went to Blarney Castle. This tourist trap had me scared with all the gates and shops and charges to get in. But once we made it into the gardens, there wasn’t a soul in sight. It was just us and our wandering minds, trying to cover every inch of the gardens. The trees were so old and the stones were so carefully placed! Each structure had some supernatural meaning, whether it be fairies or witches, one had to walk through the garden with caution of these creatures. We strolled beneath waterfalls, through caves, climbed rocks, swung on trees, and tripped on their strong roots. As you will be able to see from some of the pictures in the gallery, I discovered that celtic art and celtic knots were likely inspired from the way these tree roots grow. They intertwine creating a beautiful patterned connectedness in the earth. We kissed the Blarney stone and wandered through the whole castle, visiting every bedroom and tripping on every brick on the spiral staircase. With each stepped we took we wondered, “who else was here? What untold stories are trapped here?” And then you start to think, “My god, we don’t have anything even close to this old in the States.” The history here runs deeper in the environment and in the people than you can even imagine. It inspires everything, and you can feel that ancient pulse with every step in a place like Blarney castle. It gives you goosebumps. CHECK OUT THE GALLERY FOR PICS OF THIS INSPIRING WEEKEND!! Megstakes: -Left the house without my key on daytrip to Kinsale -Found my key in the bottom of my purse later that day #blessed -French girl said "Bon Appetit" to me, I awkwardly responded, "You too!" -I spilled hot soup all over my hand in the school restaurant. Burned myself pretty bad. But I played it cool so its fine. -Wandered for about 30 minutes in the store looking for eggs. (they keep them with the peanut butter???) *I will start by noting that while this has a more serious tone than my other post, these observations have been a crucial part of my experience in Ireland, despite my political beliefs.* Since arriving in Ireland on the 6th, I can confidently say that I have had more stimulating and important discussions regarding American politics here than I had in America throughout the entirety of the campaigning process. The first conversation I had with a local in a taxi from the airport began with, "so, you're planning to miss the big inauguration then?" My class of international students at University College Cork is populated by nearly 500 Americans, all presumed to be "seeking asylum" in Ireland. Now, what I just told you are merely facts, experiences, and observations of my political encounters here, but there are two underlying ideas behind these experiences that bother me and motivated me to write this post. Firstly, I don't like being judged as a runner. I am here for a dream, my dream, one that has nothing to do with politics and that was planned long before our government became a primary topic of conversation. Secondly, I am absolutely staggered at the valuable and complex conversations I can have about the American government with students from Ireland, France, Germany, and Poland, as most of these conversations are for more respectful and knowledgable than the ones I was engaged in at home. It is important to recognize the closeness we experience in America and the ways in which it effects our core beliefs or how we express them. To address the first issue, it is ignorant to think that American citizens need asylum right now. It is fair to say that our politics are unstable, our country is divided, there is fear of social and economic injustice, and there is uncertainty regarding immigration. However, our lives have not been threatened yet. If certain Americans feel as if there life is threatened due to the platform of the president elect, I will say to you what my eloquent friend said to me last night: "It is not a question of what he will do to us, but what we will do to each other because of him." America, our home, does not benefit from lashing out in anger or acting up in pride and hate. As a voter, we participated in a democratic election, which means there will be a side who wins and a side who loses. And there will be plenty of others who feel disappointed either way. We should take pride in our system, no matter who leads it. The key to a strong America right now is not running, not shaming our country or each other, but standing strong with your fellow Americans and practicing interpersonal respect and acceptance. To the people in Ireland who presume we have sought "asylum" here, I say, I did not run from America, and I am still very much American. I stand now and always with my fellow Americans in this fight to remain grounded during a tense, uneasy, and divisive time. "It is not a question of what he will do to us, but what we will do to each other because of him." The second issue is frustrating but also very understandable on an emotional level. One of the first things we learned as a community during the campaign process was "don't upset the other side." The candidates were making so many waves, we didn't want to make more ourselves. We got scared and kept our mouths shut. Or we only opened our mouths in an environment that we knew was not hostile, one where our beliefs were validated and supported. As things escalated we grew fearful, exhausted, and weary of the same stories and widespread anxieties. Now, people are simply over it. People sit silently in apprehension trying to come to terms with a defeat. It is difficult, and it is scary, but this is the natural outcome of a democratic election. One wins, one loses. One side is thrilled, the other frightened. Here in Ireland, without the in-your-face nature of the election and without scattered eggshells to dance around, I have found that the separation allows for a much more reasonable and respectful political conversation that is dedicated much more to the sharing of thoughts and ideas, no matter who voted for who. The separation allotted for students from all over Europe has allowed them to learn so much about the election that are so beyond the bipartisan split. As Americans, although we partake in a bipartisan election, we should be able to think outside the two small boxes. Look at all evidence equally, honestly, and openly, what ideas come up and why? These conversations are what our voices should be used for. We should be talking in turns for other people to hear, not drowning out each other's voices with deafening sounds. This is how we educate each other and how we function as growing citizens of the world. It's been more difficult than I anticipated getting acclamated here. Nothing out of the ordinary, I presume. But boy, is it difficult to shift time zones. Since the 5th of January, I have sat awake most nights, falling asleep around 7am and waking up at 3pm. Unfortunately that means I have lost some of my first days here to jet lag. Last night I called my boyfriend and whined to him about how I AM JUST SO TIRED and I am losing precious time here and still I am not sleeping! He told me that this type of jet lag is normal when you move to a new country, and that I should make the most out of the time that I do have. So, I took his advice and I put on real clothes and went to downtown Limerick for the night. The wonderful folks I am staying with recommended a European restaurant on the river with a great bar. After walking around and exploring for myself, I decided to eat there. The bartender made me a beautiful whiskey cocktail and I ordered lamb meatballs. Now, this is a bid deal, ya see. As I am not, nor have I ever been, much of a meat person. I was starving so I went to town on the meatballs while I sat at the bar, reading, and getting drunk alone like your friendly neighborhood divorcee. Just as I had finished and ordered a glass of wine, a lovely couple came up and talked to me. The woman was Polish and the man was form Cork. They were probably in their late 20's-early 30's. The woman had studied abroad here, and so she sympathized with my lonliness in the bar. She and her husband wrote down directions to a friendly neighborhood bar just up the road where the beer is cheap and the people would "love to have a chat with ya." They told me, "If you don't take much of a liking to it, we will be just across the road from ya at Icon Nightclub. Come see us!" I thanked them profusely for their kindness, paid my bill, and went on my way. I managed to find my way there which was a miracle in and of itself. But as soon as I walked in the door I started to feel a bit odd. Like all the blood had left my face. I started sweating and it was about 30 degrees out. I felt faint and dizzy, and my stomach started rumbling. I abandoned my full Coors at the bar and stumbled to the bathroom where I prayed I would be alone. I fell to my knees and, well, tasted the lamb meatballs once more on their way out. And while I am vommitting my guts out, staring at the mess in the toilet through watery eyes, I find myself thinking, "Fuck, I spent 30 euro on that meal! (drinks included) I felt better but not quite up to snuff, so I got a cab home. I slept for about 3 hours, until I woke up woozy again. This time I ran to the dark bathroom in the house and threw up water and bile for about 20 minutes. This happened all day today until about 2pm. Haters will say I can't handle my booze. (which is slightly true, I have had a headache most of the day...) But I'm telling you that there was something fucked up about those meatballs. Or at least something my body isn't used to. Whether they were cooked differently, prepared differently, or served with spices and sauces my body doesn't recognize, my stomach rebelled. So today is meatball recovery day, eating food that is very familiar and mild to my unadventurous body like bread and cereal and tea. Megstakes: I think its fair to say that this whole story is the definition of a Megstake. |
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