The Clock is Ticking

10 days left. I tally this bittersweet countdown only to remind me of my loved ones at home and the PA primaries on the 22nd.
Apologies for the lull between posts, folks. Let's play catch-up. My best friend Heather got married to her highschool sweetheart, Zack, on April 4th in Erie. I saw pictures online of her in her wedding dress, but that was as close as I was able to get to her and her big day. Naturally I was upset that I couldn't be there for her, but it offered the painful reminder that lives carry on whether I'm around or not.
I had planned on going to Stockholm, Sweden this weekend for one last hurrah, but something much better came up. I'll be going to Trim in Co. Meath to meet my cousins, the Perry family. They have a whole day planned for Saturday and will be taking me around the same sights my dad got to see when he visited. My turn! I've been anxiously awaiting a rendezvous with them, and did not hesitate to cancel my trip. I have never been so sure in a decision. One of the main reasons I came to Ireland was to find my roots, for there is no way of knowing myself before I know where I come from. I would not miss the opportunity of meeting my kin for the world.
On Tuesday evening our volunteer project, Peace Corps Localise, hosted a Hawaiian themed party for a group with special needs. It was a smashing hit. We had our venue embellished with streamers and beach balls, leis and grass skirts, hawaiian pizza and even pinapple upside-down cake! (Grama would be so proud) Our guests really enjoyed themselves. We played bingo and pass the parcel, but all they really wanted to do was dance, which they squirmishly had to wait for until the end of the evening. I made friends with a girl named Emma that loved to shake hands and give kisses on the cheek. Excitement was seeping through her pores, the lovely thing. All in all it was great "craic", a good time had by all. We were sad to see our guests go at the end of the night, but they departed happily with tokens of chocolate prizes and sunshine nametags and leis.
Earlier that day I had a final presentation along with my other five group members for our Communications Skills class. Our lecturer named us the "German American Alliance", as there were 3 individuals from each nation. Five girls, one boy (I might have felt bad for him if he had ever bothered to show up to our meetings...that's besides the point). We had been given a fictitious scenerio of a company with inner communication malfunctions, and we were a consultancy agency that had to solve the discrepancies. In 8 minutes we had to describe problems, solutions and recommendations. We hit the head on the nail. Our lecturer awarded us the highest marks ever given for a presentation in all of Dublin Business School! Woo hoo!
My last official day at my internship will be tomorrow, but I'll be coming in next week to proof read Comhlamh's magazine, Focus. It's absolutely brilliant, this whole organization is. In the short period of time that I've worked here, my mind has been expanded and bent and filled with global insight and developmental ideas. Even though monetary allowance was never involved, I have become wealthy in knowledge and awareness.
Next week I'll be strolling the streets of Dublin and Dalkey, snapping pictures and jotting down the thoughts I never got to put on paper. My time here is precious, although I said that as soon as I arrived. Vera, my host mum, told me the best thing to do is make a list of things that I still want to check out, arranged from greatest importance at the top and downward. Now, lists I can do but the question is, can I do everything on the list?

Life as a "Backpacker"

Our eight day adventure of train-hopping, sight-seeing and back-packing has come to a successful conclusion. The night before St. Patrick's Day we excitedly prepared for a sequence of unimaginable situations we were about to get ourselves into. This will be an overview, a skimming of the surface, of our trip. Eight days of travel into one blog will leave me with little story-telling when I return, which as we know, I fancy very much.
We flew into Barcelona on the 17th, welcoming the Spanish sunshine like rats emerging from a lifetime of scouring dark sewers. When we arrived on Las Ramblas, the main stretch in the city centre, I instantly felt the pulse of Barcelona. I've heard that cities such as New York have a life of their own, and my surroundings proved this statement true. We spent two whole days in this vibrant city, touring its Gothic Quarter, fresh open market, Mediterranean beach and Botanical Gardens, amoung much else. I thought Barcelona as a progressive, breezy city full of every age of culture. Trees with their own camoflauge pattern, flower boxes hanging from every window, mosaics splashed on century-old buildings and an endless supply of fresh coconut slices were on my list of things I enjoyed. I thought of my brother as we walked by the city-issued bicycles and scultptures nearly on every corner.
We regretfully left the city by train (after missing one and having our good luck pay our way for the next one), stocked with baguettes, apples and a kilogram of snapped peas we had bought at the fresh market. Enter: Survival mode.
For the next three days we made our way primarily along the French Riviera to Monaco, sleeping on cramped trains and in our tent after an emergency exit in Perpignon. We got off in Nice eager to stretch our legs, after planning to hike the eight miles to Monaco where we were to make our next train. I had measured the distance online before our departure, but the internet didn't show me actual routes, just a straight shot from Nice to Monaco. So, four hours and about 12 miles through mountains and winding roads later, we arrived in the principality without any daylight left. This is when we truely earned the title of "back-packer"; surviving about three out of the four hours of uphill trekking between a bustling highway and a shallow stone wall on the edge of the cliffs, with our packs. Although I was exhausted, my heart rose when I looked down onto Monaco at night, which is a city built into the mountain right along the coast, the moon illuminating what the colorful display lights couldn't.
After reaching the train station we rewarded ourselves with chocolate from the vending machine, baguette and of course, more snapped peas.
The night train from Monaco was going to take us to Florence, but after an alarm clock malfucntion, we awoke in Tuscany, half way to Rome. After a quick meeting over an apple for breakfast outside of our compartment, we altered the plan to call Maggie's contact in Rome a day early and schedule a day trip to Pompei.
Our quick thinking and the help of an internet cafe had us heading to Naples to get a train from there to Pompei on Saturday morning. I have always been fascinated with the tragic tale of Pompei, but could never have expected what it was in all actuality. We spent the day ingesting the surprisingly expanive ruins of Pompei, complete with preserved ampitheaters, temples, frescos and humans. In the distance loomed Vesuvius, offering a constant reminder of the extinction of the city.
Pleased that we finally seemed to make all of the right trains for once, we returned to Rome and feasted on pizza and gelati. Maggie's friend that we were staying with invited us to come out to the Irish pub he worked at for an evening of free drinks and a killer live band. Brilliant.
We woke on Easter Sunday morning and completed our pilgrimmage when we arrived in the Vatican. We had made it. Taking in the sea of umbrellas and the Vatican in all is rainy glory was so humbling. We left before the two hour mass was over, as so it seemed the rest of the crowd, and headed towards the nearest metro station in one soaking wet, odorous mass. By the time we reached the underground station, returning once again like rats, it was flooded and packed with humans that took the characteristic of sardines. We made it back safely, stripped down to shower, and took a much needed five hour nap.
On Monday we split off, the others intended to do the tourist circuit and myself making my way to the Borghese park and gardens. The sunshine restored itself in the sky and on my face as I ambled through the easy blowing trees and kids on tandum bikes. I got a free pass into the Giulia Villa from the guard named Giuliana after I told her my name was Julia. I explored the remnants of the ancient civilization (as well as more gelati stores) , which took me zig-zagged through the heart of the city. I said nothing during my time alone, letting my mind evaluate the past week and the new limits I had pushed myself to.
Tuesday morning we woke early to make our flight back to Dublin, happy to be back. Vera had gorgeous vegetable soup waiting for us, as well as a hot shower and warm bed.
Our trip exposed me to breath-taking countryside and cityscapes, a cluster of people from every walk of life and a new found perspective for this world. I learned so much from just letting the world in, as though I was a guest in its massive home. My only regret was that I didn't know Spanish, French or Italian, becoming hyper-sensitive of my inability to ever show the level of respect the lands deserved. I must admit, it was a relief to hear English when we made it back to Ireland. I wouldn't change this experience for the world, and will continue to explore the lessons I learned along the way.

Picking up the pace

I've always been a firm believer in the phrase, "When it rains, it pours." It has proved its truth once again.
My work and school obligations thusfar in Ireland has been very laid back, allowing me to skip around and do as I please in my vast spans of free time. That rug was suddenly pulled from under me last week, leaving me face down in a pile of deadlines, meetings and a much anticipated internship. I'll begin with the latter.
I've fallen into the caring hands of Comhlamh, a NGO focusing on "development workers in global solidarity". Pronounced "co-law-ve" (it's Irish for solidarity or joining hands/together), they specialize in international development and education of all levels. Think Peace Corps objectives, only based on a smaller level. Don't let the size fool you; Comhlamh brings a lot to the table such as open forum debates, graduate courses, international networking and research, and a recharging nest for the volunteering birdies to crash into after they've worked in various areas of the world. Most of the people that work in the office here have spent time in or are from foreign countries. The working environment is incredibly laid back and friendly. I've been getting to know everyone here via extended one on one chats over tea or postponed paperwork. They're mostly interested in where I'm from, what I'm studying and who I want to see in the White House. I've already learned so much more about the Irish culture just through comparison and anecdotes. And did I mention that they have their own magazine, Focus? Oh yes, this is the place for me.
And speaking of Peace Corps similarity, I, as well as about ten other American students, have partaken in a program called Peace Corps Localise and DBS Unite. It is the first time Americans, and Dublin Business School students altogether, have joined in on this Peace Corps Localise (localize). We will be meeting once a week and will be designing a project that addresses a problem in the Dublin area. I'm going to suggest more recycling bins and access because there are surprisingly almost none in Dublin! We'll be working on this and then presenting our plan just before we leave. We might even hit up an old folks home or two for a little song and dance. Even though our group is small, there is a huge amount of potential and 3 years of college expertise from all concentrations. We were told we could start a business right then if need be. A few of us considered, but then remembered our passports wouldn't allow it.
The reality of time restraint is really kicking in. With only two months left, almost every week is booked with trips, papers due, or nightly meetings and extra sessions on development education I weasled my way into with my "intern" card. Although my schedule has been flooded, I feel like I can finally relax and sink into my routine of go, go, go. Although wandering around in the sunshine is fun, I prefer this busy lifestyle as I am able to accomplish much more. Besides, it's cold and gray outside anyway.

Enniskerry camping adventure

In order to prepare for our backpacking excursion, we thought it would be in order to have a camp out trial-run with our new equipment. We had orginally set out for Bray Head but were forced to reroute after being discouraged by the NO CAMPING signs. As I don't fancy the concept of coincidences, I was thrilled when we arrived in the wooded haven of Enniskerry. The town itself provided eye candy of shops and store fronts, all wrapped around the focal monument in the center. Beyond the town stood thick forest and mountains nestled in the distance. We were in an Irish wonderland.

With our packs and a rough map sketched out by Constances' host father, we made our way to the outskirts of town. We passed by a stone church with a well manicured cemetary in the front, spotted with trees so large and resembling knotted rope wrapped around to take a cylinder form. The map led us to the narrow path we were to take, which separated two pastures on either side. We were granted an occasional break in the overgrown shrubs for a view of the rolling farms with houses sprinkled along those mountains just out of reach.

Seeing as though we got a late start into Enniskerry, we had to march on for daylight was running low. To save time we picked up dry sticks we found, only to get them tangled up in the prickers that greeted us on the edges of the path. We managed to hold on to our loot, knowing the likelihood of finding dry firewood further into the forest and building a fire was nill.

After hiking what seemed to be a mile or longer, we decided to abandon the path and set up camp in the nearest clearing. We quickly assigned duties, and Deanna and I hastily threw our tent together, often glancing at the sky to calculate how much scarce daylight we had remaining. I knew it would get dark sooner deep in the woods, but Constance remained patient with her fire and pretty soon she had one lit. In what seemed to be record time, the three girls from Northwest PA (ironic, I know) managed to set up a decent camp.

We celebrated with PB and J's and granola, telling stories and singing old songs as we crouched around our fire. I felt right at home. The route we had taken and the scenery had reminded me of my woods at home, complete with the nearby creek and "sissy way". Deanna's words, "We're camping in Ireland" was the only thing that allowed me to differentiate. Eventually we killed the fire and settled into our sleeping bags for the night. It was just barely 9:00pm. We giggled and called each other old lady, but we all knew how tired we really were after our big day. During the night the cold ground and creek's chill crept up on us, making us stir and shift through extreme differences in body temperature. Granted, it is February, but that's precisely why it was a trial run. I'll mark it in my book as a success, but there's always room for improvement. Like having mats to sleep on and more daylight in our favor.

Spring Break is Booked

Apologies for the delay, folks. I'll just say it was in honor of the Writer's Strike.

Much has happened since I last blogged. Stateside, the Giants (rightfully) won the Superbowl, Super Tuesday brought millions of voters from all walks of life to the polls, and my brother became an official EMT. Across the pond on the Emerald Isle, Ireland's rugby team beat Italy but lost to Brazil in the famous Croke Park, we were introduced to "Pancake Tuesday" and I have booked my flights for our Spring Break adventure!

Maggie came up with the idea as we were hiking back down Bray Head last weekend; let's backpack around Europe. This immediately threw us into a whirlwind of excited chatter, resulting in near-tumbles down the mountain. When we reached safety at the bottom we explored our options; Maggie has a friend in Rome. I want to see Spain. We'll need a tent, some sleeping bags, decent shoes. Good enough!
We've booked our tickets to fly into Barcelona, where we'll soak up the Spanish life for a couple of days. Then, with the help of a Eurail pass, we will venture into the south of France, stopping in Marseille and Nice. The Principality of Monoco will serve as our half way point. Heading into Italy, we will stop off in Genova (and hopefully a detour to my roots in Como!) before ending our trip in Rome. We have timed it to where we will be in the Vatican for Easter Sunday, a perfect way to end Lent. We have eight days of freedom to wonder along the Meditterranean coast and camp out on beaches (this statement is a romantic cover for the research still needing to be done).
Through every step of the preparations, I and my three other travel companions grow delighted while we let our imaginations paint exquisite pictures of scenic hikes accompanied by warm breezes and jolly nights huddled in the tent telling stories. Even if the weather turns sour and hte beaches resemble those of Lake Erie, this trip will be one for the books.

If anyone has any advice for the route we'll be taking, please comment! I would love to see what you see.

Just Me and the Irish Sea

Fridays are the best days; no class, no obligations, no crowds. On this particular Friday I walked to Whiterock Beach to be alone and clear my head. Good choice.
When I reached the beach I approached it like some do a temple. I removed my shoes and socks and daintily stepped onto the cool sand. I sat in the middle of the beach, turned off my phone, took out my pen and moleskine and took a deep breath. I knew my surroundings were worth writing down, but was overwhelmed with no idea of where to begin.
Then I had an idea. I would play a game, which I named The Senses Game, and focus on one sense at a time to describe what was around me. Here's what I wrote down (taste was n/a, mostly because there was so much else to take in, and I became cold and left):
Sound - A paradox, these waves. How powerful they are; push, push, crash. But they're actually big softies; hush, shh, shh, fizz.
Smell - Sea...not salty, not heavy. I struggle with placing it. When I inhale through my nostrils they are cleared. Refreshed. (I am ill, complete with a stuffy nose.)
A side note, since I thought the first beach visitors were notable - Humans are silly. They flit around just like the birds. I enjoy watching the older woman run from the waves like a child. She laughs, I smile. I think she enjoys it too.
Feel - Grains between my toes as I dig them into the sand. How can individual grains feel so different than when I run my fingers along the surface? I still invite the grains to make a home in every crease of my jeans, under my finger nails. The smooth texture of this shriveled seaweed. I'm curious to know how, when I rip it to further explore, its innards are still wet. The warmth on my face granted by a groggy sun and in the depths of my pockets for my feelers. In the name of research I tested the water. The froth was a teaser, my barefeet just got a moment of the frigid wet before I played the role of child and danced back to my camp in the dry sand grains.
Sight - A man only wearing shorts, smiling, arms out, strolling the surf as I amuse the idea of him taking a dip. I mutter, "he's crazy", pause and finish with, "we all are". The divots and cast shadows on the sand. It reminds me of my father telling me that it's all about lighting. Beyond the man amoung the waves are sleepy mountain tops met by streaks of cloud. Jutting rocks that don't give in to pushy waves. Flittering white specks in the sky that are the gulls when sun hits their wings. The itself...I think of John Lennon's description of his mother's eyes in "my" song, I know what color her eyes were.

I left the beach feeling centered and in good spirits. I told myself that if ever again I lose sight, touch, control of my day, to find the nearest tranquility and take time to know what I'm living in. I have often said "words cannot express" in reference to the quality of this life, but my little game might bring me closer to finding the right words.

I kissed the Blarney Stone!!

...Which was the perfect ending to our weekend. Allow me to start at the beginning.
Seven of us traveled to the southern city of Cork for our first weekend trip outside of Co. Dublin. After a four hour bus ride, we found our destination, Kinlay Hostel (The horror movies were proven false; the hostel was nestled on a hill by St. Anne's church and we found it tidy and warm). We spent the day taking in free galleries and the city's eye candy, which included exuberantly colored buildings and a river flowing through the center. We eventually found the jackpot; their notorious English Market. This I found quite ironic seeing as though Cork's nicknames include "the rebel city" and "the real capital of Ireland", yet they are so fond of this market. Regardless, we loaded up on cheap loaves of fresh bread, lamb meatballs, brocolli, olives and feta cheese (they had an olive stand that would put Pittsburgh's strip district to shame, I hate to admit), and headed back to the hostel to prepare a feast. After struggling with the gas stove and speaking broken french to other hostel guests, we sat down as a big family, said grace, and indulged in our inexpensive supper. We waddled back to our room to digest with stories and laughter before eventually going out to take in some night life. We went to a pub that advertised traditional music, but ended up listening to locals sing along to American tunes. Our other source of entertainment came from an Irishman named James, who eventually got down on his knees and asked me to marry him. I told him that I was taken, breaking his heart for about five minutes before he was back to doing some form of jig.
On Saturday we arose and took a bus to Kinsale, a town known for its sailing and gourmet food (it would have been my cousin Rueben's dream come true, so I won't rub in how delicious that chicken was). It was a lovely town, but the constant stream of drizzle led me to believe it would be more suitable in the summer months. We headed back to Cork to spend our evening disecting dreams and dialects with a local we had met in the market.
Sunday I woke wishing my boyfriend a happy birthday and anticipating our trip to Blarney Castle. We toast and tea for breakfast, compliments of the hostel, then packed up and moved out. When we arrived at the Blareny Castle estate (after paying 6 euro at the gate), I immediately dubbed it the most beautiful area in Ireland I've seen thus far. Imagine an enormous weathered structure that looks just as much a part of the landscape as the surrounding mossy trees and meandering streams. We were surrounded by every shade of green, Irish mist and flowers in full bloom in late January. After climbing the slick, winding staircase in the castle, backpacks and all, we reached the open upper level. Of course the altitude turned me into a pile of nerves as I clutched to the slick, rusting railings. The older woman behind me was a big help, encouraging me to keep going (maybe because she felt as nervous as me!). I managed to shimmy my way over to a smooth, blue-grey chunk of stone and lay on my back beneath it. After controlling my nervous giggles, I bent back as a man held onto me and kissed that 400 year old stone. Ewwww!! Now I can say I kissed Winston Churchill...kind of.
Being blessed with the gift of gab and view from the top of the Blarney Castle was a perfect way to end the weekend.