I'm very fond of walking

One of the first things I did when I took the offer to do this study abroad program was to virtually venture through the campus via Google's street view. I remember how impressed I was with the lush, green, countryside setting. As this is my last day in Limerick (just finished grading my portion of the final exams!), I thought I'd chronicle the walk from dorm to town so that when I'm back in the concrete jungle of Atlanta, I can re-read this and be transported back to this peaceful setting of fluffy clouds, gargantuan hogweed, and the trickling sound of the River Shannon.

Starting and ending at the dorms, upper right corner.

The buildings in the lower right corner of the photo below are our dorms, Thomond Village. They're actually in County Clare, across the Shannon River from County Limerick, so when we cross the bridge every morning, we're commuting from one county to another.

Our view from the bridge.

On our little jaunt today, we'll turn right (west) after the bridge to walk along the south bank of the River Shannon. Vegetation abounds (as it often does along rivers), including these pretty little things:

And these nasty plants, called hogweed. I've remarked on them before, and apparently they are a noxious weed. Also, if you get their plant juices on your skin and then expose it to light, it can cause purple scars. (suddenly I'm less disgusted and more intrigued. How exactly does this photo-activated mechanism work? And why purple scars? And do they look cool like lightning scars?)

This guy was easily 6 feet tall.

After about a mile along the river, we'll turn left (southwest) to walk along a canal that was built to connect Limerick to the River Shannon. I've heard that Shannon was used extensively by the Vikings to raid inland towns, and also by distributers of Guinness. Apparently the three-day journey from Dublin was perfect for getting the beer its ideal flavor.

I'm gonna go ahead and guess that this is the remnants of a crane that was used to load and unload boats on the canal. These youths are using it for parkour (though the guy in the back looks like he's interested in buying a horse...).

This area of town is a little rough (some Irish call Limerick "Stabtown"), but besides some ruthless puppies being walked that might lick you to death, it seemed pretty fine to me.

A billboard was being changed, which required the guy on the ladder to pull down sheets of old paper and plaster. It looked pretty fun, and I kinda wanted to stand below the falling sheets to see if it'd be like the parachute game that you play in elementary school. Probably not the same.

We're now in Limerick town proper! It's nice, but didn't make it into my guidebook. Meh, I guess that just means that it's genuine, no-nonsense Irish!

Did I mention that we're walking through a slightly rough part of town? Evidenced by anti-austerity and tax-the-wealthy signs.

After three miles, we've made it to our turnaround destination: St. Mary's church! Parts of this church were built back in the 12th century, and its active graveyard has been in use since 1726. Sadly, it was closed, so I couldn't get any photos inside.

Let's make our trek back to the dorms, and enjoy a nice sunset over the River Shannon!

...Okay, I really should start packing now!

Close encounters of the bovine kind

You know those post-apocalyptical movies where the main character journeys across countrysides without another human soul in sight? Well, because I flew into the Aran Islands (arriving 90 minutes before the ferries), I easily assumed that role of Sole Survivor. The vast emptiness was filled me with awe, and also creeped me out a little.

I soon came upon some survivor cows, sitting so peacefully and chewing their cud. "Oh, fellow inhabitants of this lonely planet! How good it is to see another face!" I thought to myself (because let's be honest, it'd be weird to say that out loud). I remembered my past interactions with friendly cows, where they seemed to have a sense that I was a kindred spirit, and I also thought back to my days growing up on a farm when we had a few kind cows. These were very reassuring memories that brought warmth to my soul, otherwise saddened by the knowledge that I'd never see another human again.

One of my friends mentioned that if you lay in the middle of a group of cows, that they will approach you to inspect this foreigner, and that maybe they'd like you for good luck. Well, they were already laying on the ground, but I thought that perhaps I could approach them and cuddle with them à la the triceratops in Jurassic Park.

I crossed the fence and was in my own little world as I walked slowly towards the cows... and then I snapped back to reality. Stopping mid-step, I realized that the field was at the base of a hill, on top of which stood houses--probably the farmers' houses--from which I was likely being observed. I thought about how odd it must have looked, seeing a tourist ride up on a bike, do a double take at the cows, and have some internal monologue about greeting the cows. Then this tourist shook the gate and realized that it wasn't suitable for climbing before scaling the rock wall. Finally, the tourist inched carefully toward the bovines with an expectant expression on his face, and suddenly froze mid-step. I could almost hear "Honey, get my shotgun!" (I don't know how many Irish farmers do own guns, but 80% of them think they should!)

Having been shaken out of my little daydream and into fear that I may have been watched and within cross-hairs, I swiftly turned tail, hopped the wall and took off down the road.

But someday, cows of Ireland, we will have our meet-and-greet. Just somewhere out of eye-shot (and gunshot) of others.

Cramming for finals and cramming in cookies

'Twas the night before the night before finals, and in Warren's apartment,

Many undergrads were present, working the study department.

okay, that's no good and I don't have it in me to write another Limerick poem.

But there are 34 hours until the first final, and the undergrads are busy studying and "studying." Yes, discussing different modes of heat transfer and dimensionless numbers, but also chatting about the perils of imbred/purebred dogs, gender imbalance at swing dances at Georgia Tech, chomping down on ginger snaps, gushing about meeting local hurling celebrities, singing "Frozen", and playing catch-the-gummy-worm-in-your-mouth. Sure takes me back...

The best part for me is that I get to enjoying all of the "studying" activities without the responsibility of taking the exams!! Okay, but I do help teaching the material, and I do have to grade the exams. Woe is me.

Truthfully, it's pretty nice to be on this side of academia. (Don't worry, undergrads; you'll be on this side soon!)

Camptown races in Lim'rick Town

To the greyhound stadium, I gladly came.
Watching people, not dogs, was my evening's game.
Then with much surprise,
I saw with my eyes
That the crowd--full of tourists--had planned just the same.

The paws, they made quite the loud thumping sound
As they pounded in circles around the ground.
Compared to each master,
Dogs ran so much faster
Until someone called, "Free pints, all around!"

One dog, it was true, had seen better days,
As the other hounds passed him in quite the blaze.
I thought he'd be lashed
for coming in last.
Instead got a pat. Heartfelt, winning praise!

Birds gone wild

I rounded out my weekend by visiting the city of Galway, one of Ireland's largest cities (population: 75,000). The city itself has a large youth population due to a few universities, and the historic center dates from Medieval times. Today, the town center is a quaint winding few roads that combine tourism with day-to-day chores for locals, not unlike Kilkenny.

On Friday, I had given a ride to a few undergrads who when up to Sligo in northern Ireland to participate in a very Ragnarian relay, and we'd arranged to meet back up to carpool back to Limerick Sunday night. In the meantime, I had an hour or so to burn, and I remembered that I still had my fish and chips goal to fulfill. So on the prowl I went.

Just a block or two from the river waterfront was a very popular restaurant with a line out the door. Although a long line is more an indicator of popularity than actual quality of food, my guidebook recommended the place, so I decided to check it out. I was surprised at the selection under the "fish" section. I already thought that smoked salmon mind be a stretch, but manta ray? Maybe some day, but today I was going to go for traditional: cod.

After I paid for the grub, I walked outside to the middle of the popular street and--being a product of the 21st century--wanted to take an artsy picture of my food. I held up the boat fish and chips in the air and took some shots. I was trying to get the focus on the meal with the medieval street fair semi-blurred in the background, and had to iteratively keep adjusting the settings and focus. After six or seven shots, I happened to look around me and found that--as I was standing on display in the middle of a crowded area--several tables of people were watching me with raised eyebrows and wide eyes. I sheepishly waved and tried not to walk away too quickly to maintain my remaining dignity.

meh.

***Side note: not nearly as embarrassing as when I got caught practicing my "excited face" for a photo in the window of a car that I thought was empty. It wasn't.

I chose my picnic area to be the waterfront, near the arch (constructed 1584) where the Spaniards would dock to unload shipments (usually wine).

As I sat down, I noticed a friendly little swan pass by. Well this certainly set the mood! "Are you gonna eat all of that, mister?" He seemed to ask? (Swans are very expressive and it's very easy to discern their moods.) "Well, I guess I can spare a fry..."

I tossed a fry nubbin to him, which he handily beakily caught. But I hadn't anticipated what signal a mid-air fry is to the rest of the bird community. Suddenly, it was like The Birds 2: Will Kill for Fries. I would've taken some photos of the action, but I was busy protecting my eyeballs. Honestly, I imagined the scene to resemble The Little Mermaid, when (SPOILER ALERT) the animals crash the sham wedding.

I'd learned my lesson. Not "don't give food to animals," but "give food to animals discretely."

After the commotion died down and the opportunistic birds sought spoils elsewhere, a few remained to play a war of attrition. However, the white birds were into gaining more turf and squawked at each other until they were more interested in inter-avian fighting than waiting for food.

A brown bird, though, kept her distance until the white birds had distracted each other away. Then she would take a step forward, and kinda bat her eyelashes. She knew to "catch flies with honey, not with vinegar." As she got closer, I noticed that she would kinda change positions in an "Ain't I cute?" sort of way, but also a "Look at my sharp beak and talons. Think of how easily they could pierce soft tissue!" It was unsettling but effective.

When we'd gained each other's trust, I held out a fry between my fingers, and she ate from from my hand! (I can't imagine my response if she'd walked on my bag. Maybe like Buster's!) We bonded/enabled for a few more minutes, but then it was time for me to meet up with my carpool friends. For the heck of it, I decided to briefly examine their pecking order (literally!) by throwing a fry amongst a few birds. It was mildly amusing.

Before I left, I heard the mixed sounds laughter and shrieks. Apparently, two young women had started throwing bread crumbs to the birds, but the birds' appetite was greater than the speed at which the women could feed. It looked quite a bit like I imagine a out-of-whack flame thrower would, with the flame moving ever closer to the fuel source. I was glad that I was far away from that fiasco.

I did have quite a bit of food left over, but I dismissed the fleeting thought of throwing it into the air near some other tourists, thus inflicting a feeding frenzy on them. No, that'd be too mean. But if it were April 1st...

Dude, where's my yellow jersey?

*inhales deeply*

The Aran Islands (cousins, I think, to Blasket Island and Skellig Michael) are a group of three islands off the west coast of Ireland, the largest of which is Inishmore and measures 9 miles x 2 miles. It is often ranked in the top five places to visit in Ireland, probably because of the gorgeous landscapes and the quaintness of the isolated communities on the islands

Most people get to the Inishmore by 90-minute ferry, but I've already fully experienced the whole ferry option, and when I learned about the option to fly over in 8 minutes, I quickly chose the latter. The airport was teensy, which was reflected in its all things related to it.

Advertising on makeshift billboard for the airport.

The only check-in counter in the airport, complete with scaled (R)
to weigh passengers and balance the load.

I had originally bought my ticket for Friday (yesterday) because I could get earlier departures and later returns. And so that if the flights were canceled, I could reschedule for sometime this weekend. The fog on our side burned off pretty soon after the sun finally finished rising, but Inishmore insisted on sleeping in. The remaining blanket of fog over the landing strip thwarted our plans of flying over that day. Somewhere, a record needle scratched across a vinyl record and the agents asked people to either reschedule or hop over to the ferry.

Well, luckily I had built in some wiggle room into my plans, so I drove around Connemara instead on Friday and rescheduled Inishmore for Saturday.

Low-tech booking hardware. But hey, it works in a power outage!

When I arrived at the airport this morning, I was pleased to find that the weather decided to cooperate today and they loaded us up. I was less pleased to find that they gave the coveted front seat to someone besides me! Something about balancing the plane and wanting to not crash. psh.

A grand total of nine passengers fit in the plane, which was basically a minibus with a large wingspan. I that it was totally cool; I'd never flown in a plane so small! There was something very exhilarating about feeling the plane sway side-to-side with gentle gusts of wind that just isn't the same in a jumbo jet. It's like I was reminded often of the relatively precarious position that gliding through the air is.

Baggage deplaning.

Arrivals and Departures Hall.

There are a few options for exploring the island: minibus tour, horse-drawn cart tour, or cycling tour. As I had the extra time and have grown accustomed to enjoying my traveling independence, I opted for the freedom--and much-needed exercising--that self-propelled and -guided cycling offered.

My steed for the day.

Dún Aonghasa (or Angus Fort) is the main attraction on Inishmore. It is the ruins of a stone ring forts that date from around the Bronze Age to about 1000 AD. Knowing that the boatloads (literally) of ferry passengers would be arriving an hour or two after I had, and anticipating that Dún Aonghasa was also high on their list, I hopped on and pushed the pedals to the figurative medal.

After riding quite a while and through hilly areas (it's funny how you don't realize how much elevation change there is along a path until you run or cycle it), I saw some stones resting atop a hill in the distance. Correction: I saw stones organized in ruined circular formations. One thing I've learned about Ireland is there is often exposed bedrock and also many stone walls.

 After a few more minutes of huffing and puffing--this time on foot--I arrived at the top of the hill, the other side of which was a 200 ft cliff.

No guard rails. Watch your step!

It was fun to people watch and observe how hesitant people were by the edge. Of course, it's understandable, as huge gusts of wind could easily cause someone to lose balance.

But there were three creatures who didn't seem to mind the cliffs. A friendly, young dog followed me up to the fort, which was nice (though not as awesome as if it'd been a stoic mountain cat). At the top, a two birds near the edge chirped upon our arrival, the dog's ears perked up, tail wagged with fervor, and he emitted an excited yelp. They engaged in a daredevil game, for the dog at least. The birds would land on different parts of the cliffs and chirp chirp. The dog would run, and in the last minute, decide which bird to advance on. Then the birds would flit away and the dog would brake last minute. I thought the dog was in danger, but a ranger said that the dog and birds have been playing this game daily for the last two years!

The timing gods were smiling upon me, because I was alone for 15 minutes, and as I turned to retreat down, I saw hoards of ferry-going tourists advancing up the hill.

I was pretty tired from two days of early departure, and after my hike I ate a picnic lunch and happened up a small beach, at which point I felt like I was in the poppy field from Oz, and my eyelids got verry heavy. It was pleasantly warm, but I put on my jacket mostly for the eye shade, and soon ZZZs were upon me.

Not a bad napping spot, eh?

I wasn't asleep for long before the ferry-goers caught up to me there and I was awakened by a flock of Germans and pod of Spaniards. "Fine, I'll go find a more secluded napping spot!" My, what a snob I'd become!

After a bit more successful shut-eye, I ventured around the island, mostly admiring the general splendor and piecing together the small-community feel from the scale of infrastructure.

The island's only gas station and recycling center.

The island's bank branch.

Typical traffic jam.

The flight back went without a hitch... just enough turbulence to remind you of the fragility of existence. Fortunately, there were some beautiful views to distract you from dwelling on that too long!