If we had blogs in 1998: The student needs a nap. Someone's cranky.

Some of this is bizarre. Especially the part about hating Europeans. I don't think that was true even when I wrote it. I was just upset I had to leave Dublin and the week in Ireland was over. I really don't get all the anger. If you haven't seen the two other posts about this trip, take a look. The first one has pictures.

As usual, spelling, grammatical, factual, and emotional errors have been preserved.

1-3-98

Sad as it was, I had to depart from Dublin yesterday. I woke up early just so I could spend a little more time in the city that I love. Almost left my gloves, had to go back & get them. Really worth mentioning? Really? Now that I look back on it, Friday was really interesting. Daren was from New York State. He had a job as some sort of counsellor, I can't remember exactly what it was, but he took two months of unpaid leave to come to Europe and to also get away from his boss. He seemed to me younger than he was. I made the comment about how he was missing on the 26 & under deals. Iarnrod Eireann Irish railway gives a 60% discount to ISIC International Student Identity Card holders with a travelsave stamp - covers Bus Eireann as well. If Eddy Andrew hadn't been there, we could have had a nice conversation. The night was interesting none the less.

So yesterday I got up, went back for my gloves a SECOND mention?, cut through Temple Bar, past The Clarence Hotel & the Kitchen, down through the great clubs & pubs, out to the Liffey, to the bus station to check times. Then I went and sat on a bench on the North Side of the Liffey and ate breakfast - bread & jelly & Tropicana Pure Premium (I spent almost $20 on the stuff during the week). The sun was magnificent as it shot its rays into the Liffey, only to have them bounce off and hit my face. It was a cold morning, but I was so happy. Then, I still had some time to kill, so I walked over to Windmill Lane Studio, which was just across the river from where I was. Much to my horror, some idiots had recently spray painted their names over a lot of the U2 stuff. Then I noticed that there were no security guards around. Edge must really have been there in August. Wow. So close, but so faraway. I spent no more than five minutes there. The magic was not as strong as it had been the first time. I forgot - I listened to North & South of the River while treking the quays of the Liffey - simply amazing.

After I left Windmill Lane, I went to the bus station. I took the next airport link, arriving too early to check in. I went up and got a danish and sat down, listening to Two Shots and Angels over & over again. Yawn. Then I checked in and went to the gate. I stared out the window at the city & its glorious mountains and couldn't help but cry, as I do now just thinking about it, and how I had to leave it. Yawn. The sun grasped the mountains, which had hold of the city, which had hold of me. It still does and may always. Still does. As soon as I boarded the plane, my mood soured. I didn't want to leave, then I had to sit by some fat, smelly Belgium the whole country? who was speaking Flemmish (felt like Phlemish) and everyone was speaking another language. I was leaving my English speaking haven for the continental world of mixed gibberish. *rolls eyes* I wanted to scream to them all, 'Speak English, speak English!' as my ethnocentric hormones raged with angry, frustration, and a sense that I was leaving just as I approached the gates of Heaven. OMG, ugh. On every level. Every word of that is stupid. I don't want to go back to Fluxembourg, mainland Europe, continent of cold people. Fluxembourg is the name in my satire stories I wrote about the school. I'd like to shove their damn icicles up their asses, or maybe their noses, into their frozen brains. Yeah, I don't know where this came from. It's just stupid. Leave me here, give me money, some friends, and leave me here forever. FOREVER. Maybe I've finally found a place where I can be happy. I just need my friends with me - although I don't miss them much now. Lynn more than others, but only at night. Maybe I'm destined to be alone. Shut up, whiner. God comforts me in these times. LOL. God. Good one. But then I'm missing the point. I can't be alone. I need these people more than they need me. Stupid. And I'm on the plane, not thinking a thought. Obviously. I'd had a dream during the week that I was on a plane that crashed. I felt the fear. I FELT the fear as if it were really happening. And I was truly scared. I don't want to die now. I want to go to Heaven more than anything LOL, but in a few years, not now. Maybe I can get some more people to come along with me. To the plane crash? I have been known to annoy people to the point where they give in. Huh? But I'm on the plane, thinking about the dream, recalling and refeeling the fear, and the thing that breaks it is my trust in God sigh and the kid next to me. Really cute kid. He got to go up to the cockpit. The decent took forever how was the descent? the plane wobbled, they got the duty free cart out too late, and my fear was at its max. I think this may have been the first time I felt a fear of flying. I wonder if it had to do with that dream. I REALLY don't like flying. Could a dream I had 15 years ago affect how I feel about it still today? Then we landed. Customs. Baggage. Exit.

Train - was afraid the BIJE wouldn't cover the route, and I had no money, but it did, so I was safe. Got on Lux train at Bruxelles Nord. Very crowded. We get outside Bruxelles and Brad M decides he had to go to the bathroom. I stared at him, unable to recognize him, for a few seconds. Then I got up & called his name. Everyone stared while we were talking, so I shut the door. That's another thing - nobody talks on those Belgian trains. Or French or German for that matter. In Ireland, even strangers will talk. (Love that country.) So I went up & sat with Brad the rest of the trip. We did a lot of continental Europe bashing. I've never not liked Europe so much. I still don't understand this. He travelled alone too. We talked about lonely nights. He saw a bunch of movies, I read. But he had a horrible time, and I loved every minute of it. Except waiting for the bus in Blarney and missing Cobh. And I didn't like Cork all that well. All two hours I stayed there? I should have stayed in Dingle, did the bike to Slea Head, then skipped Cork & Blarney. It wasn't worth the time. But most everything else was grand. (Can I just say I love Radiohead?) I bought some bread with the Flux I had, & spread some jelly on it (from Dingle) and ate in the Flux waiting room for my Differdange train. Why did I have to record this? I sat across from an older lady and a drunk guy came and sat next to here. I felt sorry for her. Then I realized i didn't even have to look outside, I just knew where Differdange was. Guess I've been here too long. I need my sense of bewilderment back; I need to rediscover a taste for continental Europe. I need a reason to be here. School isn't a reason? (I need some money badly too.) I'm a creep...what the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here. Guess I was listening to Radiohead at the time. I belong in Dublin, home to Paul & Dave & Larry & Adam. Home to Bono & the Edge & U2. Home to Joyce, Swift, Shaw, Doyle. Home to Guinness. Home to me.

Joyce. Let me pause to talk about Joyce and literature in general, as it helps understand one reason why I loved Ireland so much. My reading level was well-above the other students throughout my youth, and I had a gift for writing. In second grade, my teacher, Mrs. Dietrich, sent me to a young writers conference that put the idea that I could be a writer in my head. Over the years, I kind of forgot about that. I hated Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man when we read it senior year of high school. I kind of hated reading in high school, which is odd to think about now. In college, I rediscovered a love for literature, and during this year in Luxembourg, I discovered an interest in writing. My trips to Ireland, where there is a healthy respect for literature (indeed, James Joyce was on the ten pound bill and is a national treasure), had a great effect on that.

I'm still not unpacked. I wasted a lot of time today. I was so tired last night, I couldn't unpack. I started to clean my shells and found worms in the conch. I'm still afraid to touch it. I pulled two dead ones out of the tunnels they had created using another shell - in no way would my hands touch them. I don't care if they are dead. They're in my trashcan now. WARNING: THIS NEXT PART IS STUPID. The shells aren't as cool as when I picked them up, but all I have to do is remember how I felt while I was collecting them - the freedom - freedom from the past, something I never got to do as a child; freedom from now which is now then but then it was now, school work, loyalty, confusion, being in the middle, Fluxembourg coldness, Andrea's problems, Erika's attitude, Hans & Julia, the MUDEC students & staff, the Dupays, April & Patricia, beer, half-hearted friends; freedom from the future, which I didn't let myself think about. It was MY time, my freedom. This sentiment isn't stupid. Even though I wrote what I felt poorly, I get it. Walking along that beach, all that existed were the hills, the water, the shells, the colors, dusk, the stone ruins, those cows, and me - nothing else except God. And Ireland. I hope I never forget that feeling.

I got some story written today. It's about ten pages now, but I stumbled upon a block. It was stupid, but the writing was going well, and I decided to take a shower. I came back and the pen wouldn't write. I had U2 on the brain. Love that band. I love a lot of things, but right now, Fluxembourg is way down on the list. Well, MUDEC is way, way, way down on the list, but I'm still grateful for this opportunity. It's eleven, the eyes are heavy, CDs & postcards cover my bed, and I have to get up in the morning. Merde.

I have a theory about this entry. Until this week in Ireland (and including some of it), I went mostly to tourist sites and hadn't really had many "local" experiences, especially going with fellow MUDEC students. I was still shy about talking to strangers, but it was easy to do so in a country that spoke my language, so I had better experiences with local people in Ireland. So I think I understand why I wrote these things, though back then I didn't understand why I knew them.

If we had blogs in 1998: Oh my god, it's Kilkenny!

So for whatever reason in the last Ireland post, I said I didn't cover the trip to Kilkenny or the rest of Ireland. That was wrong. I left the journal at home and for whatever reason thought that was it. It wasn't by a longshot. There are pages and pages of my final days in Ireland on that trip.

I'm really sad that I have few memories of anything that happened in this post. Most everything in this journal I can fire up the old memory neurons and reconstruct the memories. For these events, though, no spark.

This post floors me in parts. All of that naivety in the first semester, all of the trivial musings of a kid have been put behind. There's actually evidence of learning here. I even mention Ireland getting EU structural funds that is leading to economic improvement, and this is before I ever took an EU course. I find the intellectual development fascinating to see.

As usual, spelling, grammatical, and factual errors have been preserved.

26-2-98

Thursday night - I made it to Kilkenny (pronounced kill Kenny, as in South Park.) This morning I dragged myself out of bed at 7:30 and went downstairs for an Irish breakfast (it's wonderful to have real breakfast!) What this means is that it consisted of the more familiar American breakfast of eggs. I'd never say that now, because I love European breakfasts. Eggs, too, but would never call one kind of breakfast "real." Went to the bus station - took the 8:45 to Blarney. It was raining and blah. The castle was cool, but the stone was ridiculous. The view was great, and there were very few tourists, much to my liking. In fact, the only other people there were a really nice couple who tried to get me to kiss the slimy stone. Maybe if it had been sunny and dry, but it was puddly wet. I spent too much time there, however, as I missed the 9:45 bus & the next one was at 12:05. So I didn't get to go to Cobh, which I'm kind of disappointed, because I wanted to go to the titanic/emmigration museum. The emmigration part would have been very helpful for my book. Instead, I had to wander around in the rain. I stopped in the tourist office to look at the same old touristy junk I had seen in all the other places. I only went in to get out of the rain, but I quickly found boredom and left soon after entering. Then I went to the Woolen Mills-we-should-have-a-sign-that-says-only-for-rich-people-outlet, spent two minutes there, saw I couldn't afford anything there (and the employees saw it too - not even a hi - in fact, only snotty looks).

After my two minutes, I went to Supervalu, bought a real Diet Coke and a personal size Baily's 14-grams-of-fat Haagen Daas and ate it under the bus stop shelter even though the bus didn't come for another two hours. Then I decided to wait for the Blarney Stone restaurant to open at 10:30am, like Let's Go says. Once again Let's Go failed me (though it's gotten me places this week), because at 10:45am, it still wasn't open. I went to the cafe above supervalu instead, ordering the soup of the day, which happened to be cabbage soup, and a real diet coke. I was so glad I was having real Irish food. I took my time and then figured out the schedule for the day. I actually did a lot of staring at the pages because I was trying to kill time. It didn't go by as slowly as I had predicted, mostly because I spent 45 minutes at that cafe, to eat a bowl of soup and drink two real Diet Cokes. (Having all this real Diet Coke has caused me great problems - I have to go to the bathroom every half hour, if not sooner.) I left the cafe at 11:30 and stood outside listening to Two Shots of Happy, One Shot of Sad until, and even on, the bus. Incredible song. Incredible group. Anyway, my Cobh trip shot, I went to the train station to figure out how to get to Kilkenny. I was pleased to find that I could get there without going through Waterford, though I had an hour layover in Kildare and also had to switch trains in Mallow (where the train was late and I, of course, had to go to the bathroom).

Ireland is in the EU to get its funds, and they are putting those funds to use - everywhere they are improving the lines, I guess to prepare for the upcoming hurricane of tourists that are going to destroy everything in their paths, including Ireland's calm distance from global culture meltdown. Wow. I'm blown away by this insight. Seriously. Just stopped to tell Chris about it. Yes, it's cynical language, but one of the things I found impressive about the smaller towns of Ireland is that they felt like Ireland without the invasive McDonald's/Global Corporate Species taking over the culture. In Ireland these days, bartenders are as likely to be Polish as they are Irish. The difference here is that I don't necessarily think that is a bad thing as I would have back then. I'm glad I was here to see Ireland and not a bunch of hotdog stands and two pound cokes. I don't know what this means. I wonder how bad it is in the summer. Obviously Blarney exists as a town because of their fortune of having a slimy stone to make money off of non-adventurous tourists. The place had a complete absence of character, not unlike Cork, which obviously thrives on the fads of mainland Europe, judging by the shops and the filth of he air, and its number of non-Catholic churches. I have no idea what this means, either.

Dublin is in stark contrast to Cork. Dublin is the biggest city in Ireland, its capital, its big city motif going on. Dublin's air suffocates one's lungs as motor vehicle exhaust rips through the oxygen molecules, sending O's scattering in all directions. Dublin has its run down neighborhood (neighbourhood) I'm glad I never lost my amusement with British u's north of the Liffy (North & South of the River), which may make one wonder how I could love the city so much. Dublin has pick pockets on O'Connell Bridge, hungry children, and drunken punks speaking gibberish to the walls of its buildings. I am not so blind as to be unable to see these problems, problems shared, indeed much worse, in other big cities. But big, when compared to other big cities, Dublin is not. 400,000 people live here, half under 25 due to Trinity & CU Dublin. Guinness keg trucks make their rounds as postmen do. The place is full of historical landmarks, untouched by the horrors of two world wars, though spiritually affected by war with its greedy colonizer next door. Literary greats - many of them - have been inspired by the city's character. I'm going tomorrow.

But today, what happened today? When I got to the train station I found that I had two more hours to kill (total = 4, enough time that I could have gone to Cobh (pronounced Cove). So I stuffed my ever growing pack into a locker and walked for an hour around Cork, then waited for my train. Nothing interesting happened except on the train from Kildare to Kilkenny I sat across from this guy with a broken arm for whom I opened his coffee. He had french fries and I got some because they smelled good. And you got a lot for only a pound. Of course, they weren't fries, they were chips. I had fish & chips for dinner last night. I got them take away and brought them back to the hostel while this strange guy (looked like Rick Hageman) stared at me the whole time. I ended up reading all night, finishing the famine book - incredibly sad; I almost started to cry. I was really down yesterday and this morning too, but I feel fine now. Which reminds me - when I was taking the bus back from Dingle, looking out at the mountains and the water, the Titanic song came on and I couldn't help it - I started crying. Oh god. *rolls eyes* I almost started bawling. I don't think I'll ever forget that feeling. If my eyes weren't so dried out I would probably have tears just thinking about this moment. The truth is, I do remember this. It wasn't that horrible song that did it. I was thinking about all the people who had to leave their country because of British oppression and all the people who starved to death while the British ate all the food. Just think of how many places on Earth the British left a mess. We were smart to revolt before it was too late. I think all the real diet coke is dehydrating me. Probably. I've peed all the water out of my system. Lovely. I should stick with the Tropicana Pure Premium.

Anyway, back to Kilkenny at 8pm, finding a hostel despite the fact there are no street signs in this town, and sitting here writing pages after barely covering a page from yesterday, when I did more, I think. I have a great song title - Walking Under Ladders. Too bad I'm not in the mood for poetry. I never am anymore. Probably because I suck. Truth. I'll stick to prose.

Dublin tomorrow :) then home :)

27-2-98

Today's events: got up at 8am, should have been later. Saw some medival stuff in Kilkenny - Black Abbey, St. Mary's Cathedral, St. Canice's Cathedral, and Kilkenny Castle, which I was upset about because I didn't get to go in. The tour was full. I'll have to go back there some day. Took the 11:40 to Dublin. Love this city. Today reinforced that thought. I got here at 1:30, walked for four hours straight, found our St. Paddy's hostel (15-20 min walk) then just walked - found a Planet Hollywood that wasn't here in August. Temple Bar - found the Kitchen. Bono's club. Temple Bar is awesome. Bar district, very touristy. I can't wait to bring Andrea & Emilee. For St. Patrick's Day weekend. Walked down Grafton Street shopping street - walked the Liffy. The river.

The most interesting things have happened in the past couple hours. I took my shower, sat down to write in the journal, then this guy comes in. He says his name is Andrew, but then everyone calls him Eddy. I guess he's lived in Dublin for awhile, though he's Canadian, and he's been in Amsterdam for several weeks or months, who knows which is true? So we're going to this jazz cafe, so I thought, but he decides he just wants to have a pint in a nearby pub. A Norweigen girl came with us, and we both talked about what an idiot this guy is. I have a pint, she has a coffee, then we hurry out of there. Then I meet a guy named Daren, 27, who is very nice. We're both annoyed by Eddy. He's laying on the top bunk so he can't see us laughing at him. What an idiot. I wish he would pass out. I hope he's this annoying only because he's drunk. Otherwise I feel sorry for Dubliners.

I forgot to mention that while I was in Kilkenny, I had an Irish breakfast at a cafe which had an extremely nice woman as its owner. Very charming, very friendly. Anyway, about Dublin. I'm sad I'm leaving tomorrow, but looking forward to coming back in a couple of weeks. I'm so tired now. I have to get up really early tomorrow, so I guess I'll go to bed now.

Tomato cucumber salad on toasted baguette

Every Saturday I wake up late, walk to the farmers market on the corner of my street, and cook brunch for Chris and I before he heads out to work. Some of these brunches are pretty elaborate; I'd dare to call them gourmet. I've never really used a recipe except to learn how to cook certain things, like how to poach an egg or how long to cook a particular meat.

Take this morning's feast, for example. (I've put where I got the ingredients in parenthesis.)

Tomato cucumber salad on toasted baguette

One medium tomato, diced - about a cup (I used two small ones, primos from our garden)
One medium cucumber, diced (bought from farmers market this morning)
Half a cup of diced purple onion (bought last week from farmers market)
One large clove of garlic, diced (bought last week from farmers market)
Four large basil leaves, finely chopped (picked from our garden)
Six large parsley leaves, finely chopped (picked from our garden)
Half a sweet pepper (Here's where it gets tricky. Our peppers were mislabled when we bought them as seedlings, so what I thought were poblano peppers are a sweet variety, perhaps Italian sweet peppers, light green in color. These are the kind to use for this dish. What I thought were jalepeno plants have turned out to be poblanos. The banana peppers are, in fact, banana peppers.)
1 jalepeno pepper, finely chopped (bought from farmers market two weeks ago since we don't have jalepeno peppers in the garden)
1 tbsp on chili powder (I used Kashmiri chili powder that I bought from the spice stall at Union Market)
Lots of black pepper
Salt to taste
Somewhere around two ounces of distilled white vinegar
1 tbsp of olive oil

Mix the ingredients well, serve on a toasted baguette, and eat. I served it with fried eggs and shiitake mushrooms, fried in olive oil with a little basil, salt, and a minimal amount of flour. The only thing wrong with the meal was that I sliced my finger cutting the baguette, which screwed up my timing, so the mushrooms cooled and it was difficult to crack the eggs so I broke the yokes. I'm very bad at cracking eggs, anyway. I always get shells in them. Grrr.

Last weekend I made a guacamole dish I created from out of nowhere. It used 2 avocados, one primo tomato from our garden, three hardboiled eggs, fresh basil from our garden, the Kashmiri chili powder mentioned above, plenty of black pepper, salt, lime juice, and...I can't remember what else. Probably some onion and perhaps some garlic. And I think I may have used a jalepeno pepper. Served it on a toasted baguette.

I can't express enough how great it is to have so many tomatoes that I've grown myself, or fresh basil every day. I don't understand why fresh basil is so expensive in the store when it grows like mad on its own. Our plant is nearly as tall as I am. At the end of the season I'm going to dry the rest of it, as well as our oregano, and have my own dried basil and oregano for the winter. Because our tomatoes got the blight from too much rain this year, our yields haven't been as much as they were going to be when the plants started growing like mad, so we won't be canning any of them or making pasta sauce with them. But don't be mistaken, we have a lot of tomatoes! And the plants I thought were going to die are starting to grow new leaves and blossoms! Yay!

If we had blogs in 1998: City of Lights

In this episode from my 1997-1998 study abroad journal, I went to Paris for the second time. It was excellent.

Spelling, grammatical, and factual errors have been preserved.

8 fevrier 1998

Long train ride from Paris today. We missed the earlier one and had to take an indirect route with transfers in Nancy & Thionville. This morning we left the hotel (The Palace) after 10am, got croissants, and went to the Tuileries and walked around. We walked from the Louvre to Burger King on Champs-Elysees. I ate twice at Burger King & twice at McDonald's this weekend. It was horrible. But I got to eat at Chili's, which totally made up for it. Really? REALLY? A real hamburger. You have to understand that every now and then I just need a burger. And they don't do them well in Europe, at least the places I went. I still have this problem. When I lived in Beirut, I craved burgers from time to time, but it was tough to find a good one. There was a TGI Fridays and a Chilis, but I refuse to go to American chains these days. Even in America. Well, except I did satisfy my Beirut burger craving twice by going to Hard Rock Cafe. Oops. So we took the 12:38 to Lux on Friday and ate at McDonald's. Ok, so blah. But then we had awhile to kill, so we (Andrea, Matt, and I) took a bus to the centre and walked around and ate sausages together. It was quite a fun thing. We finally killed enough time to catch the train.

After four hours of not getting any work done, nous arrivons a Paris. We hurried to our hotel, The Palace, and then we went to Sacre Coeur and looked out over the city. J'ai pense que je puisse habiter la. C'etait tres magnifique. Nous avons marche et regarde pour un restaurant a manger pour Andrea, qui etait malade. Pauvre Andrea - c'etait son premier temps a Paris. Translation: I thought that I could live there. It's magnificent. We walked and looked for a restaurant to eat for Andrea, who was sick. Poor Andrea, it was her first time in Paris. So we got to Sacre Coeur and walked up the million steps to see the city. The best was le Tour Eifel across the city.

It was a clear night, and above the smog one could see the moon and the stars. The moon seemed to be offering its light to me as I stumbled around the night wondering how I got there. Here was one of the biggest cities in the world, and one of the oldest, and one of the most famous, and I felt like I was standing on top of it. My lungs embraced the february air as if it were May, and my life was once again renewed. All I needed at this point in my life surrounded me, and a tear found its way down the worn path embedded in my skin. I've finally overcome the jungled past that has consumed my every thought and action, and as I looked down at Paris, I was secure in the thought that things would never revert back to how they had been. My life was free to fly, and soar I did, over the city of Paris, over the whole damned world. I had been unhappy at Miami, bored, sick of the sororities and fraternities and the business majors and the superficiality. I wasn't getting what I should have been getting out of college. I wanted to learn; everyone else wanted to get drunk and screw and skip class and find a husband. Europe made me happy. Europe cured the boredom, showed me that there was a world out there and that life did not have to be as dull as it felt in Oxford, Ohio. I marveled at how I, a nobody from nowhere, got to be in Paris and all of the other places I got to go. I never took it for granted.

Ok, so back down the steps, back through the catacombs the metro takes us, up to McDonald's where fatigue overcomes me, and my brain shuts down. To be honest, even NPR thinks McDonald's in France is edible. Now I wouldn't go there if it were the only food in the city. I remember Steph's clicking, Andrea's coughing, Matt's grinding, and my tossing and turning as I struggled through a night of sleep. Waking up took a long time, but waking up on a february morning never is a smooth process. Me and Steph went and got breakfast from the grocery down the street. Then Matt & Andrea got into a discussion about the Olympics. I think Andrea has a slight American bias. Matt roots for the underdog. I agreed with Matt in that the economics of a country plays an important role in determining which countries receive medals. Opening the eyes... The Olympics is going on now - I wonder how the US is doing. I feel so out of it.

For some reason I can't remember much from Friday night in terms of what people said. Steph always remembers that stuff. So up to Saturday morning when we finally left. We went straight to le Tour. Andrea was really feeling shitty; we all wished we could have helped. She seemed to want to wander around alone, but we kept tagging along. It was so smoggy that we could barely see the top of le Tour, and it was raining and cold. But all was incredible. We stood looking at the Tour at noon. Then, much to my delight and guilt, we got to eat hamburgers at Chilis. It was awesome. I hope nobody was mad at me for making them fork over $11 for lunch (but we ate at BK twice & McD twice, so at least I got some real food once). Then Steph had a cow about the tip. She can't understand that this isn't America. You don't need to leave 15%. Especially for lunch on a Saturday. Oh well.

Ok, so Arc de Triomphe, Champs Elysees, then onto Notre Dame, which was better than the first time. But there were too many people. Andrea really liked it. The architecture is incredible. She knows so much about art and music. Have a question? Just ask her. I don't think that Matt & her make a good pair. Their interest in literature is the only similar thing, and even that differs - Victorian vs. modern. I thought things would turn out bad, being in Paris and all. But even Matt commented on the lack of tension between them. I wonder what that was all about. I don't understand the whole situation. Andrea was throwing out questions at the trains station on Friday that I did not want to answer and really didn't. Anyway, so Paris did nothing for the situation.

Notre Dame, halfway through a cleaning

So - Notre Dame - ok, well, we got pushed out because they had 6:30 mass. So we walk around for food, but then decide to go to the Tour Eifel. 59ff was well worth it. The funniest thing was the fact that Steph had to go to the bathroom. So there we were, standing on top of the world (with a bunch of other people), billions of lights below, billions of stars above, Steph had to go, and all the while having this mind boggling feeling. I accidently said too loud to Steph "Where are the two love birds?" and Matt overheard. I wonder what he was thinking about that time. I had the strangest feeling grab we while I was looking out to the farthest twinkling lights, as if my memory was trying to remember something it could not recall. I'm thinking Las Vegas from the desert, but there is no memory there, just a feeling. I had been to Las Vegas as a child but didn't remember it. Something on top of the Eiffel Tower sparked some sort of distant memory about it, for whatever reason. Probably the lights. I'd never seen so many.

We were up there for quite awhile, for when we got down, Steph could barely hold her problem. We set our sights on a bathroom, but ended up at BK on the Champs-Elysees. We had walked from the Eifel Tower, a good, brisk, breath-squeezing walk, across our own little walking bridge over the Seine, past pont de l'Alma and Di's death site, past some stores for rich people, up the Champs-Elysses to BK. I was starved. It was there we saw a guy fling a hamburger back at the cashier. It was rather funny. We ate, exhausted, went to the Disney store, went home & slept. So not enough sleep later we woke up, took a long time, went to the Tuileries, ate at BK, and the whole train thing. And the sad thing is, we won't travel together for at least another month.

The Notre Dame thing is funny to me. I returned to Paris in 2010 and took a lot of great photos of carvings, not remembering that the first couple of times I saw the church it was filthy. I wonder why they let it get that bad. This is my favorite photo from the 2010 trip. The September shadows captured good and evil perfectly.

If we had blogs in 1998: A sort of homecoming

I go to Ireland for the second time, this time seeing the country rather than staying in Dublin. I used my research project as a justification for going again. It was an ugly week - the skies were gray most of the time as they are in Europe in February - so my photos didn't turn out very well. But you can get an idea of the place from them. My new scanner makes them look like Instagram photos. I guess I'm "hip" now.

As always, spelling, grammatical, and factual errors have been preserved.

22 fevrier 1998

Heading to Bruxelles on a dull gray, rainy day. However, the warmth of the weather and the rain have given birth to a lush green Ardenian landscape. I am alone in this section of a car, save for an older woman who sits across the aisle on the seat facing my direction. I'm sure she has wondered about me; I have felt her eyes wandering in my direction. It's going to be a strange week. No Andrea. No Matt. No chateau. No school work except for my story. But I'm doing that more for myself than for school. I have to see if I can do it. I've got no distractions, nobody to get me off track, and I'm hoping I'll get as much done as I'm hoping to now. I'm writing a story about an American girl who has Irish grandparents who emmigrated from Ireland because they were poor. The girl doesn't understand why they do some of the things they do, her religion, Catholicism, and she goes to Ireland to try to figure things out. Her grandmother ends up dying, and the girl has taken over her identity as an Irish American. I could set the story back some years when Irish were discriminated against in America, and say her grandparents came over from the potato famine. I wish I was going to Eire today. Tomorrow I'll be touching down in Dublin, if things go as planned.

same day, later time

In the hostel now, thinking I've killed enough time to justify going to bed now, if only the girls sharing the room would shut up. I bought a book from the English bookstore and just finished it. It was good but depressing. Now I need to get back into the reality of my situation. I'm going to Ireland tomorrow! Dublin! I can't wait. I will be leaving in a little more than 12 hours. Too bad the stuffiness of this room prohibits the air of excitement from entering my lungs. I hope that sleep can serve as a remedy for the waiting.

Bruxelles is just as horrible as the first time I was here. Ha. Like the two hours I spent there is a sufficient amount of time to judge a city. I'd never come by choice. I would now, though I'd rather spend my time in Flanders. At least the waffles are good. If I have any money left, maybe I'll grab one for the road. I've spent about 2000f, with hotel & train ticket. I guess it's not bad. I shouldn't have eaten at McDonald's. Oh well. What's done is done.

Today I arrived in Bruxelles at 1:15. I wandered all day around the Grote Markt area. This hotel isn't in the best of places, and I returned before dark. That was still about four hours of killing time. What a waste of day. I wish I had brought some homework to do. Instead, I have to buy books. It's ok - I need to read as much as possible. I'm buying a bunch of books in Dublin tomorrow - probably 3 Roddy Doyles, some Irish adolescent literature, and some Irish history books. Should last me through all the train rides throughout the week. These were for my research project on adolescent psychology.

I miss Matt & Andrea.

I find this to be interesting. There's still a lot of confusing phrasing and all, but there's a hint of a writer in there - my language has changed, I'm using descriptive words, and I've even attempted to create a setting (older woman, wandering eyes, facing me on a train.) Sure there's still the X is horrible/McDonald's kind of thing in there, but the language is more substantive than it was in the first semester. I'm even laying out a plan for my work.

24-2-98

Dingle, Ireland

It's everything and more I thought it would be. The green is the brightest hue of green I have ever seen. It was strange going into Dublin yesterday, where it all began. It was noticibly dirty this time around, but I still love it. More than ever. I went to Usit student travel agency, bought some books, then headed out to Hueston Station. I bought a ticket, then went on up to the Brewery Hostel and paid for my room on Friday. The Brewery Hostel was named for its proximity to the Guinness Brewery. Then I left for Tralee, changing at Mallow. I didn't get much reading done, really. I kept staring at the country side. Incredible. I still haven't found the words to describe the green. And the mountains - everywhere. Unbelievable. I no longer wonder why the Irish have turned out so many literary greats - with this kind of inspiration, anyone could write a decent piece. I hope it helps me. I have the story formed in my head. Now I need to write it down.

Irish town of Tralee

Last night I stayed in Tralee at a place with freezing water for showers. I was in the Roddy Doyle Room, funny, because I was reading Paddy Clarke at the time. (Finished it this evening, loved it.) With two french girls. Came to Dingle on the 11am bus from Tralee. Amazing. Simply amazing. I walked all day - my legs are sore. Took many pictures - words will not accurately describe. (Ate breakfast at a pub in Tralee - forgot) Ate lunch at a cafe.

Tower in Dingle

Trekked through a field of cows to get to the ruins of what looks like it was a castle tower. Walked along the beach; picked up shells - first time ever. Got to the tower, the view was better, but a couple sent out privacy vibes & I didn't see  where I wanted to see it from. Still incredible. Books I bought today. CDs in Tralee. Christy Moore - he's awesome. Went to Oceanworld in Dingle. Paid 3 pounds, but it was cool. Saw two dead eels on the beach. Took pictures.

Saw Dick Macks or something where all the famous people go. A famous pub. Christy Moore goes there. The owner of this hostel knows him, I guess. Julia Roberts went there. So did Tom Cruise. And 007 Timothy Daulton (had to add 007 - it's on his star in front.) Tom Cruise has no star. Dolly Parton does. And some other people I haven't heard of. But one I have and I forget.

The church across the street is cool. It's medival. I went inside. I would like to go to church there. Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. I love Ireland. It's the least corrupted western cultured place. No McDonald's in Dingle. Yeah. But I saw one in Kilkenny from the train. Boo. Loving my Tropicana Pure Premium.

Dingle Harbor

Miss Matt & Andrea. Hope things are going great for them. Trying not to think about it...

25-2-28

Cork, Ireland

I wish that girl would stop blowing that damn whistle - it's incredibly annoying. Today, this morning, I decided to leave Dingle for Cork. I left the hostel at 8am and walked 20 minutes to town. I found a grocery that was open, bought some Tropicana Pure Premium and took my breakfast (bread & oj) to a place to eat it. A place. Then I sat at the bus stop writing my story (which isn't going smoothly) until the bus came at 10:15. By then I was freezing. I took the bus to Cork after Tralee. Scenery was incredible. I may just take a bus to Kilkenny tomorrow (after I go to Blarney & Cobh). I walked around Cork all day (well I got here and found a hostel - I think it was about 3pm when I left the hostel). (That damn flute - I'm gonna shove it down her damn throat.) Cork is a cool city, but it's a city. Dublin's better. It is home to the greatest band in the world. Two shots of happy - one shot of sad. Awesome song. It's on the If God Will Send His Angels single. Incredible. I think it may go in the top ten U2 songs. I can't wait for Andrea to hear it. They should do more songs like it. I have a feeling the next album is going to be the best ever. I thought that about Pop; until it came out. Lately I have been seeing how great it really is, then today I realized it wasn't finished. I loved this country; I just wish I wasn't alone.I'm feeling it now. But two shots of happy, one shot of sad. This song is AWESOME! I can't believe this is U2. I've got chills. It's incredible. Not as great as advertised. They have real diet coke here, not coke light. British Isles have Diet Coke, Continental Europe has Coke Light, which tastes different. Never liked it. It's great. I'm not much in the mood to write, really. I'll do it tomorrow.

Blarney Castle

It ends there. I don't talk about going to Blarney Castle and seeing the Blarney Stone. The castle isn't much.  I didn't kiss the stone because you're supposed to lay on your back and lean over a hole that goes straight to the ground to kiss it. Anyway, I've been to actual Crusader castles now, I don't need to kiss a stone from one of them.


I also didn't write about going to Kilkenny. I don't remember much about it except the castle, although I don't recall going inside and think perhaps it might have been cost-prohibitive.

This was my second trip to Ireland and the country would become part of my life for quite some time.

Kilkenny Castle