A Civic Welcome, Snail Mail, Sea Dipping & Quick Goodbye!

A lot has happened in this last week abroad, especially in the official Mercyhurst realm of things. For example, the group was invited by Tom, Carmel, and the mayor of Dungarvan to enjoy a civic welcome ceremony, where we were cordially welcomed into the town and received scrolls to prove we've been here. I really enjoyed the ceremony, as it gave some closure and set the tone for this last week. We also attended a closing dinner at Merry's Pub--which I wish I would have tried sooner because the food is so delicious--a Waterford Food Festival dinner at Interlude restaurant, and a final pub trivia at Minne's. This week has been filled with good foods and bittersweet goodbyes. 

I know I've had 7 weeks to do this, but I finally sent out the postcards, letters, and pieces of mail I've been trying to write. I think I'd finally settled into the feeling of this place, started to feel a part of it, and therefore felt that I could write about it. But the time crunch could've also affected this sudden accomplishment. Though the letters will arrive after I return, I'm grateful I could send them. Postage stamps are so interesting here: they come in all prints and designs, and randomly so you can enjoy them all without having to buy or request different books of them. 

My favorite part of this week--and possibly this whole trip--was a solo bike ride I took to Clonea Strand, a beach 6km into the Waterford Greenway. I spontaneously took this trip after Martha, a Waterford Food Festival worker, told me that the weather was perfect, and that it was absolutely the day to go. So after the lunch at Interlude, I changed and stopped over at a bike shop near the Greenway. 15 euro later, I was on my way. The bike ride was a good 30 minutes long, but the weather was sunny, the birds singing, and people were out and about. 

I'd added jumping into the sea, in some capacity (including surfing and cold plunging), to my bucket list for this trip earlier on. I'd really wanted to go, and even though everyone else had been busy in preparation for the wedding hours before and couldn't go, I was proud that I could take this venture even on my own. In fact, being alone gave me the permission to go slowly, take my time at the beach, and enjoy every moment and reflection. 

The beach was a bit off the Greenway, probably 1km, so I biked and walked the narrow paths until I saw there was a long line that'd been parked on the side of a curving country road. I knew I was close as I could hear delighted exclamations, gulls, and crashing of waves. I took my bike onto the beach and found a place to set up camp near the back by rocks. I parked next to a group of highschoolers still on holiday from Easter, or prepping for exams, playing hurling, and another beach-goer with a thick book. 

The walk into the ocean was freezing cold! Immediately, I was cold, and a little confused to see seaweed suspended at different levels in the water. But people were at the beach and swimming, so I trusted that it was safe to go in. By the time I'd submerged myself, I thought of Edna Pontillier from the The Awakening, where the sea called her, and where she ultimately walked into and died. As this was the only experience I've really had with the sea, it was an image of freedom and morbidity. I was afraid of running into sharks and jellyfish, but none were to be seen. The salty taste, but not smell, of the water surprised me, too, as I'm accustomed the smell and taste of freshwater Lake Erie. 

I spent the next hour in limbo of getting in and out of the sea, and following the wind as it pulled me. It was the freest I've felt in the entire trip because I was off making my own adventures. This is alike Seamus Heaney's "Girls Bathing, Galway 1955":

The swell foams where they float and crawl,

A catherine-wheel of arm and hand.

Each head bobs curtly as a football.

The yelps are faint here on the strand.

No milk-limbed Venus ever rose

Miraculous on this western shore;

A pirate queen in battle clothes

Is our sterner myth. The breakers pour

Themselves into themselves, the years

Shuttle through space invisibly.

Where crests unfurl like creamy beer

The queen's clothes melt into the sea

And generations sighing in

The salt suds where the wave has crashed

Labour in fear of flesh and sin

For the thime has been accomplished

As through the swallows in swimsuits,

Brown-legged, smooth-shouldered and bare-backed

They wade ashore with skips and shouts.

So Venus comes, matter-of-fact.

This poem compares a beach day to a painting akin to Bottecelli's The Birth of Venus, yet enacts it in real life and through a historical lens. The history becomes alive through the people of the day. In this day, I got to create a little bit of history of my own, in pursuing this adventure. 

This is my last blog for class! It's been a pleasure getting to share some of my thoughts and adventures with you! 

Irish Music Crash Course at Downey's

I took groups to Downey's Bar, for some good craic and music at the beginning of the trip. But, because of busy schedules, I hadn't returned until two nights ago, when Joe Power invited the entire group to see some traditional Irish music. The trad session night was completely different from the singing/music/poetry groups that happen in the loft of the bar. It was touching to see musicians be completely tuned into their craft while simultaneously finding rest in music. 

From having played marimba and bass drum in the Mercyhurst marching and pep bands, I know exactly how difficult it is to improvise a song. My jaw was literally on the floor when these musicians seemed to identify all of the notes, harmonies, and rhythms of the songs, and play them all together without so much as an afterthought. It helped me to learn that many of the musicians may know these sets of songs and tunes, which reflects how ingrained music is into Irish culture. I really wish there was some vehicle for fostering music and creative groups in America, though I've yet to find it like this pub scene. 

While there, I heard some Irish instruments for the first time, including the Uillean pipes (played by a bellow under the elbow), a harp (the national instrument), and the Bodhrán (a drum played perpendicularly). There was even a nationally renowned singer there for the night. All of the musicians were fantastic in their playing, and I could tell that each of them really enjoyed the songs and adding in their takes on the parts. For the most part, I also saw people switching through instruments, dancing, and singing. 

Many of the tunes turned later into drinking songs, where the audiences got involved in the singing and merrymaking. I loved this part, too, as it reminded me of the Clancy's Kitchen concert where the whole audience sang along. Though I'm not a concert-goer, I could never imagine something like this happening at the Erie Philharmonic. I sang in the choir for the Erie Philharmonic for a year and, even then, the passion we sang with pales in comparison to this group's sharing of it. 

I learned, by this experience, that music and passion is meant to be shared. The Irish make music that sounds of the heart. While it's tempting to harbor and develop, into perfection, the things we love and carry with us. But, it's even more rewarding to share these gifts with others, to test them through performance, and to expand upon them. This is something that I'm going to carry with me beyond the trip, and hope to continue learning the guitar and other instruments (of which I'm an amateur, still learning). I've missed making music, since leaving, and really want to get back to it. After seeing so many people play their own renditions, I'm hoping to do the same. 

I have to quote a drinking song, not because it's something we're learning but something we're living. I think the lyrics could be just as important as any piece of literature because people know it, share it, and understand it. Perhaps even the great Yeats or Heaney themselves shared in singing one of the songs, too. For what is literature meant for if not to be shared? 

In "Wild Rover," the chorus revolves around a ship that travels beyond the earth, and is then lost. I think it also revolves around life, and pursuing life even in the face of everyday death. For if we can't play the wild rover anymore, then what have we to live for? 

"I've been a wild rover for many's the year

and I've spent all me money on whiskey and beer

but now I'm returning with gold in great store
and I never will play the wild rover no more

And it's no, nay, never
no, nay never no more
will I play the wild rover
no never no more" 

The lyrics are living, sung, and real. I think this as good an example of literature as this night's musicians are passion. 

"And Hope and History Rhyme"

Last week, all of the study abroad students took a day trip to Cork to see the Cork City Jail! I really enjoyed the experience because the exhibits were interactive, especially with the audio guides we'd purchased. I'd never gone through a tour with a prerecorded audio guide, and I liked the idea of choosing, skipping, and controlling the volume of the narratives that played through the headphones. I loved watching everyone walk around rocking their popstar headphones! 

The narratives on the audio guides were recorded in different voices, and it really helped to bring the statues of characters to life. I also enjoyed getting to walk into cells, tour the corridors, and even took a picture of a dark gated off corridor, which revealed a statue (or real person, who knows?) wandering down the depths of the hallway. It was a little creepy because the jail was at the top of a hill in the city, away from the noise of traffic and people. 

Parts of the jail had fallen into disrepair, and the cold, drafty air seeped through the thick concrete and stone walls. After walking around the back of the castle and viewing the lone oval trodden deep into the ground in the exercise yard, rusted postings where prisoners were presumably chained up and whipped, and seeing the bars across windows definitely left an air of creepiness and despair. Had I not known it was a jail, I would have wanted to leave as soon as possible, from the context speaking volumes that some horrible things had happened to people here. 

This experience reminded me that the bad, as well as the good, must be told and remembered. I think the Irish do a fantastic job of telling these stories while acknowledging differences in opinion. There's something about Irish poetry, as it's so directly political yet it still sings the truths of the nation. This particular visit reminds me of the line that Heaney toes in this poem "The Cure at Troy." He writes:

The Cure at Troy

Human beings suffer 

They torture one another, 

They get hurt and get hard. 

No poem or play or song 

Can fully right a wrong 

Inflicted and endured. 

The innocent in gaols 

Beat on their bars together. 

A hunger-striker’s father 

Stands in the graveyard dumb. 

The police widow in veils 

Faints at the funeral home. 

History says, Don’t hope 

On this side of the grave… 

But then, once in a lifetime 

The longed-for tidal wave 

Of justice can rise up, 

And hope and history rhyme. 

So hope for a great sea-change 

On the far side of revenge. 

Believe that a further shore 

Is reachable from here. 

Believe in miracles 

And cures and healing wells. 

Call miracle self-healing: 

The utter, self-revealing 

Double-take of feeling. 

If there’s fire on the mountain 

Or lightning and storm 

And a god speaks from the sky 

That means someone is hearing 

The outcry and the birth-cry 

Of new life at its term. 

It means once in a lifetime 

That justice can rise up

And hope and history rhyme. 

His poem is both hopeful, yet acknowledges all of the horrible things humans have done in marching armies to peace. This parallels Yeats' "No Second Troy," where Helen of Troy is blamed for having destruction. I think Heaney's version is a more accessible (with less classic references) and truer picture of humanity. 

The rest of the day, after these reflections, was spent exploring Cork. We stopped in at the English Markets and a few stores, a pub, and then took a bus home. I really enjoyed my time here at the jail, as the stories were true to history and created such an innovative and interactive experience. 

The Great Irish Bake Off

During the Waterford Food Festival, I got to sub in at an event where we checked in contestants, lined up contest submissions, and helped to judge some of the final products! I helped with the Kids' Baking Contest, and got to see so many cute designs and creative works. 

Some of my favorite from the event were Captain Underpants cookies (done by a 4 year-old who licked one of the cookies before handing them to a judge), a 3D beach scene cookie, Spiderman web cookies, a sideways primrose lemon curd cake, and a chocolate ganache strawberry cake. With this being a kids' competition, the entries were really impressive. I'm not even sure I could bake what these contestants brought to the table. 

If you've ever seen Cake Wars or The Great British Bakeoff, this was exactly the scene. Though the entries came in made already, I got to meet them and get to know a little bit about each masterpiece. I learned so much about their excitement and curiosity in the process, and some of them even shared their inspiration for the pieces. So much imagination went into making them. 

It was difficult to help judge them after having met each of the contestants, especially knowing that only a few could win in each category. I learned a few things from judging, including the idea that we're all critics, which the judges advised us to exercise. We judged based on taste, color, and texture. For some of the desserts that were stunning, the taste and textures brought them down a peg, and vice versa. 

I also learned that cookies (and other desserts) are supposed to have a flavor besides sugar. I'd never thought this through before, but when the panel of judges agreed that many sugar cookies didn't have any flavor, I realized I'd been eating cookies on autopilot my whole life. Instead of eating the cookie, they were experiencing every note and texture. In this way of eating, just one bite became sufficient instead of a whole cookie. This was especially true because we had 2 folding tables' worth of desserts to sample. 

After tasting came the judging. My personal favorites in the cookie category were a lemon and caraway flavored cookie and an orange and seaweed cookie. In the cake category, the flavor of the chocolate ganache strawberry cake took first for me, while the primrose lemon curd took second. The final decisions were influenced by our collective eating, which is funny to think about because we immediately noted the highlights and lowlights of the desserts. 

I intensely enjoyed this experience and was so glad to be included, even if I went home after a sugar crash. This experience reminds me of Yeats' poem, "The Host of the Air," where a faery feeds a man and then drowns him. The food becomes a lesson for experience:

"The dancers crowded about him,

And many a sweet thing said,

And a young man brought him red wine
And a young girl white bread.

But Bridget drew him by the sleeve,
Away from the merry bands,
To old men playing at cards
With a twinkling of ancient hands." 

In this larger world, we are constantly crossing tides between tradition and trailblazing the future. I think this nods to the past of food, which becomes alluring and immoral in Yeats' poem, while the event today nods to the enjoyment of food for new bakers and an intense exploration. Food can take on so many metaphors and meanings in everyday life, which depends on the experience of an individual person. 

Senior English Project Presentations

Hi, everyone! Exciting news: I finally presented my Senior English Project (SEP) thesis! It's been such a struggle to wrestle through ideas and literature, especially when the topic is my own making. I've never been more proud of putting together a topic, though I have to finish the paper (which may not be as well spoken as the presentation, since it's a longer format). I'm excited to have the presentation out of the way! 

I wanted to share a little bit about the ideas in my project even though you saw this as a practice presentation in the last Literary Ireland class. I'll write more about the personal side of the project and everything I've learned since start. I didn't realize the lessons I've learned would all come near the end of my undergraduate education, so this will be a blend of lessons from SEP and my last year of college, especially focusing on study abroad. This has really been a time of growth and challenged me to get out of my comfort zones! 

What I've Struggled with in SEP: (and the lessons I've learned)

- Not really, clearly knowing my argument without a time constraint. Once the 10-minute block and slides were assigned to summarize the 40-page paper I'd written, I was forced to articulate and understand which ideas were central to my argument. I learned to make my ideas as clear as possible from the start. 

- Experiencing imposter syndrome. Even when I was writing daily and making progress on my topic, I felt like I wasn't heading in the right direction with the argument. Though this was in part telling me to shift the thesis, it made me feel as though I wasn't accomplishing anything. Though it did force me to track the times I was working to prove to myself that I was making process, I never need to question whether I'm doing enough. I've learned that I can show up in different capacities everyday, and these capacities will be different each day. Progress will look different daily. 

- Bad grammar. Yes, it's ironic that an English major admits to not having a great handle on grammar, I know. I truly see it as a topic that's acquired. Even when I try to study grammar, the lessons are lost because I don't regularly practice them. So I edit and take criticism as it comes--and it will--which I (hope I) learn from. 

- There's something so liberating about choosing a topic, but it's a double-edged sword, because you might lose interest later on. I chose Ulysses not because I enjoyed it but because concept of food and consumption made a great example for the things I was interested in. Even though I don't currently want to be a Joyce scholar, I had a good time pulling apart the threads I was interested in. Believe it or not, my topics were between Canterbury Tales or Ulysses because consumption really stuck out to me in both books. I'm glad I chose Joyce's work because I was more recently familiar with that one. 

What I've Struggled with in Senior Year: (and what I've learned)

- Saying yes to too many things. I love to be involved, but overworked myself in the first semester while adding an internship for more credits (that doubled the hour requirement) instead of taking it for the more minimal hour requirement. I was also taking 18 credits, leading a club, performing and attending practices for marching band on weekdays and weekends, and trying to maintain social and home lives. Between all of these things, I found myself saying "yes" to every request, which sometimes meant working well into the night and losing out on things that are important to me. I've learned that saying "yes" to things that are challenging is good, to delegate things where I can, and most importantly to reflect and see what's most important for my priorities. In the second semester, the internship office I worked with before asked if I could return in the same capacity. As I had picked up working two jobs again to afford study abroad, I knew this wouldn't have made my hectic schedule any easier, and had to decline. I was grateful for the opportunity but learned that keeping myself sane is the larger battle in the grand scheme of things. 

- Taking up space and time. I'm a middle child and sometimes struggle with the idea of taking up space and time, especially when everyone else is busy and we all live in a chaotic world. I've made more of an intentional effort to be present and proud of the things I do, and the person I am every day. 

- Not fitting in. I didn't understand the life of a college student until I studied abroad, where the days opened up and somehow we all filled them. I've learned a lot about myself, and also about the activities I personally don't enjoy. It's been difficult to accept that I can still have fun, while seeing everyone grow closer because of the bonding that happens during typical college activities. I've learned to find strength in my individuality, to be proud of the things I enjoy and take time to do, and to attend events for a little while to be a part of the group while respecting my boundaries. 

So there you have it. A brief glimpse into my personal life, which seems to be expanding and compressing at once, as graduation approaches. I'm so grateful for all of these experiences. 

This reflection ties well into Heaney's "Personal Helicon," where he describes a well so deep that there's no reflection in it: 

"One, in a brickyard, with a rotted board top.
I savoured the rich crash when a bucket
Plummeted down at the end of a rope.
So deep you saw no reflection in it." 

Sometimes, I get glimpses of a reflection in life that I know will be ever-changing. It's nice to think about it in this way; that all of the lessons I've learned are already changing the person at the well now. 

Who's the Critic?

I love that Ireland hosts such a blend of cultures, ethnic traditions, and celebrates diversity! I espeically love the vibrant food scene here! I've seen and tried so many more Indian and Middle Eastern restaurants since being here in the past 8 weeks, and have even gotten to name some new favorites. In my opinion (which I won't say too loudly while we're here), Irish food isn't really enjoyable, mostly because it lacks the punch of flavor, textures, and cohesion that I love. 

So in case you've been waiting, I've compiled a list of my favorite foods I've tried while abroad. I'm an adventurous eater and like to try all sorts of things, even if I've never had them before. Some of my favorite experiences here are connected to food and the people I've shared meals with, too. Perhaps you'll hear some story snippets here and there :). 

Mussels in Galway

These were so delicious! It was my first time trying mussels, and it's definitely I dish I have to be in the mood for, but the sauce and the bread really made every flavor work together well. 

Scone at the Cliffs of Moher

Sometimes I dream about this scone--a white chocolate and raspberry version--because it was everything and nothing all at once. The flaky crumb of the bread itself was a cross between a drop biscuit and a croissant, and I'd order this again in a heartbeat. The clotted cream, butter, and jam really put this one over the top. 

Açai Bowls at Healthy Fresh Deli in Dungarvan

If you haven't had an açai bowl from this local spot in town, run to get one. Get the normal base--it's like having ice cream for breakfast but without the sugar crash--and top it with your favorite toppings. I loved to add in some chocolate chips or nutella for a contrast to the texture of the base. 

Pan Friend Asian Eggs at Kimmy's Café in Dungarvan Square

This one came out of left field for me: I wasn't expecting a little café to have a restaurant-quality dish served in 15 minutes. The whole dish was creative, and because of that, it was rather remarkable. The base were potato gratins, cooked crispy and layered with spinach, eggs, chilli oil, and peanut sauce. I got the extra spicy version, which wasn't too spicy at all, but it was interesting for sure. I'd like to go back and try their other dishes. 

Chilli Thrill in Galway

Maybe it was just because I was really hungry after a long day of travelling, but this food was fresh and tasted so good. They gave me two dipping sauces as well, one ginger chilli and the other garlic mayo, which soothed the heavy flavors of all the different foods. The box I got had doner meat, vegetable pakora, onion rings, chilli-battered chicken tenders, pita, fries, and the toppings for a gyro. It was such a blend of flavors, and the box lasted me for three separate meals because there was so much food. I distinctly remember the joy that came from eating food with excellent flavor! 

Lastly, a special mention to my new love: Irn Bru. Specifically the Zero Sugar version, since I don't get a sugar rush from it, and not the X-tra strength flavor one. I drank this so much in Scotland because it was everywhere, and it has become my new favorite soft drink, even rivalling Coke. I miss it already, and haven't seen it since we left the UK. 

All of these foods remind me of Yeats' "Drinking Song," for obvious mentions of food and consumption. Its short stanza is sweet and clear, yet it leaves a remarkable taste in memory. It gets me thinking if I'm really a reviewer of food, or if the food shows me what kind of tastes I have. It's just like the wine and love in the poem, where truth is obscured by the presence of these things, asking if there's a critic at all. 

"Wine comes in at the mouth

And love comes in at the eye; 

That's all we shall know for truth

Before we grow old and die. 

I lift the glass to my mouth, 

I look at you, and I sigh." 

Snugs, Pubs, & Bars

You won't believe what I encountered in real life! REAL LIFE people, this is not a drill! Exit the building and take the left down to Davitt's Quay, WARNING this may be your only chance to escape! 

Okay, keep walking down the strip, yes past the bus stops and toward The Anchor. Keep going. Watch out for cars, they keep you on your toes. Yes, it's okay to stop and look at the harbor, but don't stay for too long--it might be gone! 

Finally, you've made it! You might have to turn sideways to make it through the half doors and duck out of the rain. Pull up a stool, admire the quaint atmosphere, yes it's okay to take your time here. The walls are blue, the wooden bar is standing as it did some forty years ago still polished and the same. 

And just as you've settled into the striped throw pillows, bam! Someone's come in and beelined directly to the bar. You don't think they mean business, and you're doubting their seriousness, until...wait for it...they approach the snug. That's a signal they mean business. 

Do you know where you are? Does the steaming bowl of fish chowder served up fresh in front of you bring this context to a close? 

Yes, we've made it to The Moorings. And since we've made it here, you might as well enjoy the food and ambience; it'd be a shame if you didn't. 

This was exactly the experience I had when I stopped into The Moorings for a quick bite to eat. As I ducked out of the torrential downpour and squeezed my way through the vertical half door, I was seated at a table in the front, and didn't notice the corner labeled "The Snug," until I'd stared at it for 20 minutes.

The Mooring's Snug has a sign above it in the top right corner! 

Since we'd spoken about snugs in class, I've noticed them more in the wild. Now, in almost every pub I go to, I try to figure out where the snugs are or if they have one at all. And since we're on the topics of bars, I guess I've never gone up to a snug and sat in one, mostly because I like to savor the moments. I think this would make an interesting scene in a story, and will add it to the collection of things to write. 

In the meantime, I'd like to rate all of the pubs I've been to based off of their snugs (or lack thereof): 

1. The Lady Belle: their pub has an entire separate room on the first floor for serious drinkers. 

2. The Moorings: the snug has a little sign above it (pictured below), and it's so cute! 

3. The Anchor: no snug in sight, but it does have a labyrinth of rooms!

4. Nagle's: There's a hallway sort of room in the middle of the bar that makes for a good flow in the bar, and works as a snug too

5. Downey's: their snug is right at the beginning of the bar and it's well lit, but the ambience is too good, with the fire just on the other side, to commence snug-sitter activities. 

Snugs remind me of Heaney's "Casualty," where the fisherman friend dies but Heaney remembers him in the bar. I can imagine that the snug isn't where this fisherman was sitting, though he might have been close, trying to disguise his drinking as a quick stop. All of the townspeople might know that he'd stay in the pub well until after the sun dipped below the river's edge, or that he left earlier for his work. 

Who's to say? 

"But my tentative art   

His turned back watches too:   

He was blown to bits   

Out drinking in a curfew   

Others obeyed, three nights   

After they shot dead   

The thirteen men in Derry."

There's something to be said about the people in the poem--they're told as if they're living out it--and it creates such a memorial piece. The protagonist actually reminds me of Hemingways The Old Man and The Sea, both of whom drank and were fishermen, both of whom were fishermen. Santiago, however, comes home, and the Casualty does not. The ending has the same kind of affinity for a tragic, yet moralistic, ending with a lesson.