A brief rundown of courses: golf and food

26 July 2008

Baltray: 91- w

Lunch: Baltray C.C.- caesar salad
Dinner: Wheelhouse- Duck spring rolls, shrimp salad



27 July 2008

Stacktown C.C.: 97- L

Lunch: Stacktown C.C.- soup
Dinner: Cilo- fried squid rings, steak

28 July 2008

Island Course: 89- w

Lunch: Island Course C.C.- lasagne
Drive to Northern Ireland
First look at Royal County Down
Dinner: goat cheese bruschetta, chicken/salami/mozzarella dish, creme brulee

29 July 2008

Royal County Down- 97, Eagle- w

Lunch: RCD C.C.- soup and tuna sandwich
Drive back to Sutton
Dinner: squid rings, Aqua, swordfish in oriental sauce, brownie sundae, Bailey's coffee

30 July 2008

Siobhan's country club

Lunch: at hotel, ham & cheese sandwich
Dinner: Fitzy's with Brendon, Siobhan, Gary- goat cheese salad, steak, coffee

First Golf Day, Baltray: 26 July 2008

First Links Course

Baltray, Co. Duluth course. I shot a 91 but I gave myself and 89 because I took a mulligan and parred the hole, so I did not count the 2-stroke penalty.

Andre shot an 84, Tim 91. Andre and I won by 4 holes. It was a challenging but enjoyable. This is going to be one of the easier courses that we play.

“Chicken Caesar salad” meant a small amount of Caesar dressing on a random bunch of vegetables, some lettuce and a sweet teriyaki-type of chicken and bacon combination. The salad was very odd, I have never experienced a Caesar salad like that.

Nap, dinner in Howth. My first Ireland driving experience. Only ran over one curb and struggled though parallel parking. Not bad for doing all of this on the wrong side of the road (not American is wrong). Experienced duck for the first time at a cool little restaurant called the Wheelhouse. Lovely dish.

Had some Pimms at a bar to see if I would get any odd looks because it is a distinctly British drink. The only odd looks I got were of me looking in the mirror because it is really not a tasty drink.

Decided that tomorrow Marc will drive and I will navigate. This should be interesting.

Last day of the JMU Ireland Program… First day of the Grand Keane Gentleman Adventure in Ireland: 25 July 2008

A day of farewells and hellos. I really hate saying goodbye. Fortunately and unfortunately I will be seeing many of these faces only too soon. In exactly one month we will be back at JMU. A month that I hope stretches on for an eternity or two. Senior year, enough said.

Lunch at The Atlantic was good only because I knew it was going to be the last time I would be in Ireland with these people who had become such good friends. Stuart was the first to leave. Everyone joked that I was going to cry. I thought that was funny but I held in my tears so as not to give them the satisfaction. Just kidding, Sam and I walked him to the bus stop and exchanged our last volleys of insults while saying goodbye. He was the first leaf to fall from the tree. Colleen came next, then Jackie, then myself.

I had emailed Marc of where I planned to meet him after he had picked up Tim and Andre. He was there at 2.30, I was not. I, being the gifted navigator, had given Marc a different gate to meet me at than the one that I had intended. I was sitting there for 15 minutes or so before Marc came looking for me. He was as shocked as I was at my silly mistake. It could have been quite a costly mistake though. His cell phone, which I had attempted to call several times, was dead. Marc had no way of contacting me and I had none of contacting him, Tim or Andre. That would have been quite the predicament. Apparently Tim had made a similar mistake earlier in the day and told Marc the wrong flight that they were taking to Dublin. Marc arrived at Dublin international and saw that Tim and Andre were not where they were supposed to be, so he walked to the information center to figure out how to find them. And there they were, without a care in the world, hanging out waiting for Marc. These are signs that the trip was meant to happen and will be a complete success.

Meeting Siobhan Smythe (pronounced SH-uh-vahn) was the next challenge. She is a Keane that Marc had been corresponding with because he was friends with her aunt who recommended we all meet. They had never actually met in person.

First I dialed the number she had given us, then Marc did and to no avail. A random woman continued to pick up the phone and tell us we had the wrong number. Of course we were using the payphone while Tim was standing and watching, checking the time on his cell phone because we were taking so long. After so many attempts I looked over and realized Tim had a phone we could use. It was pretty funny. Siobhan was finally reached courtesy of the operator. Seven pm was the meeting time, we took the Dart to a station near her house and her husband Brendon would pick us up.

DINNER.

Dinner was a great time. Siobhan and Brendan were grand hosts, serving us steak, potatoes, several appetizers, wine, and of course, Guiness. Considering we had never met these people before we took to each other very well. The night was filled with lots of laughs and good food. Siobhan certainly put to bed the idea that the Irish can not cook. This was my first homemade meal since home and I could not have asked for a better family dinner.

Last Day of Ireland Text and Image

As I sit in this empty apartment waiting for the uncles and cousin I will have a brief reflection of the six week study of Irish film, creative writing and the Irish lifestyle.

I came here with no expectations. I knew I was going to have a good time but I did not know what that would entail. Understanding what I learned here is going to take time to sink in. I do know that the education outside of class far exceeded what I learned in class. The time spent here was documented and photographed so I will be better able to relay experiences through physical mediums rather than memory.

There are so many experiences that I have had in these six weeks that it is going to take some serious downtime to truly appreciate what I have just finished.

Playing golf for a week should be relaxing and frustrating. I am looking forward to it.

the positive london experience: 18-20 July 2008

London seemed like a close enough place to go. There are plenty of flights out of Dublin to London as well which meant less travel expenses and less time traveling compared to Germany. The group was also much smaller, 6 compared to 9. We planned this trip much better, as our hostel (my first hostel experience) was an easy 15 minute walk from the Parliament building, the clock tower that houses Big Ben and the London Eye. I was impressed with our good fortune. The hostel was pretty inexpensive as well because it opened exactly one week prior to us staying there, which was a good thing and a bad thing.

Sam, Laura and I flew from Dublin to London-Stansted Friday afternoon, found our hostel via the Tube, and went to dinner at a cheap Chinese place. We walked into London to get our bearings. Sam got his bearings faster than I did. Laura and Sam saw a play that interested them in Piccidilly Circus so they went and saw that. I refrained and proceeded to march confidently off into the city with no qualms whatsoever. Ten minutes later I was lost. An hour later I bought a map. On my ramblings I saw a ton of bars, cool buildings and people. London is similar to NYC in its congestion. Dublin has a bunch of people as well but they are generally in two areas. People are everywhere in London and NYC. I suppose that's the difference between the largest cities in the world and other large cities.

I finally got back to the hostel and enjoyed a few drinks and a few games of pool with some of the guys from Australia that worked there. Sam and Laura arrived some time later, the rest of the crew arrived around 1.30 after a painfully frustrating trip that once again made me thank my good fortune.

The next morning we everything that good tourists do. We saw Parliament, Buckingham Palace, as much as we could of the guards but the changing was canceled due to rain, walked down all of the posh shopping streets, saw tons of crazy statues of dead people, went to the British Museum where we saw the Rosetta stone, Egyptian stuff and mummies, ate some meatpies (a very British thing to do) and went back to the hostel for a free BBQ and naps. Being a tourist is exhausting.

Most of the crew woke and wanted to go do the London Eye. Stuart and I woke and wanted to eat. They did the Eye, we ate Chinese. We later randomly met up with them around the Eye while watching a street performer. If they did not find us there was no chance of meeting up. We later learned that the Eye is the most visited place in London. It was packed with foreign people. Unlike us, everyone else did not speak English as a first language, in my mind I would like to think we fit in more because of this but I know it is not true.

We wandered around Piccidilly Circus and Trafalgar Square for awhile and went to some random bars. The hostel seemed much more appealing so we walked back and began drinking again. I met two very cool people that night. A writer from Australia living in Germany and a pretty girl from Canada. Both had very interesting perspectives on traveling that reaffirmed my idea that you really have to stay at least a week in a city to get to know it. That is how I plan to travel in the future. Doing merely a weekend is rushed and often painful. So I was up until 5 am hanging out with Amy, the girl, and the nightshift guy, Craig, who is also the bartender for the 24-hour bar.

The next morning Stuart and I decided we were too tired to walk anywhere. While most of the group ran around the city via the Tube, we hopped on a double-decker tour bus and rode several buses for about six hours. It was fantastic. We heard all about the history of London and its most famous landmarks without moving. A lunch of fried chicken gave us more energy to continue sitting on the bus. We also took a boat tour by accident. We saw a line and kind of just hopped in front of everyone and walked onto the boat, no questions asked. The thoughts of being badass were quickly dispelled when the people next to us informed us that this was part of the bus tour.

Finally it was time to leave London. Traveling is tiring. We caught our bus and got to the airport to enjoy our 3-hour delay. I lay my head on my pillow in my room in Trinity around 3 am. It was glorious to have a solid 5-hour sleep for class on Monday at 9am.

London is a great city. I would definitely return and stay at the same hostel. "Bestplace in Waterloo." It is over the Steam engine bar.

A literary pub crawl: 17 July 2008

I really enjoyed myself on the literary pub crawl this evening. I had my doubts, but they were not substantiated. The actors did a great job of mixing fact with monologues with jokes with alcohol. I suppose it is the perfect combination for a night on the town. The facts about the literature were not dull or silly by any means. Most of the information really helped me understand who the person was behind all of the writing. For example I did not realize Oscar Wilde was a very large man who loved to box. I always took him for a flaky sort of character. I was wrong and now I appreciate where he is coming from in his writing a bit more.

Being able to sit down at have a pint where so many great minds sat was a very cool feeling. Unfortunately I did not gain anything via osmosis but I did think very much about how my writing could possibly improve if I indulged in alcohol half as much as these fantastic authors seem to have done. I occasionally do some homework a bit tipsy but I have never just let my creative energy flow into writing. It could be an interesting experiment. It would certainly be time better spent than playing the sort of silly games that we tend to play. Oh well, that is a job for another night. All in all, I am glad that the social funds went towards this enlightening evening.

the biggest and oldest antique i have ever seen: 16 July 2008

Today we visited one of the oldest monuments built by the human race, Newgrange. The film class hopped on a bus at around 10.15 and began our bus tour. The lady on the tour was very interesting and gave us a brief history of the human race in Ireland. It really put things in perspective for me. The chat was pertinent because she was preparing us for seeing something so old that it is hard for the mind to conceptualize. Newgrange was created 1000 years before pyramids. Now to me the pyramids are about as old as I can imagine. They are one of the seven wonders of the world. And to think that Newgrange is older than that… wow. So the bus tour lady really helped me wrap my mind around exactly how long humans have been in Ireland and how old Ireland really is.

The bus made a stop at the Hills of Tara. I am not exactly sure why we stopped there because I fell asleep right after the bus tour lady gave the history of the human race in Ireland. Apparently the hills were also very old. From what I learned once I had awoken and started walking was that the hills were once the place that royalty had lived a very long time ago. I understood why they would choose this spot. The eye could see for miles and miles. It would have been quite a sight. Unfortunately it was a typical afternoon in Ireland and it was about to rain so it was cloudy. So the eye could have seen for many more miles but was unable to. Regardless, the mounds that remained from the once mighty people were there so that was impressive enough. It began to rain so we jumped back into the bus, and for me, back to sleep.

The group arrived at the Newgrange site tourist center sometime later. We grabbed some lunch and began our tour. There was a fantastic display that we checked out prior to the big tour of Newgrange. The small museum gave us a depiction of what life was like back when Newgrange was built. These people did not have much technology but they managed to create something that truly stood the test of time.

Our designated time for the tour arrived and I was rarin’ to go see some old stuff. Unfortunately there was a bus ride, an introductory speech, some warnings about going in and I was the second of two groups to go inside Newgrange. I had some time to kill so I was able to admire the actual structure of the thing. It was much larger than I had imagined. As I was walking around the enormous stone and earth circular mound I found some very interesting grooves on the side opposite of the entrance. I ran my hands along them and tried to imagine the person who created these marks thousands of years before me. I pushed my insignificance to the back of my mind and walked to the entrance, my tour was about to begin.

Walking into the low-ceilinged, narrow passage was really something special. The temple was in the shape of a crucifix with each wing meaning something different. Carvings were made on the inside of each of the wings; archeologists are not sure what they mean but a popular theory is that they stand for birth, death and rebirth. To substantiate this theory there is the ritual that occurs for five days of the year during the winter solstice. The sun shines through a hole and comes 27 meters to the center of the temple. This is said to mean life is beginning again, as the summer is not far away. I am not sure what it means but I would love to see it happen, so I signed up in a lottery so be in Newgrange for one of the five days. If I win I will certainly give the theory more thought. (664)

Three whiney sisters: 15 July 2008

I did not loathe the play Three Sisters by Chekhov. The actors were talented, the lighting was interesting and the set was elegant in its simplicity. We also had fantastic seats. The content was just not designed for a young person, like myself, to appreciate and empathize with. It also took three hours for the play to putter out and cross the finish line. There was far too much emotion between three sisters to be appreciated. After awhile it seemed like the theme of the play was how women love to cry. Of all of the wonderful ladies that I have met I have never come across any that seem to love crying as much as these three sisters did, so I could not relate. Real people would eventually dry up and their tear ducts would be permanently broken if that much crying was to occur over a five year period, as it occurred in the play. I did learn one thing from the play: if you want something bad enough you have to do it yourself or it will never happen. If you do not, you will end up crying. All the time.

Another reason I have bad feelings towards the play is the intermission was too short. By the time I sat down with my Guinness and the foam had settled an announcement came over the intercom that the play was to resume in five minutes. Of course I did what I had to do. But I would have enjoyed the fine beverage a bit more if I had some more time to finish the delicious stout. (264)

A brief description of two hours spent in the middle of nowhere: 15 July 2008

The departure from Galway could have been more emotional. It probably should have been because I really loved the city. Unfortunately I am not a morning person. The emotions of the events went right over my head as I sluggishly made my way to the bus, into a seat and back to sleep. I awoke two hours later to people getting off of the bus. We were being forced off of the bus to go see the decaying ruins of a monastery and graveyard in the middle of nowhere. Why? Because it is old of course! The thing about old stuff is that after a few pictures the moment has been captured and it is time to move on into the future. Alas, we had two hours to kill.

So Sam, Stewart and I entertained ourselves. First we met a dog that I named Lex. He was really friendly, too friendly. Lex followed us back to the ruins and began harassing the tourists. In retrospect this was pretty funny, at the time we were wondering if this dog would ever make it home. Oh well. Next we found some cows. Sam and Stewart dared me to touch the only bull in the pasture. I attempted it. I got the closest I have ever been to a bull (photographic evidence coming) but I did not actually touch it. The horns were pretty intimidating. And we still had some time to kill. Eventually we made it back to the bus and went to Dublin. The moral of the story? When life gives you too much time, kill it with some good friends.

An Irish Night Out on the Town: 7 July 2008

A few of us started our night out at this really local pub named Taffe’s. A quaint place, with cheap beer, less tourists and great music. Really great music. A trio of weathered folks kept the pub at a dull roar. The trio was composed of an older gent on guitar, a really scruffy looking man on accordion and a real Irish red head of a woman on violin. I do not know if they are the normal entertainment but I will certainly be returning to try and catch them playing again.

For a Monday night I was impressed with the amount of people. I suppose everyone came for the music. Before we knew it we were being asked to vacate the premises so Taffe’s could close. I was not ready to head home. Emily was not ready to head home. The two Irish dudes she had been talking to were not ready to head home. Apparently Jackie didn’t want to head home either, as we found out after we began walking to a late night pub she flew out from behind us huffing and puffing. It was a shock. The Irish guys were quite witty and we enjoyed their company. As they were from a very small village they abided by the rule that when they are playing host no one will have an empty cup in hand. Three pints later we were being asked to vacate the premises again.

So we headed to our favorite burger joint, Eddie Rockets. It was glorious. As I am from a proud family I saw it fit to return their kindness by covering the late night meal for the gents. Their response? “What the fuck you doing in America… You’re an Irishman!” And then we were asked to vacate the premises.

Opening Night: 8 July 2008

I expected a bit more fanfare. I mean seriously, this was the premiere. The OPENING NIGHT! Of an INTERNATIONAL film festival! I was in semiformal evening attire, ready for the paparazzi. A few of the girls were even wearing heels. Alas, there was nothing spectacular about the first night of the Galway Film Fleadh. Sure all the seats were filled, the director was there, an actor was there (a child actor), and there was a reception following the event, but I was not impressed. I really just wanted a red carpet, and maybe a few cameras to be around to capture the moment, and me.

The Fleadh has been around for twenty years, promoting and premiering really good films. Granted, I had not heard of the festival until I was told I was going to it, but I still think the people in charge are not giving themselves enough credit or the media is not giving them enough credit. I understand that most of the films are independent and there is not a plethora of big name actors so the media is not very interested, yet.

The way that American culture has always worked is: it’s cool to be independent and different and hip. The Fleadh is all of those things. It appears to be a small film festival in a small city. In reality it is a creative venue for rising stars in an exciting and personal city. For this reason, I am sure the media is going to catch on, and eventually there will be red carpets and fanfare. I guess I am content to have participated in something very special, even if the paparazzi wasn’t there.

Allen: 10 July 2008

He noticed it was overcast again as he gazed out of his bottom floor office. There was nothing to do after work. No girlfriend, no meetings, no football. He may as well head to the pub.

Once home he changed into something casual, comfortable, unremarkable. Taking the route he had taken so many times before, he walked out of his rented flat. He said hello to his old neighbor sitting on her porch, knitting, as she always did. He passed the corner store where he bought his morning coffee and biscuit. His feet carried him onto the main street that would lead him to his pub, The King's Head. The sun was peaking out over the clouds. It was going to be a good evening. He could feel it.

After living in Galway for three years The King’s Head was the closest thing to a Scottish pub that he had experienced. It was comfortable. He enjoyed the size of it, just large enough to not be noticed but just small enough to be near people. When he was comfortable he could usually meet new people over a pint or three.

The King’s Head was just as he had expected, not too crowded but enough people to have a few conversations. On his way in to the bar he noticed a few fresh faces sitting outside, laughing. Ah, to be young again. The guys appeared to be Americans. They were usually entertaining. He bought his drink, a pint of Carlsberg, as he had so many times before. The familiar taste of Carlsberg made him comfortable.

He walked out into the dull sunshine and into the enclosed outdoor terrace. A few tables and chairs massed together formed the familiar terrace. It was usually too cool to sit outside and enjoy downtown Galway from this perspective, he smiled at the oppurtunity. He sat at the table beside the young men and sipped his Carlsberg, taking in the atmosphere while listening to the conversation. They seemed to know each other quite well. They were friendly enough, laughing at each other, enjoying their youth. Ah, to be young again.

He piped in, did they mind if he sat with them? Of course not they said, I guess they didn’t mind the company of an old man. He introduced himself, they replied. Stuart and Joe. Easy enough. They certainly were impressed he was from Scotland. Ah, to be young again. Everything seemed so new, these kids were just starting to live. He wondered if they realized this. Probably not, youth is fleeting; one never appreciates it until it is gone. He may as well bask in their youth and enjoy himself. They certainly were talkative. Good kids. They will do well. Ah, the pains of the old, nature calls more frequently. He will be right back.

He returns to find an intruder in the midst of his new friends. A drunken intruder. An ignorant drunken young man causing a ruckus in his comfortable space. Things had been too comfortable. The Americans get up for more beer. They ask around to see if anyone wants one, they are polite people. The drunkard of course wants one. He’ll take one as well.

Time to talk to this young man. He makes the drunkard aware that he is causing a scene and giving the Irish a bad name in front of the Americans. Hopefully this will calm him down. The drunkard appears more relaxed, but this doesn’t mean he will be calm in ten minutes. Conversation resumes, though they are intermittently interrupted by the drunkard asking about a broken jaw or to have a cigarette.

He finally asks the drunkard what is wrong with his jaw. The drunkard attempts to narrate his story. Unfortunately he is too drunk to get passed the parts before the broken jaw. He again asks about the broken jaw. The drunkard is becoming frustrated. The drunkard repeats the beginning to the story. Ah, lad, forget it! Your story is too long!, he says. The drunkard has a moment of rage. The drunkard bolts out of his chair and grabs the front of his shirt, yelling at him to listen to the story. A burly bouncer promptly picks the drunkard up by the shirt and yanks him into the street. The whole incident happened so fast. Everyone looks at each other in shock. The drunkard is the most confused. That escalated very quickly.

And now the Americans have a film to attend and must depart. Ah, to be young again. Always being entertained, without a care in the world. They leave their new friend Allen with kind words and a handshake.

He sits and ponders being thirty-nine, and old.

Another Snatch Comedy!: 12 July 2008

He nudges me.

“Dude, what. I’m watchin’ the trippy people,” I respond.

“It’s the girl, the hot one!”

“Hot girl? What!? Which one?”

“The one from Snatch Comedy. She’s right there!” He nods towards a tall Amazonian. She has brilliant green eyes that contrast with her mane of thick, dark brown hair. The eyeliner makes her eyes seem like twin lighthouses, flashing warnings of danger. I am in awe.

“Oh yea! She is hot.”

“Let’s talk to her.”

“Dude, we must.”

I return my attention to the crazy drummers and their hula-hooping friends. In this drunken mass of people anything will entertain, even a hippie that appears to have scalped except for one long braid. that is doing an adequate job at keeping a hula hoop from falling to the ground. I suppose the lights from the hoop that are keeping me in a trance. They are so colorful.

“Hey, are you from Cork.”

“Yea… why?”

“I think we saw you at the Snatch Comedy show a few weeks ago.” She hesitates.

“No way! That’s fantastic which one did you see!”

Wow, she is very excitable, and taller than when she was when she was four feet away. “Well, we had the pleasure of seeing the hour-long, unscripted performance.”

“The beach one actually, you guys were hilarious.”

“Oh my god! That was the opening night! HAHA. You really enjoyed it? We were so nervous!”

“That’s funny, I could tell you guys were nervous at the beginning. No worries, it all worked out and actually turned out to be our favorite performance we’ve seen on the trip.”

“You noticed we were nervous? See that’s how you know it was real! We don’t bullshit ya! It really is unscripted!”

“Hey I have a really good idea for your next skit. You should do like a tourist theme, you know? Have some people act like tourists and the other natives, I bet there are a bunch of funny things you guys could come up with.”

Her jaw drops, she looks over to me and back to him. “That would make it scripted. We don’t do that.”

We all laugh. I think it was an embarrassed laugh. This made it more hilarious; I laughed harder.

“So what are you doing in Galway?”

“Well my friend and I came to the festival thing to go to Jessica Lange’s acting workshop.”

“Ohhhh, you mean the FL-AHHH?”

“Hahahaha, Oh, yes, the FL-AHHH! Did you know there are other meanings to Fleadh?”

“No way, other than random festival thing, it means something else?”

“Yea!”

“Oh man, I think I have an idea.” He has no idea.

“So if you really like a girl, and want to get with her, you can say, “I really wanna fleadh that girl.””

“Is it the same as saying, “I really wanna shag that girl!”?”

“No because fleadh is a more polite term, you don’t want to talk about shagging in front of a girl you want to shag, or your mother for that matter. It’s just impolite.”

“I now have so much more appreciation for the fleadh.”

The witty banter went on for quite some time until her friend wrenched her away from our entertaining company. At this point we introduced ourselves. Apparently her name is George, which is short for Georgina, which is short for Amazon goddess. Though she claimed to be “100% Pure Irish Beef”, I will always remember her as a tall warrior-comedian from the Amazon

Corporate America Loses: 9 July 2008

I saw my second film of the Galway Film Fleadh this afternoon, it was entitled “Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room.” The film opened my eyes to the culture of greed. I know that sounds cliché and naïve but that is alright with me. I did not know the extent of Enron’s corruption and the affect the company had on the stock market.

The part of this tragedy that grinds my gears is not so much the thousands of people that lost their retirement funds but the fact that so many financial institutions knew this was going to happen. The biggest investment banks put money into Enron knowing that the manner in which money was made was illegal and bound to fail. One of the ways Enron made money was through a hedge fund that was run by Enron’s CFO. He claimed to all of the investors of the fund that there would be no conflict of interest between his position as CFO and manager of the fund. The investors actually believed this was possible. They were thinking with their wallets, not their heads. The man in question received ten years in prison and had to return around thirty million dollars.

Enron is an example of sacrificing morals for dollars. This makes me wonder, what do I have to sacrifice to make my money?

Opening Night: 8 July 2008

I expected a bit more fanfare. I mean seriously, this was the premiere. The OPENING NIGHT! Of an INTERNATIONAL film festival! I was in semiformal evening attire, ready for the paparazzi. A few of the girls were even wearing heels. Alas, there was nothing spectacular about the first night of the Galway Film Fleadh. Sure all the seats were filled, the director was there, an actor was there (a child actor), and there was a reception following the event, but I was not impressed. I really just wanted a red carpet, and maybe a few cameras to be around to capture the moment, and me.

The Fleadh has been around for twenty years, promoting and premiering really good films. Granted, I had not heard of the festival until I was told I was going to it, but I still think the people in charge are not giving themselves enough credit or the media is not giving them enough credit. I understand that most of the films are independent and there is not a plethora of big name actors so the media is not very interested, yet.

The way that American culture has always worked is: it’s cool to be independent and different and hip. The Fleadh is all of those things. It appears to be a small film festival in a small city. In reality it is a creative venue for rising stars in an exciting and personal city. For this reason, I am sure the media is going to catch on, and eventually there will be red carpets and fanfare. I guess I am content to have participated in something very special, even if the paparazzi wasn’t there.

An Irish Night Out on the Town: 7 July 2008

A few of us started our night out at this really local pub named Taffe’s. A quaint place, with cheap beer, less tourists and great music. Really great music. A trio of weathered folks kept the pub at a dull roar. The trio was composed of an older gent on guitar, a really scruffy looking man on accordion and a real Irish red head of a woman on violin. I do not know if they are the normal entertainment but I will certainly be returning to try and catch them playing again.

For a Monday night I was impressed with the amount of people. I suppose everyone came for the music. Before we knew it we were being asked to vacate the premises so Taffe’s could close. I was not ready to head home. Emily was not ready to head home. The two Irish dudes she had been talking to were not ready to head home. Apparently Jackie didn’t want to head home either, as we found out after we began walking to a late night pub she flew out from behind us huffing and puffing. It was a shock. The Irish guys were quite witty and we enjoyed their company. As they were from a very small village they abided by the rule that when they are playing host no one will have an empty cup in hand. Three pints later we were being asked to vacate the premises again.

So we headed to our favorite burger joint, Eddie Rockets. It was glorious. As I am from a proud family I saw it fit to return their kindness by covering the late night meal for the gents. Their response? “What the fuck you doing in America… You’re an Irishman!” And then we were asked to vacate the premises.

Inis Mor (The largest Aran Island): 2 July 2008

The Aran Islands are one of the most picturesque places I have been to in my life. Every place we went was an opportunity for taking fantastic pictures. There are ruins of churches, farmhouses, barns and other random stone structures littered about the island like they were blown there by some Celtic wind from ages ago. Interestingly enough the island retains the feeling of old while all of the visitors bring with them so many modern contraptions to document the ancient scenes.

Ireland is home to more stone walls than people. Inis Mor, the largest of the Aran Islands, holds true to my theory. The number of walls is far larger than the number of people that live on the island. Walls are great to take pictures of from above because they look like gray caterpillars devouring the landscape, one square patch of green at a time. After all I have learned about the British oppression of the Irish I have come to believe that the British were unnecessarily cruel to their neighbors on the Emerald Isle. The many walls are the solid proof of the British crown’s oppression.

Laws were emplaced many years ago to stop the Irish from becoming financially stable by changing the laws involving inheritance. From the beginning the Irish used the practice of passing on all of the land from father to eldest son. This may seem unfair to the many other children in the typically large Irish families but in reality it was better off for all. With large plots of land it is much easier to grow enough crops and raise enough animals to survive and prosper. The British changed the law so that every piece of land had to be equally divided among all of the male heirs. The land eventually became so divided that it was impossible for anyone to be successful. All of the plots of land were too small to be productive. This was how the British kept the Irish poor and under control. The walls remind me of how the British controlled so much of Irish life.

The rock walls contrasted with the fort Dun Aonghusa. The ancient fort is a reminder that there is more to Ireland than the struggle for independence against the British. As the Irish continue to look for identity this Celtic remnant is a lasting testament to the rich history that must be understood and appreciated. Like the Irish people, it has weathered many storms and seen many battles, it has stood the test of time.

Cliffs of Mohr: 4 July 2008

Another dreary day in Ireland would not stop the group from seeing some amazing sights. The weather did hinder our ability to capture the sights as accurately as possible. The bus picked us up from our campus village area around 11. The guided tour was pretty interesting but I was tired so I could not appreciate all of the random information that was being thrown at us. Stop number one was The Burren. Specifically a grave. It was worth the five minutes we spent there, but no more time was needed to admire the stone tabletop type of structure.

Next was the main event: The Cliffs of Mohr. WOW. I took about twenty pictures of the cliffs because I did not know what to do with myself. I felt like I was not giving them the justice they deserve by merely staring at them. We walked along the edge, as nerve racking as that is, for about 30 minutes. The few of us went very far passed the area marked safe because we thought we could see more. Our decision proved correct. I was able to walk one foot from the edge with no safety gate to stop me from plummeting the 575 feet to the water. It was completely worth it. What a rush to be so close to the edge.

We had lunch later following the Cliffs, followed by two photo opportunities: a castle and the Atlantic Ocean. Fortunately it did not start pouring until we were driving home.

From Galway with love: 1 July 2008

The living situation in Galway is quite different from Cork. Here is the comparison:

Cork

- 4 people

- 4 bedrooms

- 4 bathrooms/ 4 showers

- 2 leather couches

- View of a stream

- Full beds

- Big refrigerator/ big freezer

- Plenty of cooking utensils

- Dishwashing soap/ sponge

- No clothes hangers

- Laundry machines 2 minutes away

- No internet access in apartment

- Computer lab with 4 computers

- Entire group in one building

- “maids” change towels and sheets twice a week

- 25 minute walk to downtown

- Great corner store that had everything was a 2-minute walk away

- No internet access in apartment

- Tray for making ice

- Easy to enter when coming home late at night

Galway

- 5 people

- 4 bedrooms

- 2 bathrooms/ 1 shower

- 2 crappy sofas, 1 crappy chair

- View of another dorm and a glimpse of a cool river

- Twin-size beds

- Small refrigerator/ small, though powerful, freezer (froze my vodka)

- A serious lack of cooking utensils

- No dishwashing soap/ sponge

- Laundry machines 8-minute walk

- Internet access in dorm for 10 Euro per week

- Group dispersed among 4 buildings around the Village

- “maids” change towels daily/ take requests

- 15 minute walk downtown

- Terrible store that is an 8 minute walk away

- Internet access in apartment

- No way of making ice

- To enter village after 11pm either climb a fence or walk 20 minutes around to front of village.

There are the facts. So far I like Galway more. It is odd how things add up.

From Galway with love: 1 July 2008

The living situation in Galway is quite different from Cork. Here is the comparison:

Cork

- 4 people

- 4 bedrooms

- 4 bathrooms/ 4 showers

- 2 leather couches

- View of a stream

- Full beds

- Big refrigerator/ big freezer

- Plenty of cooking utensils

- Dishwashing soap/ sponge

- No clothes hangers

- Laundry machines 2 minutes away

- No internet access in apartment

- Computer lab with 4 computers

- Entire group in one building

- “maids” change towels and sheets twice a week

- 25 minute walk to downtown

- Great corner store that had everything was a 2-minute walk away

- No internet access in apartment

- Tray for making ice

- Easy to enter when coming home late at night

Galway

- 5 people

- 4 bedrooms

- 2 bathrooms/ 1 shower

- 2 crappy sofas, 1 crappy chair

- View of another dorm and a glimpse of a cool river

- Twin-size beds

- Small refrigerator/ small, though powerful, freezer (froze my vodka)

- A serious lack of cooking utensils

- No dishwashing soap/ sponge

- Laundry machines 8-minute walk

- Internet access in dorm for 10 Euro per week

- Group dispersed among 4 buildings around the Village

- “maids” change towels daily/ take requests

- 15 minute walk downtown

- Terrible store that is an 8 minute walk away

- Internet access in apartment

- No way of making ice

- To enter village after 11pm either climb a fence or walk 20 minutes around to front of village.

There are the facts. So far I like Galway more. It is odd how things add up.

Muckross estate: 30 June 2008

I was extremely impressed by the Muckross estate. As an interested hunter I could not believe the amount of space that the Earls of Kenmare had available to them. I would have loved to be a guest and go out with them. The main target for the Earls was Red Deer. I saw a few of them on a tour later in the day and they are enormous, much larger than the White-Tailed Deer I am used to back home.

Of course I have never actually shot a deer but I would imagine it would be a good time. It would be an especially good time at the Muckross estate because there is a gamekeeper, a pack of dogs, horses to ride on and a brilliant hunting lodge to head back to regardless of the outcome of the hunt.

There is also an enormous lake on the property. It is a glacier lake so it is quite deep. There are plenty of little coves to go fishing in as well. Apparently the water is frigid. That means better trout fishing, and with the depth I would bet there are some pretty large lake trout hanging out down there. With all of the fields around there must also be grouse and quail to be flushed out by smart Brittanys, like Clare.

All of this was available to these ridiculously wealthy people. And to think, the house was built for 30.000 pounds in 1843. One day I am going to go to a small country and buy and enormous estate for hunting. Ah, the romance of it all.

Traveling: 27 June 2008

Getting from one place to another in Europe is more challenging than I expected. When we first booked our flights from Kerry Airport to an airport outside of Frankfurt I thought the hard part was over. I was wrong, that is the easiest step. So here is the rundown of transportation involved to get from Cork to Germany. Friday morning wake up call around 7, walk to bus stop in city centre (.5 hours), catch 8 am bus (2 hours), get to Kerry airport around 10 for 11:30 flight, fly to airport outside Frankfurt (1.5 hours), get on bus to Frankfurt (2 hours), walk to hotel (.5 hours), taxi to downtown Frankfurt for dinner (.1 hours), taxi from downtown to hotel much later that morning (.1 hours). I spent about 7 hours in an upright sitting position. As one may imagine I was very sore that night and the following day. I will now appreciate when airports are extremely close to the starting and ending point of a journey. It is a royal pain to take buses all over the place, especially when every seat is filled and it is a hot day and the entire bus is filled with odorous Europeans. At the end it was all worth it and I could not be happier that I went to Frankfurt for a weekend holiday.

Euro Cup Jam Session: 26 June 2008

In the evening my suite and Stuart went to the Thirsty Scholar Pub to watch the semi-finals match between Germany and Turkey. We rooted for Germany because we are going to Germany this weekend and thought it would be nice to be there when everyone is in a good mood rather than a terrible one. Our wish was granted as Germany won in a one of the best games I have seen in the Euro Cup thus far. Following the game an extremely talented Irish folk band played. They sang a few traditional Irish folk songs that sent shivers down my spine they were so good. Since Stuart had some practice on the guitar earlier in the day he decided to go play with them. He played the guitar and did a really good job keeping up with them for awhile. To prove that he really did have some skills he sang a Bob Dylan song and a Beatles song with the band following his lead. It was a great night and we are going back on Sunday to play with the band again and watch the Euro Cup finals.

A day in the park: 26 June 2008

Stuart and I went to Fitzgerald Park today to toss the Frisbee after being rudely asked to vacate the courtyard by our apartment. The woman’s reasoning for making us leave was that we would break a window or hurt someone by hitting them in the face. Neither of those things would ever happen to people with as much skill as Stuart and I so we were very bitter.

We walked around Fitzgerald park for awhile just checking out the sights and looking for random people to talk to. The first man we ran into looked like a leprechaun, so from this point forward I will refer to him as such. He was a very interesting looking man. He had several random tattoos on his arms, he was missing several teeth and the pointer finger on his right hand, he seemed friendly enough so we decided to see what he was up to. He was doing a very poor job of fishing on the river and a very good job at getting drunk at five in the afternoon. The leprechaun was sprawled out on the grass with a two-liter jug of cider with his fishing pole uselessly laying beside him, line in the water. He seemed to be paying no attention to it. We got to chatting with him about things. The problem was we could only understand about 1/3 of what he said to us. This was all fine and good while he was rambling but when he started to ask us questions we just looked blankly at each other, awkwardly back at him and said, “I didn’t really catch that, what did you just say?” Each of us must have said this at least three times. There was some useful information that was learned from him: there was no fish where he was fishing, there were fish in the UCC section of the river, the 13-year-old child that recently died had been jumping off of a bridge that was within viewing distance of where we were standing and everyone loved American girls.

The next people we came across were a couple of musically inclined individuals sitting in the middle of the grass playing the guitar and wooden bongos. Stuart decided that he too was musically inclined, so he joined them and I followed. We all got to talking and before I knew what was going on Stuart was playing the guitar and singing a song I had never heard before. It was all very interesting. I chatted with one of the fellows for awhile to learn about the music scene in Cork. He filled me in and directed me to the Old Oak Pub, which I had already been to. The kids seemed to be more into heavy metal music so we didn’t have too much in common. We left this group and finally got to throwing the Frisbee.

Hurling: 22 June 2008

Today the group (12) went to its first hurling match. We took the bus to the pitch which was in the suburbs of Cork. The stadium was surprisingly large and surprisingly expensive to go watch a game. It was a ten Euro entrance fee but it was worth it, when am I going to see a hurling match? The game seems relatively simple: two squads of 13 and a goalie attempt to score by either putting the ball in the net or between the uprights by hitting the ball with the “hurl” in a similar fashion to a baseball. It is a combination of lacrosse, hockey and baseball. The craziest thing is that the only protective device that people have the option of using is a helmet, and not everyone even uses them. These guys are whirling these hefty paddles around each other’s heads with no real regard for the opponents. I was shocked people were not hurt more often. I learned later that it was an inter-county league as opposed to the national league which is made up of the different counties playing each other. Now I just need to see a cricket match, a soccer match and a rugby match.

irish children: 24 June 2008

Today we went on a day trip to the town formerly known as Cove which was then known as Queenstown and is now known as Cobh. It was a dreary day and I had a rough evening out on the town (it was a group member’s birthday). We took a 15 minute train to visit the Heritage Center/ Queenstown Museum. The museum was dedicated to the immigration of the Irish, being a port city and the tragedies of the Lusitania and the Titanic. My favorite part of the day was the food and the train ride home with the Irish kids.

As everyone knows the Irish really helped settle the United States, what I did not realize was the Irish also helped settle Australia. Much of the settling was actually forced; the British sent many of the Irish to Australia because the prisons were filled. This seems like an extremely harsh punishment but I suppose it worked out in the end. It’s a bit warmer there with more consistent weather. That is quite an improvement from the erratic nature of Ireland’s weather.

Being a port city like Cobh entails international cruise liners, exporting and importing goods for the surrounding cities, the Irish navy and, of course, fishing. There were displays for all of these topics. The most interesting section in the museum was the start of the Irish navy. As an island I would expect there to be more of a navy than Ireland had. I suppose it is a testament to the amount of control that the British had over Ireland to not allow an island nation to have a navy.

I ate my first Irish meal today. It has taken me nine Irish days for me to have an actual Irish dish and it was worth the wait. I purchased a shepherd’s pie for the slightly pricey price of ten Euro. It was worth every cent.

Stuart and I sat on the train ride with several very young children from extremely different backgrounds that went to the same school. They were extremely chatty and excited to tell us what they had been up to. The boldest of the kids had sat down beside me, he was a tiny African child that only wanted to play soccer and refused to eat fruits and vegetables, despite Stuart and I recommending that it will make him big and strong. As I mentioned, the kids all came from different ethnicities. There were two Africans, one Pole, and one darker-skinned young girl from what could have been Italy, Iraq or Morocco.

The coolest thing about how different they looked was how they spoke. Every one of them had an Irish accent. The little fellow sitting next to me even corrected me when I said “three” by pronouncing it “tree.” Furthermore, when I asked if they spoke any other languages other than English, they responded with, “We don’t speak English, we speak Irish.” That was just a shock to my system. I had not realized that Irish was the language spoken. I believe that I witnessed how children are being instilled with a sense of Irish pride from a young age. From what I have heard from our guest lecturer there has been trouble with people trying to identify with what it means to be Irish, I think the school systems are doing a great job with the youngest generation to teach what Irish is. These kids were Irish despite their diversity. The train ride was one of the most telling intercultural connections that I have made with the Irish thus far.

Let the games begin: 14 June 2008

My first international experience began on a very hung over afternoon in mid-June in the beautiful city of Newark, New Jersey. The previous evening I decided that I was going to go all out so I would be completely exhausted for my long trek over the pond. I accomplished this mission with gusto. My weary body arrived at Newark International four hours early with my overly parental parents. We weaved our way through the maze of Newark, finally arriving at the Continental Airlines Check In area. To my surprise the entire check in experience only lasted 20 minutes. After my goodbyes with the parentals I eagerly walked to the waiting area to begin what I imagined would be a ten to 15 hour slumber that would be periodically interrupted by transitioning modes of transportation. Little did I know that I would be bombarded by two chatty females that would reduce my slumber time quite significantly. Part of this was my own doing, as I offered my new friends, Amy and Emily, the seats next to me. The seats were vacant and I saw it as an opportunity to better know the people I would be spending the next six weeks with. We arrived at Shannon International following a three hour delay due to inclement weather and a six hour flight. I merely slept eight of the possible fifteen hours. This was more than the combined sleeping time for Amy and Emily so they held that against me.

First Impression(s): 16 June 2008

I stepped out of the plane and into a very awkward situation. Amy, Emily and myself were seated towards the front of the plane so we were a few of the first people to get off the plane. We walked down to customs to the passport checking area to be officially welcomed into the Emerald Isle. Amy got to the official customs man first. He asked what her business in Ireland was, she answered that she was a student. The man looks at her and points to a desolate looking bench off to the side and commands her to it. Emily and I receive similar treatment as the rest of the plane shuffles in to line after us. So there we are, shunned to the bench, watching the entire plane gawking at us, like we were the first ones out in a game of dodgeball, never to return until the end of the game. Of course, not a single person had an issue getting into the country. Finally the flow of people dwindled and the customs man told us to come back. We showed him our official papers and explained how long we planned on staying. Once he was satisfied we were real students he turned into a semi pleasant man, he even joked with me about golf. This was my first impression of Ireland.

I think this one experience is actually a typical manner in which the Irish deal with people who may be trying to use them. I have spoken with a few Irish and they are very stand-offish until they realize that I am not a threat or perhaps more importantly, a belligerent fool. And than people warm up into conversation and “crack.”
On the “Get lost in Cork for a few hours” assignment I wandered around Fitzgerald Park for a time before stumbling into what turned out to be a fascinating museum. The displays were made up of artifacts dating back to the 1500s and as recently as ten years ago. The artifacts were displayed in chronological order and all had captions explaining what the role of the item played during its period of active use. As a male interested in war and guns, I was immediately drawn to the weapons. I saw a rich history marked by consistent violence. Seeing the evident of such a violent history brought me to an understanding as to why the Irish are suspicious of outsiders. It has become ingrained in their psyche. I feel that this knowledge has given me a more clear view of the Irish people and the culture that is distinctly Irish.

Got crack? Issue I

I have been impressed with the amount of good times, or as the Irish like to call it, “craic” (according to Prof. Tom McHardy, spelled according to Jackie Walsh) that I have had with this randomly assembled group of individuals. Some of the reason behind the crack is because of the Irish lifestyle—beer—but much of it is the good nature of every person involved on this trip. I did not really know anyone coming into this trip but in one short week I have become very acquainted with nearly everyone through various means, the most obvious being “the hot seat.” The group has become a big fan of this game. I refer to the group because everyone hangs out in a group when we go out to Cork city centre for an evening of relaxation or to check out Cork’s entertainment. The favorite pub is called Em Brogh. I have been there four times to date.

Professor Collins takes the stage: 17 June 2008

This morning at the painfully early hour of ten we were treated to a lecture by a professor of government from the University College of Cork. His main topics were Ireland’s political history and the Lisbon treaty. I was not at all familiar with either of these topics so his entire rambling lecture was relatively interesting. Professor Collins did a good job of illustrating how exactly the Irish government works. My favorite quote of his was something along the lines of, “The British believe the Irish government is very similar to theirs and the Americans believe it is very similar to theirs. But if you wanted to think about who it is more similar too in a geographic sense, than Ireland would be in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean somewhere, directly in between America and Britain.” That quote really summed up his discussion of what the Irish government was like for me. I am really glad the Katie asked Professor Collins about the Lisbon treaty because we have been seeing so many signs up around town and we have been guessing as to what they meant, needless to say, none of us was even close in our guesses to what the treaty actually entailed. The discussion of the treaty was not very useful but it did clarify how the European Union works because the Lisbon treaty is an EU treaty.

The gift of gab: 18 June 2008

Welcome to the first tourist trap of the 2008 JMU Ireland program: Blarney Castle. The weather was typical for Ireland, a mix of rain, mist and wind with a mild to slightly chilly temperature. I was prepared and motivated for an Irish experience and the weather was not going to get me down. Following the same path that we have walked so many times before, we headed to Cork city centre to catch a bus at the bus station. Apparently there is a bus that takes people directly to Blarney Castle. I did not realize the castle was such a typical place for people to go, now I know.

I could tell we were in for a long day of touristy adventures as we sat down on the bus. The warming up of the cameras began as the group began fiddling with their cameras in preparation for a long day of use. As we arrived and stepped out into the quaint town of Blarney the cameras began documenting every step of the journey between the bus stop, the Blarney Stone, the gift shop and back to the bus stop. It was a glorious sight.

I stuck with my trusty accomplices Amy, Emily and Jaynell. We immediately broke away from the group and took the path less traveled. This led us to caves beneath the castle. Of course we had to traverse every possible step of cave because there were unlimited numbers of pictures to be taken. So after a few photo shoots and near decapitations we left the underground and headed for the sky.

Following our tradition of exploration, we walked into every possible room in the castle and took pictures of the castle and landscape from quite a few potentially unique angles. We extended a twelve minute walk to the top of the castle to at least forty minutes. I was proud of our progress.

We reached the zenith and I nearly lost my head and not in the decapitation sense. Being on top of a castle is not something you can really prepare for. I caught myself after a minute or so and began the debate as to whether I should actually kiss the Blarney Stone. It was a debate because I had heard that locals would often urinate on the Stone. According to rumor they thought it was funny that so many people came from around the world to put their mouths on a piece of rock. I came to the conclusion that I had already climbed the castle and was on the line, so I may as well follow suit. I kissed it and have photographic evidence, as could be expected. Jaynell has a fantastic shot of me with the Blarney Stone. Upon removing my lips from the Stone I felt a wave of eloquence rush through me as I began a new life with the fantastic gift of gab inside of me.

Pictures taken during the trip: 25