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:
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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. "This is an announcement for British Airways Flight….” I have grown more familiar with the robotic voice on the airport intercom than my own in the past 13 hours. I just walked out of a bathroom where unfortunately I caught the sight of a mirror... “GOOD GOD, WHAT IS THAT THING? Oh wait, that’s me.” Eyes bloodshot red from days without sleep, makeup is a lost cause at this point, pockets of my overalls are spilling with boarding passes and documents to get past various forms of security (picture on left: actual photo of me in Heathrow Airport). And I continue to walk through the airport, half-awake, barely there, but I know what is going on. Like all the other sleep-deprived automatons that surround me now. Wakeless dreamers and Sleepless explorers, all on some pilgrimage in a world so familiar, yet so vastly different. The thing is, I’m only halfway to the Motherland. I am writing to you now from a coffee shop in London Heathrow Airport, where it is almost noon. However, its 4:38 am where I come from, and I spent 10 hours on a red eye flight with eyes wide open and not a hope of sleep crept into my anxious and apprehensive brain. I prayed, alongside my new friend next to me on the plane, I prayed for sleep to befall me. But it never did. And I couldn’t be happier. You see, I have waited my whole life for this trip. Even biologically, I don’t want to miss a second of this experience. While I lay to rest, the color green danced through images of pastures and hills and castles and pubs and the sweet smiles of a warm welcome. And instead of sleeping, I dreamt. I created my own world beneath the clouds outside the window, one I presumed I am walking into in 6 hours. I don’t presume that my world is exactly what Ireland is to be, in fact I kind of hope it isn’t. Where is the fun without surprise? Megstakes (Meghan Mistakes) So Far:
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AuthorOne day at a time. Archives
March 2017
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