may-you-go-safely

[may-you-go-safely]

It is 3am on my first night in Europe, and I can't sleep. For all intents and purposes, I should be fully passed out, dead to the world and it to me. I didn't sleep at all on my flight, having bonded with Russ, the older man sitting next to me. Russ was a fatherly figure if ever there was one, with salt and pepper hair and deep smile lines. He works for an aircraft company and was en route to Rome for a job on a military contract. We started chatting just as the plane was taxiing, and ended up talking solidly for four hours; we spoke of our families, our relationships, our ambitions, and our shared love of travel. We talked on and off for the entire flight, and bonded just about as much as two strangers sitting next to each other on a transatlantic flight can. Small gestures of familiarity soon characterized our interactions. I would pick up his dinner tray so that he could get up or sit back down. He would grab my trash from my tray and give me small servings of orange juice as the flight attendants passed in turn. I felt the strange impulse to hug this stranger when we parted ways. I arrived at the hostel at 11am, which my body felt as 3am, and I stowed my pack. Check in wouldn't be for another 3 hours and Parker, my very close friend who I am traveling with for the next two weeks, had not yet arrived in the city. So all I could do was wander. I stopped for a much needed coffee and walked up and down Karlsplatz for a bit of time, marveling at how this street - lined with familiar clothing stores and packed with meandering people - could be replaced by any one of the streets just like it in the other cities I've visited. Be it Grafton Street in Dublin or La Rambla in Barcelona, there is one in every city and they all have the same things to offer. It made me feel simultaneously comfortable and a bit sad. Parker finally arrived and it was a typical reunion, characterized by a hearty hug, some giggles, and a quick recap of our lives. We then departed the hostel in search of food. I was dead on my feet, hardly able to form words and much too willing to whine about my exhaustion. Parker, unyieldingly pragmatic and forever my keeper, told me I couldn't go to sleep until at least 7. I whined some more but knew he was right. After we ate a stereotypically German meal in a stereotypical German restaurant, complete with curt waitresses dressed in Bavarian garb, we had time to kill. We ended up at Hofbrauhaus, a famously rowdy Biergarten in the heart of the city. There we met an Australian girl names Meeka, who was there on break from he r deployment in the Middle East. And suddenly my early night turned to a late one. And this is how the rest of our time in Munich would go. We drank a whole lot of beer, saw some amazing art and architecture, went to a couple awful clubs, and ate more pork and cabbage than either of us anticipated eating. We are now in Prague and the adventures only grow. All is well.

[may-you-go-safely]

It is 3am on my first night in Europe, and I can't sleep. For all intents and purposes, I should be fully passed out, dead to the world and it to me. I didn't sleep at all on my flight, having bonded with Russ, the older man sitting next to me. Russ was a fatherly figure if ever there was one, with salt and pepper hair and deep smile lines. He works for an aircraft company and was en route to Rome for a job on a military contract. We started chatting just as the plane was taxiing, and ended up talking solidly for four hours; we spoke of our families, our relationships, our ambitions, and our shared love of travel. We talked on and off for the entire flight, and bonded just about as much as two strangers sitting next to each other on a transatlantic flight can. Small gestures of familiarity soon characterized our interactions. I would pick up his dinner tray so that he could get up or sit back down. He would grab my trash from my tray and give me small servings of orange juice as the flight attendants passed in turn. I felt the strange impulse to hug this stranger when we parted ways. I arrived at the hostel at 11am, which my body felt as 3am, and I stowed my pack. Check in wouldn't be for another 3 hours and Parker, my very close friend who I am traveling with for the next two weeks, had not yet arrived in the city. So all I could do was wander. I stopped for a much needed coffee and walked up and down Karlsplatz for a bit of time, marveling at how this street - lined with familiar clothing stores and packed with meandering people - could be replaced by any one of the streets just like it in the other cities I've visited. Be it Grafton Street in Dublin or La Rambla in Barcelona, there is one in every city and they all have the same things to offer. It made me feel simultaneously comfortable and a bit sad. Parker finally arrived and it was a typical reunion, characterized by a hearty hug, some giggles, and a quick recap of our lives. We then departed the hostel in search of food. I was dead on my feet, hardly able to form words and much too willing to whine about my exhaustion. Parker, unyieldingly pragmatic and forever my keeper, told me I couldn't go to sleep until at least 7. I whined some more but knew he was right. After we ate a stereotypically German meal in a stereotypical German restaurant, complete with curt waitresses dressed in Bavarian garb, we had time to kill. We ended up at Hofbrauhaus, a famously rowdy Biergarten in the heart of the city. There we met an Australian girl names Meeka, who was there on break from he r deployment in the Middle East. And suddenly my early night turned to a late one. And this is how the rest of our time in Munich would go. We drank a whole lot of beer, saw some amazing art and architecture, went to a couple awful clubs, and ate more pork and cabbage than either of us anticipated eating. We are now in Prague and the adventures only grow. All is well.

[may-you-go-safely]

Better late than never

I would say there are very few drawbacks of traveling with your best friend, but one of them is definitely the fact that sometimes you forget to sit down and reflect for a moment. I have a moment while I wait for a shower to open up to do a quick update. I'll post what I've typed out about Munich and post a few pictures. Then it's out into Prague!

[may-you-go-safely]

Home is where the heart is.

I have been home for a few weeks now, and it feels good to be stateside. Strange, no doubt, but good. I know this is coming a bit late, and I don't know if anyone is still reading, but I have been too busy enjoying the people around me. I have been reunited with my family and friends, I have been to my happy places like Frisco and Durango, and I have been soaking up as much sun as Colorado will give me right now.

While in Durango, I went to a pub called the Irish Embassy. I wasn’t missing Ireland until the moment I walked through those doors. It looked so much like my favorite places in Dublin, and suddenly an unexpected sadness washed over me. I longed for the light drizzle and cheerful music that I had become accustomed to when out in the city. I suddenly missed my friends and my roommates and generally the Irish people. I had a sip of my boyfriend’s Guinness, hoping to cheer myself up, but it just wasn't the same.

I am slowing becoming used to being home once again, but Ireland will always have a piece of me. I am already planning my return, but in the meantime Colorado is where my heart is... at least until my next adventure.

[may-you-go-safely]

Stateside

11 hour flight. Landed in San Fran. Too tired to type. En route to find candy.

[may-you-go-safely]

This is my final Guinness in Ireland, and my last legal beer until September 13th... I'd say it's bittersweet, but I am failing to find anything sweet about the fact that imported Guinness will be ruined for me now that I've tasted it in it's purest form. In about an hour I'll be getting on my 11 hour flight to San Francisco. Till then, I'm going to savor the black stuff and my last moments in this country, even if it is from inside an airport terminal.

[may-you-go-safely]

The life of a daffodil.

Well loved ones, this is it. I am officially into my last full 24 hour day in Ireland. The exams are done. The papers are (almost) turned in. My walls are bare of posters and pictures. My shelves are growing empty as I fold my clothes as small as they might go, in the futile hope of fitting everything back in my suitcase. As I did my last load of laundry tonight (which the chronically finicky student driers dried in one cycle, as if to bid me farewell) I saw that the daffodils that welcomed me when I first arrived are almost all spent. 

I remember the first one I saw. It was in St. Stephen’s Green on a gloomy day. I felt extraordinarily lost and alone in those first weeks here, and I ventured out into the bustle of the city in hopes of feeling less isolated. I knew the park would be beautiful when spring came and the trees woke up from their long naps, but at that point the gloom of the day was only amplified by the bare branches of these seemingly lifeless trees. That’s when I saw it; an almost alien burst of yellow beckoning me into a quiet corner of the park. It stood brazen against the fine, rich loam of the flowerbed. A daffodil. I nearly cried when I saw it, and I am emotional even recounting that moment. When I saw that flower, I knew I wasn’t so far from home after all.

They grow wild here, in the most absurd places. Though many people keep the beautiful flower in their well kept gardens, you wouldn’t be hard pressed to find a patch of them growing on a bank beside the motorway. I took cuttings of them, two or three at a time, and kept them in a beer bottle on the kitchen table. A Guinness bottle to be exact, as this felt the most appropriate. I passed large beds of them as I walked to class each day, marveling at what a miracle genetics are, to be able to make so many different sizes and shapes of the same flower. They were a constant companion to me throughout the semester, reminding me of home.

Now it seems that they are all wilted or well on their way, putting into perspective for me the incredible nature of time as is passes. I can measure this entire life changing journey in the life of a daffodil. What a beautifully, wonderfully terrifying notion.

[may-you-go-safely]

So this is where I took my exam today... Basically just a big ole barn with thousands (literally, like 3,000) individual desks in it. I felt like I was taking the SAT again. The testing protocol here is something I never got used to. But that was my last exam anyways! Now I just have to turn in a paper tomorrow, pack up, and get myself to the airport bright and early Wednesday... Where does the time even go?

[may-you-go-safely]

The Reagan Clan (sort of...)

After putting it off for far too long, I sent a letter to my family in Cork a couple weeks ago. I was really hoping to at least hear from them, if not go down and see them before the semester ended, but as my time to leave drew closer and closer, I feared I would have missed my opportunity. But yesterday, I got a call from an unknown Irish number. It was my VERY distant cousin Deirdre Sexton, who is just about my age. Nothing much came of it, besides knowing that one other exists, but it was a really lovely chat anyways. We are now Facebook friends, and I have every intention of meeting them all on my eventual return to Ireland. A big thank you to my Aunt Judy for all of her hard work in putting together family's information, as well as all of the wonderful cards I received throughout the semester. I saved every one of them.

[may-you-go-safely]

Exciting Opportunity!

I am so excited and honored to say that I have been asked by faculty at Rock Canyon High School to come back and share my experiences and my blog. I will be talking with a class of students who will soon be traveling to Europe!

This is so incredible, because I have realized that travel is something I am very passionate about, and that it has been invaluable in shaping who I am today, and who I want to be in the future. I would love nothing more that to share that love with some younger students, because in my mind, you can only learn so much in classrooms, especially when it comes to learning about yourself and the 7 billion other people that we share this floating space rock with.

Thank you so much to Miss Polly Poindexter, a.k.a. my other momma, for believing in me, supporting me, and sharing my work with her co-workers. Your presence, if only in the form of always liking my posts, has been a reminder throughout this semester of all the love I have in my life.

I hope more than anything that I can help create a small spark in these students, one that leads to adventure and self-discovery.

[may-you-go-safely]

Two nights ago I got the chance to see a band called The Staves at the famous Olympia Theatre with my dear friend Shane and his big sister. Do yourself a favor and look them up on Spotify or YouTube, because I can without a doubt say that this was my favorite show to date.

My semester is coming to a close. I have 5 more days in this amazing place. I won't be don't anything too exciting, but I promise to have a few more posts to round it out.

I love you all, and I can't wait to be home.

[may-you-go-safely]

The importance of laughing at yourself.

I totally forgot to tell this story when it happened, but it is worth telling, because I know it will be one of those stories I’ll always tell.

As you well may know, I was in Co. Wexford for Easter weekend, staying with my darling friend Rebecca and her wonderful mother. I had the most amazing time, and may be making my way back down this evening for my last relaxing weekend before finals madness take hold.

So story time kids. Gather round. Last time, I took the bus down by myself. I was meant to meet Rebecca during her lunch break (she goes home on the weekends and works in a mobile phone shop). I would then explore her town until she got off work. Easy. We had made this plan a couple days before when she first invited me. The important thing to keep in mind, in my own defense, was that we made this plan the morning after the Music Society Ball, and neither of us were really at 100% brain power, you know?

So anyways, when I looked at the bus schedule for the Wexford Bus, I see that the last stop is Wexford. She always said she was from Wexford. That her mum lives in Wexford. Got it? Wexford. It is obvious I am going to Wexford.

So I’m on the bus, about 2 hours in, and we are getting close to the end of the line. I realize the last two stops are in the same general area, and both with Wexford in the name. I was pretty confident it was the last stop, but I decided I should ask which on to get off at so I didn't have to walk forever or risk getting lost. Thank god for modern technology, because I texted Rebecca saying, and I quote, “Hey this is probably a silly question and I think I know the answer, but I get off at the very last stop yeah?”

I was not expecting the answer I received. She texted back very quickly saying, “No, you need to get off at Gorey. That’s in north Wexford. The last stop is all the way in South Wexford!”

Wexford. As in Co. Wexford. As in the entire County of Wexford. The whole thing. I got this message as I pulled in the last stop, where I now know is Wexfordtown. I had passed Gorey more than an hour earlier...

I have never laughed at myself harder than I did in that moment.

Everything worked out fine. I caught the next bus an hour later, and rode another hour back to Gorey. The bus driver even let me ride for free after I told him my story. Suffice to say I was a bit later than we had planned. Rebecca and her mum enjoyed ripping the piss (which means “making fun” for all my Americans) and I really didn't mind. It was hilarious.

So, life lesson time. When you get lost or end up in the wrong place, the best thing you can do is keep your head. Panicking or getting mad won't get you where you need to be any faster. Take a breath. Make your plan. Get somewhere safe and just relax. And always remember to laugh at yourself.

[may-you-go-safely]

Hello... Is it me you’re looking for?

Sorry I’ve been so bad about blogging recently. I know I must seem horribly boring. Well folks, that’s because I am so boring.

Finals are in full swing here. I am done with one class, with four more to go. I wrote out my next two weeks, and it really shouldn't be too bad. I can't tell if I am not as stressed as I thought I’d be, or if I’ve been so stressed for so long that I have lost all sense what not being stressed feels like. It’s one or the other. Probably the latter, because how else would I have gotten as sick as I currently am?

Yes, this sickly child is at it again! Hopefully I can avoid getting a chest infection this time, but something in me says that’s probably not going to happen. And when I say “something in me” I mean the mucus that is currently accumulating in my bronchioles.

On the bright side the weather has been lovely the past few days, and my sleep pattern is finally getting back to normal, For a while there, I was nearly on Colorado time. It was miserable, but I figured the silver lining was that if it stayed like that until I got home, I wouldn’t have to deal with jet lag!

I have just about 20 days left in this incredible journey, so I am going to try to make to most of it while I can. Maybe see some more of Ireland. I still haven't gotten in contact with my family. I tried a number I found online, but haven't received a call back. I am going to send a letter this weekend, and pray it finds them safely. 

For my people at home, I love you and I’ll see you in no time at all.

All is well.

[may-you-go-safely]

People keep talking about how different their taste in food has become since living and traveling in Europe.

[may-you-go-safely]

This was arranged by my dear friend Shane, and turned out great. Some deadly serious fun too.

[may-you-go-safely]

Things overheard

Last week, It was uncharacteristically sunny and warm here in Ireland. Absolutely gorgeous really. Everyone was pooling in the sunlight in an attempt to get some much needed vitamin D. As I walked out of the arts building, I heard something that struck me as rather funny. I heard an Irish boy say to his friend, "This is awesome. I feel so American." I wondered what he could have possibly been referring to. That is until I realized that the two boys were the last of a large group, backpacks in tow, with a professor leading the charge. They were having class outside... I don't know about you guys, but class outside isn't a regular thing for me back home. Not unless you absolutely beg, or the professor doesn't feel like doing anything too terribly important that day. I guess there are worse things they could be doing to make them feel American...

[may-you-go-safely]

I got to sing Wagon Wheel in The Wagon Wheel pub in Knockananna.