The Air Is Fresh and Sweet
Magdeburg is being smiled upon by the weather deities. We finally have spring! Today is gorgeous. Blue sky, gentle breeze, 65 degrees or so. Instead of going to the park, where my fresh air would be ruined by ubiquitous cigarette smoke and bees and ants and all sorts of icky crawling things, I am sunbathing on the roof of our building.
It's a very nice roof, full of character. It's L shaped and sloped, which gives me a woozy feeling whenever I stand up. There are nine old chimney stacks (or some sort of stacks) and one satellite receiver. The roof itself is not a uniform black; the vertical portion of the L is a rough grey with black tarring, whereas the foot is more charcole-colored. We have a nice view of the Magdeburger Dom and various church spires, the railway tracks, and a bit of the Hundertwasserhaus. I like this roof and am proud to call it mine. Our wlan is also strong enough to get up here, which is wonderful.
Row Row Row Your Boat
Since Jeanne has begged me to let go of any aspirations I may have had of playing rugby, I need to find something else to occupy me at Mount Holyoke. She mentioned that crew, riding, and lacrosse do not require one to have played in high school. I like animals and did a brief stint of summer camp riding, but I have a feeling I'd be pretty lousy on an equestrian team. Lacrosse could be neat, but I am worried about that which NO incoming college student worries about: losing weight! Lacrosse involves a lot of running, and while that's super for cardio and all, I have heard that running is good for weight loss. Admittedly I don't really know what I'm talking about, but it seems logical, and I really don't want to lose any weight. Just the opposite.
Now as to crew, I don't look at myself in the mirror and see "rower" written all over me. I'm small and elbowy and not very strong (which can change, of course, but the small and elbowy is there to stay, I think). Then I think to meself, "Self, there is one person who sits in the boat and doesn't need to be big and unelbowy! The cox!" And I'd be terrific at yelling at people at 5am. :-P But seriously, I've been getting up earlier recently and really enjoying it, so that wouldn't be an issue.
It's a strange feeling though, thinking about being a cox. My aunt coaches crew and I know next to nothing about the sport. I do know, however, that the cox is responsible for controlling the boat and rowers; it is not just motivation -- it is also the technical aspects. Why should anyone put that trust in me? It seems a mighty lot to think I could learn enough about it in time for practices, let alone a race.
And if this is me thinking about Division III Junior Varsity Crew, imagine how I feel about possibly becoming a doctor. At least that's not for a long time, if it is to happen at all.
Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
I am very happy that my parents are coming in a few weeks. I love them very very much.
I will also be doing something that, at the beginning of this year, I never would have thought possible: missing the school and co-workers and kids. The year isn't even over yet, but what with MHC excitement, parents visiting, and sommer coming, it is certainly winding down. Just under four months left.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Saturday, April 12, 2008
You Can Make Me Really Happy...
... by getting me Irish Gaelic textbooks and CDs. Or by sending me to Ireland for an introductory course. Or both! And I wouldn't mind anything that has to do with Ireland, really, especially if it involves pretty pictures of the land.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
More on Med School
I'm Weird
When I ride the trolley to work early in the morning, there are often many students who take the same trolley. One batch of them gets off at Liebknechtstraße and the second batch at Spielhagenstraße. At each of these stops is a school and the students are all on their way to class. They carry backpacks and textbooks and posters and lunchboxes. They talk about teachers and courses and tests and grades and planning prom.
Dear God.
It's so annoying.
Not because the students are disagreeable, but because when I ride with them, I feel distinctly at a loss. I like school. I am a good student. I do the learning thing pretty well. And after 14 years of class, suddenly not having homework or papers or textbooks is baffling. It's difficult not to be a student. Really difficult. I mean, I'm looking forward to finally getting my summer reading assignment from Mount Holyoke, whereas most high school grads can't wait to never again have summer reading. Freak.
I think this is one of the reasons I want to go to medical school. If asked to write a sentence containing the phrases "medical school" and "safety net" a reasonable outcome would be something in the order of, I have a safety net set up in case I get rejected from medical school. Why, oh why, is my sentence, I want to go to medical school because it is a safety net to protect me from never needing to actively study again.
Of course it isn't that simple. But the idea of planning my future in a series of educational gradients is quite attractive. High school, college, med school, residency, CMEs... Yep, sounds great.
How weird am I?
Two Neat Med School Programs
1. Mount Sinai Humanities & Medicine Early Acceptance Program sounds as if it were created just for me. Sarah's Special. Go read. It's super-duper cool.
2. The Atlantic Bridge Program is also attractive, though really it is just an application service to apply to Irish medical/dental/veterinary schools. Hmmm. I doubt my folks would be so thrilled at my spending four years in Ireland, and to be honest I'm not entirely sure how I would feel, but... I really do want to go back to Galway. If I get into the Mount Sinai program, I could probably do a semester/year abroad there, but if I don't, then the premed courseload will be in all likelihood too intense to take the time "off."
When I ride the trolley to work early in the morning, there are often many students who take the same trolley. One batch of them gets off at Liebknechtstraße and the second batch at Spielhagenstraße. At each of these stops is a school and the students are all on their way to class. They carry backpacks and textbooks and posters and lunchboxes. They talk about teachers and courses and tests and grades and planning prom.
Dear God.
It's so annoying.
Not because the students are disagreeable, but because when I ride with them, I feel distinctly at a loss. I like school. I am a good student. I do the learning thing pretty well. And after 14 years of class, suddenly not having homework or papers or textbooks is baffling. It's difficult not to be a student. Really difficult. I mean, I'm looking forward to finally getting my summer reading assignment from Mount Holyoke, whereas most high school grads can't wait to never again have summer reading. Freak.
I think this is one of the reasons I want to go to medical school. If asked to write a sentence containing the phrases "medical school" and "safety net" a reasonable outcome would be something in the order of, I have a safety net set up in case I get rejected from medical school. Why, oh why, is my sentence, I want to go to medical school because it is a safety net to protect me from never needing to actively study again.
Of course it isn't that simple. But the idea of planning my future in a series of educational gradients is quite attractive. High school, college, med school, residency, CMEs... Yep, sounds great.
How weird am I?
Two Neat Med School Programs
1. Mount Sinai Humanities & Medicine Early Acceptance Program sounds as if it were created just for me. Sarah's Special. Go read. It's super-duper cool.
2. The Atlantic Bridge Program is also attractive, though really it is just an application service to apply to Irish medical/dental/veterinary schools. Hmmm. I doubt my folks would be so thrilled at my spending four years in Ireland, and to be honest I'm not entirely sure how I would feel, but... I really do want to go back to Galway. If I get into the Mount Sinai program, I could probably do a semester/year abroad there, but if I don't, then the premed courseload will be in all likelihood too intense to take the time "off."
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Occupation 101
Every year on this weekend, Magdeburg observes a memorial day in honor of those lost in the WWII bombing of the city. Every year on this weekend, the Neo-Nazis demonstrate, publicizing their claim that bombings such as these were the "true Holocaust," and that the Germans ought to revere the men who fought to defend their land. There are, of course, counter demonstrations, ranging from organized, peaceful groups, to roudy antifa punk cliques.
I had considered going to the demonstration, but I slept in and it was raining (ain't I a great activist?), so I lazed about for the morning reading a cookbook. Late afternoon, I settled on Stir Fried Chicken with Chinese Cabbage and Death By Chocolate Torte. The rain had let up, so I ventured out to go buy the ingredients. By this time, I figured, the protests must be over, as they had started around 9:00am.
How wrong I was.
Walking through the city was surreal. It was still dark and wet, spritzing a bit, and hardly anyone was on the street. And then I saw the blue lights flashing up ahead. Another block. One more block. And then, there they were. The Nazis.
The wore all black, and carried black flags with them. This was their "Trauermarsch" - a Mourning March. And all around were police. So many officers in olive green, white helmets on or at their sides. Cars, vans, trucks. Ambulances and motorcycles.
It was surreal. At first, I didn't realize they were the Nazis, because they were so quiet. I thought it might have been a counterdemo. But then I got close enough to read the signs. Disgusting messages and thoughts covered up to seem simply 'patriotic' or 'conservative'. On a few of the buildings, big signs were hanging from windows, saying things like, "Magdeburg doesn't want any Nazis" or "Nazis? No, thanks." The people on the street, the others like me, were mostly standing on the sidelines, watching the demonstration. Some were intrigued, some unconcerned, some clearly revolted.
Having passed by the marchers, I reached an intersection that is generally bustling to the point of frustration. Here is a mall, the market, and several big department stores. Normally, you need to elbow your way across the street or into a building. Not today. It was so still, so bleak. More police. Trolleys were running on a holiday schedule, and rerouted around the march, and cars were almost non present. A few groups of people, huddled under an awning to avoid the drizzle, smoking cigarettes.
I went to the store and bought the food. Inside, it was busy, but not jammed. I couldn't shake the feeling, though, that it was horribly strange to be buying delicious things when the Nazis were, at this point, probably marching right past my home. I walked back, and by now it was dark. Police, everywhere, green and white with blue lights and there in the distance the black silhouettes of the Nazis with their damned flags.
I came to a street I needed to walk down in order to get home. There was a police barricade there, vans blocking the street, officers standing guard, with more cars off to the side of the road. I asked an officer if I was allowed to walk down the street.
-"This area is blocked."
-"Oh..." Because, really, that wasn't obvious at all.
-"Where do you need to go?"
-"Kepler Street."
-"Do you live there?"
-"Yeah, but if it's blocked, then it's blocked... I don't want to cause any trouble." Maybe playing it sweet and innocent will get me past the otherwise stoic German police. They really are sticklers for rules.
He consults with his partner: "I guess we could let her through, right?" "Yeah, I suppose."
-"Okay, you may enter. Stay off the street and go directly home; no wandering off."
-"Yes, sir. Thank you."
Although the marchers had passed this particular part of the route, the street was still empty, devoid of passersby. I was constantly on edge, looking this way and that, creating impossible scenarios of being jumped and warding off the offender with chicken thighs and heavy cream. Glancing back at where I had come from, the police were still there, solid and unmoving, and so many of them, even though the protest was no longer there. I have no doubt they remained well into the night.
In all the buildings, hardly any lights were on. Those rooms that were illuminated had the curtains drawn. I don't know if this was coincidence or paranoia. I had left my curtains open, but it felt somehow wrong, what with all the other shades drawn everywhere I looked. I closed them, and left the lights on as low as practicable.
All day, I had been trying on and off to reach the Buchmanns, who were away at a Quaker business meeting for the day. As the day turned to evening and then to night and I still had no reply from them, I got really agitated. I had expected them to be back this evening, as they mentioned doing something together tomorrow. Given the day's atmosphere, I was very nervous, the type of nervous you get when you have a fixed idea of how something should be in order for it to be 'correct' or 'right', and then it doesn't happen, and you wait, and it doesn't correct itself. The type of nervous I get when I expect to see Dad online, and he doesn't come on and I justify it, saying "Oh, he's busy," or "Oh, he has lunch," or "Oh, maybe he's at the new building." But because I know he's almost always online, these excuses don't do much to console me, because, damn it, that doesn't fit my cosmic vision and I'm forced to make mountains out of molehills. Why isn't he on? Did the electricity go out? Is there a storm in Philly? A fire in his building? Where are the Buchmanns? Are they in bed already? Did they have to drive through Mageburg to drop Johanna off, and get caught in the demonstrations? Was there an accident? Are they okay?
They are okay. They are staying overnight where the meeting was and will be back tomorrow afternoon. But, God, those minutes of pure "Ahhh!" are horrifying. Hearing the police sirens every now and then, afraid for some unknown reason to open my curtains, unsure of where my family was, having spent the day walking through a ghost town crawling with cops...
I can't help but wonder what it's really like to live in a region occupied by the military. To be unsure of the fate of your loved ones. To see officers on every corner of an empty city. To wait at the red light even though you're the only one waiting to cross and there are no cars or trolleys or bikers - to wait, simply because there are several police officers standing there or sitting in cars, and you are too spooked out to cross against the light and attract attention from them, because you're wearing a long black coat and black boots, and didn't know the Nazis were doing that, too, when you set out that afternoon, and even though you're a pacifist bisexual female American Jew and most definitely not a Nazi, they could still give you trouble, cause they're the cops, and this day, the whole city belongs to them.
I had considered going to the demonstration, but I slept in and it was raining (ain't I a great activist?), so I lazed about for the morning reading a cookbook. Late afternoon, I settled on Stir Fried Chicken with Chinese Cabbage and Death By Chocolate Torte. The rain had let up, so I ventured out to go buy the ingredients. By this time, I figured, the protests must be over, as they had started around 9:00am.
How wrong I was.
Walking through the city was surreal. It was still dark and wet, spritzing a bit, and hardly anyone was on the street. And then I saw the blue lights flashing up ahead. Another block. One more block. And then, there they were. The Nazis.
The wore all black, and carried black flags with them. This was their "Trauermarsch" - a Mourning March. And all around were police. So many officers in olive green, white helmets on or at their sides. Cars, vans, trucks. Ambulances and motorcycles.
It was surreal. At first, I didn't realize they were the Nazis, because they were so quiet. I thought it might have been a counterdemo. But then I got close enough to read the signs. Disgusting messages and thoughts covered up to seem simply 'patriotic' or 'conservative'. On a few of the buildings, big signs were hanging from windows, saying things like, "Magdeburg doesn't want any Nazis" or "Nazis? No, thanks." The people on the street, the others like me, were mostly standing on the sidelines, watching the demonstration. Some were intrigued, some unconcerned, some clearly revolted.
Having passed by the marchers, I reached an intersection that is generally bustling to the point of frustration. Here is a mall, the market, and several big department stores. Normally, you need to elbow your way across the street or into a building. Not today. It was so still, so bleak. More police. Trolleys were running on a holiday schedule, and rerouted around the march, and cars were almost non present. A few groups of people, huddled under an awning to avoid the drizzle, smoking cigarettes.
I went to the store and bought the food. Inside, it was busy, but not jammed. I couldn't shake the feeling, though, that it was horribly strange to be buying delicious things when the Nazis were, at this point, probably marching right past my home. I walked back, and by now it was dark. Police, everywhere, green and white with blue lights and there in the distance the black silhouettes of the Nazis with their damned flags.
I came to a street I needed to walk down in order to get home. There was a police barricade there, vans blocking the street, officers standing guard, with more cars off to the side of the road. I asked an officer if I was allowed to walk down the street.
-"This area is blocked."
-"Oh..." Because, really, that wasn't obvious at all.
-"Where do you need to go?"
-"Kepler Street."
-"Do you live there?"
-"Yeah, but if it's blocked, then it's blocked... I don't want to cause any trouble." Maybe playing it sweet and innocent will get me past the otherwise stoic German police. They really are sticklers for rules.
He consults with his partner: "I guess we could let her through, right?" "Yeah, I suppose."
-"Okay, you may enter. Stay off the street and go directly home; no wandering off."
-"Yes, sir. Thank you."
Although the marchers had passed this particular part of the route, the street was still empty, devoid of passersby. I was constantly on edge, looking this way and that, creating impossible scenarios of being jumped and warding off the offender with chicken thighs and heavy cream. Glancing back at where I had come from, the police were still there, solid and unmoving, and so many of them, even though the protest was no longer there. I have no doubt they remained well into the night.
In all the buildings, hardly any lights were on. Those rooms that were illuminated had the curtains drawn. I don't know if this was coincidence or paranoia. I had left my curtains open, but it felt somehow wrong, what with all the other shades drawn everywhere I looked. I closed them, and left the lights on as low as practicable.
All day, I had been trying on and off to reach the Buchmanns, who were away at a Quaker business meeting for the day. As the day turned to evening and then to night and I still had no reply from them, I got really agitated. I had expected them to be back this evening, as they mentioned doing something together tomorrow. Given the day's atmosphere, I was very nervous, the type of nervous you get when you have a fixed idea of how something should be in order for it to be 'correct' or 'right', and then it doesn't happen, and you wait, and it doesn't correct itself. The type of nervous I get when I expect to see Dad online, and he doesn't come on and I justify it, saying "Oh, he's busy," or "Oh, he has lunch," or "Oh, maybe he's at the new building." But because I know he's almost always online, these excuses don't do much to console me, because, damn it, that doesn't fit my cosmic vision and I'm forced to make mountains out of molehills. Why isn't he on? Did the electricity go out? Is there a storm in Philly? A fire in his building? Where are the Buchmanns? Are they in bed already? Did they have to drive through Mageburg to drop Johanna off, and get caught in the demonstrations? Was there an accident? Are they okay?
They are okay. They are staying overnight where the meeting was and will be back tomorrow afternoon. But, God, those minutes of pure "Ahhh!" are horrifying. Hearing the police sirens every now and then, afraid for some unknown reason to open my curtains, unsure of where my family was, having spent the day walking through a ghost town crawling with cops...
I can't help but wonder what it's really like to live in a region occupied by the military. To be unsure of the fate of your loved ones. To see officers on every corner of an empty city. To wait at the red light even though you're the only one waiting to cross and there are no cars or trolleys or bikers - to wait, simply because there are several police officers standing there or sitting in cars, and you are too spooked out to cross against the light and attract attention from them, because you're wearing a long black coat and black boots, and didn't know the Nazis were doing that, too, when you set out that afternoon, and even though you're a pacifist bisexual female American Jew and most definitely not a Nazi, they could still give you trouble, cause they're the cops, and this day, the whole city belongs to them.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Mwhahaha!!
A 4th grader challenged me to a chess game. It being Friday afternoon, and me feeling generous, I agreed. After all, what better way to send the girl off into her weekend than being able to say she beat the teacher? 'Cause I'm horrible at chess.
I won!
*evil laughter*
Poor girl. She couldn't even challenge me to a rematch, because it was time for me to leave.
Oh, yes. Schadenfreude.
I won!
*evil laughter*
Poor girl. She couldn't even challenge me to a rematch, because it was time for me to leave.
Oh, yes. Schadenfreude.
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Back from Ireland
Ireland was fantastic. I have pictures posted on my Shutterfly site, but it is being obstinate and won't show the captions. I'm working on it. Here's a brief run-down of my time there:
Thursday: I got into Dublin late and took a bus to Galway. The drive was about four hours, but that's with several stops along the way. Driving straight through is closer the three hours. The hotel in Galway was lovely. A small guesthouse, very cozy. My room there was very comfortable, and there was even a palm tree outside the window! Ireland has an ideal climate for palm trees, it turns out. Especially in a small city like Galway, the effect is rather odd. It felt like Cape May meets Northampton meets Florida.
Friday: My main mission was to pick up my ticket for the concert. This meant going downtown. Wow! Galway is beautiful. My hotel was about fifteen minutes walking from center city. At first it was horrifying crossing streets. The Irish drive on the left side of the road and sit on the right side of the car. I kept looking in the wrong direction when I wanted to cross, or waiting for a car to wave me across the street only to look for the driver, puzzled as to why I couldn't see anyone. And oh! It's really scary watching a car turn and thinking, "Oh no.... he can't turn there.... that's the wrong lane.... shit shit shit.... don't crash... don'tcrashdon'tcrash!!" Once I made it, safe and sound, to the center of town, my breath was stolen. There is a river, the River Corrib, that runs through the middle of Galway and into a bay, and eventually the sea. And then the small cobble stone streets! And the rain! Did I mention the rain? I don't like rain, but in Galway it's unavoidable. It rains almost constantly, with short intermitences in which the sky clears and the sun shines. I wouldn't say that I enjoyed the rain in Galway, but it fit somehow. The concert itself that evening was scurmptious. As was the Guinness. :-)
Saturday: I spent Saturday walking around and exploring Galway. I would mention at this point that I am enamoured of the city, and can see a year abroad during MHC, but Jeanne already told me that was a no-go...
Sunday: My original plan for Sunday was to go on one or two guided tours of the Connemara countryside, but that fell through when I overslept. So, entrepid adventuress that I am, I stopped at a hotel downtown and asked the receptionist to recommend an activity for the day. She's from Limerick and suggested I take a bus down there. Nice city, good for a day trip, and the bus ride is about two hours of pretty countryside. Well... The bus trip sure was nice. There are small little stone walls held together by nothing but their weight, green hills and fields, cows and sheep and horses. Limerick was not as lovely. I was unimpressed and took the bus back pretty soon after, but because it was still light out, I got to enjoy the country side panorama again. When I got back to Galway, I bought tickets to go to the Aran Islands the following day.
Monday: I readied myself for my Island Excursion with rain gear. The forecast was, predictably, rain. And rain it did. Thank gosh I wore rain pants and a jacket, or else I would have been soaked by the time I reached the bus to Rosseveal, from where you get a ferry to the islands. In Rosseveal, the weather was still overcast and dark, but it had stopped raining. As we got closer to the islands, it became almost sunny. The sight of Ireland's coast drawing further away from us, the sky brightening, the rich purples and blues and greens... Wow. On Inis Mor, I ... drumroll please ... rented a bicycle! And actually biked, too! Crazy, huh? Me, voluntarilly *paying* for the privilage of riding a bike. I can't really describe Inis Mor. Beautiful. Old. Raw, somehow. I wanted to see all the famous things, especially the Dun Aonghasa cliffs and the fort. I couldn't figure out how to get up there, though, even with the maps. I saw where I needed to go, and I saw where I was and where the roads were, but somehow it just didn't work. So I spent the time biking and walking around the coast and further inland. I met a cat and a dog. That evening, back in Galway, I was far too tired to go out and celebrate New Year's Eve, so I watched reruns of Gaelic Football matches on TV. Gaelic Football is an incredible mix of soccer, football, rugby, and basketball.
Tuesday: Check out from Galway, bus to Dublin. Driving from Galway to Dublin is depressing. It starts out gorgeous. Those stone walls and green grass and animals... but about an hour and a half away from Dublin, the stone walls turn to wood fences, and then to chain-link. The grass turns yellow and brown and the animals are scarce. I was overwhelmed by this feeling of city. Big and dirty and impersonal. The only nice thing I saw in Dublin that day was the River Liffy, which runs right through the city. There are many bridges going over it, and at night they are all illuminated, making the river an ideal place to take an evening stroll. Anyways, the hotel in Dublin was a dump compared to the one in Galway. In retrospect, it really wasn't so bad, but it seemed like it at the time. On the plus side, it was cheap and safe, being located in the heart of the tourist-yuppie pub district. I noticed this a tiny bit in Galway, but in Dublin it was very widespread: security guards. Whether it was at a shopping center or at bars, they are everywhere. And not your elevator lobby security guards, either. Bouncer type guards. They weren't friendly, per se, but it made me feel very secure.
Wednesday: Walk around Dublin, especially the Viking/Medieval section of the city and Trinity College. I saw some of a rugby match at Trinity, but compared to Gaelic Football, it was boring. When I went back to the hotel, I noticed two things: 1) across the street was the Irish Film Institue, which was showing All About Eve, and 2) down the street was a Quaker Meeting House, which meets twice a week - Sunday morning and Thursday evening. So I bought a ticket to the movie, and made plans to attend meeting the following evening. All About Eve was wonderful and creepy and oh-so-good.
Thursday: I made my way down to Saint Stephen's Green. The weather was perfect: sunny, warm enough to sit outside. I sat and read for a while, and just wandered. The meeting that evening was nice. The room was small - it wasn't a meeting house, exactly, but rather a floor of a building with a meeting room and a small gathering area, etc. The benches were the same dark brown as the benches at home, and the carpet! The carpet was exactly the same as the carpet at Cherry Street. It was surreal. I felt myself slipping back into 14 years' worth of memories of Meeting. There were about five regulars there, and two other visitors. One was a student from Croatia, and the other was a young woman originally from New Jersey. She was very interesting. Talking to her, I felt like she must have walked out of a movie or a book. She was so... different, in a Luna Lovegood way. Very unique and dreamy and unattached to "normal" concerns, or at she interpreted these concerns differently than others would. Let's see... she comes from a small town, and loves music. She always instructed church music, and went to school for that. She decided after college that she wanted something new, and looked online for church music instruction positions available in Ireland. She found one in Dublin and moved here, about three years ago. Then, she fell in love with her boyfriend, but sadly lost her job and had to move back to the States after two years. Now she's back, on a holiday visa, and is looking for a job while living with an Indian family. She had to get a bus after the Meeting, so I walked with her. We walked past O'Connell Street, and she took me to get te best doughnuts in Dublin, made fresh right there. It had been raining, but it turned into this snow-rain. Not what I had wished for when I said I wanted to see O'Connell Street in the snow, but it was simply magical. I couldn't have wished for a better end to my stay in Dublin.
Coming back to Germany was a shock. It had snowed there, and the people are so very... German. It was deflating to return.
I want to learn Gaelic. It's an odd language, so unlike anything else. I heard it a lot in Galway and on Inis Mor, and I miss it. Compared to it, German is much prettier, but very plain. Gaelic wasn't ugly, but not pleasant, either. I still want to learn it. I'll be going back to Ireland at some point, I'm sure. I miss it a lot, even the Galway rain.
Thursday: I got into Dublin late and took a bus to Galway. The drive was about four hours, but that's with several stops along the way. Driving straight through is closer the three hours. The hotel in Galway was lovely. A small guesthouse, very cozy. My room there was very comfortable, and there was even a palm tree outside the window! Ireland has an ideal climate for palm trees, it turns out. Especially in a small city like Galway, the effect is rather odd. It felt like Cape May meets Northampton meets Florida.
Friday: My main mission was to pick up my ticket for the concert. This meant going downtown. Wow! Galway is beautiful. My hotel was about fifteen minutes walking from center city. At first it was horrifying crossing streets. The Irish drive on the left side of the road and sit on the right side of the car. I kept looking in the wrong direction when I wanted to cross, or waiting for a car to wave me across the street only to look for the driver, puzzled as to why I couldn't see anyone. And oh! It's really scary watching a car turn and thinking, "Oh no.... he can't turn there.... that's the wrong lane.... shit shit shit.... don't crash... don'tcrashdon'tcrash!!" Once I made it, safe and sound, to the center of town, my breath was stolen. There is a river, the River Corrib, that runs through the middle of Galway and into a bay, and eventually the sea. And then the small cobble stone streets! And the rain! Did I mention the rain? I don't like rain, but in Galway it's unavoidable. It rains almost constantly, with short intermitences in which the sky clears and the sun shines. I wouldn't say that I enjoyed the rain in Galway, but it fit somehow. The concert itself that evening was scurmptious. As was the Guinness. :-)
Saturday: I spent Saturday walking around and exploring Galway. I would mention at this point that I am enamoured of the city, and can see a year abroad during MHC, but Jeanne already told me that was a no-go...
Sunday: My original plan for Sunday was to go on one or two guided tours of the Connemara countryside, but that fell through when I overslept. So, entrepid adventuress that I am, I stopped at a hotel downtown and asked the receptionist to recommend an activity for the day. She's from Limerick and suggested I take a bus down there. Nice city, good for a day trip, and the bus ride is about two hours of pretty countryside. Well... The bus trip sure was nice. There are small little stone walls held together by nothing but their weight, green hills and fields, cows and sheep and horses. Limerick was not as lovely. I was unimpressed and took the bus back pretty soon after, but because it was still light out, I got to enjoy the country side panorama again. When I got back to Galway, I bought tickets to go to the Aran Islands the following day.
Monday: I readied myself for my Island Excursion with rain gear. The forecast was, predictably, rain. And rain it did. Thank gosh I wore rain pants and a jacket, or else I would have been soaked by the time I reached the bus to Rosseveal, from where you get a ferry to the islands. In Rosseveal, the weather was still overcast and dark, but it had stopped raining. As we got closer to the islands, it became almost sunny. The sight of Ireland's coast drawing further away from us, the sky brightening, the rich purples and blues and greens... Wow. On Inis Mor, I ... drumroll please ... rented a bicycle! And actually biked, too! Crazy, huh? Me, voluntarilly *paying* for the privilage of riding a bike. I can't really describe Inis Mor. Beautiful. Old. Raw, somehow. I wanted to see all the famous things, especially the Dun Aonghasa cliffs and the fort. I couldn't figure out how to get up there, though, even with the maps. I saw where I needed to go, and I saw where I was and where the roads were, but somehow it just didn't work. So I spent the time biking and walking around the coast and further inland. I met a cat and a dog. That evening, back in Galway, I was far too tired to go out and celebrate New Year's Eve, so I watched reruns of Gaelic Football matches on TV. Gaelic Football is an incredible mix of soccer, football, rugby, and basketball.
Tuesday: Check out from Galway, bus to Dublin. Driving from Galway to Dublin is depressing. It starts out gorgeous. Those stone walls and green grass and animals... but about an hour and a half away from Dublin, the stone walls turn to wood fences, and then to chain-link. The grass turns yellow and brown and the animals are scarce. I was overwhelmed by this feeling of city. Big and dirty and impersonal. The only nice thing I saw in Dublin that day was the River Liffy, which runs right through the city. There are many bridges going over it, and at night they are all illuminated, making the river an ideal place to take an evening stroll. Anyways, the hotel in Dublin was a dump compared to the one in Galway. In retrospect, it really wasn't so bad, but it seemed like it at the time. On the plus side, it was cheap and safe, being located in the heart of the tourist-yuppie pub district. I noticed this a tiny bit in Galway, but in Dublin it was very widespread: security guards. Whether it was at a shopping center or at bars, they are everywhere. And not your elevator lobby security guards, either. Bouncer type guards. They weren't friendly, per se, but it made me feel very secure.
Wednesday: Walk around Dublin, especially the Viking/Medieval section of the city and Trinity College. I saw some of a rugby match at Trinity, but compared to Gaelic Football, it was boring. When I went back to the hotel, I noticed two things: 1) across the street was the Irish Film Institue, which was showing All About Eve, and 2) down the street was a Quaker Meeting House, which meets twice a week - Sunday morning and Thursday evening. So I bought a ticket to the movie, and made plans to attend meeting the following evening. All About Eve was wonderful and creepy and oh-so-good.
Thursday: I made my way down to Saint Stephen's Green. The weather was perfect: sunny, warm enough to sit outside. I sat and read for a while, and just wandered. The meeting that evening was nice. The room was small - it wasn't a meeting house, exactly, but rather a floor of a building with a meeting room and a small gathering area, etc. The benches were the same dark brown as the benches at home, and the carpet! The carpet was exactly the same as the carpet at Cherry Street. It was surreal. I felt myself slipping back into 14 years' worth of memories of Meeting. There were about five regulars there, and two other visitors. One was a student from Croatia, and the other was a young woman originally from New Jersey. She was very interesting. Talking to her, I felt like she must have walked out of a movie or a book. She was so... different, in a Luna Lovegood way. Very unique and dreamy and unattached to "normal" concerns, or at she interpreted these concerns differently than others would. Let's see... she comes from a small town, and loves music. She always instructed church music, and went to school for that. She decided after college that she wanted something new, and looked online for church music instruction positions available in Ireland. She found one in Dublin and moved here, about three years ago. Then, she fell in love with her boyfriend, but sadly lost her job and had to move back to the States after two years. Now she's back, on a holiday visa, and is looking for a job while living with an Indian family. She had to get a bus after the Meeting, so I walked with her. We walked past O'Connell Street, and she took me to get te best doughnuts in Dublin, made fresh right there. It had been raining, but it turned into this snow-rain. Not what I had wished for when I said I wanted to see O'Connell Street in the snow, but it was simply magical. I couldn't have wished for a better end to my stay in Dublin.
Coming back to Germany was a shock. It had snowed there, and the people are so very... German. It was deflating to return.
I want to learn Gaelic. It's an odd language, so unlike anything else. I heard it a lot in Galway and on Inis Mor, and I miss it. Compared to it, German is much prettier, but very plain. Gaelic wasn't ugly, but not pleasant, either. I still want to learn it. I'll be going back to Ireland at some point, I'm sure. I miss it a lot, even the Galway rain.
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