Castles in the Sky

MONDAY

With Jorge and Ana working during the day, I followed their advice and took the train from Rossio Railway Station by Praça de D. Pedro IV to the town of Sintra, which famous as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The 40 minute trip was well worth the 4.10 euro (round-trip) cost. In addition, the town is prepared to handle visitors as the train station hosts a tourism office that directs you to the nearby 434 'Pena Sightseeing' Bus (4.80 round-trip), which climbs the hills every 20 minutes.

After passing by the historic town center, the full bus turned up the narrow and steep roads that ascend the hills boast the 9th/10th Century Moorish Castle and 19th Century Palace of Pena. I opted to remain on the bus until we reached the Palace, and once there I purchased a 12 euro combined ticket to visit both it and the nearby castle. Other tickets are available and include the remaining palaces and museums in the town.

From the front gates, it is a quick 10 minute walk up well-maintained cobblestone paths to the summit and the Palace. Before the 19th Century opulence graced the territory, a series of chapels and monasteries thrived there from the 1500s until the Lisbon Earthquake of 1755. In the 1800s the Crown assumed control of the land, and proceeded to construct the Palace with facades of vibrant yellows, blues, and reds, exterior walls covered in ornate tiles and statues, and various towers and ramparts that protect hidden courtyards. While not only recognized by UNESCO, the building is considered one of the '7 Wonders of Portugal,' and is a fine example of Romanesque architecture.

Palace of Pena

Photography is not permitted inside the Palace, which is filled with artifacts and artwork from around the world. There is a marble altar inside the chapel that depicts various instances in the life of Christ which towers to the ceiling and leaves one to marvel in its grandeur. Around every corner and up to every ceiling are themes that evoke cultures from around the globe and present an astounding scale of wealth and detail. Adding to the statuary and furniture are views of the surrounding countryside, River Tagus, and Atlantic Ocean.

Those views are surpassed at the Cruz Alta ('High Cross'), which rises at eight or so feet from the true summit of the hill with the Palace. Reaching the Cross requires a journey up along the cobblestone paths, which wind around various outbuildings, statues, and gardens that dot the hillside. The King who commanded the construction of the Palace and Park desired a tropical destination that would concurrently evoke memories of his German homeland. The mix of ponds, exotic plants and architecture, along with towering domestic trees and winding paths accomplishes that desire.

The Moorish Castle is a short walk from the Palace, and while less grand in artwork and surviving structures, it nevertheless commands a visit. Several towers and a series of walls rise out of the summit of its hill, and each offers a spectacular view of the surrounding region. Unlike the smooth stonework of the Palace, the Castle is noticeably rougher and displays more visible wear from the elements. As with the other hill, the wind was fierce and polls that were supposed to display the historical flags of Portugal, were bare or bore only tatters whipping back and forth.

Moorish Castle

Full Sintra Album

Instead of locating the bus stop by the entrance to the Castle, I took another path down the hillside to the town below. With museums closed on Mondays, and feeling exhausted from the miles of walking, I soon boarded the train back to Lisbon. Leaving, I recognized that someone could devote weeks to Sintra without seeing all of its offerings.

Back in Lisbon, I soon met up with Ana and Manuel. We stopped for dinner at Principe do Calhariz, which abuts Bairo Alto. My massive steak dinner was priced for the college student, but was presented on the scale of fine dining. Following dinner, we entered the quiet streets of the art, music, and club district. Monday night is not the most exciting time to visit the area known for partying. Nevertheless, we stopped at Majong and enjoyed a couple drinks to finish the evening.

A Few Days in Lisbon

'Incredible' best describes the last few days I spent in Lisbon, which overcame a span of 10.5 years since my last visit to Portugal. In order to recount the trip, I will endeavor to avoid most of the minutiae that receives considerable attention in earlier posts. 

Before leaving for Portugal, two experiences in Dublin marked the days before. On the Wednesday before, I negotiated my way into The Phil's presentation of Sir Michael John Gambon, perhaps best known (by my generation) for his portrayal of Albus Dumbledore (movies 3-8). Hearing the actor who counsels Harry Potter curse and laugh while recounting his life stories was a welcome addition the night. That Thursday, a few of us visited Cineworld for the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival's first look at the Australian drama/thriller 'Wasted on the Young,' which delves into the fatal consequences of social networking and high school cliques. A storyline spliced with flashbacks and expert cinematography was complemented by believable characters and a gripping pace. 

FRIDAY

The Aer Lingus flight to Lisbon Airport was uneventful and more relaxed than the seat-rush and selling of Ryan Air. Still, beyond a seat number and more lax baggage restrictions, little else differentiated the airlines. After meeting my cousin Jorge at arrival gate, we headed to his parent's apartment (his father is my dad's first cousin), where I would be staying for the next few days. After saying olá to his parents and the Macau-studying-abroad student 'Rafael,' we sat down for a full dinner of pork chops and pasta, accentuated by the all the standard Portuguese accompaniments of olives, bread, wine, and espresso (with scotch on the side).

SATURDAY

Following a delicious light breakfast of coffee, and toast with butter and a pineapple-mango spread, I set out to get lost in the city before lunch. Before leaving the block, I stepped into the hotel across the street and collected a free map of the city to aid in my exploration. Soon thereafter I was at the roundabout for Sebastião José de Carvalho e Melo the 1st Marquess of Pombal and celebrated for his swift and able response to the devastating 1755 Lisbon Earthquake. Descending from the statue is the tree-lined and boulevard-styled Avenida da Liberdade that stretches down into the historic city center and by the River Tagus. 

Rather than continue in that direction, I headed the opposite way up into the Parque Eduardo VII, which boasts a wide mall lined with paths, ponds, and even a tennis complex. At the top of the Park is a set of pillars with olive wreaths and centered with a massive Portuguese flag. The view of the city from the summit is only matched by those found on its other 'Seven Hills.'

Marquess of Pombal and Eduard VII Park in background

For lunch, Jorge's sister Ana joined him, his parents, and I for Bacalhau à Gomes de Sá, the traditional Portuguese codfish and potato dish. Often my brothers and I remark that while the Italians have seven fishes the Portuguese have seven varieties of Bacalhau. 

Afterwards, Jorge, Ana, and I descended down via old valley roads that parallel the modern Avenida to reach the historic city center. Once there, we tasted Ginjinha (made with cherries and aguardiente) by the famous shop bordering the square that once hosted executions for the Inquisition. The modern theater that stands in the old courthouse nearby is said to be cursed, and the Catholic Church of S. Domingo suffered a fire that devastated the never-repaired interior. 

From there, we passed underneath the Rua Augusta Arch and into the Praça do Comércio which boarders the Tagus. The plaza is enormous and bordered on three sides with 18th century symmetrical buildings that once housed government ministries dedicated customs and commerce. The open square is only rivaled by several others that occupy wide swaths of prime real estate in the historic city center. Their existence attests to the pedestrian-friendly nature of Lisbon - a city with a subway, bus network, light rail, trolley, and commuter train stations. 

 Praça do Comércio

Full Lisbon Album

Following a brief trip by the art and club district of Bairro Alto, Ana and I left for the 'Peruvian Saturday Night' dinner hosted by a local restaurant, as rented by a friend of hers. That friend met his wife online, and traveled to Peru shortly thereafter to marry her, and by all accounts has enjoyed a successful marriage to date.   At the restaurant, I met Ana's boyfriend Manuel, and his son of my age, Antonio. The meal was spectacular with several courses including octopus and a few drinks of Pisco Sour, a South American cocktail made with various ingredients including lemon juice and egg white. The friend warned of its hidden potency due to a disguised taste, but indicated that it will never yield a hangover.

SUNDAY

A relaxed morning filled with breakfast and the Libyan uprising via RPT and CNN International gave way to a visit to Hospital da Luz in the Benfica neighborhood of Lisbon. Albino's brother, my father's first cousin, and Jorge and Ana's uncle, João was admitted to the facility a few weeks before, as his yearlong battle with cancer drew to close. Nearly 11 years prior he and his wife had entertained my family at his home in Padornelos, and it was difficult to see the same man weak in bed to accompany my only other memory of him. 

At the hospital, one of his brothers invited me to join him for dinner later that night. Since João's son Joaquim, who lives near my house in Massachusetts, was in town, he could translate for my lack of fluency in Portuguese. Before leaving, one conversation between Joaquim and his uncle surrounded such a lack, but my cousin remarked that I could not be expected to speak Portuguese given the poor fluency of emigrants in France as compared to my greater distance in the States with a father who only learned the basics of the language in rural, northern Portugal.

Two of his uncles, their wives, he and I enjoyed a terrific dinner complete with full shrimp (eyes and all), chouriço, pork and 'orange' potatoes, fruit salad, aletria, wine, and scotch.

That's Blarney

Declining supplies of strawberry jam limited me to 4 packets for 6 pieces of toast, but otherwise my 9am breakfast was unchanged from the day before. Still, in the 'survival of the fittest'-world of hostels I was keen to continue to grab pieces of bread even as that bordered on exhaustion. More startling, was looking up to see the German equivalent of my friend Alex, only 15 years in the future and around 20 pounds heavier, sitting at the table across from me. Brittany too was shocked by the uncanny resemblance.

After breakfast, we gathered our belongings and rushed downstairs to check out - leaving our bags in the common luggage area - and reached the stop minutes before our bus to Blarney arrived. For 6.20 round trip we were off to the town that claims the most visited castle in Ireland as well as the stone that grants the 'gift of gab.'

Following the twenty minute ride, we arrived in the quaint town square surrounded by small shops, many dedicated to tourists. At the gate to the castle grounds, Brittany, Maggie and I were forced to turn around upon realizing that the entrance fee of 8 euro could not be paid with a card. Unfortunately the Bank of Ireland ATM was out of service in the nearby grocery store, but we eventually located an Allied Irish Bank one that functioned though only distributed 50 euro notes. On the way, we passed by parishioners leaving Mass and a candidate distributing literature by his sign-covered Lexus.

Once inside the Castle grounds, I was amazed to see the surviving tower rise up from the center and dominate the horizon. Built in 1446, Blarney Castle was besieged by Oliver Cromwell on a couple occasions, and is knwn for the various legends surrounding its name, stone, and missing gold.

North side of the Castle

Reunited with the rest of the group, we crossed the Blarney River to the imposing north side of the tower that rises out of the bedrock to a height of 7 or 8 stories. Cut into the rock below are several narrow passageways that are plagued with dripping water and low ceilings. Not wanting to crawl through the mud and darkness, we avoided exploring too far into the tunnels and caves.

Moving about to the southern side of the tower, we explored the surviving exterior round towers on the way, and arrived at the main entrance. Several rooms within the building bear witness to the many visitors who have toured the site across generations with names stretching back to the 1700s. Before leaving the main hall, Emma and I added ours to the building.

Before reaching the roof, you are able to wind around through several rooms that over views of the surrounding grounds and nearby town. However the trip upwards is not for the claustrophobic nor acrophobic, as the stone spiral staircase narrows and steepens as you proceed to the top. Still, we were thankful to depart the steps and stand on a more open area on the roof, though the high winds discouraged a few from braving the parapets that contained slits to the ground below for drainage.

Kissing the stone is no longer the death defying feat that generations before experienced. Modern iron bars are in place to guide your hands down are you are lowered backwards into the slit in front of the parapet. And a couple cross the gap below to catch you if the experienced guide were to let you slip. Nevertheless, the wife of 'German Alex' (they managed to choose the same day to visit Blarney) was too frightened to receive the 'gift of gab.'

Me kissing the Blarney Stone

Full Cork County Album

Descending via a noticeably wider spiral staircase we stopped a several points to explore a few more rooms and the murder hole above the main entrance. On our way out, it began to downpour, which spurred a quick exploration of a nearby round tower and the closed-for-renovations Blarney House (mansion).

Circling back, we stopped to tour the 'Rock Close' which contains gardens, waterfalls, and 'Witches' and 'Druids' Caves. Several posed pictures later we left the curious garden to return to the entrance to the grounds. On the way, Brittany and I found a set of swings which enhanced the entire trip to Ireland.

For lunch, we ate at Muskerry Arms Pub, owned by an Irishman born in Boston who has since opened locations in New York City. The Boston link was evident in the framed cover of the Boston Globe announcing the first Red Sox World Series win after 86 years among the various rugby and Gaelic sports jerseys and photographs. Still, my meal of a roast beef sandwich with chips was made better by my cheapest pint so far in Ireland, of Beamish at 3.10, and watching Celtic rout their arch rivals Rangers F.C. 3-0.

Following lunch, we took the 2:55pm bus back to Cork and rushed to catch the 4:00pm bus back to Dublin. After touring all weekend 8 of us were in no condition to stay for the 6:00pm, but John and Eric returned to Charlie's for some authentic Irish music.

This week, besides rest and classes, I look forward to purchasing an expensive Trinity Ball ticket, listening to Dumbledore when he visits campus, and perhaps competing in Simpsons Trivia at MacTorcaills. But on Friday I will depart for Lisbon for reading week.

Vistas in Cobh

As agreed the night before, we threw ourselves out of bed at 9am to grab the complimentary 'breakfast' that the hostel provided. The service of toast, coffee, and tea ended at 9:30am so threw on close from the night before and rushed downstairs to participate in the feast. After 6 pieces of toast, 6 strawberry jam packets, 3 butter packets, and 1 cup of tea with milk and sugar, I finished breakfast and returned with the others to our room.

After preparing for the day, we set out for Kent Station to take the train to the port of Cobh ('Cove') in the south of the County. The small town is famous for serving as the final port of call for both 2.5 million emigrants between 1848 and 1950 as well as the final stop, on 11 April 1912, for the Titanic before its ill-fated voyage across the Atlantic. At the time the place was named 'Queenstown' in honor of the visit by Queen Victoria in 1849.

Following the declaration of the Free State in 1922 the town reverted to its previous name, Cove, though Gaelicised to 'Cobh.' Important to American history, the survivors and recovered victims of the Lusitania were brought to the town after the ship was sunk by a German submarine on 7 May 1915. Relevant to my ancestry, the town served as the home of my second great grandfather William Hennessey before he emigrated to the States.

Before boarding our 12pm train, we walked for a bit along the Lee River which is diverted into two canals that flow around the city's downtown. At Emmet Place by the Opera House we walked among the Saturday morning market that boasted many of the wares and foods that were offered at Howth a few weeks ago. Soon thereafter, we passed along the opposite bank of river in the direction of the station, and came upon four silver spires at 20 or so feet in height. Each contained a set of speakers that projected traditional music or somber stories and poetry by emigrants leaving Cork for the States or Australia.

Saint Colman's Cathedral with JFK Park in the foreground

Only needing to ask Irish sailors once, we arrived at Kent Station with sufficient time to board our 12pm train to Cobh. The ride was less than a half hour and the ticket cost 6.35 euros for the round trip. On the way we passed some scenic vistas with water on both sides of the tracks, small towns clinging to cliff faces, and a castle overlooking the nearby communities.

Once in Cobh we visited the Heritage Center housed in the former railway station. Much of the interior was intact with signs designating first class queues as well as luggage positioned along the walls to mimic those of the emigrants who went through in years past. Inside we collected a map and set out to explore the town.

Situated along considerable elevation, the town could match those along the Mediterranean with its bright pastel colored homes that wrap along the streets that look out onto the ocean. Walking along those streets, we came upon the Lusitania Memorial which consists of two figures cast in bronze by pillar topped with an angel beckoning them to her. Passing under the old Customs house we continued up the ever steepening road to reach Saint Colman's Cathedral.

Completed in 1915 at a cost of 235,000 pounds the Catholic Cathedral is the most prominent landmark in the town and boasts the largest carillon in Ireland. Unlike the expensive houses of worship in London, the Cathedral was free to tour and was magnificent for its enormous sculptures, Celtic-themed mosaic, and massive pipe organ. Near the front, I added my grandmother who passed away just after Thanksgiving and my Tio Americo, who passed away the Wednesday before, to the book for intercessions.

Leaving the Cathedral, we proceeded to the Old Church Cemetery. At the time we did not realize that it was two kilometers from the town, but once committed, continued on to site. Inside, the oldest grave was for an individual who passed away in late 1600's. While most stones were fading, some showed signs of recent repair to the face plates, perhaps by still living descendants.

After some searching we came upon the three stone markers for the mass graves for the recovered victims of the Lusitania. Of the 1,198 people who perished only 289 were recovered, and 169 were buried in the cemetery. Many of the 144 buried in the mass graves were unidentified and have only the roughly carved stones and the small faceplate with 'Lusitania 7 May 1915' to mark their burial.

Returning to town, we stopped at Gills for 'authentic fish and chips.' Given the beautiful weather, we took our massive lunches, wrapped in paper, to the John F. Kennedy Park that overlooks the water. Once we ate, we continued to move about Cobh, passing by the small memorial to the Titanic, the former offices of the White Star Line, and 'The Bench,' as advertised on street signs, but which was merely three nondescript, white benches that once looked out at the Titanic.

Our 'disappointment' after locating 'The Bench'

Full County Cork Album

Taking the 4:30pm train back to the City, we would leave the station without our tickets ever getting checked by any agent. Perhaps the warnings of high fines suffice, but we wondered whether we could have booked our seats for free.

Back at the hostel, we relaxed for a couple hours by resting and playing a few games of Mafia. Afterwards, we headed to Charlie's, a small pub by City Hall, as recommended to us by a couple at Eddie Rocket's the night before. With affordable drinks and a cheap atmosphere we nevertheless had to leave in search of dinner before the live music started.

Given our late decision, it was no surprise that we found food at the 24-hour McDonald's whose appearance seemed more like a chic restaurant than the greasy drive through franchises in the States. Following our less than cheap meal, a couple split off to return to Charlie's for music, while the rest of us met Emma's friends studying at the University of Cork to later visit the club Door 51.

Inside I purchased my first pint of Murphy's, a distinct and somewhat bitter taste as compared to Beamish and Guinness. Shortly after a glass light orb shattered on the bar, we departed for The Grafton and were soon thereafter back at our hostel.

Arriving (and Serenaded) in Cork

On Friday ten of us met in the Goldsmith Quad to cross the Liffey and catch the 6:00pm Bus Eireann to Cork City. Since tickets can only be purchased online for particular days and not for specific times, we set out after 4:30pm and arrived with just under an hour before our bus would depart. The scene in the main station was that of ordered chaos. Lines formed as gate numbers were announced for particular buses. However, the gates are structured on an 'L' so the stretching lines intersected and wound across the entire lobby.

Two gates announced for Cork, so we picked one and formed the front of a growing line. However, the decision was soon made to make our bus a local Cork County one and to turn the other into a Cork City express. We were then ushered into the back of the other line. Due to a little luck, we all managed to fit on board despite the initial commotion caused by the station officer unknowingly drawing the cutoff point in front of Brittany.

Following one stop at a gas station and fast food joint, we arrived at the city's bus terminal around 10:30pm. From there we gathered our bags and set out to find the Kinlay House hostel on the other side of the canal. The nature of the buildings along the water evoked that of Dublin along the Liffey but for the rising elevation on all sides. Although we never located the alleged 'Goldfish' landmark, we found the Cork Opera House and made the correct turn to our hostel.

Downtown Cork City

Full County Cork Album

Even though the alleyway that led to its front door was covered with graffiti, the hostel proved most welcoming (and cheap at 25 euro for the weekend). Since we booked independently, we were not all in the same ten-person dorm room. However, I found myself among the seven 'cool kids' in our self-described 'summer camp 2011' room in the Jospeh O'Connor section of the building. Brittany and Sean were in a room nearby, but Emma was stuck a couple floors below.

After putting away our bags we departed to investigate the city's nightlife. Back in downtown we entered the pedestrian boulevard of Emmet Place by the Opera House. The majority of the streets boasted modern silver lampposts that lifted diagonal light fixtures over the streets that almost met as archways. As a result, each echoed the style of Dublin's Grafton street without the relative darkness of its Temple Bar district. Following a visit to an ATM we were recommended the Thomond Bar that boasted karaoke.

On the way in, we were given tokens for a free shot. Even though we knew that it was never a good idea to visit locations with such promotions (i.e. The Mezz in Dublin), perhaps we were drawn in by the terrible rendition of 'Bad Romance' emanating from within. Following the shot of questionable alcohol content, I purchased my first pint of Beamish, a stout from Cork that competes with Murphy's, the other local one. Together with Guinness they form the trifecta of common Irish Stouts.

Participants in karaoke favored many American tunes with a particular preference for Elvis. Repudiating the potential foreshadowing of Lady Gaga, each singer performed with an uncanny similarity to the original artists. At least that was the case until the six girls decided to sing 'Don't Stop Believin,' a rendition which is available below:

Similar to Dublin, the pub closed just after midnight. In search of more festivities and eager to explore the city center, we sought a club to visit for the rest of the night. However, many of the later venues either charged cover fees or denied entry to anyone below 21 or in one case below 23. Disheartened, seven of us grabbed nearly variety of chips available at Eddie Rockets 1950's-styled American Diner. As it turns out, the chain has no relation to the Johnny Rocket's of the states and besides its near identical decor is an unaffiliated Irish copy. Still the chili fries were delicious.

After reuniting with the three who tried in vain to find an establishment to visit, we cajoled our way into The Grafton for its final 20 minutes before closing. Inside I met the first of two woman in County Cork who knew Framingham. Upon meeting a group from America the first woman surrounded us with her friends who proceeded to serenade us with traditional Irish pub songs. 

We stayed with them until after last call, when a rendition of the famous IRA song 'Come Out Ye Black and Tans,' which references the British paramilitary units deployed during the Irish Revolution, was sufficient, either for noise or content, for the security guard to descend upon us and ask us to leave the bar.

Back at the hostel we woke up our 8th roommate by our late arrival and shared some stories after he turned out to be from Seattle on vacation. 

British Museum and Sprinting

At just before 11:00am we woke up to set out for our final expeditions in the city. There had been a plan to visit Canterbury over the weekend, but my malfunctioning Vodafone on Saturday and our drinks the night before precluded the trip.

Instead, we left Rosebury to find lunch at LSE and to then walk to Buckingham Palace. For lunch, we bought cheap foot-long subs from 'Hot,' and place catering to students. En route, we passed through various side streets  and quads at at the School. As with Trinity, the campus is marked by several older structures and far interesting architecture than the concrete slabs at AU.

Afterwards, we headed through Trafalgar Square and along Saint Jame's Park to reach Buckingham Palace. The scale of the park evokes the Washington Mall with its wide boulevards on either side, but is notable for its multitude of trees and a pond filled with various wildlife. Although I wanted to see the Palace, it was more for the expectation of others when one visits London.

Arriving outside its gates, I was not impressed by its somewhat bland architecture relative to expectations for the accommodations for royalty. Its design appeared similar to the main gate of and front buildings of Trinity, fine for a University, but less majestic for kings and queens. Still, the several gold-plated gates that displayed the magnificent Windsor Crest are lacking at the University, along with the triumphant statue thrusting from the rotary in front of the palace. Notable was the scaffolding surrounding many of the nearby structures, perhaps in preparation for next year's Olympics.

Queen Victoria with Victory in Gold atop the Monument in the Rotary

Following the Palace we passed through the park and then to the waterfront to head towards Holborn Station where we would meet our friend Ty, who was studying in London for the semester but had been out with his girlfriend earlier in the weekend. Along the water we passed by a huge Egyptian Obelisk given to the city in the early 1800's and but one example of the artifacts awaiting us at the British Museum.

After meeting Ty at the Station, Erik led us passed the turn for the Museum, but a quick turnaround later and we were entering the massive building. The scope of the place is astounding. Exhibits seem to branch off in every direction with treasures from around the world and from the former Empire. Certainly many of the objects were taken without consent, but without such action it is likely that many people would never have the opportunity to experience such a multitude of cultures.

At first our main objective was to locate the famed Rosetta Stone, discovered by forces of Napoleon in Egypt and used to translate the hieroglyphs. Even so, we permitted ourselves to wander the upper floors with minimal guidance, and so came upon works ranging from the Vikings, Ancient Rome and Italy, Babylon, Assyria, and early Christendom. In the process, we came across a relic purportedly displaying a thorn from Jesus' crown and the unopened sarcophagus of Cleopatra. Unlike Museums in Dublin, the British Museum permits photography, so Ty and I captured tens of pictures of the pieces.

Rosetta Stone

Full London Album

We passed through the Egyptian exhibit on the upper floor without locating the Rosetta Stone. It was then we realized that a lower gallery was dedicated to larger artifacts from such places as the Parthenon and Ancient Egyptian Temples. Near the entrance to that gallery we discovered a crowd hovering around a large dark stone inlaid with various script, otherwise known as the Rosetta Stone. Among the stone was huge statues from across the Ancient World and one piece that seemed to be the entire stone facade of an Ancient Greek building. If the scope of the collection is not sufficient to peak one's interest, consider that unlike many tourist sites in the city, the Museum is free.

Leaving the Museum just before 5:00pm, we headed to a nearby Spoons to grab a drink and talk until Ty needed to leave for his dinner reservations with his girlfriend, and I needed to head out for my bus to Gatwick-London Airport. Since I would be traveling until just before midnight, I opted for an affordable dinner of fish and chips as well. As a mark of our conversation, it was just before 6:00pm when realized the time and had to quickly depart.

In the process, Ty headed to an overcrowded Holborn Station that we were later told was closed due to the surge of people, and Erik and I were separated boarding a bus back to Rosebury since his Oyster card malfunctioned. Riding up the street at night, I left the bus at the start of Rosebury instead of near his dorm, so I needed to sprint up the street so as to ensure that I could make my 7:00pm National Express bus.

Getting off the elevator, after having thrown my belongings into my bag, I stumbled into Erik who had caught the bus behind me. He then ushered me towards the door, and ran me across the street to an approaching bus that I could take to Angel. In the chaos, he said that there are trains to Gatwick from Victoria Station if I missed my bus, we said goodbye, and I jumped on board.

In spite of the significant lack of time, I had earlier discovered the fastest route to Victoria Station. I forced myself onto a near-full train at Angel, switched to Victoria at Euston, and arrived at the station with 10 minutes to find the bus terminal. After asking two security guards and one desk receptionist, I made it the couple blocks from the station to the terminal and boarded my bus with a minute to spare.

As I was boarding, the driver had announced that since the bathroom was broken he would be giving everyone five extra minutes before leaving. He turned to me and asked if I had run there, of course since I was covered in sweat, he already knew the answer. Still as I sank into my seat, I was thrilled to catch it for the one hour ride to Gatwick. Since I could still text friends in Ireland, I had Brittany send Erik a Facebook message to assure him that I caught my bus.

After an uneventful ride, I arrived at the airport for one of the last flights of the day. The security at the sizable facility was more noticeable than at Dublin or Luton, as they took a picture of you when scanning your boarding pass to enter security so that when you arrived at your gate the same picture showed up when your ticket was scanned again. Despite the hectic nature of trip to bus, I arrived at my Ryan Air terminal to be second in line to board the plane (non-priority), snagged a front row seat, and enjoyed the short trip back to Dublin. We arrived 30 minutes early, and after a trip by Air Coach, I was back in my room before midnight.

At the moment I was not thinking of organizing a Cork trip for the following weekend, but fortunately my friends here took all the steps needed so I only had to buy a bus ticket to join them.

Tower of London and Nostalgia

I awoke Sunday morning to a house alive with the movements of Lia and Sonia. They were excited to have a me as a visitor and by the end of breakfast, Lia was starting to believe that we were cousins. Before I could eat the French toast and scrambled eggs that John made, Lia once again showed me all her toys and at one point refused to let me leave her room by clinging onto my leg and blocking my path with chairs and stuffed animals.

After Breakfast, I called Erik to let him know that I was starting the trip back to Rosebury. Around an hour later later, at 12:30pm, I walked into his hall after a somewhat erratic journey switching between the District, Piccadilly, Victoria, and Northern Lines. Still, while not the most efficient, the trip was faster than the roundabout route that I had taken the night before.

Back in at the dorm, Erik was done with his paper (as of 9:00pm the night before) and happy to know that staying at my cousins did not mean that I was angry about his need to write the essay. Soon after arriving, we were back on the street and headed to a coffee shop for lunch (his breakfast) and then on to Angel. Once there, I purchased an Oyster Card (think Smartrip or Charlie Card) for 5 pounds including 2 pounds of stored value. Given the hefty 'tourist tax' on transportation, buying the card was a sound investment.

Switching onto the District Line at Bank/Monument we went another stop to Tower Hill to visit the nearby Tower of London. As with all major tourist destinations in the city, tickets to the Tower were expensive at 14.50  pounds for a student (we both opted not to pay the 'voluntary' 1.45 pounds donation). Nevertheless, soon after passing through the gatehouse proved that the price while high was worth the sites inside.

Several towers, walls, and buildings are open to tourists in the compound, which includes numerous structures from various eras and periods. There is even a crumbling fragment of a stone tower once part of the Roman wall that surrounded the city. However, the main attractions were inside each of the buildings, with various artifacts from the kid-friendly armor and 'defend the castle' exhibit, to the Crown Jewels, and the myriad of armor and weaponry in the White Tower.

Erik trying on the 'guards' helmet

We spent nearly 2.5 hours in the Tower and would have been there longer if not for the closing of the complex. There are stories associated with each room and plaques describing each piece of armor and equipment. To read every element and to join one of the many free tours could occupy an entire day. I suggest visiting the site early and exploring every spot possible to more than compensate oneself for the price of admission. While I do not place too much value in jewelery, the array of crowns and artifacts echoes the majesty of the British Empire and its once absolute monarchy.

Leaving the Tower, we walked along the waterfront to intersect with the famed Tower Bridge. Unwilling to pay the steep price to scale its turrets, I satisfied myself with crossing its rather peculiar design of blue steel supporting arches, stone towers, and central drawbridge. I must appear approachable, for on the way I was stopped twice to snap photographs for other tourists.

Once over the famed bridge, we meandered along the waterfront, passing through the financial district with its modern glass-framed buildings, and back to the side with Saint Paul's Cathedral. I missed the nearby Millennium Bridge (pedestrian) the day before, so we walked to its center to look down the Thames and back to St. Paul's illuminated at night and magnificent for its Dome.

St. Paul's from Millennium Bridge

Full London Album

From there, we walked back to Rosebury in search of an affordable restaurant. Since Monday was Valentine's Day, we passed by plenty of expensive options catered to young couples. At one point we considered succumbing to the cheap 6 pound 'lovers special' at Dollar Bar and Grill, but quickly rejected it after noticing the red mood lighting and various 'romantic' decorations.

Instead we went back to Erik's dorm to see if any of his friends there new of a good place for dinner. Unlike the missing common room at Goldsmith, his hall boasts one with foosball and pool tables, as well as a bar. After scoring a couple to prevent owing him a pint after foosball, we played a quick game of pool with his English friends and set out for his room to see if Rickard wanting to grab dinner. Despite the stigmas associated with Rosebury's student-priced dining hall, we were convinced to check out the fajitas. To our dismay they were sold out, and so Erik and I left Rickard debating purchasing a pizza, while we set out to find a restaurant.

A few blocks from the hall, we came across an Italian Restaurant broadcasting the Inter Milan and Juventus match. The food was tasty, I opted for a steak while Erik ordered a pasta. Since Susan and John had earlier made a significant donation to the 'poor college student fund,' I was feeling wealthy enough to justify my choice.

Following dinner, we set out for pints at Spoons a local pub chain that boasts a variety of affordable micro-brews. After a couple drinks, I left the table to order the next round, and as is my nature, struck up yet another random conversation with a older guy at the bar. It turns out he was a site manager from near Manchester, and was supervising various projects in the city including the Olympic Stadium.  After I failed to return to our table, Erik came to the bar, which naturally brought the conversation back to the value of Rugby versus American Football - a discussion we had started earlier in the night.

After finishing our last call pints, we set out for Rosebury. Nearing the hall, we stopped at the adjacent small park and continued our discussion until the early hours of the morning. The long conversation had all the hallmarks of our debates at the Avalon over the summer that used to drive Paul to sleep before finishing.

Imperial War and Delicious Dinner

Waking up at 9:30am from my somewhat comfortable sleep on the extra mattress, and especially thankful for the duvet that Rickard lent me, I got ready for the day, grabbed Erik's map, and set out for the free Imperial War Museum. Per his plan, Erik was awake far earlier to continue to write his essay dealing with Arab Nationalism.

With map in hand and a simple route to follow, I avoided the tube and the buses and set out down Rosebury Avenue toward Farringdon Road. On the way, I ate at Cafe Nero - a local coffee shop chain - and passed by numerous construction sites. When I arrived at Blackfriar's Bridge, I again noticed the skyline set with many cranes, a site not foreign to Dublin while the tiger lived, but a rarity today.

With the weather a balmy 50 or so degrees complemented by blue skies, I was content with my decision to Walk to the Museum. Of course, the simple direction and the now wind-torn map was a significant help as compared to my hectic journey on the tube the night before. Shortly after crossing onto Lambeth Street, I could see the Imperial War Museum, with its front evident as framed by two enormous naval guns.

Facade of the Imperial War Museum

The lobby of the Museum opens into an extraordinary hall filled with various vehicles, pieces of artillery, and fighter planes from the Great War and World War II. Arriving at a near perfect time, I hopped onto a free 11:30am tour of the front hall, as led by a gentlemen who remembers hearing V2 rockets pass overhead during his childhood in London. Also on the tour was a former member of the RAF who supplemented the history to me as provided by the volunteer guide. The conversation I had with them both during and after the tour continues to demonstrate to me that there are many interesting stories to be heard, especially if you are the only American in the group.

Beyond the large pieces, the Museum houses a War Crimes and Holocaust exhibits on its upper floors. No matter the number of times I confront each variation of the exhibits they remain unique in their impact and subsequent need to question the senseless brutality of humankind when justifications are sparse but groupthink is rampant. After passing through those exhibits, I entered the enormous collection of Great War, World War II, and Modern Conflicts and Wars in the basement of the building. The scale of the collection is humbling given the numerous uniforms, weaponry, and articles from the home front. Already I had spent nearly three hours in the Museum, and with my knowledge of those conflicts, I was able to pass through fairly quickly.

Outside of the Museum, I headed over to see the London Eye. On the way, I ate a delicious and affordable sandwich, crisps, and drink at a bagel shop for 3.50 pounds. However, I refused to pay the over 18 pounds for the Eye and instead snapped a couple pictures and watched a few of the street performers who line the Thames by the Wheel. One performer was finishing his act as I arrived. He forced himself through a tennis racket, which involved dislocating an arm and to the crowds horror spinning it like a helicopter's blades.

Passing along the river, I walked onto the Westminster Bridge and headed towards Parliament and the famous Abbey of the same name. Parliament or officially 'the Palace of Westminster' with its well-known 'Big Ben' clock tower is astonishing given his size and ornate exterior. Every space on its walls are covered with statues and shields representing Great Britain and (Northern) Ireland. Several statues surround the grounds including one of the infamous Oliver Cromwell.

Parliament from Westminster Bridge

Just by Parliament is the Westminster Abbey. As with many favorite tourist destinations the Abbey is priced at an exorbitant level of around 18 pounds. I satisfied my curiosity with few a pictures of the ornate building that boasts the crowning of kings and queens, and headed towards Trafalgar Square.

Whitehall road gives a direct route to the famous Square and its towering Nelson's Column that commemorates a naval victory during the Napoleonic Wars. On the grounds behind the column is the National Gallery, which during my visit boasted a Pro-Democracy Egypt Rally complete with a myriad of signs, signing, and megaphones.

Turning from the Gallery, I walked down Strand Road away from Westminster and back towards Farringdon Road. At the time it was nearly 4:00pm and I needed to return to Rosebury before heading to my cousins for dinner at 5:30pm. En route, I passed the Embassy of Zimbabwe and the related Anti-Robert Mugabe protest that is ongoing every Saturday since his election.

National Gallery with Egypt Protest

Full London Album

Nearing Farringdon, I passed by the London School of Economics (Erik's dorm is a 30 minute walk away) and the Royal Courts of Justice. However, before deciding to turn back towards Rosebury, I caught sight of St. Paul's Cathedral, and decided to run towards it to snap a few pictures. Without much time to spare and fewer pounds to spend, I satisfied myself with a quick glimpse of the building and its towering dome that is reminiscent of the US Capitol.

At that point I was running short on time before 4:30pm and decided to sprint back to Rosebury. While the effort succeeded, I arrived to find Erik still feverishly finishing his essay. Looking dispirited he said we could leave for my cousin's at 5:15pm (I sent another failed text to Susan to say we would be late).

By 5:30pm, he shut his laptop and we were prepared to leave. Yet he stopped at the door, thought about his essay, and said he wanted to edit just a few more sections. Leaving without him, I boarded the Tube at Angel and took another unnecessarily long route - even given the lines closed for maintenance - and arrived at High Street Kensington on the District Line after 6:30pm.

Susan and John's was just a couple minutes away from the station, but unfortunately I ran in the wrong direction before realizing that I was not on the correct street. Even so, I managed to arrive at their house no more than 1 hour and 45 minutes late. Inside, John offered me a drink and mentioned that Erik had called Susan to tell her that I would be late and not to worry. Lia and Sonia were happy to see me as a new visitor, though at the time they could not remember me. Still Lia took the time to follow me on the grand tour and to show me all of her many toys.

Afterwards, John, Susan, and I left for Windsor Castle Pub to grab a quick pint before heading to our dinner reservations at 8:45pm. The pub presented a peculiar layout with sections of the bar divided by oak walls with small doors set into them. Still, we grabbed out pints and went to the outdoor patio with its many space heaters.

Several good conversations later, we found a taxi and headed to a nearby Chinese Restaurant for Dinner. At this point, I no longer remember the name, but it started with an 'M' and could have been 'Memories of China' for its menu and proximity. For dinner, John grabbed the menu and proceeded to order a stunning array of dishes from clams to lobster and spicy chicken. Each dish was displayed at the center of table and then divided by the waiter onto our individual plates. In contrast to my previous difficulty with chopsticks, I mastered the art and was eating rice off of them by the end of the night. Perhaps the saki and the pints beforehand are to credit for the success.

Arriving back at their house at 11:00pm, they counseled me to stay the night. While I regretted not returning to LSE and not having Erik attend dinner with us, I agreed to stay, watched an episode of entourage via their Apple TV, shared another drink with John, and was asleep after 12:30am. I found out later that Erik missed my Facebook post indicating that I would stay the night, and as a mark of a concerned friend called Susan at 1:00am to see if I was on my way to Rosebury.

Friday to London

Less than three days in London was not nearly enough time to experience all the attractions that the world city boasts, nor was it enough time to see Erik after 6 months or Susan, John, Lia, and Sonia after over a year. Before this weekend, I last saw Erik in July before he left for home and then for the London School of Economics for the Year. His summer long lobbying while he sublet in our apartment was a huge factor in my decision to study abroad. I last saw my cousin Susan, her husband John, and Lia (nearly 5) and Sonia (2) at the Alves Family Reunion (AFR) 2009, since they could not make the earlier date last summer.

My Ryan Air flight left Dublin on Friday after 7:15pm, due to a paperwork delay. Despite the reviews given by many of my friends, I found their service to be more than worth the low price paid. The lack of assigned seats reminded me of Southwest with the added social experiment of no queue numbers beyond the distinction between priority and general passengers. Even so, everyone was content to remain seated and read/listen to music. That was until an older couple asked to find the queue, went to the front, and seconds later everyone jumped from their seats to form a line behind them.

In the line I spoke with an Irish lady a few years older than me who graduated from Trinity in a science field that I can no longer remember, but had a sizable number of syllables. As a mark of globalization and my generation's shared experiences, we talked about American television and her love of Arrested Development.

On board the plane I secured a window seat in the third or fourth row from the front. While waiting for a paperwork delay to be resolved, I continued to read the Irish novel 'One by One in the Darkness' by Deirdre Madden. It was left by the Americans living in my apartment last fall, and recounts a week in the life of a Northern Irish family just before the ceasefire and spliced by flashback chapters. Despite the suggestion by Ryan Air that they would turn off the lights during the flight - 'as is customary for night flights' - they were soon back on, and remained on for the majority of the less than one hour trip. During which, they attempted to sell drinks, meals, newspapers, scratch tickets, and a variety of other gifts and items.

Regardless of the salesmanship, the flight was quick and we landed at Luton-London Airport. Although the London tag is similar to Baltimore-Washington in distance from the latter city, but different in the suburban nature of Luton. Nevertheless, I had booked an Easy Bus from Luton to Victoria Station, and was soon on may way into downtown London.

After just under an hour, we arrived at Victoria Station, or more accurately on a street near the station. Earlier in the day, Erik suggested that I take the 38 Bus direct to his dorm on Rosebury Avenue or the Underground to Angel Station followed by a few blocks walk to his place. Rather than take the buses that looked like replica Dublin buses, I wandered the street to the Station, entered the Underground, and was welcomed by a convoluted map of crisscrossing lines that stretched throughout the city in all directions.

Fortunately a Englishman helped me purchase my 4 pound one-way ticket to Angel Station. The tube is divided into zones, with trips priced by the number of zones traveled. Erik's dorm room was within zone one, as are many of the famous tourist attractions along the Thames. Of course, once I purchased my ticket, I needed to figure out which line held Angel and the fastest way to get there.

As a result of the complicated layout of the map, it took me a few minutes to figure out the location of Angel, on the Northern 'black' line. The lack of color names for the lines was frustrating at first, but by the time I reached Erik's stop via the roundabout way of the District 'green' Line to Monument and then switched to the Northern Line to Angel, I had a good grasp of the system. Still, I realized (on Sunday) that taking the delayed Victoria line to Euston on the Northern Line would have made the trip considerably quicker.

No trip to the Underground would be complete without a picture of this phrase

Full London Album

Arriving at Angel, I remembered my clear directions to take a left down Islington High Street, to continue onto St. Johns Street, to turn right at Rosebury Ave, to walk past Sadlers Well's Theatre on my right and to enter Rosebury Hall on my left. They were simple directions, only made complicated by hidden street signs (like Dublin) high on the sides of buildings. Still, I purchased a 4.50 pound takeaway Chinese buffet box, a delicious dinner at nearly midnight, and was soon at the dorm.

The moment I arrived at Angel, I sent a text to Erik that I was nearly there, and that I would text again when I got to his hall. Later, I realized that despite the 'Welcome to the UK' text message sent to my Nokia Vodafone, none of my messages were successful (nor my calls). Even so, I entered the hall, and talked to the front desk receptionist just as Erik was walking into the lobby to see if I had arrived.

In his dorm, reminiscent of a typical American University double - with the added benefit of a personal sink, I met his roommate Rickard, from Sweden, but a student at AU. As I set down my belongings, I sat down on their extra mattress and ate my buffet. In the meantime Erik continued to work on an essay for which he was granted a 24-hour extension, and later showed me a map of the city and gave me a general idea of places to see while he continued to write on Saturday.

Surfing and Super Bowl

Late Friday afternoon the fifty or so students, including Sean, Brittany, Kathryn, and I; leaving for the surf trip gathered by the bell tower in windstorm conditions. What followed was a long 4-hour ride for the Irish, but a quick trip compared to the 16-hour drive to Florida last spring break. By the time we had packed the bus with boards, wetsuits, and bags it was dark so I saw little of the countryside en route, but passed through the city of Limerick and arrived at Lahinch on the west coast.

Our accommodations appeared extraordinary, with groups of 6-8 staying in a community of cottages five minutes from the shore. Joining us in cottage 23 were Russell and Donal. The two-floor building included two full bathrooms, three bedrooms, a living room, with a TV and fireplace; a dining room, a fully-equipped kitchen, and a combination washing machine/dryer. Shortly after unpacking, we set about from house to house engaging in cards, the Box Game, and in one building a club-like atmosphere.

The following early morning we awoke to scramble for food at the local Centra. In which, I bought a cheap liter of apple juice, a couple apple squares and a Boston Cream donut. The latter failed to impress, with the donut displayed upside down and the cream less than pervasive. After breakfast, we loaded onto the bus for a trip to a more protected beach given the wind (and rain) of the day.

First view of the North Atlantic, Sunday's Beach

After fighting into a wetsuit (without boots) and claiming a board, we scrambled towards the ocean. Unfortunately the trip to the water took us down a decline filled with rocks and and across a raging stream of runoff water coming from the land above. After scrambling across the two natural barriers, we arrived at the welcome sand and split into groups of experienced and beginner surfers.

The club had hired two instructors to teach the beginners, so we learned the basics of where to be on the board, how to paddle, and two ways to stand up. Following the quick introduction, we split into two groups as there were insufficient boards for everyone. Since I had navigated passage across the rocks with a board, I brought it with me as part of the first group.

Throughout the hour or so spent surfing, alternating between groups, I managed to catch a few waves and even stand a handful of times. Given the surge that accompanies the board catching the wave, and the resulting speed at which you ride on top of the crest, it is easy to see that surfing for its adrenaline rushes can become a lifestyle. Nevertheless, with feet and hands exposed to the frigid North Atlantic, I could only endure so much fun before they were numb and paddling/standing became near impossible.

After scaling the rocks and passing through the torrent, we returned to the bus and our much needed warm clothing. Still, instead of waiting for everyone to change, Russell, Donal, Sean and I headed back into town on foot for Centra and lunch. Once inside, we quickly determined that the 2 euro frozen pizzas were the best option, and each purchased a couple.

Back at the cottage we realized that the seeming magnificent cottages of the night before had lost some of their gilded luster. Lacking sufficient insulation, the buildings were perpetually cold and damp. Thankfully we had the benefit of hot water, unlike others, who as refugees came to our bathrooms for showers. Still, our stove would not turn on, so we visited the neighboring cottage, holding the club's committee members, and stacked several pizzas inside their oven.

While waiting for them to cook, we gathered around the TV and caught the end of the Ireland vs. Italy 6-Nations Rugby match played in Rome. Despite Ireland being the heavy favorites, the Italians led after a near last minute try. It took an Irish kick through the uprights to avoid their first defeat in Rome, in a relatively low-scoring match. After the game, we stayed to eat lunch and watch the slaughter of the Scottish side in Paris at the hands of a piercing French offense.

Back at the committee house at night, we played another round of the Box Game. Again I was able to advance to final round, where the cereal box had given way to a thin piece of cardboard lacking any edges. Afterwards we engaged in a game of Sardines - which had managed to cross the Atlantic. It is a sort of reverse hide-and-seek, where one person hides and everyone else tries to find him or her. Once you find the person, you squeeze yourself into their hiding spot, so that by the end everyone is packed in as tight as sardines.

Despite my initial disbelief in the availability of hiding spaces in the small cottage, the fifteen or so competitors found the game to be quite entertaining. To add to the effect, we closed all the curtains, turned off the lights, and turned on music. The flexibility of some hiders was astounding, with people squeezing into the smallest of closets and corners.

Following Sardines, we left for Kenny's - a local pub in the center of town. Along the way, celebrations for Father Ted Weekend were in full display. The weekend references an Irish sitcom from the 90's involving priests on a remote island, which has attained cult-like status. In the pub, the bartenders were dressed as priests with most patrons doing the same or dressed as nuns. Relative to expensive Dublin, pints were cheap with Guinness at 3.70 euro. We secured a couple booths and enjoyed the live band and atmosphere unique to Father Ted Weekend.

Downtown Lahinch

Full Lahinch Album

Once the pub closed, several people decided to pay the exorbitant 10 euro cover for the club next door, while many of us decided to visit the Chinese takeaway on the other side of the street. In which, I bought my first 3-in-1 or chips, rice, and curry sauce for a cheap 4 euro. To add some more spice to the night, we engaged with a couple less than nice Lahinch girls who perhaps had a bit too much to drink, and were ironically shouting "foreigner" at the Irish girls in our group.

Back at the cottages, Donal and I visited a couple of the other houses to see some of their antics. But with the rest of the group determined to stay at 23, we soon returned. In a twist not surprising given Irish singing culture, Donal and Russell decided to regal us with their version of the Lion King song.

On Sunday, we again awoke early and the few still committed to surfing took boards and wetsuits from the bus and walked to the main beach in town. The tide was fierce and battling it took most of my energy, still it was again worthwhile to enter the North Atlantic and attempt to surf. Returning to the cottage, we packed our belongs and relaxed to the 1980's Nicholas Cage bodyguard drama "Guarding Tess."

Brittany's Tour of our Cottage

Following the gripping drama, we boarded the bus and headed back to Dublin. En route, the sun was still out, so I could see the rolling green fields and flooded riverbeds. In addition, we played the game "Horse" where you try to be the first to spot a horse. However, if you are too eager and mistake a cow or donkey for one, then you lose all the horses that you had claimed. After stopping at the Burger King in Limerick for dinner, we  engaged in game of Mafia (I was killed by the townspeople in the second round), and played the word riddle game "I'm going on a road trip around the world" where you must name a country that fits the rule.

Exhausted, but still determined to catch the Super Bowl. Sean, John, Brittany and I passed on Captain America's for its raised 10 euro cover to make the 40 minute walk to Portobello's for what we believed was free entry. Unfortunately, we were greeted with the same cover, begrudgingly paid our way in, and gathered on the floor in front of one of several large screens.

Notable moments from the game, include the patrons booing George Bush, an Irishman discussing that he supported the Packers for having "green" in their name, and the generic American's and two British selected by Sky TV to commentate during the periods where viewers in the States had expensive commercials to entertain them. The Tron-esque Black Eyed Peas halftime show was perhaps a step into the roaring 2010's.

Despite going to sleep at 4am, I awoke Monday with time to sign onto the Russell for Welfare Student Union campaign and acquired my free T-shirt. I am looking forward to seeing Erik, my cousins, and potentially Mitch in London next weekend.

Two Americans and an Irishman

From Captain America's to Surfing Lahinch and Blaming America, the last seven days were exhilarating. Granted Monday was spent studying in the Library, pouring over articles about WWI's effects on Ireland and evidence to refute the alleged "crisis" in the Welfare State post-1970.

Beyond that, we visited Captain America's, a pub on Grafton Street, to experience Trinity Ent's weekly live music and cheap pints. Despite the cheesy name, many claim that it boasts the best burger in the city, though our late arrival precluded any dinner. Still, the atmosphere, while loud by conversation and music, was comfortable in seating and American music-themed decorations.

On Wednesday, we attended the Student Economic Review's debate between the Hist and Yale. Hosted in the Graduate Memorial Building (GMB), the room with a near 3-story ceiling had the feel of a house of parliament. A table cut through the center with chairs on either side for the debaters and a chair at the head for the moderator. Behind his chair was an elevated platform and table for the four judges, with seating for the spectators arranged behind the participants. 

The debate was titled "this House believes it's all America's fault." Expectations were high for Trinity as they looked to rebound following their defeat at the hands of Oxford. In a gesture towards judge impartiality, the economic advisor at the US Embassy was selected for the panel. Throughout the course of the debate, it was clear that the three members on Trinity's team were the superior humorists, while Yale's reliance on "greed" as the real culprit was tired before the end of the first address. 

Trinity focused on America's role in blocking efforts to create international financial regulations and production of various toxic mortgage-backed securities. To which a Yale debater asked who was to blame if toys were purchased from China, and a child choked on them while his parents were not watching. The quick retort of "China, if the toys were poisonous" encouraged laughter throughout the hall. By the end the judges awarded Trinity the victory and the best speaker.

On Thursday, Brittany, Sean, and I went to MacTorcaills (after we found the Pav crowded). Despite an initial lack of seats, we were soon able to secure our favorite table by the front. Soon thereafter, we were given a plate of food containing chips, sausages, chicken nuggets, fried mushrooms, and other finger foods. As it turned out, several of the people around us were celebrating a colleague's retirement, and so decided to share their ordered food with everyone in the pub. Adding to the atmosphere, a few of them decided to sing various tunes from the Beatles to uniquely Irish ones. At one point, a guy wielded a broom as a rifle and marched around while singing of the unstoppable Dublin Trucileers. Each song received thunderous applause and once more solidified MacTorcaills as our favorite pub.

Read the next post for a recount of Surfing in Lahinch.

Things that are different: There are no folders

Stores that are not: TGI Friday's