I have been meaning to post this for some time now, but am just now remembering to do it while I have an Internet connection! I wrote this article for the Focus on Fall Abroad Newsletter distributed to GW students studying abroad during the fall semester. I don't know what told me to write something, other than the Office for Study Abroad's repeated e-mails asking for stories and photos. I'm not usually one to publicly admit that I am wrong, but maybe I've changed. Maybe it was because I thought I could help somebody else. Whatever the reason, I'm glad that I put the feelings to words. I don't know if the two are related, but I have notice that I've felt more adapted after writing it than I felt before.
Culture Shock: It Happens in Ireland Too
By: Corbb O’Connor, Junior
National University of Ireland, Galway
As I look back on my first few days in Somers Hall at GW’s Mount Vernon Campus, I remember a time of great excitement. I was in a completely new environment with very few (one, actually) familiar people and separated from my parents, but I didn’t care. I realize now that was because of the teamwork involved in GW’s Welcome Week. Those two weeks of more events than anybody could ever attend while still going to class were the reason I didn’t feel “culture shock” in Washington, DC. I think I called my parents two or three times during Welcome Week, mostly to say hello, no I don’t miss home, yes I love it here, and—by the way—I am off to another event to meet more new people.
Through all of my preparations for study abroad, I thought about culture shock once. That was during the Pre-departure Orientation. They said culture shock could happen to anybody, but I didn’t think it would be me. I had a great experience adjusting to a new life in college, so why would Ireland—an English-speaking, modern country—be any different? I wish I knew then about how I would feel for my first week in Galway, Ireland.
One week ago, I moved in to my very empty residence: the single room in three-person apartment (my two flatmates would move in four days later) situated in a development of about 80 townhouses. I didn’t come alone: I had 50-something buddies from IFSA-Butler with a support network of full-time staff in the country. But I felt, and still am feeling, culture shock.
I felt so alone in a place so foreign and so separate from everything—including the Internet—for the first time in my life. I was scared. I wanted to go home. I wanted something familiar. I couldn’t run across campus to watch TV with a friend, for I didn’t know where anybody in my program was living. I couldn’t even walk the five minutes to Dunnes—a department store with a 24-hour supermarket—across the road. (The person known for eating three dinners a night couldn’t walk 5 minutes for food.) I feared that I would get lost or hit by a car, crossing a roundabout for the first time without the help of a traffic light. Most of all, I really missed my eyes, my Guide Dog Phoenix, who—at the last minute—had to stay at home for medical reasons. More than eyes, though, he’s the equivalent of a 16-year-old’s car key: my ticket to independence. With Phoenix, I could go anywhere, at any time, in any weather, and not think about what I might bump into.
Before I left my home in the northwest suburbs of Chicago, I thought that I knew what I was getting myself into. I would live in a single room, located 20 minutes from the school, 15 minutes from the city center, 3,000 miles from Washington. I wouldn’t be bringing my Guide Dog, but I would bring my cane, a tool that I have used since the first grade. I remember my mother fearing that I would be traveling to Ireland without my eyeballs (Phoenix); I remember telling her that I would be fine with my cane. Today, I know she was right. (Yes, mom, I’m admitting it, and I am sorry.)
It’s not all doom and gloom, though. I am adjusting to using a cane all the time, even in the dark. I am adjusting to being farther from my classes and fun in the city than I was accustomed to. Slowly, I am meeting new people at a school where societies and clubs don’t start for another two weeks, contrasted to an immediate start to Welcome Week. In short, I am learning.
I am learning that most of the things I don’t notice every day are the very same things that I need: my eyes, Welcome Week, a small group of people to see every day (like at Mount Vernon), Facebook, and—most importantly—a solid group of friends and family. I forgot how hard it was to find a people for times of great sorrow and great celebration. I have a new appreciation for all of these things, and they won’t ever be the same to me. I keep learning.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Homestay, 19-21 September
I spent last weekend with an Irish family as part of IFSA-Butler’s homestay piece of our program. Before talking about that, though, one side note. I was in desperate need of a haircut. I knew that there was one in the shopping centre in the city centre, but never before had I had the guts to go into town alone. On Friday, though, I decided to give it a try. That was one of the things that has consistently bothered me: that I was too scared to venture out that way alone for fear that I wouldn’t be able to find my way there and back, and I feared that I wouldn’t be able to safely make the journey even if I followed the right streets (i.e. crossing the roundabout near my apartment). I am happy to say that I made that journey, and I made it safely. It wasn’t the most direct route, but it was a route that got me where I needed to go! Hooray! (Later, when my cousin’s wife came to Galway on vacation, I would make this same journey at night—in the dark—which was something for which I was even more proud of myself!)
My homestay was in County Mayo in a town called Castlebar, about an hour and fifteen minute drive from my apartment. While looking out the windows of the coach (bus) on the way to Castlebar, I was impressed with how quickly the city of Galway ended. After only about five minutes, suburban sprawl seemed to have ended, giving way to farms of grazing sheep and cows and rustic homes and farmhouses. I remember noticing the same thing when driving from Limerick to Galway about three weeks ago.
I (and Jordan, another study abroad student from the Butler program who goes to school at The Johns Hopkins University) stayed with a family of four: Michael (the father), Vera (the mother), Killian (a 9-year-old boy), and Kelvin (a 12-year-old boy). Michael is a part-time milkman and part-time postman, and Vera is a child-minder (baby-sitter). Their family was very welcoming of us, and I got the feeling that it was their first experience with a blind person. They, like many in this country, wondered whether I would be able to climb the stairs to the first floor (what we would call the second floor the Irish call the first floor, what we call the first floor they call the ground floor) and whether I would be able to navigate the home. I explained how I handled both of these things every day, and that seemed to put their fears to bed. Killian would ask me a lot of questions about this during my stay there, which I appreciated for then I could give him answers and know that he wasn’t assuming.
That first night, Vera cooked us quite possibly the best burger and chips that I have had so far in this country. Jordan commented how the chips were much better than the chips he cooked the other night, and we discovered that it was because Vera cooked the chips in a deep fryer whereas us students typically cook chips in the oven. I remember hers being much more moist (and hot!) than ones that I’ve ever cooked at home.
Because the tap water tastes so bad in my apartment, I have been searching for some sort of flavouring to add to it. When I ask the workers at local stores for something like this, though, they look confused, so I have assumed that this sort of product is foreign to the Irish. I learned from Killian, though, that his family almost always uses the flavouring when drinking water: Mi Wadi is the name of it, and it’s basically a syrup—high sugar and probably not at all healthy—made to taste like pomegranate. Tasty indeed, and now I want to buy some! (And, no Gill and Ryan, I did not offer to drink the bottle for cash as I did with Hershey’s Strawberry syrup freshman year in the Mount Vernon Pub! I did try it by itself later, though, when Killian wasn’t looking, and found it to taste good, but not good enough to drink instead of eating dessert!)
Jordan and I gave them the presents we had bought for them that first night, too. I brought a box of Frangos, the mint chocolates that used to be made by Marshall Fields in Chicago; he brought a book of American dessert recipes, a box of chocolates (though more common ones like Milky Way, Snickers, etc.), and a book about the history of New York taxicabs. (He’s from New Jersey, but close to the New York border. Sam, you’d punch him for this one, but he said, “I’m from New Jersey, and we like to think ourselves as being from New York City.” Ha!) Vera would consistently offer us his chocolates, but I noticed that she never offered mine. When I cordially asked her if she had enjoyed mine, she told me to “shhh – those are too good to share; I’m keeping those in my ‘secret place’ all for myself, unless Michael is very good to me then I’ll share one or two!” By Sunday, they had eaten all but two of the Frangos!
We watched a lot of television on Friday night, including “America’s Got Talent” hosted by Jerry Springer – a European show that goes around the U.S. looking for talented singers, dancers, dogs, etc. to compete in Las Vegas; and the English equivalent of Jay Leno – who was interviewing Ben Stiller about “Tropic Thunder,” which had just been released here in Europe. It was interesting to see how similar the shows are to the U.S. ones, and just like back home, they have hundreds of channels and nothing of any good quality is on the air! Throughout the night, though, each person drank 3 or 4 cups of tea and plenty of slices of sweet cake!
Saturday, I joined Michael on his post run. He is responsible for collecting the mail from the public mail drops (the equivalent of the USPS boxes around the cities) and from some of the post offices. He then took this post to a central sorting facility a couple of towns over. Next year, he said, the postal system was likely to be taken over by a German company and his job wasn’t a guaranteed one. The German company has a decent shot at getting the contract, he said, because right now the postal system has a 97% accuracy rate for overnight mail but the government wants a 99.9% rate. To the current company’s credit, in one year they have moved that percentage from 90% to 97%. Michael also said that his milk runs are becoming less frequent because of the hard economic times. He used to deliver milk twice a day, 5 days per week, but now he’s down to one run per day, three days per week. The reason is that another company has come in and delivers “about the same quality milk” for 50 cent less per litre.
It was fun to join Michael at work, mostly as a way to see the town and surrounding towns as well as to see what life is like as a postman – a lot of jumping in and out of the van! It’s interesting to see, too, how the Irish government outsources different parts of the mail system. For example, Michael works for a news agent (general store), who holds the contract for completing the route that he drives every Saturday.
We then went to Kelvin’s (the 12-year-old) soccer match, a championship game that his team lost 6-0. In addition to working the few hours before the game, Michael was trying to hunt down other parents to see who had taken the game balls from the shed near the soccer field. He never did manage to learn who took them, by the way, and they happened to find one in his trunk that was his family’s ball!
We went that afternoon, with almost half the town it seemed, to a pub to watch an English soccer match. (I say soccer, by the way, and not football, as football refers to Gaelic Football, a combination of basketball, volleyball, and soccer.) People flocked to this pub because they didn’t get the channel that the game was airing on, for paying for the channel was more expensive than a couple of pints a few times a year when they wanted to watch it! Michael’s team won, but I wasn’t too interested in the game. Instead, I focused on the people at the pub. Little clusters formed of people watching the game, reminding me of my aunts in Texas who watch the Dallas Cowboys play and yell at the TV when the team does stupid things or cheer when they win. Some things, it seems, are universal around the world!
We moved pubs – with Killian (the 9-year-old), Vera, and Michael – and drank some more. The conversation was interesting, learning about the Irish dating scene back when Vera and Michael were dating. Turns out, like so many Irish, that they met in a pub about 20 years ago!
The family went back home, as the law requires anybody under 18 to leave a pub after 9 p.m., but Jordan and I stayed out. We found a group of other students in our program, and found a pub called Bosh, featuring hip-hop and pop music. It was nice, though, because the music wasn’t too loud and the lighting didn’t make it too dark either. I enjoyed my time there, too, because it seemed like people weren’t in the mood to get drunk but just wanted to have some nice, chill conversations with one another. I tried a new beer, too, which was darker than my current favourite (Carlsberg) but much lighter than Guinness (then again, what isn’t lighter than Guinness?).
Jordan and I had an interesting taxi ride home that night. Our driver didn’t know where our host family was staying after we gave him the address, and after going out of our way several times, he got us there. But he wanted to charge us €25 for what should have been €7 – I suggested that we pay him €6 but Jordan gave him €8. (Michael told us not to pay more than €6, and that was all that I had to go on.) The taxi driver then, though, had the nerve to tell us that we have to know where we are going, not just an address, next time; a “taxi is not a clairvoyant” he said. Seems to me, and Michael later agreed, that if you give a driver an address, it’s his job to find it! Oh well. I wasn’t going to let this taxi rip us off, after my and Lanty’s experience in Limerick on our first day in Ireland!
Sunday was a quiet day – we slept until noon, something that Vera does every weekend. I did manage to wake up before her, though, which was a strange feeling! We had a massive dinner around mid-afternoon (as is typical for an Irish family on the weekends). As is also typical, every meal that we ate with our family featured three kinds of potatoes (in this case: a potato salad, mashed potatoes, and potato wedges). Tasty and filling, indeed. For the first time in a long time, I was not actually able to finish what was on my plate!
I enjoyed the time with the family. Michael told Jordan and I that we were certainly welcome back anytime this semester or on our next trip to Ireland. I’ll have to take him up on that offer, as there is a lot around Castlebar that we didn’t have a chance to see. Many sights are within a half hour’s drive of Castlebar, but they’re not easily accessible without a car.
My homestay was in County Mayo in a town called Castlebar, about an hour and fifteen minute drive from my apartment. While looking out the windows of the coach (bus) on the way to Castlebar, I was impressed with how quickly the city of Galway ended. After only about five minutes, suburban sprawl seemed to have ended, giving way to farms of grazing sheep and cows and rustic homes and farmhouses. I remember noticing the same thing when driving from Limerick to Galway about three weeks ago.
I (and Jordan, another study abroad student from the Butler program who goes to school at The Johns Hopkins University) stayed with a family of four: Michael (the father), Vera (the mother), Killian (a 9-year-old boy), and Kelvin (a 12-year-old boy). Michael is a part-time milkman and part-time postman, and Vera is a child-minder (baby-sitter). Their family was very welcoming of us, and I got the feeling that it was their first experience with a blind person. They, like many in this country, wondered whether I would be able to climb the stairs to the first floor (what we would call the second floor the Irish call the first floor, what we call the first floor they call the ground floor) and whether I would be able to navigate the home. I explained how I handled both of these things every day, and that seemed to put their fears to bed. Killian would ask me a lot of questions about this during my stay there, which I appreciated for then I could give him answers and know that he wasn’t assuming.
That first night, Vera cooked us quite possibly the best burger and chips that I have had so far in this country. Jordan commented how the chips were much better than the chips he cooked the other night, and we discovered that it was because Vera cooked the chips in a deep fryer whereas us students typically cook chips in the oven. I remember hers being much more moist (and hot!) than ones that I’ve ever cooked at home.
Because the tap water tastes so bad in my apartment, I have been searching for some sort of flavouring to add to it. When I ask the workers at local stores for something like this, though, they look confused, so I have assumed that this sort of product is foreign to the Irish. I learned from Killian, though, that his family almost always uses the flavouring when drinking water: Mi Wadi is the name of it, and it’s basically a syrup—high sugar and probably not at all healthy—made to taste like pomegranate. Tasty indeed, and now I want to buy some! (And, no Gill and Ryan, I did not offer to drink the bottle for cash as I did with Hershey’s Strawberry syrup freshman year in the Mount Vernon Pub! I did try it by itself later, though, when Killian wasn’t looking, and found it to taste good, but not good enough to drink instead of eating dessert!)
Jordan and I gave them the presents we had bought for them that first night, too. I brought a box of Frangos, the mint chocolates that used to be made by Marshall Fields in Chicago; he brought a book of American dessert recipes, a box of chocolates (though more common ones like Milky Way, Snickers, etc.), and a book about the history of New York taxicabs. (He’s from New Jersey, but close to the New York border. Sam, you’d punch him for this one, but he said, “I’m from New Jersey, and we like to think ourselves as being from New York City.” Ha!) Vera would consistently offer us his chocolates, but I noticed that she never offered mine. When I cordially asked her if she had enjoyed mine, she told me to “shhh – those are too good to share; I’m keeping those in my ‘secret place’ all for myself, unless Michael is very good to me then I’ll share one or two!” By Sunday, they had eaten all but two of the Frangos!
We watched a lot of television on Friday night, including “America’s Got Talent” hosted by Jerry Springer – a European show that goes around the U.S. looking for talented singers, dancers, dogs, etc. to compete in Las Vegas; and the English equivalent of Jay Leno – who was interviewing Ben Stiller about “Tropic Thunder,” which had just been released here in Europe. It was interesting to see how similar the shows are to the U.S. ones, and just like back home, they have hundreds of channels and nothing of any good quality is on the air! Throughout the night, though, each person drank 3 or 4 cups of tea and plenty of slices of sweet cake!
Saturday, I joined Michael on his post run. He is responsible for collecting the mail from the public mail drops (the equivalent of the USPS boxes around the cities) and from some of the post offices. He then took this post to a central sorting facility a couple of towns over. Next year, he said, the postal system was likely to be taken over by a German company and his job wasn’t a guaranteed one. The German company has a decent shot at getting the contract, he said, because right now the postal system has a 97% accuracy rate for overnight mail but the government wants a 99.9% rate. To the current company’s credit, in one year they have moved that percentage from 90% to 97%. Michael also said that his milk runs are becoming less frequent because of the hard economic times. He used to deliver milk twice a day, 5 days per week, but now he’s down to one run per day, three days per week. The reason is that another company has come in and delivers “about the same quality milk” for 50 cent less per litre.
It was fun to join Michael at work, mostly as a way to see the town and surrounding towns as well as to see what life is like as a postman – a lot of jumping in and out of the van! It’s interesting to see, too, how the Irish government outsources different parts of the mail system. For example, Michael works for a news agent (general store), who holds the contract for completing the route that he drives every Saturday.
We then went to Kelvin’s (the 12-year-old) soccer match, a championship game that his team lost 6-0. In addition to working the few hours before the game, Michael was trying to hunt down other parents to see who had taken the game balls from the shed near the soccer field. He never did manage to learn who took them, by the way, and they happened to find one in his trunk that was his family’s ball!
We went that afternoon, with almost half the town it seemed, to a pub to watch an English soccer match. (I say soccer, by the way, and not football, as football refers to Gaelic Football, a combination of basketball, volleyball, and soccer.) People flocked to this pub because they didn’t get the channel that the game was airing on, for paying for the channel was more expensive than a couple of pints a few times a year when they wanted to watch it! Michael’s team won, but I wasn’t too interested in the game. Instead, I focused on the people at the pub. Little clusters formed of people watching the game, reminding me of my aunts in Texas who watch the Dallas Cowboys play and yell at the TV when the team does stupid things or cheer when they win. Some things, it seems, are universal around the world!
We moved pubs – with Killian (the 9-year-old), Vera, and Michael – and drank some more. The conversation was interesting, learning about the Irish dating scene back when Vera and Michael were dating. Turns out, like so many Irish, that they met in a pub about 20 years ago!
The family went back home, as the law requires anybody under 18 to leave a pub after 9 p.m., but Jordan and I stayed out. We found a group of other students in our program, and found a pub called Bosh, featuring hip-hop and pop music. It was nice, though, because the music wasn’t too loud and the lighting didn’t make it too dark either. I enjoyed my time there, too, because it seemed like people weren’t in the mood to get drunk but just wanted to have some nice, chill conversations with one another. I tried a new beer, too, which was darker than my current favourite (Carlsberg) but much lighter than Guinness (then again, what isn’t lighter than Guinness?).
Jordan and I had an interesting taxi ride home that night. Our driver didn’t know where our host family was staying after we gave him the address, and after going out of our way several times, he got us there. But he wanted to charge us €25 for what should have been €7 – I suggested that we pay him €6 but Jordan gave him €8. (Michael told us not to pay more than €6, and that was all that I had to go on.) The taxi driver then, though, had the nerve to tell us that we have to know where we are going, not just an address, next time; a “taxi is not a clairvoyant” he said. Seems to me, and Michael later agreed, that if you give a driver an address, it’s his job to find it! Oh well. I wasn’t going to let this taxi rip us off, after my and Lanty’s experience in Limerick on our first day in Ireland!
Sunday was a quiet day – we slept until noon, something that Vera does every weekend. I did manage to wake up before her, though, which was a strange feeling! We had a massive dinner around mid-afternoon (as is typical for an Irish family on the weekends). As is also typical, every meal that we ate with our family featured three kinds of potatoes (in this case: a potato salad, mashed potatoes, and potato wedges). Tasty and filling, indeed. For the first time in a long time, I was not actually able to finish what was on my plate!
I enjoyed the time with the family. Michael told Jordan and I that we were certainly welcome back anytime this semester or on our next trip to Ireland. I’ll have to take him up on that offer, as there is a lot around Castlebar that we didn’t have a chance to see. Many sights are within a half hour’s drive of Castlebar, but they’re not easily accessible without a car.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Too good not to post
I was just coming back from doing laundry, and listening to the sounds of our complex on a Wednesday night: loud music, loud people, dance parties, cell phone conversations, etc. Somehow, out of all the noise, one sentence stood out. "Well hurry up, because I' stuck in a trolley and can't get out." (A trolley, by the way, is a grocery cart.) I chuckle and keep walking.
I walk into my apartment, and decide to share this with the dance party-goers in my living room. Turns out that girl was my roommate. In an instant, all of her friends run outside, and do what any kind, loving friends would do: they point and laugh.
Eventually one of them walks over and pushes the cart into our living room. It sounds like she's been freed, but I'm not sure. She was having a jolly time, though. It just reminds me of the Trader Joe's cart that my summer roommates brought into our room for a few weeks. Maybe this one won't stay as long? But, if I return it, I can collect €1 ($1.40), as you have to insert a Euro to take out the cart. (I suppose it's insurance to encourage you to take it back to the corral instead of leaving it in the car park [parking lot].)
I walk into my apartment, and decide to share this with the dance party-goers in my living room. Turns out that girl was my roommate. In an instant, all of her friends run outside, and do what any kind, loving friends would do: they point and laugh.
Eventually one of them walks over and pushes the cart into our living room. It sounds like she's been freed, but I'm not sure. She was having a jolly time, though. It just reminds me of the Trader Joe's cart that my summer roommates brought into our room for a few weeks. Maybe this one won't stay as long? But, if I return it, I can collect €1 ($1.40), as you have to insert a Euro to take out the cart. (I suppose it's insurance to encourage you to take it back to the corral instead of leaving it in the car park [parking lot].)
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Tidbits
These are things that I've learned in the past few days, listed in no particular order.
To say that an apostrophe is Irish is technically not true. It's English, actually. Here's what my Ethnic Conflict & Territory professor, Niall O Dochartaigh, had to say about it. (Note the space in his last name.)
Sudafed is different here. It comes in liquid or tablet form, but they're not throat lozenges. The pills are used as we would use Advil Cold & Sinus: as decongestants. The pharmacist warned me, though, that the pills are very potent and have a tendency to over-dry the nasal cavity. I must admit that I've never had that happen, and am curious to know what it's like. Then again, I'm not sure I want to have to deal with it!
Freshmen are called first-years or "freshers."
There was a "freshers fair" today. I happened to walk through it on my way back from class, and I decided to stick around. Apparently the bags that the Students Union gives to freshmen are a hot commodity, even among the upper-classmen. They were out when I was there today, but I plan to return tomorrow. I did admit to one person that I was a visiting, international, third-year ... to which he said, "We can never have enough of those! Welcome to the Fair." And he gave me the Students Union handbook, listing everything from how to contact a department to how to do laundry to how to not go broke at college!
NUI, Galway has an FM and online radio station called Flirt-FM. At the Fair, I signed up to be on the staff today, so I'll let you know when my show will air. We'll likely go on the air in the first or second week of October.
This was a much easier and more fun blog entry to write. Maybe there will be more like this.
To say that an apostrophe is Irish is technically not true. It's English, actually. Here's what my Ethnic Conflict & Territory professor, Niall O Dochartaigh, had to say about it. (Note the space in his last name.)
In Irish there is no apostrophe because the Ó is simply the Irish word for ‘from’ (meaning descended from). The accent on the O can be omitted – a linguistic rule introduced when typewriters came into use and it was impossible to put an accent on an upper-case letter. When Irish names were translated into English the apostrophe was inserted. In Irish this component of a name changes according to gender and marital status.There aren't very many dashing, young blind guys using canes in Ireland. At least, that's what the friendly lady outside Dunnes Stores (the supermarket) told me today. She asked if I needed help crossing the road, I thanked her but told her that I would be okay on my own, but she insisted on telling me every time the light turned green (there were 3 crossings for one street). "I work with the visually-impaired," she said. "It's so nice to see a young gentleman using a long cane. There are few people in Ireland that use long canes." I stopped to ask her about why that was, but she raced off back across the street. To be continued, I suppose?
The wife of a man with the surname Ó Máille would have the surname Uí Mháille and his daughter would be Ní Mháille (Ní being a contraction of the Irish for daughter: iníon). In English they would all be O’Malleys.
Sudafed is different here. It comes in liquid or tablet form, but they're not throat lozenges. The pills are used as we would use Advil Cold & Sinus: as decongestants. The pharmacist warned me, though, that the pills are very potent and have a tendency to over-dry the nasal cavity. I must admit that I've never had that happen, and am curious to know what it's like. Then again, I'm not sure I want to have to deal with it!
Freshmen are called first-years or "freshers."
There was a "freshers fair" today. I happened to walk through it on my way back from class, and I decided to stick around. Apparently the bags that the Students Union gives to freshmen are a hot commodity, even among the upper-classmen. They were out when I was there today, but I plan to return tomorrow. I did admit to one person that I was a visiting, international, third-year ... to which he said, "We can never have enough of those! Welcome to the Fair." And he gave me the Students Union handbook, listing everything from how to contact a department to how to do laundry to how to not go broke at college!
NUI, Galway has an FM and online radio station called Flirt-FM. At the Fair, I signed up to be on the staff today, so I'll let you know when my show will air. We'll likely go on the air in the first or second week of October.
This was a much easier and more fun blog entry to write. Maybe there will be more like this.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Well, I didn't make it to the market on Saturday. Instead, I did a very noble deed: I slept...until 15:00! And on Sunday? I slept until 14:00! Sunday, I suppose, was truly a day of rest. I went to the market on Sunday with Brendan, only to find that all our favourite farmers were only there on Saturday; Sunday's market had about six booths, mostly artisans selling their crafts, a sushi vendor (yes, sushi at a farmer's market; maybe I should have asked if it was wild or farm-raised?), and the crepe vendor. Every time I see or think about crepes, I am always reminded of eating them on the streets of Paris with my family in December of 1999 at 6:00 am! We couldn't sleep because of jetlag, so we wandered the city. Ever since, I've been a sucker for button, cinnamon, and sugar crepes. And, hey, at a price of €2 ($2.80), who could resist? I tried something different this week, though: a ham, cheese, mushroom, and olive-oil-soaked onion crepe. Tasty, but very messy!
I went with some folks from the other housing development in our program—Menlo Apartments—to listen to some traditional music on Sunday night. It wasn't quite what I had envisioned, but they did play Johnny Cash. He seems to have a large fan base here in Ireland; almost any time I have heard live music, somebody always plays at least one (if not two) Johnny Cash classics.
I registered with the Immigration Bureau this morning. I decided to avoid the queues (lines) and go immediately when they opened: 7:30 a.m. It was an easier idea in theory to wake up than to actually do it, but nevertheless I made it there. For the nominal fee of €150 ($210), they'll review your paperwork and issue you an Irish ID card giving you unlimited access to the Irish border during your tenure as a student. Oh, and if you don't do it, they deport you. I suppose they need some funds to support all those socialized programs...
I haven't completely decided yet, but I may drop my Game Theory & Industrial Organisation course. My professor is Russian-born, and seems to be in his own world most of the time. He lectures out the window (I kid you not), and his sentences often trail off at the end—just the part of the sentence that's crucial to your understanding of the topic! I was reminded of sophomore year of high school today. In Chemistry that year, I had a teacher who always had several dry-erase markers with him, but they were always dying, thin, or any colour but black. The ideal market for me is alive (hehe, a “Harry Potter marker,” you could say!), thick, and Model-T like—black! Anyway, I bought dry-erase markers for my Game Theory professor today because he “couldn’t find any other marker” than a fine-tipped, red, dying marker. (Even the other students said they couldn’t see it, but that didn’t persuade him.) Moreover, I have repeatedly asked him to read what he is saying as he writes it so that I can access the information that others get visually. That doesn't seem to click for him. It's for all these reasons that I think taking his class would make for a very challenging semester. I know GW offers the same course, so maybe I'll take it there; maybe I'll take something different. We'll see. I have until Thursday to decide. Lucky for me this semester, and unlucky for all future semesters, I wouldn't have to replace the course with something now, but I would have to take a full load of classes (5 each term) for the next four semesters.
The Disability Support Service was able to track down a reading list for my Irish studies class that begins next week. Sadly, the reading list is a packet of photocopied pages from old books that is of such bad quality that the DSS coordinator can't read most of it, and that means the scanner won't be able to either. We're trying to track down a cleaner copy, but I may have to find a reader for that class. We'll see how that goes, considering my past experiences with readers have been that I have trouble staying awake and focused!
That's all for tonight. We'll see what tomorrow (er, today) brings. Maybe rain? Probably. Maybe coffee with Stephen who came out of his way to say hello to me outside the library today? Hopefully. I'm making dinner with Corinne, that I know for sure. Chicken and soy sauce are the first two ingredients, seeing as that's what we both have on hand that go together. Maybe we'll find something fun to add into the mix!
I went with some folks from the other housing development in our program—Menlo Apartments—to listen to some traditional music on Sunday night. It wasn't quite what I had envisioned, but they did play Johnny Cash. He seems to have a large fan base here in Ireland; almost any time I have heard live music, somebody always plays at least one (if not two) Johnny Cash classics.
I registered with the Immigration Bureau this morning. I decided to avoid the queues (lines) and go immediately when they opened: 7:30 a.m. It was an easier idea in theory to wake up than to actually do it, but nevertheless I made it there. For the nominal fee of €150 ($210), they'll review your paperwork and issue you an Irish ID card giving you unlimited access to the Irish border during your tenure as a student. Oh, and if you don't do it, they deport you. I suppose they need some funds to support all those socialized programs...
I haven't completely decided yet, but I may drop my Game Theory & Industrial Organisation course. My professor is Russian-born, and seems to be in his own world most of the time. He lectures out the window (I kid you not), and his sentences often trail off at the end—just the part of the sentence that's crucial to your understanding of the topic! I was reminded of sophomore year of high school today. In Chemistry that year, I had a teacher who always had several dry-erase markers with him, but they were always dying, thin, or any colour but black. The ideal market for me is alive (hehe, a “Harry Potter marker,” you could say!), thick, and Model-T like—black! Anyway, I bought dry-erase markers for my Game Theory professor today because he “couldn’t find any other marker” than a fine-tipped, red, dying marker. (Even the other students said they couldn’t see it, but that didn’t persuade him.) Moreover, I have repeatedly asked him to read what he is saying as he writes it so that I can access the information that others get visually. That doesn't seem to click for him. It's for all these reasons that I think taking his class would make for a very challenging semester. I know GW offers the same course, so maybe I'll take it there; maybe I'll take something different. We'll see. I have until Thursday to decide. Lucky for me this semester, and unlucky for all future semesters, I wouldn't have to replace the course with something now, but I would have to take a full load of classes (5 each term) for the next four semesters.
The Disability Support Service was able to track down a reading list for my Irish studies class that begins next week. Sadly, the reading list is a packet of photocopied pages from old books that is of such bad quality that the DSS coordinator can't read most of it, and that means the scanner won't be able to either. We're trying to track down a cleaner copy, but I may have to find a reader for that class. We'll see how that goes, considering my past experiences with readers have been that I have trouble staying awake and focused!
That's all for tonight. We'll see what tomorrow (er, today) brings. Maybe rain? Probably. Maybe coffee with Stephen who came out of his way to say hello to me outside the library today? Hopefully. I'm making dinner with Corinne, that I know for sure. Chicken and soy sauce are the first two ingredients, seeing as that's what we both have on hand that go together. Maybe we'll find something fun to add into the mix!
Saturday, September 13, 2008
It's Getting Better
Life is improving here in Galway. I mentioned in my last post about meeting with Yvonne, the Ph.D. candidate studying human rights law. Well, yesterday I got a text from her asking if I wanted to join her friends for dinner. Of course I took her up on the idea, and we made (well, she wouldn't let me cook because I was a guest!) chicken curry with mushrooms, orange pepper, onion, garlic, and some coconut milk. VERY tasty! She had just moved into a new flat on Monday—a place she found on the Internet—and she hadn't really gotten a chance to meet her flatmate, the one who advertised the space. They met when she moved in, but he had been at college working on his Master's thesis all week. Last night, though, he joined us for the second half of dinner, and one of Yvonne's good friends Steven joined us too. Steven brought his friend Patty (a man, derived from Patrick).
We had a great conversation. Patty and Steven are from The North (read: Northern Ireland, though they don't consider it another country). We talked a lot about The Troubles (1948-1998) and the IRA. While officially the IRA isn’t conducting an active campaign anymore, apparently the reason that the conflict ended (in a nutshell) was that so many people lost the political cause. Instead of fighting a noble war, groups splintered off because of greed. Many suspect that much of the petty crime that happens around the country (the Republic and the North) is committed by these splinter groups. One of them, known for the Omagh bombing (committed after the Good Friday Agreement in 1998), calls itself The Real IRA. Contrary to popular thought, though, the Real IRA and IRA are very different from one another. The lads at dinner were talking about how annoyed they are with foreigners' support of the IRA; many foreigners, they said, think they are supporting a very noble group and cause, but really they're supporting violent criminals that lost the noble fight a long time ago. Patty and Steven also said that they still face a lot of prejudice from others in Ireland, who see those from The North as foreigners. As I said, though, Patty and Steven consider themselves from the region known as The North, but not from the country of Northern Ireland. They treated me to some "tonic wine," a drink popular with the younger students in Ireland, which tastes much like port, though (in typical Irish fashion!) it was bitterer. Still good, though! It costs about €9, so maybe I'll bring some back to share with some friends. I asked if the wine would keep longer than one night, and they looked at me like I was crazy.
"What?," I said.
"Well, you'd want to finish it in one night," Patty said. "Oh ok—" I began, before Patty interrupted, "If you'd want to have a good time."
I expected a round of laughter, but just received nodding heads!
They were a fun bunch, and we had a great time in a local pub called 903.
I ended up staying awake until roughly 06:00, talking to folks from GW and organizing my room a bit. I, in Corbb fashion, slept until about 15:30 (3:30 p.m.)! Oh that felt good...
Tonight I started what is hopefully the first of many dinner nights. Brendan, Claire, and I cooked a chicken, broccoli, and alfredo-like sauce. We were following an American cookbook, but we had an American measuring cup, so we didn't realize it would be any different. We went to pre-heat the oven, though, and then realized we had to convert to metric! Luckily, I remembered Mrs. Julis' seventh-grade lesson on (9/5)C+32=F and did this calculation by hand on the back of a letter from their landlord. (Apparently the landlord is not a fan of people having parties because neighbours get quite upset, and there was a "rather loud" gathering the first night all the Irish students returned. My friends all told me that the "gathering" was not loud at all, considering few could hear but a hum in their apartments from the courtyard. Menlo Apartments, though, are very strict and don't tolerate any sort of parties or gatherings. I don't know if our dinner was a gathering or not, but we'll find out in a few days if we get a letter, I suppose!)
Brendan and I had a nice walk tonight after dinner. We walked into town and along the main drag, Shoppe Street, where many of the pubs and local businesses are located. I went down to the Spanish Arch for the first time, one of four structures like it built in the 1500s. I'll have to try to see that one in more light than just the moonlight, for it sounds pretty intricate. I was surprised at first to see so few people on the street and in the pubs, that is until I realized that all the Irish students—especially those from County Mayo, just North of County Galway—had gone home for the weekend. It was still busy enough to be fun, but certainly less crazy than the last several nights. That walk was after a delicious dessert at Supermac's—a virtual copycat of McDonald's even featuring a Supermac, which looks precisely the same as a Big Mac. We got Muffin Sundaes, a chocolate muffin warmed and covered in ice cream. Mmmm. I want another one just writing about it!
I had a dream about Phoenix last night. As much as I would love to have his help navigating these streets, I don't think the environment would be very good for him. The pubs are loud and crowded most nights (when the students are in town), so even if the pub owners let him in, I think it would be stressful for him. I miss him, though, and look at a picture of guide dogs—a card that my Dad gave me before getting on the plane—every morning. Hopefully he will still want to work when I get back home. I've realized on this trip how much I rely on his help, even when I don't realize it. My cane skills are great...when I am in a familiar area. He just simplifies so many things. It's too bad he can't understand my apology!
I hope all is well with you. Please do e-mail me and tell me what you are up to! I'm heading to the Galway farmers' market in the morning and will write about that soon.
We had a great conversation. Patty and Steven are from The North (read: Northern Ireland, though they don't consider it another country). We talked a lot about The Troubles (1948-1998) and the IRA. While officially the IRA isn’t conducting an active campaign anymore, apparently the reason that the conflict ended (in a nutshell) was that so many people lost the political cause. Instead of fighting a noble war, groups splintered off because of greed. Many suspect that much of the petty crime that happens around the country (the Republic and the North) is committed by these splinter groups. One of them, known for the Omagh bombing (committed after the Good Friday Agreement in 1998), calls itself The Real IRA. Contrary to popular thought, though, the Real IRA and IRA are very different from one another. The lads at dinner were talking about how annoyed they are with foreigners' support of the IRA; many foreigners, they said, think they are supporting a very noble group and cause, but really they're supporting violent criminals that lost the noble fight a long time ago. Patty and Steven also said that they still face a lot of prejudice from others in Ireland, who see those from The North as foreigners. As I said, though, Patty and Steven consider themselves from the region known as The North, but not from the country of Northern Ireland. They treated me to some "tonic wine," a drink popular with the younger students in Ireland, which tastes much like port, though (in typical Irish fashion!) it was bitterer. Still good, though! It costs about €9, so maybe I'll bring some back to share with some friends. I asked if the wine would keep longer than one night, and they looked at me like I was crazy.
"What?," I said.
"Well, you'd want to finish it in one night," Patty said. "Oh ok—" I began, before Patty interrupted, "If you'd want to have a good time."
I expected a round of laughter, but just received nodding heads!
They were a fun bunch, and we had a great time in a local pub called 903.
I ended up staying awake until roughly 06:00, talking to folks from GW and organizing my room a bit. I, in Corbb fashion, slept until about 15:30 (3:30 p.m.)! Oh that felt good...
Tonight I started what is hopefully the first of many dinner nights. Brendan, Claire, and I cooked a chicken, broccoli, and alfredo-like sauce. We were following an American cookbook, but we had an American measuring cup, so we didn't realize it would be any different. We went to pre-heat the oven, though, and then realized we had to convert to metric! Luckily, I remembered Mrs. Julis' seventh-grade lesson on (9/5)C+32=F and did this calculation by hand on the back of a letter from their landlord. (Apparently the landlord is not a fan of people having parties because neighbours get quite upset, and there was a "rather loud" gathering the first night all the Irish students returned. My friends all told me that the "gathering" was not loud at all, considering few could hear but a hum in their apartments from the courtyard. Menlo Apartments, though, are very strict and don't tolerate any sort of parties or gatherings. I don't know if our dinner was a gathering or not, but we'll find out in a few days if we get a letter, I suppose!)
Brendan and I had a nice walk tonight after dinner. We walked into town and along the main drag, Shoppe Street, where many of the pubs and local businesses are located. I went down to the Spanish Arch for the first time, one of four structures like it built in the 1500s. I'll have to try to see that one in more light than just the moonlight, for it sounds pretty intricate. I was surprised at first to see so few people on the street and in the pubs, that is until I realized that all the Irish students—especially those from County Mayo, just North of County Galway—had gone home for the weekend. It was still busy enough to be fun, but certainly less crazy than the last several nights. That walk was after a delicious dessert at Supermac's—a virtual copycat of McDonald's even featuring a Supermac, which looks precisely the same as a Big Mac. We got Muffin Sundaes, a chocolate muffin warmed and covered in ice cream. Mmmm. I want another one just writing about it!
I had a dream about Phoenix last night. As much as I would love to have his help navigating these streets, I don't think the environment would be very good for him. The pubs are loud and crowded most nights (when the students are in town), so even if the pub owners let him in, I think it would be stressful for him. I miss him, though, and look at a picture of guide dogs—a card that my Dad gave me before getting on the plane—every morning. Hopefully he will still want to work when I get back home. I've realized on this trip how much I rely on his help, even when I don't realize it. My cane skills are great...when I am in a familiar area. He just simplifies so many things. It's too bad he can't understand my apology!
I hope all is well with you. Please do e-mail me and tell me what you are up to! I'm heading to the Galway farmers' market in the morning and will write about that soon.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
I return!
Hello again, this time from Galway! I'm sorry for the delay in writing -- I've been without Internet for the past week or so. My entire flat (apartment) didn't have a connection and I had to fight to prove that it wasn't my computer's fault but rather the that of the connection's! The electrician visited today, and fixed my roommate's connection...and not mine. Oh well -- luckily she's letting me borrow hers in the meantime.
Oh, and yes, you read right: "she." I live in a single bedroom directly connected to a bathroom. Down the hallway is our shared kitchen, living room, another bedroom, electrical closet (more in a moment), coat closet, and another bathroom.
Our kitchen is nice, though we have a mini-fridge. In Ireland, they are very much into conserving electricity, for it is very expensive here. Therefore, almost nobody (except emigrated Americans!) has a full fridge, or what the Irish call an "American fridge." Our kitchen, too, has a master power switch that is turned to off all the time except when you are using the stove, microwave, or oven. (The fridge is on a separate circuit.)
It's cosy in the apartment, in a good way, and it's much more spacious than any GW room. The common room/kitchen is roughly the size of those in Ivory Tower, but the bedrooms are each about twice the size.
I promised more on our electrical closet. Because of the conserving energy thinking here, hot water isn't always necessary. Why pay for a water heater 24/7 when you only use it in the mornings and evenings? So, our water heater is programmed to come on from 04:00 to 08:00 and 18:00 to 20:00 (6pm and 8pm, for those not on the 24-hour clock). We can "bump up" the heater anytime by heating the tank for 2 hours, but we rarely do as the morning hot water seems to last until about 16:00.
The kitchen is fully-stocked, and has even more cookware than my dorm ever has. There's borderline too much stuff in the kitchen, as all the cabinets and drawers are completely full. I have about six varieties of plates, three varieties of bowls, and two varieties of silverware. I suppose that much of it has collected from previous tenants' sharing of different rooms' crockery.
It's been lonely here in Galway, though. Our 50-something students from the Institute for Study Abroad program are spread out throughout this complex (each unit, except mine which is mixed with other apartments, is a separate townhouse and it takes about seven minutes to cross the complex). Because of that it's not easy to just go knocking on doors—plus there are some full-time, non-student residents here. The social scene, to a great extent, is drinking—much more than a typical college. It really is the local pastime here, and a great many—especially students—drink in quite excess. As you know, that's not my style of drinking, so it's been tough. I am happy to socialize and not drink with people who are drinking a little or moderately, but not when they are so drunk they can't hold a conversation or remember who I am! It's been a roller-coaster of a week, though; sometimes I feel very happy here, and other times I just want to go home.
Classes started yesterday, and so far they look promising. I am taking:
* Game Theory and Industrial Organisation (Economics)
* Economics of the Welfare State (Economics)
* Money and Banking (Economics)
* Imagining Modern Ireland: An Introduction to Irish Culture Studies (Irish/Celtic Studies)
* Ethnic Conflict & Territory (Political Science)
* Irish Economic History, 1921-1973 (Economics)
I was afraid that it might be better to take Money and Banking in the United States, seeing as I'll be spending most of my time there while needing my Economics degree. However, today the professor introduced the book, a U.S. edition, and frequently said, "In the U.S., they call this 'common stock.' Over here, we say, 'ordinary shares.' They're identical." That should make things diverse and interesting, yet still practical.
In the afternoons here, students gather for coffee and tea with friends in the restaurant under the library, much like folks do at the Starbucks near Gelman. I had tea today with our Local Assistant, who helps us with local issues like "where do I find...?" and problems with the University. She showed me an easy way to get into town, using fairly well-lit streets, so that will make that commute much easier and independent (as opposed to crossing a roundabout that even sighted Irish students claim to be "The Roundabout of Death" adjacent to our accommodation).
Yvonne, a Ph.D. candidate, and I met for lunch, thanks to the International Affairs Office who knew that I was having trouble socialising here. She studied in Amsterdam last year for her Master's, and went with no connections in the country. She got lucky in finding a group of friends in her flatmates, so her story of finding friends wasn't as helpful as her generosity. She offered to take me out with her friends next time they go out, and she even told me about a friend of hers who studied Economics and loved current affairs. That will sure be an exciting night, and hopefully a group to jump to every now and then.
What's been most helpful in getting me through this is one of Becky's comments: "You have people coming every 2-3 weeks to visit you!" Starting in mid-October, the parents come; in late October, Becky comes; in early November, I go to Northern Ireland for a weekend with my program; in mid-November, the whole family comes during Thanksgiving; in December, I go home. The semester is short when I think about it that way. It's short when I think that classes end on 28 November. And it's short when I see that there are only 12 weeks of class, spelled out that way on syllabi instead of exact dates. It's scary when I realize that means I take exams for classes in a country where I have less direct interaction with the professors and more time with a book (hopefully).
It's exciting when I realize that after this experience, I will have a load of stories to share (with those who want to hear, of course!). It's exciting when I see that I will be 2 classes shy of my B.A. in Economics. It's exciting when I see that—for the first time in awhile—I am taking an entire group of classes in which I really care about the topic being discussed. And it's exciting to see that I will appreciate so many facets of Washington more so than I did in the past. I'll also appreciate more about the things Phoenix and my friends back in the U.S. do for me.
In short, I think things are improving. I'm going to make dinner now -- a classic Irish student dinner: sandwich, boiled potatoes, and apples. Maybe I'll venture to find something sweet across the street, or maybe I'll just venture into the land of Economics of the Welfare State. This may surprise you, but both are just as appealing to me!
Oh, and yes, you read right: "she." I live in a single bedroom directly connected to a bathroom. Down the hallway is our shared kitchen, living room, another bedroom, electrical closet (more in a moment), coat closet, and another bathroom.
Our kitchen is nice, though we have a mini-fridge. In Ireland, they are very much into conserving electricity, for it is very expensive here. Therefore, almost nobody (except emigrated Americans!) has a full fridge, or what the Irish call an "American fridge." Our kitchen, too, has a master power switch that is turned to off all the time except when you are using the stove, microwave, or oven. (The fridge is on a separate circuit.)
It's cosy in the apartment, in a good way, and it's much more spacious than any GW room. The common room/kitchen is roughly the size of those in Ivory Tower, but the bedrooms are each about twice the size.
I promised more on our electrical closet. Because of the conserving energy thinking here, hot water isn't always necessary. Why pay for a water heater 24/7 when you only use it in the mornings and evenings? So, our water heater is programmed to come on from 04:00 to 08:00 and 18:00 to 20:00 (6pm and 8pm, for those not on the 24-hour clock). We can "bump up" the heater anytime by heating the tank for 2 hours, but we rarely do as the morning hot water seems to last until about 16:00.
The kitchen is fully-stocked, and has even more cookware than my dorm ever has. There's borderline too much stuff in the kitchen, as all the cabinets and drawers are completely full. I have about six varieties of plates, three varieties of bowls, and two varieties of silverware. I suppose that much of it has collected from previous tenants' sharing of different rooms' crockery.
It's been lonely here in Galway, though. Our 50-something students from the Institute for Study Abroad program are spread out throughout this complex (each unit, except mine which is mixed with other apartments, is a separate townhouse and it takes about seven minutes to cross the complex). Because of that it's not easy to just go knocking on doors—plus there are some full-time, non-student residents here. The social scene, to a great extent, is drinking—much more than a typical college. It really is the local pastime here, and a great many—especially students—drink in quite excess. As you know, that's not my style of drinking, so it's been tough. I am happy to socialize and not drink with people who are drinking a little or moderately, but not when they are so drunk they can't hold a conversation or remember who I am! It's been a roller-coaster of a week, though; sometimes I feel very happy here, and other times I just want to go home.
Classes started yesterday, and so far they look promising. I am taking:
* Game Theory and Industrial Organisation (Economics)
* Economics of the Welfare State (Economics)
* Money and Banking (Economics)
* Imagining Modern Ireland: An Introduction to Irish Culture Studies (Irish/Celtic Studies)
* Ethnic Conflict & Territory (Political Science)
* Irish Economic History, 1921-1973 (Economics)
I was afraid that it might be better to take Money and Banking in the United States, seeing as I'll be spending most of my time there while needing my Economics degree. However, today the professor introduced the book, a U.S. edition, and frequently said, "In the U.S., they call this 'common stock.' Over here, we say, 'ordinary shares.' They're identical." That should make things diverse and interesting, yet still practical.
In the afternoons here, students gather for coffee and tea with friends in the restaurant under the library, much like folks do at the Starbucks near Gelman. I had tea today with our Local Assistant, who helps us with local issues like "where do I find...?" and problems with the University. She showed me an easy way to get into town, using fairly well-lit streets, so that will make that commute much easier and independent (as opposed to crossing a roundabout that even sighted Irish students claim to be "The Roundabout of Death" adjacent to our accommodation).
Yvonne, a Ph.D. candidate, and I met for lunch, thanks to the International Affairs Office who knew that I was having trouble socialising here. She studied in Amsterdam last year for her Master's, and went with no connections in the country. She got lucky in finding a group of friends in her flatmates, so her story of finding friends wasn't as helpful as her generosity. She offered to take me out with her friends next time they go out, and she even told me about a friend of hers who studied Economics and loved current affairs. That will sure be an exciting night, and hopefully a group to jump to every now and then.
What's been most helpful in getting me through this is one of Becky's comments: "You have people coming every 2-3 weeks to visit you!" Starting in mid-October, the parents come; in late October, Becky comes; in early November, I go to Northern Ireland for a weekend with my program; in mid-November, the whole family comes during Thanksgiving; in December, I go home. The semester is short when I think about it that way. It's short when I think that classes end on 28 November. And it's short when I see that there are only 12 weeks of class, spelled out that way on syllabi instead of exact dates. It's scary when I realize that means I take exams for classes in a country where I have less direct interaction with the professors and more time with a book (hopefully).
It's exciting when I realize that after this experience, I will have a load of stories to share (with those who want to hear, of course!). It's exciting when I see that I will be 2 classes shy of my B.A. in Economics. It's exciting when I see that—for the first time in awhile—I am taking an entire group of classes in which I really care about the topic being discussed. And it's exciting to see that I will appreciate so many facets of Washington more so than I did in the past. I'll also appreciate more about the things Phoenix and my friends back in the U.S. do for me.
In short, I think things are improving. I'm going to make dinner now -- a classic Irish student dinner: sandwich, boiled potatoes, and apples. Maybe I'll venture to find something sweet across the street, or maybe I'll just venture into the land of Economics of the Welfare State. This may surprise you, but both are just as appealing to me!
Monday, September 1, 2008
Exploring and Accessibility
Sunday mornings are a great time of the week if you delight in attending mass; for those tourists that don’t, expect everything to be closed. No shopping, no people on the streets, and certainly no breakfast options—except the hotels. L and I picked up K from the bus station and wandered through O’Connell Street—the main street for pubs and shops in Limerick (pronounced Lim-rick)—looking for food, but we found nothing. (We did, however, delight that it was sunny in Ireland, even if just for a few hours!) Eventually we came to my new hotel (Jury’s Inn) and found a nice—albeit simple—breakfast on the Lower Ground floor. For €9.50 (a little over $14) we had an all-you-can-eat buffet of fruit salad (in which L found a hair, at which time the entire bowl was replaced by the waitress who couldn’t say she was sorry enough times), assorted breads including—of course—soda bread (popular here because flour grown in Ireland is too soft to react the same way with yeast as American flour), yogurt (Yoplai, but with a different label), prunes, fruit juices (I haven’t figured out if juice here is always watery, or if the machine was low on fruit juice concentrate), and tea. (The Irish love their tea so much so that, when examined per capita, they drink the most tea in the world—out-drinking even England!) Upon going to the register to pay for our breakfasts, the cashier didn’t want us to pay full price because there wasn’t a full continental breakfast. (I never have managed to understand what she meant, for breakfast on Monday had the same options as Sunday.) She charged us half-price, but that’s where the humour began. She couldn’t find the option to charge €4.50 per person, and she muttered, “I can’t find it; I kill someone I swear. I kill meself.” I was at first put off by her scary comment, and a few seconds later remembered what my guidebook said: the Irish lack must self-esteem and love sarcasm, especially against themselves. She ran the credit card, but then the machine was out of paper, again more of the killing comments. Eventually she got more paper, the charge went through, and we went upstairs – laughing all the way.
I said goodbye to L and K, came up to my room, and began to ponder how to spend the rest of my day. It was only then that I remembered that I had been storing my traveller’s checks in L’s backpack. He was long gone, and off to the bus station. I hoped that he would notice before leaving for Galway, but that didn’t happen. He’s in Galway for a short time, then off to his bike trip, and returns to Galway at some point. Here’s to hoping that we can meet up later in the week, though I am frustrated that he doesn’t know what day he’ll be in the city…oh well. One day at a time.
Annoyed, but knowing there was nothing that could be done now, I plotted my journey to Arthur’s Quay (pronounced Key), a shopping centre in Limerick about ten minutes from my hotel. IFSA-Butler had recommended purchasing a mobile (pronounced mo-bye-l) phone from The Carphone Warehouse. I found it an odd name for a reputable store, but they are an authorized reseller of all four major Irish mobile companies: O2, Vodafone, Three, and Meteor People in Ireland rarely pay for contract plans as we do in the United States. Instead, they purchase pay-as-you-go phones. These plans work just as those in the U.S. where you pay only for the minutes and texts that you use, whenever you use them. But a gimmick that many companies use is encouraging users to “top up” every month by a certain amount. Topping up is the act of adding extra funds to your mobile phone balance. If you top up by €20 every thirty days, then O2 gives you either free texts to any Irish network or free texts and calls to 10 of your favourite O2 numbers. The beauty of the top up promotion is that if you decide next month that you don’t want to, there’s no penalty; the promotion drops off and you pay 13c (€0.13, pronounced 13 cent—notice the singular) per message.
This trip, for me, though meant more than buying a phone. If you’re wondering on the title of this post, now is the time to start paying attention! I had walked around with L for about 18 hours, and had gotten used to the city’s layout and generally what shops were along O’Connell Street. But he was the one reading the map to say turn left, right, etc. It wasn’t until I ventured to Arthur’s Quay was I realizing how independent I could be. Without Phoenix, it’s sure been an adjustment here. (I should mention that—on the whole—I am glad he’s at home; most pubs here would barely have the room for him, seeing as there was barely room for me!) I only made a few wrong turns, but I still knew where I was enough to find my way back. Going the wrong way was fun too, for I saw parts of town that I hadn’t ever before and likely wouldn’t have otherwise seen.
Along my walks, though, I noticed several nuanced accessibility features of the town. (The only inaccessible part of the town I have noticed is a lack of Braille on this hotel’s elevators – but I’ve managed.) At every street corner during the day, you hear posts clicking. Those posts are the posts that have the “push for walk signal” type buttons that we’re accustomed to in the States. Why the constant clicking? My thought is that the crosswalks aren’t directly in one’s line of travel, and they’re rarely in the same place at each intersection. That clicking makes it much easier to find the posts. Then, when you touch the button, a beep confirms your touch. When it’s clear to cross, the clicks quicken until the yellow light, when they go back to a more normal speed. Until I point it out, though, to others they do not seem to even notice, whereas in the States the chirping and whistling lights annoy most anybody walking across the intersections. (Roundabouts, I have found, are deadly to attempt to cross and—like Washington, DC—I’ve found my best method is to avoid them entirely!)
Another accessibility feature: escalators that are like ramps. Rather than being flat and breaking into steps, the escalator stays at an incline. Strangely enough, I found the ones at Arthur’s Quay are ramps on the way up, and steps on the way down. Even Buddy could take the escalators up, but coming down could be an issue without an elevator, for I fear a repeat of the Kennedy Center, in which he went head over heels. (See YouTube video below.)
And a final accessibility feature: all the streets, just like the novels say, are painted with “look right” or “stop look ==>” at each intersection. I learned, though, that it’s not only the Americans that have problems looking the same way, but even those from mainland Europe for they drive on the right like the States. Every time I see one of the painted phrases, though, I am reminded of my father telling me (on multiple occasions before leaving home) “don’t forget to look RIGHT.”
Throughout all of this, though, I realized that IFSA-Butler had not given us details about when and where we would start the program. They gave us our hotel information and they told us to have our flights land by 15:00 (yes, it’s military time over here), but they never gave us specifics on when our dinner was. They did give us other programme participants’ e-mails, but they did this so late that it was virtually impossible to find people here at the hotel on Sunday. I had a good, quiet afternoon, though, when I wrote e-mails, this blog entry, talked to Dad, and set up my Irish cell phone.
The dinner was fine: buffet-style, food was average, and meeting people was like freshman orientation. I met more people than I can remember, and forgot virtually all their names. The names that I didn’t forget, though, I couldn’t match to faces. This wasn’t a problem, for everybody had the same issue. On the way back to my room, I discovered that I had a roommate. K is from Galway, Ireland originally and attends school at University of Texas-Austin. Nice guy, easy-going, and a fun one to talk to. The Irish people’s method of conversation is interesting. Within 30 minutes, he knew a lot about me and my blindness, but I knew little about him. I’d been advised by my guidebook that this was common; the Irish are a welcoming bunch, but they’re very shy about their personal lives until you get to know them – or rather they get to know you!
I ended up going to a couple pubs with K and several others – unfortunately travelling in a big, loud group of Americans. We found a pub called The Bank, located on O’Connell Street right off Lower Manlow Street—the one outside our hotel. We later learned from Noel, the bartender, that it used to be a bank, but was previously a church. The bank (and subsequent pub) was built atop its graveyard! I haven’t had bad luck yet for drinking on the site of a church, but we’ll see what happens; I remain optimistic! We ordered drinks, a Carlsberg for myself—which tastes much like Miller Genuine Draft, sort of a wood-flavour aftertaste. After paying, I inquired about a discount for being the only American in the group with the most Irish name. The bartender said no, but then came back later with shot glasses for everyone filled with a green liquid. When I asked what it was, K quieted me, saying “never ask until you drink it when it’s free.” I don’t know if that’s an Irish thing or not, but I figured that I had nothing to lose seeing as I was with a group and at a reputable bar (minus the whole built on a graveyard part!). It was a green apple liquor, containing virtually no alcohol and lots of sugar. That’s probably the best tasting shot I’ll ever have! Noel even drank with us, though he asked first, “Mind if I join you for a round?” I thought about what this would be like in America if a bartender was seen drinking on the job. I find the Irish culture much more fun! Live Celtic music started, then a Johnny Cash song, Bruce Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark,” and then it was back to the Celtic. I enjoyed the music – not too loud, and we were near the band. One lady kept buying drinks, saying her cousin was playing. K said, “That’ll happen all the time. Everyone’s related to everyone over here.” I thought he and she were kidding – they most certainly were not!
I was proud of myself for actually finishing a pint of beer, and then we were on to another bar. We wandered and stopped in at one place, which asked for IDs before entering. That was my first time being carded for anything: I didn’t get carded for my first R-rated movie without parents near my 17th birthday, I didn’t get carded last summer for a lotto ticket, but now I have been! Not everyone had IDs, but enough did and we sweet-talked him into letting us in. Unfortunately after all that, though, there were few people inside and no music. We promptly excused ourselves and wandered to a new place along the Shannon River. I found that bar far less exciting, for the music was loud (the noise level of a rock concert) and therefore I couldn’t enjoy talking with the people. The crowd was much older than us, though, and looked to be the working class that had to wake up early for work! Nevertheless, the party continued well after we left, and that was around 00:30 (30 minutes past midnight)!
I came back to my room and had to talk to O2’s Customer Service about my text messages to the U.S. not working. We finally got that sorted out, and after a chat with B, it was bedtime.
Whew that was a long post, but then again it was an eventful, fun day!
I said goodbye to L and K, came up to my room, and began to ponder how to spend the rest of my day. It was only then that I remembered that I had been storing my traveller’s checks in L’s backpack. He was long gone, and off to the bus station. I hoped that he would notice before leaving for Galway, but that didn’t happen. He’s in Galway for a short time, then off to his bike trip, and returns to Galway at some point. Here’s to hoping that we can meet up later in the week, though I am frustrated that he doesn’t know what day he’ll be in the city…oh well. One day at a time.
Annoyed, but knowing there was nothing that could be done now, I plotted my journey to Arthur’s Quay (pronounced Key), a shopping centre in Limerick about ten minutes from my hotel. IFSA-Butler had recommended purchasing a mobile (pronounced mo-bye-l) phone from The Carphone Warehouse. I found it an odd name for a reputable store, but they are an authorized reseller of all four major Irish mobile companies: O2, Vodafone, Three, and Meteor People in Ireland rarely pay for contract plans as we do in the United States. Instead, they purchase pay-as-you-go phones. These plans work just as those in the U.S. where you pay only for the minutes and texts that you use, whenever you use them. But a gimmick that many companies use is encouraging users to “top up” every month by a certain amount. Topping up is the act of adding extra funds to your mobile phone balance. If you top up by €20 every thirty days, then O2 gives you either free texts to any Irish network or free texts and calls to 10 of your favourite O2 numbers. The beauty of the top up promotion is that if you decide next month that you don’t want to, there’s no penalty; the promotion drops off and you pay 13c (€0.13, pronounced 13 cent—notice the singular) per message.
This trip, for me, though meant more than buying a phone. If you’re wondering on the title of this post, now is the time to start paying attention! I had walked around with L for about 18 hours, and had gotten used to the city’s layout and generally what shops were along O’Connell Street. But he was the one reading the map to say turn left, right, etc. It wasn’t until I ventured to Arthur’s Quay was I realizing how independent I could be. Without Phoenix, it’s sure been an adjustment here. (I should mention that—on the whole—I am glad he’s at home; most pubs here would barely have the room for him, seeing as there was barely room for me!) I only made a few wrong turns, but I still knew where I was enough to find my way back. Going the wrong way was fun too, for I saw parts of town that I hadn’t ever before and likely wouldn’t have otherwise seen.
Along my walks, though, I noticed several nuanced accessibility features of the town. (The only inaccessible part of the town I have noticed is a lack of Braille on this hotel’s elevators – but I’ve managed.) At every street corner during the day, you hear posts clicking. Those posts are the posts that have the “push for walk signal” type buttons that we’re accustomed to in the States. Why the constant clicking? My thought is that the crosswalks aren’t directly in one’s line of travel, and they’re rarely in the same place at each intersection. That clicking makes it much easier to find the posts. Then, when you touch the button, a beep confirms your touch. When it’s clear to cross, the clicks quicken until the yellow light, when they go back to a more normal speed. Until I point it out, though, to others they do not seem to even notice, whereas in the States the chirping and whistling lights annoy most anybody walking across the intersections. (Roundabouts, I have found, are deadly to attempt to cross and—like Washington, DC—I’ve found my best method is to avoid them entirely!)
Another accessibility feature: escalators that are like ramps. Rather than being flat and breaking into steps, the escalator stays at an incline. Strangely enough, I found the ones at Arthur’s Quay are ramps on the way up, and steps on the way down. Even Buddy could take the escalators up, but coming down could be an issue without an elevator, for I fear a repeat of the Kennedy Center, in which he went head over heels. (See YouTube video below.)And a final accessibility feature: all the streets, just like the novels say, are painted with “look right” or “stop look ==>” at each intersection. I learned, though, that it’s not only the Americans that have problems looking the same way, but even those from mainland Europe for they drive on the right like the States. Every time I see one of the painted phrases, though, I am reminded of my father telling me (on multiple occasions before leaving home) “don’t forget to look RIGHT.”
Throughout all of this, though, I realized that IFSA-Butler had not given us details about when and where we would start the program. They gave us our hotel information and they told us to have our flights land by 15:00 (yes, it’s military time over here), but they never gave us specifics on when our dinner was. They did give us other programme participants’ e-mails, but they did this so late that it was virtually impossible to find people here at the hotel on Sunday. I had a good, quiet afternoon, though, when I wrote e-mails, this blog entry, talked to Dad, and set up my Irish cell phone.
The dinner was fine: buffet-style, food was average, and meeting people was like freshman orientation. I met more people than I can remember, and forgot virtually all their names. The names that I didn’t forget, though, I couldn’t match to faces. This wasn’t a problem, for everybody had the same issue. On the way back to my room, I discovered that I had a roommate. K is from Galway, Ireland originally and attends school at University of Texas-Austin. Nice guy, easy-going, and a fun one to talk to. The Irish people’s method of conversation is interesting. Within 30 minutes, he knew a lot about me and my blindness, but I knew little about him. I’d been advised by my guidebook that this was common; the Irish are a welcoming bunch, but they’re very shy about their personal lives until you get to know them – or rather they get to know you!
I ended up going to a couple pubs with K and several others – unfortunately travelling in a big, loud group of Americans. We found a pub called The Bank, located on O’Connell Street right off Lower Manlow Street—the one outside our hotel. We later learned from Noel, the bartender, that it used to be a bank, but was previously a church. The bank (and subsequent pub) was built atop its graveyard! I haven’t had bad luck yet for drinking on the site of a church, but we’ll see what happens; I remain optimistic! We ordered drinks, a Carlsberg for myself—which tastes much like Miller Genuine Draft, sort of a wood-flavour aftertaste. After paying, I inquired about a discount for being the only American in the group with the most Irish name. The bartender said no, but then came back later with shot glasses for everyone filled with a green liquid. When I asked what it was, K quieted me, saying “never ask until you drink it when it’s free.” I don’t know if that’s an Irish thing or not, but I figured that I had nothing to lose seeing as I was with a group and at a reputable bar (minus the whole built on a graveyard part!). It was a green apple liquor, containing virtually no alcohol and lots of sugar. That’s probably the best tasting shot I’ll ever have! Noel even drank with us, though he asked first, “Mind if I join you for a round?” I thought about what this would be like in America if a bartender was seen drinking on the job. I find the Irish culture much more fun! Live Celtic music started, then a Johnny Cash song, Bruce Springsteen’s “Dancing in the Dark,” and then it was back to the Celtic. I enjoyed the music – not too loud, and we were near the band. One lady kept buying drinks, saying her cousin was playing. K said, “That’ll happen all the time. Everyone’s related to everyone over here.” I thought he and she were kidding – they most certainly were not!
I was proud of myself for actually finishing a pint of beer, and then we were on to another bar. We wandered and stopped in at one place, which asked for IDs before entering. That was my first time being carded for anything: I didn’t get carded for my first R-rated movie without parents near my 17th birthday, I didn’t get carded last summer for a lotto ticket, but now I have been! Not everyone had IDs, but enough did and we sweet-talked him into letting us in. Unfortunately after all that, though, there were few people inside and no music. We promptly excused ourselves and wandered to a new place along the Shannon River. I found that bar far less exciting, for the music was loud (the noise level of a rock concert) and therefore I couldn’t enjoy talking with the people. The crowd was much older than us, though, and looked to be the working class that had to wake up early for work! Nevertheless, the party continued well after we left, and that was around 00:30 (30 minutes past midnight)!
I came back to my room and had to talk to O2’s Customer Service about my text messages to the U.S. not working. We finally got that sorted out, and after a chat with B, it was bedtime.
Whew that was a long post, but then again it was an eventful, fun day!
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