Final Abroad Post

A friend once claimed that “there is only so much badness that can be crammed into an exam period.” Unfortunately, the 20 days of studying and examining at Trinity can best be described as a slow bleed, as opposed to the quick tearing of the band aid covering American’s week and a half.

As a result of the ever present threat of exams, much of my last few weeks in Dublin were spent trapped inside the prison cell of Goldsmith, with occasional jaunts to our library.

After returning from relaxing in Madrid, I had a week until my first exam: Ireland since 1900. A couple days were devoted to transcribing all my many class, tutorial, and reading notes onto cards. The tactic of memorizing a stack of 100 or so cards has served me well in the states, and so I hit my stride and started writing. In between writing and studying, I committed myself to running three miles a day, by taking laps around Saint Stephen’s Green. One day I saw a couple sheep and two lambs in front of Leinster House.

Breaking up the monotony of constant studying and even more constant watching of the West Wing and completing the three seasons of the ???, my friend Katherine arrived. She had been studying in Florence, and had toured Europe following exams. Dublin was her last stop, so after writing about the significance of World War One and De Valera’s Ireland, Sean and I took her to experience the Pav. That was the nature of Thursday through Saturday.

Katherine explored the city during the day, while I struggled to redouble my efforts on European Societies (another week between exams). At night we visited MacTorcaills and even Porterhouse once. On Saturday night, we watched as Jedward lost the Eurovision competition to a group from Azerbaijan.  Since we were not permitted guests during exams, Katherine and I had to be back before midnight each night. As a result, we watched the movies on my hard drive: Love Actually, Avatar, and Blue Harvest.

When she departed on Sunday morning, I returned my still divided attention to preparing for my next exam. So naturally I devoted sufficient attention to the Survivor: Redemption Island season finale, A Game of Thrones, How I Met Your Mother, Modern Family, The Middle, and the West Wing. Despite my procrastination, I managed three or more hours of studying per day. Which considering the length of time between exams, was not poor at all. A minor victory was achieved on Tuesday when I finished torturing my hand with the writing of note cards.

A more major victory was achieved by Ireland, as the Queen became the first British Monarch to visit the country in over 100 years. More than ten thousand security personnel flooded the city and erected various pedestrian barricades to ensure that Her Majesty would not interact with any of the fringe elements of Irish Republicanism. Beyond the poignancy of her visit, students at Trinity were less than enthused with the prospect of Red and Orange security zones on campus, a closed library on Tuesday, and not a few traffic disruptions when commuting to campus for exams. More important, she disrupted my laundry schedule.

More than 1500 pictures, in close to 4 minutes, documenting my months abroad

On Friday, in the Sports Centre, I wrote about European identity, the effect of welfare states on female labor market participation, and the decline of Multiculturalism. As with my first exam, the invigilators – the administrators with a name connoting Harry Potter villains – were in full force and keen to shout at any hint of talking when we should be filling out our booklets. Unlike Regent House, which hosted my history exam, the sports centre boasted several hundred students packed into neat rows. The closest comparison to an exam at Trinity is a standardized test like the SAT or ACT, but with far more participants and testing diversity.

That night we celebrated another Last Pint at MacTorcaills, which heralded the last few days before my return to Boston. While the following days I was focused on studying for Comparative Welfare States. At that point I had identified the perfect number of topics to revise. My essays focused on an evaluation of the Dutch welfare state, the importance of politics on retrenchment or restructuring decisions, and the coherence of Third Way policies. After completing that exam in Luce Upper – a basketball court - I joined up with Russell and Louise to celebrate with libations at the Pav.

After a few cans of Bavaria, four of us set out for Christ Church and the one access point for President Obama’s speech. Three hours later, and I arrived in front of a large screen 100 or so yards away from his address. Given the pace of walking and secret service security screening, just reaching that point seemed impossible when stuck in an endless line by Christ Church Cathedral. Still the flashbacks of the inauguration yielded to a series of performers – including Jedward – a fiery introduction by the often blasé Enda Kenny, and an excellent speech by President Obama on the intertwined histories of Ireland and the States. To win over an already electric audience, the President concluded with Yes We Can in Irish and English.

Once I watched the motorcade pass and saw Michelle Obama wave to my side of the street, I returned exhausted to Goldsmith and my unfinished packing. Dinner then gave way to a final last pint at MacTorcaills. Beyond the final drinks in Ireland with friends from the island and friends from the States, we ran into a girl who had just been in Ashland. The improbability of someone visiting Ashland and being in MacTorcaills, one of 700 pubs in Dublin, at the moment that I arrive at the bar, was astounding enough to push my transition back to the States one step further (all the flags for Obama helped too).

At 5am the next morning, I set out with John and Maggie for the airport. Fear of Icelandic ash led the most technologically advanced plane in the world, Air Force One, to whisk the President to England early, so we were not a little concerned that our planes would not leave the ground. As insurance, I had secured a spot in Russell’s apartment should the ash leave me homeless. Fortunately, my Air France shuttle left for Paris unhindered and soon I was in massive Charles de Gaulle airport waiting for my double-decker Boeing to take me to Boston.

Soon thereafter I took my seat 55B, the last seat on the left-hand side of the plane. Although not the preferred seat for a quick exit, the extra space to my left was welcomed (as no third seat could be fit).The flight was uneventful with marginally improved food as compared to my Delta flight a few months ago. No Strings Attached was a predictable and lackluster romantic comedy and I slept during Tron Legacy. Of note was my final two legal beers until August, a Phoenix from Mauritius and a Heineken with dinner. Eight hours leaving Paris at 1:35pm, we arrived at Logan Airport at 3:20pm.

After 4 months and 17 days, my study abroad experience ended.

For those who read this blog from the start to the finish, there are 36,065 words (not including this sentence).

Sunny Madrid

The last hurrah ended with a bloody nose on Aer Lingus. But the highlights of a several day trip to Madrid and the preceding days in Dublin must be attended to before describing the last minutes which marked the end of  a near carefree 3.5 week period before final exams.

Low key suffices as a euphemism for the days between my parent's visit to Ireland and my departure for Spain. With most American friends traveling, and Irish friends cramming for their full year's worth of exams, there was little to do in Dublin. 17 weeks prior had exhausted nearly every possible excursion. So the couple of us remaining took to watching online TV, lounging in the park, and movies or MacTorcaills at night. There could be no motivation to study, with a week after Madrid before my first exam, and another week after that before my next two.

The Thursday flight to Madrid was uneventful, though the Taxi driver who offered the same rate as AirCoach told a story of unknowingly chatting with Whitey Bulger's niece in a pub in Boston. Otherwise, Alex met me at the airport and we set out for Cat's Hostel - located in a refurbished 17th century palace. Since his abroad program secured him a home-stay, I needed the hostel for six nights. While he left for 10pm dinner, I met my roommate (one of seven) Thomas, a 26-year-old PhD student making his way to Israel to teach criminology for the summer. Together we grabbed some cheap pizza for dinner and awaited Alex's 11pm return to Puerta del Sol.

My 14-bed room (Saturday-Wednesday)

Many of the subsequent events will be left for friends to hear in person, but several comments on Madrid nightlife are possible. For one, meeting in Puerta del Sol is a must for anyone seeking pubs, bars, and clubs. It is the heart of city and fills with residents and tourists alike after 11pm. We met Alex and the other AU abroad students at the statue of the bear and strawberry tree (madrone) - the symbol of Madrid. Despite the illegality of drinking in public, we were immediately surrounded by determined entrepreneurs exchanging cans of Mahou - a Spanish beer - or a low quality German pilsner, for a euro or two euros for three.

Competing for our attention were numerous club promoters exchanging tickets for reduced entry or free drinks at their locales. A couple Irish pubs later and we would follow a few promoters around for the benefit of the cheapest drink or the lowest priced entry. Akin with their notorious cousins in South America, nightlife ends with daylight, and we returned to Cat's only after 5am.

Beyond its reputation for partying, Madrid offers three impressive art museums, a regal palace, and a few manicured parks. After a late start to the day, which followed an initially early wakeup for Cat's free breakfast of a hot drink, a croissant, donut, or bowl of cornflakes; and a cold drink, such as orange juice; Alex and I reconnected for lunch. Grabbing a three course, and affordable 6 euro meal at a nearby cerveceria, we headed into el Parque del Buen Retiro to eat alongside its rowboat-filled pond. Far larger than Saint Stephen's Green, the park offers numerous paths and ever-changing scenery, included a famed "Crystal" Palace and peacock sanctuary.

The Crystal Palace

Rather than pay for the Museo Nacional del Prado, renowned for its collection of classical artworks, we waited for its free entry hours between 6pm and 8pm. While relaxing outside I suffered the first of what became daily nosebleeds, perhaps due to the city's elevation or especially dry climate. After rushing past some stunned tourists and a couple security guards into the Prado's restroom, Alex and I set out for the nearby botanical gardens. For a nominal fee you are able to tour a pristine park with a wide range of flora. Its sights are only surpassed by the scale of Retiro and numerous classics of the Prado (although my senior year copy of a painting by El Greco was out on loan).

While Alex called it an early night to awake early for exam studying, Thomas and I linked up with a 28-year-old Indianan who took us on a rather unimpressive odyssey to a couple locations that his guide book proclaimed "top picks." Nevertheless, we too were looking for an earlier night than Thursday.

In the early afternoon on Saturday, Thomas and I visited the Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, located near to the Prado and filled with a private collection of artwork stretching from the stone age to contemporary. Unfortunately, I failed to visit the entire gallery before leaving to reunite with Alex at Sol to explore Plaza Mayor, the Palacio Real (on a scale similar to Buckingham Palace), and a curious Egyptian Templo de Debod in a nearby park.

Shortly thereafter, we jumped aboard the extensive Metro system to arrive at Estadio Santiago Bernabéu, with a capacity of more than 80,000, to watch La Liga match between Real Madrid and Real Zaragoza. Even though our 40 euro seats were in the upper rafters along with many Zaragoza fans and the other AU students, our view from behind the goal line was sufficient to notice Madrid's lack of creativity in the first half and deserved 2-0 deficit early in the second. 

halftime at the Real Madrid match

While Ronaldo was not available due to an argument with Coach Mourinhou, a few other starters were benched in advance of the second leg Champion's League match with Barcelona in Catalonia on Tuesday. With three able to enter the pitch in the second half, Madrid came alive and narrowed the lead by one, only to allow glaring defensive errors permit a third Zaragoza goal against the run of play. A late Madrid goal narrowed the lead, but they were unable to finish a few opportunities that would have left them with a point at home. 

Following the match, and a cheap dinner of kebabs, Alex and I headed south to his neighborhood along the Rio Manzanares. Unlike other European cities, the river is not Madrid's focal point, and its nearby neighborhoods are traditionally less affluent. Its resident division one team Atlético Madrid plays in the smaller Estadio Vicente Calderón that abuts the rather unimpressive river. Despite its lack of width and depth, a recently opened park may revitalize the area as it hid main roads below ground with countless fountains, plants, architecturally stunning bridges, playgrounds, and a zip-line that Alex and I were content to use. 

Sunday marked a quieter morning and early afternoon before Alex, Thomas, and I headed to Plaza del Toros Monumental de las Ventas. Despite Alex's initial assumption, Thomas was able to purchase tickets near to ours (20.40 euro) and the other AU students. 

Bullfighting is ever a controversial event in Spain. That day our tickets permitted us to watch three matadors engage six bulls with the aid of several rodeo-clown-esque junior matadors and a couple lancers on heavily armored (and blindfolded) horses. Despite the common name, the event is less of a fight and more of an active enticement by the professionals to encourage the bull to charge about while the prick him and tire him out prior to the main matador's arrival on stage. The final combatant then proceeds with his brief dance followed by a expert stab that pierces the bull between the shoulders and strikes his heart. The event ends minutes later as the animal crumbles to the ground and is dragged off by a team of horses. 

At the Bull Fight (the shaded seats behind us are drastically more expensive)

During the matches we witnessed one matador get lightly trampled, a lancer knocked off his horse, and a bull refuse to succumb to his wounds - at one time shimmying a sword out of his back. While not necessarily any more humane, the Portuguese bullfights I witnessed in the Algarve in 2000 provided alternatives to the 6 repetitive matches, and include the more interesting final event of 10 men who wrestle the last bull. 

That night the three of us stayed in our hostel bar to celebrate with the Mario and Luigi-themed Welsh bachelor party (the groom was dressed as Peach) and our new Brazilian friend Fred, on "sabbatical" after completing his law degree, who we met at the bull fight. Little did we realize that Osama bin Laden would be killed shortly after we returned to sleep. 

Following breakfast, I scoured the internet to more about the successful operation (and to receive numerous state department travel advisories). While celebrating the death of any individual, no matter how repugnant, is a bit morbid, the closure that his death brings to families who suffered on 9/11 and a generation who came of age in its aftermath is evident in the spontaneous outpouring of emotion by my friends in DC who traveled to the White House to express their elation. 

For the rest of the day, I spent time with five Quinnipiac girls studying abroad in Cork who had moved into my now larger (and cheaper) 14-bed hostel room. In our travels around Puerta del Sol we stumbled across the parade commemorating the Spanish uprising against Napoleon and the famed churros con chocalate that apparently make the top-10 list for activities in Madrid. Meeting up later with Alex, he and I watched the new Game of Thrones episode and met Sara, a junior at a SUNY who had finished studying abroad in England a few days earlier. 

While the five girls attended the bull fight, only to leave in tears midway through, we discovered Museo del Jamon - the cheapest eatery in the city. After calamari and prosciutto sandwiches, we reunited with Fred and met Sane, a Korean-Canadian on vacation, and casually ended the night in Cat's bar. 

Fred, Sara, Sane, and I in Cat's basement bar

Full Madrid Album

Tuesday morning Fred, Sara, and I left for Plaza Mayor and the free New Europe walking tour of Madrid. Although our tour guide was at times out of it due to an obvious hangover, the three hours were fun for his humor and numerous factoids. During the tour, we learned that the tradition of hanging smoked ham is tied to the Inquisition to prove that you were Catholic, that the symbol of Madrid is that of a bear eating from the Strawberry tree, the only plant whose berries ferment on the stem; that the city boasts the Guinness Book of World Records oldest restaurant in the world. In addition, I stumbled across a crumpled 50 euro note on the ground (around 75 dollars!) and we were trapped in a brief but severe hail and rainstorm. 

Soon thereafter, Alex and I headed to Retiro to drink wine in the park to celebrate his completion of his first exam, and then were off to Sol to enjoy my first authentic Paella. From there we met Fred, Thomas, and Sane to visit an Irish pub to watch the Real Madrid and Barcelona match - which Barcelona won with apparent ease. Our night ended in a similar manner to Thursday, though an English nurse, who had joined us on our walking tour, assured me that my daily Spanish nosebleeds were nothing too serious and may only require cauterization if they continue when back in Ireland.

On Wednesday Sara and I said goodbye to Alex outside of the Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia (only after checking out and cashing in an old towel for 5 euro since it looked like theirs), famous for its contemporary works including Picasso's Guernica and numerous paintings by Dali. After a last meal at Museo del Jamon, I set out for the airport and my return flight to Dublin. Although it was uneventful until the end, my sudden nosebleed upon landing surely gave some of my fellow travelers a story to tell as I rushed down the aisle to the bathroom and the able support of the Aer Lingus flight attendants. 

While I have not started studying for my first exam on May 12th. Today has been full with desperately needed laundry, grocery shopping, and rest. After all, I still have an unheard of seven days until the exam (after today). 

Parents, Dublin, and Trips Rhyming with 'A'

Monday

As promised in the last update, my parents and I visited the Old Jameson Distillery and the Guinness Storehouse last Monday. The latter presents a better experience for the comparable ticket price (upwards of 11 euro), with my discussion of its merits found earlier in the blog. Still, if you arrive for an early tour at the Distillery, you may have an opportunity to enlist as a whiskey taste tester (only eight per tour).

Since we set out for Jameson immediately after a filling buffet breakfast at the Shelbourne we arrived in time for the 11am tour - not necessarily  prime whiskey drinking time - and both my dad and I made the shortlist. So following the somewhat lackluster trip down distillery lane, we received shots of Jack Daniels, Johnny Walker, and Jameson (along with the guaranteed glass of Jameson with your ticket). Perhaps it was the location or the indoctrination, but the initial bite of Jack Daniels and the smoky flavoring of Johnny Walker left me favoring the smooth taste of Jameson.

After our trip through the Guinness Storehouse, where we enjoyed our pints in the overcrowded gravity bar, we set out in haste for Kilmainham Gaol. With a little bit of luck - perhaps from tapping the Jameson mill stone three times - we arrived a minute before the final tour. Although I had visited the gaol before, a different guide provided additional anecdotes that made the second trip worthwhile. In particular, he discussed many of the famed prisoners of the facility - whose names are engraved in plaques above their former cells - and retold the story of the Invincibles, a group of assassins made infamous for the Phoenix Park Murders in the late 19th century. Once discovered, most of the leadership were executed and buried in the work yard.

Mom and Dad in the Guinness Storehouse Gravity Bar

Following a bit of that history, we passed by the 'Neighborhood of Broken Dreams' - an unfinished and near empty apartment development that promised a much brighter, bustling community along the Liffey. Just past the neighborhood was a side entrance to Phoenix Park, which we entered to walk by the Wellington Monument. My dad observed that it was not as impressive as its lookalike in Washington. Just past the Park, we entered Ryan's Pub for some quick lunch/dinner and a couple pints, including my first Gallway Hooker. If the place was not a hour walk from Goldsmith, I am sure that the gang would have made not a few stops inside during the semester to enjoy its relaxed atmosphere.

A Luas tram ride back to O'Connell Street was followed by a walk to the Shelbourne and a needed sit after several hours of walking along the north and south side. However, we were not sedentary for long, as we my dad's determination brought us to the Blarney Inn by Trinity to enjoy a couple more pints. Unfortunately their heavily advertised, authentic Irish music is only Thursday through Saturday.

Tuesday

Once another buffet breakfast at the Shelbourne concluded, we set out for Pearse Street Station and the Dart Train south to Bray. A coastal community further south than Dun Laoghaire, several waiters, including our Canadian waitress at breakfast, urged us to visit the town for its beach and cliff walk. Fortunately, Tuesday provided the third consecutive day of sunny, warm weather to match the sights of the community.

Although a trip into the town center failed to yield the tourist information office, we later enjoyed a relaxing rest on the beach. The buildings lining the main promenade give way to a open park, a beach walk, and the smooth stones lining the shore. With the sun heating the stones, lying on them provided comfort akin to a massage.

Mom and I along the Bray Cliff Walk

From there we traveled a few kilometers along the cliff walk, which for a train line hugging the space below, was not as impressive as the one at Howth. Still, the superior weather and the numerous fellow walkers easily overcame that difference. More important, once my dad and I decided to scale the cross-topped mountain overlooking the town, we were presented with an unmatched view of the valley and surrounding Irish Sea. That hiking earned our dinner at Martello's, a hotel with ample outdoor seating along the promenade.

Once in Dublin, and to conclude the night, we visited my ever favorite pub, MacTorcaills. My parents gave every indication that they enjoyed the venue, as we discussed all matters with our favorite bartender, Mark, and not a few other patrons. By the end of the evening, my Dad had given Mark his Bruins hat and a dollar to stick to the wall.

Wednesday

Another filling brunch at the Shelbourne, and we were off to Dublin Castle for a tour of the State Apartments. Unlike the dreary weather that greeted my earlier visit, a fourth consecutive day of blue sky ushered many visitors onto its small, circular park - including a free tour guide who told his assembled group that a visit to the Leprechaun Museum would offend just about everyone he knows. While waiting for the State Apartments, we perused the Chester Beatty Library and its collection of priceless religious manuscripts.

Unfortunately, the tour of the State Apartments was truncated, most likely due to the impending visit by the Queen. Still, we saw several lavish rooms, the throne for the Viceroy of Dublin (and visiting Monarch), as well as the blue and gold room now used for the inauguration of the President. Most of Dublin Castle no longer resembles the medieval Norman building, as a history of several devastating fires have left only one original round tower intact. Nevertheless, the results of a recent archaeological dig beneath the current structures, extends the tour to the subterranean foundations of the old powder tower and remnants of the city wall and moat.

From there, my parents left to explore the open air market that parallels O'Connell Street, while I participated in an interview. A couple hours later, we regrouped outside of Front Arch and set out for the Archaeology Museum. With less than an hour to spare, we quickly toured the bog bodies and a few other exhibits. To the disliking of my Dad, our rush into the museum did not afford him enough time to discuss the matters of the day with the Garda officer outside Leinster House (as he had the past two days).

For dinner we ate at the Bank Bar on College Green, which is housed in a building overhauled for the kingly sum of 80 thousands pounds in the late 19th century for the Belfast Bank. Much of the interior is intact, and we ate our relatively expensive, but no less tasteful, dinners in the loft above the bar. Some time spent in one of the Shelbourne's bars concluded the night.

Thursday

After soliciting advice from nearly every Dubliner we encountered, we had opted for the train to Gallway rather than a trip to Belfast. Of course the fifth consecutive day of shining, warm weather played a part in the decision to travel to a beach community on the west coast, rather than the aging industrial capital of Northern Ireland.

Two hours and 15 minutes on the clean, swift intercity train from Heuston Station brought us into Gallway by JFK Park. Although I had opposed every attempt to take a double-decker tour bus around Dublin, our six hours in the west coast, made the bus more palatable. Following a pint and a snack at the tourist pub of An Pucan (my Dad disputes the claim despite leprechauns painted on the windows), we boarded our bus for the pass around town.

With a university student population of over 30 thousand, Gallway is a young city today with a long past. Our guide provided witty commentary - though our seats by the rear would at times be too far from the speakers -  and took us along the city to pass the banners for the county's 14 tribes, the canal, cathedrals, NUI Gallway, a view of the city from its highest point, and to the shore. There we disembarked to spend little more than an hour on the beach, which was made of sand this time.

On the Tour Bus in Gallway

Full Album

Too quickly, the time past, and we were back on the bus to pass the Spanish Arch and the Claddagh (famous today for an once-exiled ring maker). According to our guide, the son of the current King of the Claddagh was working in the World Trade Center on September 11th, and he ushered more than 30 coworkers down more than 40 flights of stairs, while ignoring a directive by the fire department, to arrive outside mere minutes before the towers fell. The world is a small place indeed.

Walking through the historic, now shopping district we enjoyed one awkward moment - leaving a restaurant that turned out to not have draft beers - and a fine lunch at Skeffington Arms. During which, I enjoyed another Gallway Hooker, and we discussed life in general with a couple touring English ladies who were on holiday. Still that discussion failed to match our marathon history and current political events one with an older Irishman on the train back to Dublin.

The Weekend

Following a 7am breakfast, my parents left for the airport and their indirect 11am flight to Boston via Philadelphia. I returned to bed, only to wake as their plane was leaving to accomplish my now desperate need for laundry and groceries. With many still traveling before exams, the past couple days have been low key with conversations with friends from home and Easter Mass with Brittany at Saint Mary's Pro Cathedral earlier this morning. Although the handful of protesters outside the Cathedral along with the ending commemoration of the 95th anniversary of the 1916 Easter Rising added some variety to the day. Otherwise, I look forward to returning to the States in a month, and my trip to Madrid on Thursday.

Tuxedos, Bread, and il Papa

The last two weeks have been a whirlwind of activity. I suppose that may excuse the delay in this post.

Two weeks ago marked the last few days of class prior to my 4.5 week pre-final exam break. By that Monday, four lectures and two tutorials, 6 hours, remained in my class time at Trinity. Both Irish Politics and Comparative Welfare States lectures ended the week before. Still, due to a scheduling change, and for the only time throughout the semester, I had at least one class each day of the week.

Wednesday marked our final celebration as a crew - both American and Irish - with MacTorcaills Farewell, MacTorcaills Forever. Attendance was as near mandatory as possible, with some emerging from the woodwork to join for the final shindig. Although we only lasted until 5am, the semester came full circle with the box game at Russell's.

Thursday forced a tough realization that high marks are difficult to come by at Trinity, with my first graded paper returned in Irish Politics. Although a 58% sounds terrible in the US, it translates into a B in the States (a 66% is an A). Despite having already spent over a week on my second 1700 word paper, which accounts for the other 50% of my grade, I examined the comments and engaged in some serious revision to hopefully engender a better result.

After my last lecture on Friday, my break started, and Trinity Ball loomed. At 5pm, Sean and I gathered our beverages and made for Shawna's house in distant Dublin 14. Our first ride on a city bus was uneventful, but the gathering proved to be a lively event, eclipsed only by the Sun that was the Ball. The metrics attest to the scale: 8,000 tickets, 19 bands, 4 tent venues, 1 outdoor venue, and formal attire. From 10pm to 5am, we partook in a debauchery that exceeded any prior experience. I would only return to Goldsmith after noon on Saturday.

Composition from the Ball

Sunday marked the start of my six-day trip to Italy. Following a smooth Ryan Air flight to Rome Ciampino Airport, I met an Australian woman who teaches English at the American University of Rome. We took the same Terravision bus to Termini Station in the heart of the city, and she set me off with all the transit advice and metro tickets that I would need for the stay. Meeting her was invaluable. And to supplement her help, I met a pair of Swiss and Swedish girls on the bus, who were studying Italian and would be taking the same Tram as I. With their help, I arrived at Gabby's apartment with ease.

A quick 2.25 hour trip by Sulga bus to Perugia in Umbria was followed by some identification difficulty and then a short 40 minute ride with my first cousin once removed to his organic farm in the nearby hills.  Somewhere between meeting his wife Birgit and youngest daughter Ela, eating a few delicious meals and deserts, drinking authentic Italian cappuccino, meeting three donkeys, a cat, and two guinea pigs; and seeing his oldest daughter Sara for the first time in a few years, John and I managed to discuss all matters of philosophic and political importance.

Following a short endeavor with a few bee hives, lunch, and waiting for Ela to return from her practice leaving certification exam, we filled John's car and left for Assisi, famous for a certain Saint Francis. Beyond its several churches, which included two massive cathedrals, the town afforded a spectacular view of the Tiber River Valley and the pink/tan sandstone buildings with red tile roofs expected of Italy. After seeing a couple entombed saints and exploring various side streets for picture opportunities, we visited a nearby restaurant that John and Birgit had eaten at in their first stay in Assisi a few decades ago. The huge hearth and writing-covered wall added to a warm and inviting atmosphere with, as expected, more delicious food.

Me with Sara, Birgit and John in Assisi (Ela was the photographer)

On Wednesday, and in between reading portions of A Brief History of Nearly Everything, John and Birgit made over 90 loaves of bread to sell to their loyal customers in Perugia on Thursday. Their process was near second nature with deft movements and muscle memory producing delicious loaves in a quick and precise manner. My assistance came in building the fire to heat the large outdoor stove.

The next day, we returned to Perugia. Sara and I explored the underground, Roman labyrinth of Rocca Paolina, the heavily frescoed Cathedral of San Lorenzo, and religious imagery-filled National Gallery while Ela attended class and her parents distributed the bread from the day before. Later on, and after a cappuccino, I was en route to Rome, and soon after that back at Gabby's. At the apartment I was greeted by Dara and Gabby's roommate Rachel, who had helped create a well-time dinner of shrimp and pasta. We made good use of my cousin's dogwood and apple jam too.

The next day, we made use of Culture Week in Rome with free visits to the Colosseum and the Forum. Walking among artifacts of one of the most powerful and lasting empires of human history is inspiring at minimum, with the power of the ruins contrasting the graffitied walls of modern Rome. After spending ten cents for luck at the Trevi Fountain, walking through the Pantheon, and visiting the Fountain to the Four River Gods, Dara, Gabby, and I were ready to reunite with Zoe and Becca for our tour of the opulent Vatican museum.

Gabby, Dara and I in the Pantheon

Full Italy Album

12 euro tickets allowed us to skip the lines and see the neutered Roman statues, lavishly frescoed halls, famous Raphael paintings such as the School of Athens and the crowing of Charlemagne, and the much anticipated Sistine Chapel. While the latter was magnificent, it was underwhelming given the hype and the equally impressive artwork dotting the pilgrimage through the halls it followed. One night out later, and I was back in Dublin following a morning flight.

On Sunday, and despite having to sprint for their plane in Philadelphia, my parents arrived in Dublin. We explored campus: touring the Book of Kells and the Old library, visiting the new Human+ exhibit in the science gallery, and watching some Trinity cricket and rugby. Between always expensive Dublin lunches and dinners we walked through Saint Stephen's Green, and made plans to tour the Guinness and Jameson Breweries tomorrow.

Shooting, Hurling, and Football

Despite the Dublin's best effort, I discovered a service that is cheaper here than back in the States. For a mere 5 Euro I secured a haircut along the North Side of the Liffey. Fortunately, this past week was far more exciting than a cheap Monday-haircut, and my Tuesday/Wednesay-draft essay on the strength of the Dáil Éireann.

On Thursday, Sean and I returned to the Rifle Club to make use of our free session that came with our 2 Euro membership fee from last week. Using the .22 caliber smallbore rifles we shot from the prone position at a 2 inch circular target at a range of 25 yards with a non-magnifying scope. Since it was our first time shooting smallbore, the range operators outfitted us with a resting block to use as a rifle mount, and were on hand to provide constant feedback. Following our ten rounds, my shots proved precise if not necessarily accurate.

Rifle Club Target

Full Dublin Album

Three activities conspired to make Friday interesting. First off, Cadbury setup a tent and a few timed competitions on the rugby pitch to award three Nintendo Wii consoles to the three students who stacked 28 coins,  unrolled toilet paper, or made a bed the fastest. Each had various limits as to the number of limbs to be used, with all competitors awarded a full-size chocolate bar for their efforts. Two events received most of my attention: a inflatable that held a bungie cord race that snapped you backwards as you tried to reach the end - no Wii involved, and the toilet paper one, as I was prone to lapping the event and letting it catch the wind or another competitor to unravel. 

Later that day, I finally visited the Memory Lab at Trinity's Science Gallery. The month-long, open-to-the-public exhibit boasts 11 memory exercises, many on computers, with the data collected to be used for a Trinity research paper. After participating in four, my strengths were "Information Overload," which involved reciting 9-number sequences while completing a timed maze; and "Saved by the Memories," which centered on ranking various words as to their usefulness in particular situations, then memorizing number sequences, then trying to remember as many of the previous words as possible. I was least successful at "Two Second Memory" and "Don't You Know Who I Am?"

At night, Sean, John, and I set out for O'Reilly's Pub, as recommended by the Rifle Club for its cheap pints that are always 3.20 Euro. The place is tucked under the Tara Street Station and is reachable via a narrow alley by the Ulster Bank building along the Liffey. Despite the negative image that might surface from a pub located under a set of Dart tracks, the place was marked for its classic furnishings and bustling atmosphere. However, word was out about its prices, as the place was full to bursting. Adding our guilt at skipping MacTorcaill's, and one pint later, we had left for our favorite pub. Of note there, was our successful request for Cheers to be the last song of the night, and two spring 2009 AU graduates who are studying for their masters at Trinity.

On saturday, Brittany, Sean, Emma and I set out for Croke Park and the GAA double-header featuring Dublin versus Kilkenny in Hurling followed by Dublin versus Down in Gaelic Football. Despite deciding to try a unknown shortcut to the stadium, we arrived in time for the matches. Of course, we refers to Sean and I who saw the hurling match from the 20 minute mark onward, while Brittany and Emma were separated when they went looking for Kathryn and only made it to the stadium for football. A torrential downpour and hailstorm during the hurling game delayed their arrival, while we watched the exciting match under the protection of the stadium's overhang.

Sean and I at Croke Park

Of note at the stadium: Dublin overcame a late goal by Kilkenny to claw back 3 points through the uprights, including a last second, stoppage time shot; Jedward, Ireland's entry in the Eurosong competition, performed their unique style, including two of their songs, Say it Ain't So, Ice Ice Baby, and Ghostbusters, at halftime; and Dublin came from a point behind in the closing minutes, to tie Down, and win with a stunning last second goal.

On Sunday, Sean and I made use of my Groupon to tour the nearly 52,000-seat Aviva Stadium, the home of Irish Rugby and Football. Completed in 2010, the basket-shaped structure replaced the Lansdowne Road stadium, built in 1872. The state-of-the-art facility is one of the buildings that standout as the last throws of the Celtic Tiger. I only wish that I had 80 Euro to spend watching the UEFA Europa League Final on 15 May.

Aviva Stadium with lights to stimulate grass growth visible in the background

Full Dublin Part II Album

This week is the final five days of classes, different from my usual four days as a professor switched our class to Monday/Friday. Tuesday I interview with the Chief Operating Officer of Public Notice, an economic policy advocacy firm in Arlington, VA; and Friday is the Trinity Ball. By next Sunday night, I will be in Rome.

A Phoenix, some art, and the Gaol

After an early Monday morning dedicated to turning a hard copy of my history essay to the department, the week hit a high note on Wednesday. That night, Maggie, Sean, and I joined the Dublin University Rifle Club and participated in their charity fun shoot. Using Olympic-grade air rifles, we competed in a 5 minute heat with 15 bullets to strike several target pigs and shell casings at vary distances in the on-campus but secluded basement shooting range and clubhouse of the society. Due to safety concerns, the fun shoot precluded the .22 caliber rifles, but Sean and I are committed to signing up to shoot them this Tuesday.

Following the club, we joined the regulars for a trip to Mactorcaills to celebrate Russell's birthday. En route, Sean and I helped a stranded motorist push-start his car on Pearse street, as city buses and passing cars threatened to sideswipe the guy holding the wheel. Such a deed was absent in our subsequent trip to Mactorcaills on Friday, following the jazz band at the Pav earlier that night.

On Saturday morning, the regulars set out for Phoenix Park, the largest urban park in Europe. Unfortunately, the blue skies and sunny, warm weather that marked the weekdays before was absent that morning. Nevertheless, we walked the 50 or so minute trip along the North Side of the Liffey to the park's entrance. While there, we visited the tree, under which Brittany regained her hearing, and scaled the massive Duke of Wellington Monument - well more of a miniature Washington Monument. Eating lunch on the granite was not quite the lying-in-the-sun park day that we had imagined, but Brittany and Maggie persuaded us to do a few cartwheels on the grass below.

Atop the Wellington Monument

The cold wind and thick clouds dissuaded us from further exploring the park to find its deer herds, historic fort, and perhaps an illusive set of swings. As Kathryn and Sean departed for Goldsmith, Maggie, Brittany, John, and I continued onward for the infamous Kilmainham Gaol, a mere twenty minute walk from the park. On the way, we crossed the Liffey and passed by a neighborhood of broken dreams - a brand new, empty apartment development along the river. Upon reaching the gaol we purchased our 2 Euro (student) tour tickets, but had over an hour before our scheduled time.

Instead of visiting the Gaol's extensive, 3-floor museum - and presumably similar artifacts as Wicklow - we left for the next-door Irish Museum of Modern Art, as housed in the 17th Century Royal Hospital of Kilmainham. Behind the castle-styled gatehouse to the Museum's grounds was a wide tree-lined avenue to the building's front door. As was expected, closer to the building were various forms of artwork, a interesting juxtaposition given the graveyards that neighbored the gatehouse.

After crossing into a courtyard that mimicked Collin's Baracks, we entered the free Museum. Inside two temporary exhibitions received our full attention. The first was a stirring collection of photographs from the 1970s, which depicted the Troubles in Northern Ireland. The second was a series of paintings by one artist who enjoyed to depict a detailed background covered by an unrelated and different media foreground of intertwining geometric designs. Each canvas was covered in brilliant colors and contrasted well with the white walls of the exhibit. Before seeing the entire permanent exhibit, we were distracted by the response room, where we joined others our age, to draw away the minutes before our tour at the Gaol.

For the tour, we joined at least twenty or so others in a walk through the building's original wing (built in 1796), the death row cell, the movie-famous East Wing, and the work and execution yard. Our guide mixed comedy with history and held our attention for the hour-long visit. Of note were the cells that held the leaders of the 1798 rebellion and the 1916 Easter uprising. In regards to the latter, the swift executions of leaders of that movement is credited with spurring the 1919 successful revolution. In addition, many who opposed the free state during the civil war were interned in the Gaol, including the future Taoiseach and later President Eamon de Valera. For its history and presentation, the facility is well worth a visit.

By the Irish sign for the Gaol

Later that night, and to the chagrin of my friend and die-hard DC United supporter, Craig, the Revolution benefited from some questionable officiating to win 2-1 in their home opener. At the very least, the Revs have demonstrated an ability to score goals, and may rebound from last season's dismal performance.

On Sunday, daylight savings time finally reached Ireland, but not our Nokia phones. So nearly everyone failed to wake up on time for our departure to Dun Laoghaire, a coastal town on the Dart line south of Dublin. Adding fears regarding papers and upset stomachs, only Sean and I managed to keep the trip.

The town is far more developed than it's coastal cousin to the North. After walking along the seawall that enclosed a harbor boasting four yacht clubs, we continued around the town, nearly in vain, to find the Sunday market. Fortunately, we located the bustling stalls and vendors in a park further from the Dart Station than we had expected. Inside we purchased huge Italian sausages and set out for the "Joyce" tower - more likely an ordinary Martello tower than a temporary home of the famous author.

After reaching the closed tower Museum, we explored the Forty Foot "beach" nearby. Despite an abundance of jagged rocks, this section was ensconced by a worn variety of sea walls and beach stations. At its furtherst point, more than several individuals defied the rocky coasts and plunged into the water below. Given the name and their survival, the jumping spot must have some depth.

Christ the King statue in Dun Laoghaire

Full Dublin Album

On the way back from the beach, we stopped at Teddy's Ice Cream shop along the shore. A line extending down the street attested to its price (1.60 euro for a large cone) and quality. We waited in line, and devoured our vanilla cones, complete with a chocolate stick, before taking the Dart back to Dublin.

Next weekend we hope to catch Dublin v. Kilkenny at Croke Park in Hurling and Gaelic Football. During the week I will write my final Politics paper, as we have but two weeks of classes before pre-finals break.

Shaking Hands with a Crusader

This weekend was low key to allow my wallet to recover from the festivities of Saint Patrick's Day. Still, Saturday presented an opportunity to explore a couple more sites in Dublin.

Most of the regulars were trapped in the Ussher Library feverishly writing essays (at least a couple on ranking US Presidents), so Sean and I left without them for Saint Michan's Church and its mummies. Built a few blocks from the north bank of the Liffey, the Church traces its history to a Viking chapel from 1095, with the current structure dating from the 17th century.

Before descending into the crypts below, the tour commences with a visit to the interior (3 euro, student - which Sean and I somehow avoided paying). Four elements of note are held within: a sizable pipe organ is said to have been used by Handel to compose the Messiah as the Cathedrals would not permit him time to practice, the stain glass window was replaced in the 20th century, and is from a city church that was deconsecrated around the same time that Saint Michan's window was destroyed during the revolution; the coverlet on the altar was purchased in a fish market following the theft of the original; and a movable kneeling post was once used for individuals to confess their sins publicly as they were wheeled around the Church.

Following the tour of the interior, we followed another guide, with a flair for compelling storytelling, outside to the bulkheads that seal the crypts. The first crypt was stunted - blocked by a younger wall then those buffeting its sides - but held the Church's famous mummies. Opening coffins is a crime in Ireland (as in all countries?) so the four on display represent individuals who slipped out of broken containers.

Saint Michan's Church, sadly no photography was permitted in the crypts

Full Dublin Album

As our guide explained, the combination of a dry environment, moisture-absorbing limestone walls, and methane gas released from the floor preserved the bodies in remarkable conditions (although with less hair than the bog people). The two female mummies lack any peculiar characteristics beyond their preserved condition. One of the males is missing his feet and his right arm. The feet are likely missing due to a conflict between his height and the size of the coffin, while the hand could represent thievery (but how was he buried below a Church?), an accident, or warfare.

Beyond the other three individuals, the mummy of most interest is the purported 800-year-old Crusader, identified by the cross made by his thighs. More impressive though is his height at 6 foot 6 inches, tall today, and a near giant for his time (his legs are broken to fit in the casket). Although a small metal grate blocks the entrance to the tomb, it serves as a misdirection, as the guide allowed us to move inside to "shake hands" with the Crusade by rubbing his exposed hand for luck.

The second crypt boasted several still-in-use rooms, or at least rooms that may still be used by their respective families. However, the one boasting the Earls of Kenmare is illuminated as the last interned Earl was unpopular among his family - and buried in an unadorned coffin to contrast his roommates' adorned in gold (the tomb was later disowned). Just a few cells away are artifacts and two revolutionaries from the 1798 Rebellion.

Following the Church, we continued along the Liffey until we reached Collins Barracks, now the Art and Decorative History Museum. The name is inadequate for the collection boasted within the massive quadrangle-based structure. Inside are weapons and artifacts from throughout Ireland's military history - including the coat worn by Michael Collins when he was assassinated. In contrast to the Imperial War Museum in London, the Barracks exhibits tell a tale of failed rebellions, the Irish diaspora serving in foreign armies, and the modern contributions to United Nations peacekeeping forces. However, the wealth of artifacts drawn from such foreign involvement, as well as the free admission, made the visit more than worthwhile.

After lunch, Sean and I were joined by John at MacTorcaills to watch the Six Nations Rugby match between Ireland and England as hosted in Dublin at the Aviva Stadium. Having just lost to Wales in a poorly contested match, and knowing that England was destined to win the tournament, Ireland played for pride and to deny their opponents the grand slam (an undefeated victory). In a downpour uncharacteristic of the last few sunny days, Ireland trounced England 24-8 in a style that never permitted the Roses to contend the match.

Following the match (and dinner) I completed the final stage of my PolitiCorps application - a 1 minute video explaining the importance of political engagement and involvement to my peers:

Today was spent exploring the Iveagh Gardens, a public park often overshadowed by the nearby (and larger) Saint Stephen's Green, as well as by the surrounding buildings. The site maintains the sculpted, European-style  found in the Green and Merrion Square, but its more exclusive nature is a welcome contrast to the more tourist-filled others. Unfortunately the sizable stone and statue fountains were not yet active, but a small hedge maze provided a nice diversion - even with two Irish ladies reminding me not to cheat.

Otherwise, I finished my History essay - Understanding Women's Reactions to the 1937 Constitution, galvanized the regulars to take trips to Phoenix Park and Dun Leary next weekend, and will watch the Revolution season opener tonight against Los Angeles due in part to a fortuitous delay in daylight savings in Ireland that will place the game at midnight our time.