Now that over a year has passed, I wonder how things will change; if I am back for good, or if this is merely another sporadic stop on this rather strange, haphazard journey.  Perhaps it was a reluctance to open up memories that though still (relatively) fresh, feel a lifetime ago.  Memories that if given just a moment to linger, bring tears and sadness in their wake.  Ironic, is it not that the best of memories can also be the most painful?  I do so hate to speak in clichés but it seems that lately my life has become defined by them.

Now that this has been recalled to my attention, I hope to continue updating, and adding from all the adventures of the past eighteen months.  Sit back, and hang on, it’s going to be an interesting ride!

Known as Hore (or Hoare) Abbey, while the earliest known records date from about the 1270s AD, an awe-inspiring ruin is all that remains.  As we march single file along the worn and narrow cobbled path, the sun glares off the green and white fields around the abbey, and it practically hurts the eyes to look.  But you cannot help it.  Something about this place captures the imagination, and transports one into a world all your own.  An enchanting mix of the bright green of the grass, under a fresh dusting of snow, wraps around the warm grey stones, welcoming one in to stop and rest awhile.

As we wander amongst the tiny doorways, and walls that only stand a few feet high, I can literally see the air

A view from the entrance 'gate'

sparkling about me.  One can just imagine the fantastic bonfires and parties thrown by the infamous faeries when no one is looking.  But even so, there is a calm and quietly reassuring atmosphere in and around the buildings.  When walking through the graveyards it is not a place of creepy ghosts, but rather a place of peace and rest.  And even within these inviting walls, there is a sense of the monks still at work; walking, singing, and working around the many visitors that come to this place.

There is even a tune, subtle, floating on the air, calling you back.  It is going any place you desire – a childhood place, a place of the future – it is indeed wherever the wind may take you.  With this song, and the ‘pixie dust’ all around you, you can finally find your very own faerie world.  A beautiful piece of untouched Ireland, as the sun begins to set, we gather our selves together and reluctantly return to the real world.  Back into town for a soothing coffee to warm up, and just enough time to catch the bus back into the rather more hectic (merely by comparison) world of Dublin.

By far, my favorite part of Ireland, I hope that this amazing place can remain pure and enchanting – even in the face of the modern world.  As it has stood for so long, seemingly undisturbed, I have hope, and wish to remain forever in the captivating faerie world the abbey has shown me.

The old city laid out in a charming lack of organization, streets meandering and wandering as casually as the tourists that flock to the beautiful city.  The new district, originally meant to mimic the Union Jack, is more direct, but didn’t resist the natural Edinburgh charm: the urge to slow down and stroll.  Even amongst the energy of the city there are places, if one is open to finding them, where you can stop and smell flowers – literally.  Gardens

The Castle from the Princes Gardens

dot the city in the most unlikely of places, along with courtyards of fairytale flats.  As the early afternoon sun slants in to touch the window gardens on most window sills, one could believe they had been transported into a fairy world.  As the sun sets on Princes Park, we grab a bite of take away, and make our way back to our beach-side hostel.  After a day of roaming all through the city, we’re all ready for a bit of rest, tomorrow is another day!

To catch the bus back into the heart of the city, we cross a golf course and a sheep field, and the sheep are so fluffy and friendly!  A coffee and a wander later, we find ourselves on the famous Grassmarket Street, filled with quaint cafes and vintage shops, we get lost amongst the neon feathers and aging leather.  At the base of this avenue, we go into the Lot, a charming cafe where today we will enjoy an American Thanksgiving dinner and a traditional Scottish Ceilidh.  We now understand how the people of such a chilly northern city stay warm:  excessive dancing – it is great cardio!  After we’ve said our good-byes and good-nights, a few of us can’t say good-bye to the festivities.  We stroll about the now dark city, but it is early still – barely five in the afternoon.  A pub that could easily be overlooked, a door barely wide enough for any of us, this is where we land for the next few hours – a cozy basement corner.  Sitting back, enjoying the student burger and local cider, a group this large just laughs and talks over one another.  Yet after a time, we push on.   Our next stop is down a steep flight of thin stairs, but there’s locals and good live music packed in for the night.  Finding a table to fit all ten of us isn’t easy, but we prevail.  Enjoying the music and the company, our excessively large group of Dublin-based Californians marvel at our differences and commonalities, reluctant to return to our hostels.  We eventually

go our separate ways; those who are hungry and those who wish to find more fun and live music.  As a few of us sit in the warm take away, who should come in but our friends with whom we not long ago parted!  Turns out that good stout will never compete with fresh chips.  After lingering over the amazing food, we all step out into the night, heading to our different hostels.  Parting in Edinburgh, all reluctant to go, but knowing we’ll meet again in Dublin.

Early the next morning, in the half-light of predawn, we clamber into the bus, on our way to the airport.  As the sun rises over the coffee gripping passengers, we board our plane back to the land of Guinness, sad to part with the fantasy world of Edinburgh.

A View from the Castle

A weekend in the South of Ireland.  A busy weekend, mostly filled with the bucolic adventures in the town of Blarney.  Most famously known as housing the Blarney Stone.  Kept in its original location within Blarney Castle, the Blarney Stone is supposed to bequeath the ‘gift of the gab’ to all who kiss it.  Yet there is more to Blarney, and the surrounding areas, then just the infamous stone.  The breathtaking views from atop the castle’s ramparts are extensive.  For all the eye can see belongs to that great estate.  Once the holdings belonged to Dermot McCarthy, King of Munster, and the castle is the third structure to be built on this site.  The history of the land goes back as far as the 10th century AD, yet has remained a constant stronghold for Munster.  One could wander about the grounds of the Blarney castle for hours.  It includes a large family home and accompanying outbuildings.  It also features extensive fields, its own lake, livestock, stables, and various gardens.  It is an oasis of tranquility just a half hours drive from the city centre of Cork.  Which brings me back into the city.

A modest, unself-conscious hustle is the main attitude of Cork, and that city has an attitude.  The main strip, along the banks of the Lee River, affords one views of imposing bank buildings, churches from the High Renaissance, and picturesque flats, all pressed against each other – eager for notice and attention.  While casual strolling and shopping are wonders available to the traveler during the day, Cork’s nightlife is just as accommodating.  Where Mums and Dads travel back and forth to work, and tourists shop during the daylight hours; transforms at night to the world of good music and the good local Stout.  A large selection of pubs and clubs await the party-ready twenty-somethings.  Bring out the party shoes and the fancy shirts, it’s time to get your groove on!  One might wander into Gallagher’s if looking into an intimate local scene, or if the chaotic hum of good 80s to current hits is your mood head over to The Bailey, just a short walk around the corner from Gallagher’s.  The South shore is known to host more pubs and clubs, but the North created an enjoyable, not too rowdy vibe.  Cork is a beautiful city, day and night, but one never forgets it is a city.  Though closer to the river, bits of the surrounding country sneak up on you, reminding you that the local sheep farm is never too far away!

The train is an awesome alternative to flying or busing to the city, as it affords beautiful views of the deep Irish countryside – but be sure to book an early train, otherwise it is a lovely all black view!  A great place to visit, but don’t underestimate it; a weekend will give you a peak into this intriguing city, but to know it better take your time.  I enjoyed the weekend I spent in Cork, and would love to go back some day.

Snatches of conversation invade one’s musings, or the searching the cheapest memory boosters – as exams loom in the very near future.  Though the reality check that is as cold as the winter winds that have set in for the duration, will wait another week.  Studying is still a vague thought of the future, as the library braces itself for the onslaught of students it will see over the next three weeks.  A revision week will find the library achingly empty, as students take those glorious 10 days to travel, sleep in, and relax.  Studying can wait.  Until the week of the exam arrives, and suddenly one waits for hours to enter the stuffy halls of the over-packed reference section.   Study groups massing on every flat surface and in every quiet room that can still be found.

But why would one wait that long?  Who should bother with staying up all night, memorizing the sequence of events that lead up the completion of a publically commisioned fresco?  Do it now, while there are still open spaces amongst the books that will reveal all the answers to you.  But again, why bother?  Your odds of finding a study buddy, or someone who’s taken that exam before, exponentially increase the later into crunch time it gets.  Despite studies showing that cramming is not the way to learn – we aren’t trying to learn – we’re trying to memorize, for the duration of the next 24 hours.  And besides, if you actually went to lectures (ahem), you wouldn’t need to cram – you’ll merely spend the day refreshing your memory – no worries.

We all study as well as we can, desipte the professor’s cautionary tale that we will need to pledge a vow of undying loyalty to the library.  Perhaps for the simple reason that if you know how to study – what works for YOU – you don’t need an excess of words and a lack of sunshine for 2 weeks.   If you need absolute silence vs. soothing classical music, or the stiff desk chair vs. a squishy sofa, then so be it.  And if you have to spend 2 weeks vs. 2 hrs.  in the library, then do what helps you best.  Even if that includes a weekend trip to a foreign country 2 days before the exam.  (more on that later…) 

The ebb and flow of student life is marked by time.  Not the standard passing of time that the majority of the adult world operate in.  Students, as adults, lead life in their own unique time zone.  Where years last ‘nine months’ (who knew??), and an hour is ’50 minutes’ (why does the world make everything shorter??), and weeks are defined by their weekends.  The cheapest cup of coffee, the cheapest flights, and the easiest profs define the life of a student.  And the world wonders why we operate differently – haven’t the world maps been updated?  There’s a new time zone now: College.

Yet I waken from this haze to turn up the radiator, now that the night wind has picked up, as it often does.  Bundling up and snugging down under the covers is luxurious and oft-practiced activity here; as the once convent halls are drafty and bare.  But it is slowly becoming more homey.  Pictures of home and old friends will soon be joined by ones of this new home and the new friends.  Now that the madness of “settling in” is over, perhaps so will this summer camp haze dissipate, and we will all realize that this is happening, as we hope, realize, and dream.  Here, our dreams come true.

The view from my window at sunset