The heavens opened in Dublin

The weather has been pretty dang awesome for the time I've been here: not Atlanta-hot, and only occasionally drizzly. In fact, when Irish hosts apologize for those times when it rains, I just reply that it doesn't bother me and just reminds me of my Oregon roots.

Today I really felt at home.

This morning I received a campus tour of Trinity College before seeing the Book of Kells and their picturesque library. About 20 minutes into the tour, the guide was describing the campanile and the surrounding Oregon Maple trees that are the largest in the world of their type, when he stopped mid-sentence and remarked that he'd had enough of the liquid sunshine. (It really wasn't that bad. Somewhere between an Oregon Coast Mist and Halloween Drizzle.) A couple in the group beat me to it, "It's okay, we're from Seattle!" I had thought there was something special about them; out of our group of roughly 20, the three of us were the only ones not using an umbrella. (Side note: at Oregon State University, that's how we knew who the Californian out-of-state students were.)

Also, no wonder the Oregon Maples did so well in that location; it's like Oregon weather x10.

I got into line early enough to avoid the death line that built up later in the day, saw the Book of Kells (how many monks went blind illustrating that? Holy cow!)

I really wish I'd meant to make that pun. Let me explain: the pages are made out of vellum, which is processed and preserved calf skin. As this vellum has the Four Gospels written on it, it is literally a holy cow! I'll pretend like I planned it.

Then I saw their gorgeous library and took the requisite photos that 3,213,567 tourists take every year. As I left, I pitied that poor souls that had to wait in the extended line in the rain.

A coping/strategizing method that my mom taught me as a child was to look at tricky situations and imagine that I were an orphan who had to resolve it alone. Well later in the day today, the rain got into full-on Late November Storm level, and I had to keep telling myself, "Just pretend you're a monk on Skellig Michael." It was moderately assuaging.


***I've heard that there are many different ways of describing levels and types of frozen precipitation in the Russian language because so much of their winter is full of snow/hail/дождь со снегом. It's fitting that I am so well-acquainted with liquid precipitation that I can easily classify levels of it.

Finding St. Kevin

As I was driving this afternoon from Limerick to Dublin, the road took me through the Wicklow Mountains. After several miles of gentle uphill, I finally reached the pass (Wicklow Gap) and as I turned the corner, the view was one of those that takes your breath away (I feel like I've written that once or twice...). I suppose objectively speaking, it was a visually interesting area: I was in the "saddle" between two mountains, with views of valleys in front and behind me, with peaks on my left and right. But in addition to that, the scene had a calming ambiance about it, with a cool breeze that at once kept me in the present and gave me the sensation of soaring above the earth.

I noticed a little path marker with an insignia I'd seen elsewhere in Ireland, and upon reading the plaque on the side of the road (always read the plaque!) I learned that it was St. Kevin's Path. It leads across Ireland to Glendalough, the site of St. Kevin's monastery settlement.

St. Kevin was an ascetic monk who--like the monks of Skellig Michael--sought to test his faith and serve God by living as a hermit. However, it after some time, he was discovered (actually, the story of his discovery is fun: a local farmer's cow produced twice as much milk as his other cows, and the farmer followed the cow to see what its secret was. He found it licking the feet of a sleeping St. Kevin, who was resting in his lakeside cave!) and he developed a following around 540 AD. This group grew and eventually became a monastery settlement, a community of both religious and working folk.

At the time in Ireland, there were really no cities or even towns, and these monastery settlements--independent in nature (not Cistercian, Benedictine, etc)--provided the benefits of communal living. Over the next few centuries, people would pilgrimage to Glendalough, especially pregnant women for prenatal blessings, and the Catholic Church considered seven trips to Glendalough equivalent in indulgence to one pilgrimage to Rome. Pretty convenient if you lived around the corner!

However, the settlement (like most Irish monastery settlements) started to decline at the turn of the 13th century due to the rise of Dublin, the invasion of the Normans, and the increasing pressure and influence of Continental religious orders.

Unlike my experiences elsewhere, like St. Bridget's Well, I didn't notice any pilgrims there. I did notice that there was a stall selling trinkets and a few ice cream stands... perhaps to tie in with the cow that had a fondness for St. Kevin's feet?

A non-rhetorical question I have is: why did religious devotees feel like living life as a hermit would be the best way to fulfill their devotion to God? I mean, I can't blame the monks for choosing Glendalough and Skellig Michael (among others) as gorgeous places to settle, but what was the motivation for wanting to leave "the world"? I would think that, like many other people of faith, they would want to serve God by serving others. Perhaps the seclusion allowed them to ponder God's majesty and test their resolve. I have a sneaking feeling that my questions would be answered if I checked out Wikipedia's hermitage entry...

Anyway, it turned out that the many monastery settlements in Ireland, most of which grew out of the secluded religious community movement, were instrumental in keeping the "torch of civilization"alive during the Dark Ages; after the fall of Rome, when Western Civilization was crumbling away on the European mainland, secluded monks were hunched over manuscripts and parchments, pondering and duplicating religious texts (like the Book of Kells). This preserved Western culture and purportedly made the Renaissance possible.

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...