If we had blogs in 1998: This is the end

The final entry in my journal from my year abroad in Europe in 1997-1998. Last trip to Paris. I remember the tiny hotel room where I wrote this, barely enough room for a bed, where I stayed so I could get up early enough to catch my flight home. I remember the feeling vividly, perhaps because it was the first of many times I was to feel it, that desperate longing to rewind the clock, do it all over again, every minute of it, even the unhappy moments. Many students study abroad; all are changed, but the MUDEC situation is unique from most other programs. It's set up for exploration. It gave me a permanent sense of wanderlust.

As always, spelling, grammatical, factual, and emotional errors have been preserved from the original journal. Today’s comments are in red.

14 Mai 1998

Well, it's over. I'm sitting at Hotel Carlton for my last night in Europe. Tomorrow it's home for me. 

Back to May 1: dinner with Andrea at Chi Chi's. I told her how I didn't know what I was going to do with my life. She gave me a bunch of ideas, though I'd thought of them all before. I had just been so depressed. It was a good dinner. She told me about her and Matt up on a wall next to Scott's the one night I had been so glad to see them and about how they were worried that we had seen them through the window. Then Saturday I went and saw the Rainmaker with them and Ryan and Brad, following a trip to Pizza Hut and Pub 13. Sunday was a study day. Monday was EDP & Haag exam day. I should have studied more for both. But the rest of the week was cake: Soc on Tuesday was a journal entry basically and French on Thursday was open book. Tuesday me, Erika, Molly, Kieran, & Emilee ate Chinese in Differdange. Thursday we (Andrea, Matt, Erika, Ryan, Brad, Molly, Emilee, Julia, & I) at at La Boulegerie in the centre. Then I went with Andrea to get world cup tickets for her family, then we said good bye to Erika, who was leaving for Poland. It wasn't sad. I don't miss her. Still don't. Then Andrea, Molly, and I went to find Molly a magazine. Then Molly left and I went with Andrea to her host family's house for a few minutes. Then we met Matt at the train station and sat there forever. I was grouchy & angry because I lost my jumbo card. Train pass We ended up going to Pizza Hut/Pub 13 and it was actually a little fun. We said our good byes, but it wasn't really sad, just strange. Matt, April, Dana, Lucy, & I took the 11:59 and finally did the Petange thing. It was hilarious and fun. Something about the late night trains. Woke up late the next morning, hung out at the chateau all day, listening to U2 in the cave, emailing, and just killing time. Andrea took Matt to the doctor because he was really sick and he came back with a pharmacy. Saturday I spent the day in the city taking pictures. I hung out in the park for some hours, starting my tan, listening to U2, reflecting on things. I rean into Matt & Andrea when I was going back to the train station, and I was glad to see them. A day alone is not what I needed. But then I became even angrier with Andrea when she told me that she and Matt would be staying in Dublin for two days, the same amount of time we would have spent there. I was really pissed. She chose to go with Matt rather than me. It's ok now though, because we had a good time in Paris. 

It was a few days of relaxation. The weather was incredible even a little too hot. I didn't realize that Paris got that hot. But Sunday I started the coughing. I was getting sick. Matt must have given it to me. But Andrea did get sick and she was kissing him. So I'm thinking it was still the same infection from study tour. I'm afraid for my ears on the plane. Sunday we spent $60 on lunch between the three of us, and it was not really worth it. (The soup was good though.) Then we decided  to go back to the hotel to nap. It's the story of the week. I started feeling worse. I slept for two hours. For dinner we went to McDonald's. I had deluxe potatoes deluxe, yeah sure and a large Coke and sat out yet another argument, this time about the founding fathers and slavery and the euro and some stuff that didn't fit anymore. Matt was taking the role of asshole. I was in agreement with Andrea though I was never allowed to say anything. Finally I just told them that they weren't listening to each other. That shut Matt up. He's always telling Andrea that he respects her opinion, but it doesn't seem to be true. But then she started talking about the guilt she feels about having so much, and I was explaining my disillutionment and guilt for not feeling guilt and then we got a bottle of cheap champagne and split it between the two of us. It was gone in an hour, but neither of us were buzzed. There was a movie about Elizabeth Barret Browning and they both were in heaven. Browning is Matt's favorite poet, and Barret is hers. Sickness was getting worse. I didn't want to get up in the morning. 

I did though, and we went to Versailles. It was closed. I didn't get to see it. And to top it off, we had to eat at Burger King. And they didn't have sauce for the chicken nuggets. Quelle horreur! But it was great, just being there with those two. Paris is our city. I hope the three of us go back some day. Nope, we never have. I went back with Matt once more a couple of years later but I haven't heard from him in ten years, and Andrea and I don't talk, either. We went back to the city to musee D'orsay but it was closed as well. We were glad though, because we were tired. And hot. That was when Andrea couldn't figure out where the Champs-Elysees was. It was all good fun. We went and lounged in the Tuilleries for a few hours. For awhile, I was perfectly content (except for the damn city birds). Back when tweet meant the thing the birds did way too much. Then I got hot and went to sit in the shade. I couldn't find Matt & Andrea, but I didn't look much. I was going to play the I'm sicker than I am act when Andrea came to find me, but it didn't work. I soon felt better, and we went to Hagen Daas and spent 10 bucks each on sundaes. They were good though. Then we looked for a good movie, but there were none. So we went back to the hotel and slept. Till 10:30. Then we went to Tex-Mex and ate. I ate a shitty chicken enchilada with ketchup instead of salsa, and drank a shitty pina colada with 3 shots of rum, or so it seemed. I still remember this awful meal. Parisians trying to do Tex-Mex. Ha! Then we went back to bed. I didn't sleep. I felt absolutely horrible. Poor Andrea probably didn't sleep much, with my coughing and tossing. It was awful. My ears hurt. 

They got up at 4am to go get Vicki. Andrea's friend who was going to travel with her for a couple of weeks. I stayed in bed. I wrote a Dublin itinerary for them. I took a shower. Then I finally slept. Then Vicky came. She's cool. She gave me Claritin. I started feeling better. We went to the Latin Quarter and ate at Segfried. I don't remember the name exactly, but it's our cafe. Segafredo. We got watered on from above. Assuming someone dumped water from a balcony or something. Andrea got coffee though it was hot outside. We bought Tropicana OJ and went to the Luxembourg Gardens, got kicked off the grass, watched others get kicked off, sat in the shade, slept on a park bench, then went to see Notre Dame for my third time, then Saint Chapelle. The stained glass windows were cool. Next: sleep at the hotel. I slept for a couple of hours. [I forgot: Andrea told me her UFO story at the Tex-Mex restaurant the night before. I couldn't help but laugh.] You know how they say it's the little things in life that matter? Well, sometimes it isn't. I woke up first and sat on the balcony. We had an awesome view of Sacre Coeur. I wrote Andrea a letter. I know I didn't say everything I wanted, but I hope it was ok. I couldn't help but cry out there a little, until they all got up at 9:30. We went to eat at a pizzeria. I had the worst pesto pasta ever. This is funny because I'd never heard of pesto until we went to Italy the previous September. We bought more champagne. That was a good night. We discussed U2. (I have to remember to tell Andrea that the live 'Please' CD counts as a studio album.) #firstworldproblems I didn't want to go to the Louvre, would have been rushed so it was decided that we'd sleep in and they'd go to the Louvre after my train left. Only I didn't know there was yet another train strike. #europe No train. So I called Hotel Carlton and said it'd be after 11 when I got there. We ate lunch at an Italian place near Gare de l'Est then went to the Louvre. I saw the Mona Lisa, Lady Leading Liberty, and the french paintings, then left. I went to the Virgin Megastore in the Louvre and bought little miss and mister books in french, and the new Natalie Imbruglia and the Verve old CD A Northern Soul and laid out about 70 bucks there. Jesus, what a waste. I mean, first of all, I see a few things in the Louvre then go to the freaking Virgin Megastore? Then, spend a ton of money on crap music? WTF? Then I went to the outside world and bought a world cup shirt I do not have that anymore and bought Matt a Champs-Elysees sign for his birthday. 

We then headed to Gare de l'Est, ate at McDonald's (it was too hot for me to eat. I had a shake and a Fanta.), then to the Gare. Saying goodbye is still vivid. Still is. Leaving Paris. Looking back, trying to get a glimpse one last time of the Tour. More tears. My European adventure with Matt and Andrea was over. I miss them now. I miss Paris with them. I'd rather be sitting at McDonald's with their arguing than sitting here alone. Why must all good things end too soon? In less than 9 hours, I will be home again. Why must all good things end to soon? The silence of my new loneliness is broken only by the ticking of my clock and the planes flying overhead, a reminder that time is up, time to go home. But I don't want to. But I must. But I don't want to. But I must. But I don't want to.

I sure did get the ending right. 

If we had blogs in 1998: Salzburg rats, lots of wine, and the Big Chicken

Nothing on Salzburg, plus the end of the semester ball. We're getting to the end of the journal, folks.

As always, spelling, grammatical, factual, and emotional errors have been preserved from the original journal. Today’s comments are in red.

1 May 1998

Salzburg is beautiful, I loved it, but it was also depressing as hell. I mean, I didn't have anyone to room with, and then I didn't have anyone to tour with. I was running out of money at that point. It was a great day, beautiful, warm, and I walked about 15 miles total. I couldn't afford the sound of music tour, so I saw as many of the things as I possibly could. The day wasn't bad; I got to nap on a bench by the river, but night was depressing. I went to meet Emilee and Jaime for dinner but they didn't show. I had hoped to see Emilee in the morning before she left but didn't. At 7:30 I headed to the train station, only I was on the wrong side of the river and walked way out of the way with all my luggage. when I finally did find the train station, I was sweating. I used the last of my shillings to buy a sandwich, a coke, some chocolate, and a trip to the bathroom. I sat alone at the train station for two hours, writing in my journal about the week see previous post for how much of a waste of time that was and watching the rats crawl around the tracks. Some people do the Sound of Music tour, I watch rats. Me and Becky got a compartment for the overnight train, but we were on the wrong cars and had to move. So we shared a compartment with another girl who spoke English. I actually slept about six hours. German train conductors check your ticket only once. They stopped checking and let us sleep. It was great, for an overnight train. We switched at Koblenz and I slept till Luxembourg. Then I slept when we got home.

The past week has flown by. We're done with classes - today is May Day so there are no classes. Last night was the ball. I have been so depressed all week. Poor Andrea has put up with me to this point. She gave me flowers yesterday afternoon. She's the best. Last night I was so mean to her. When we all got to the ball, I sat there until things started. I didn't want to mingle. I wanted to mope. When wine came I was drunk before dinner. It was my intention. Andrea just did not look like she was having fun. And why would she, everyone else was drunk, except Matt of course. But at Pub 13 I sat in a corner by myself. Actually, I just wanted to pass out. I spilled half a pint of Guinness on me. Somehow I started the night with 300 flux and I still have like 225 now, even after losing 50 flux in a hole at the Big Chicken. A late night fast food joint near the train station. I do not know what hole this was, probably a storm drain or something. If I recall correctly, this was something of a red light district. And I lost my Jumbo Kaart somewhere. My train pass I'm hoping it's at Pub 13. It's causing me anxiety because I'm on the train to the city right now and I don't have it. I can't believe I lost it. I hope I find it. Anyway, the reason that I am on the train is because I'm going to meet Andrea for coffee. I hope she isn't mad at me. I pulled one of my drunken disappearing acts last night. I think Matt was upset too. I bought him a coke from the Big Chicken. I brought fries. So how did I end up with more money than I started with? I'm clueless. Lucy must have given me a lot for those blank tapes I gave to her. That's all I can figure. I know Erika gave me 100 at the ball for no reason. It was nice. Hans, Jaime, and Julia did an awesome rendition of an Indigo Girls song last night. I think I had five glasses of wine & three beers at the ball. I sat with April, Patrica, Jessica & her host mom, Holly & her host mom, and one other person I can't remember. Jessica's host mom was extremely nice, but I could tell she was a Bonnevoie lady. I think that means she was from a wealthy neighborhood in Luxembourg. Dinner was excellent. Matt & Andrea both got scholarships. I felt this time all the scholarship winners except for April deserved it. April got it because of her internship. She was the last person to deserve a scholarship. Oh well. That was harsh. Don't know why I said that except out of jealousy. Sorry! 

If we had blogs in 1998: Study tour

I’m an awful person. Or is this kind of juvenile drama normal? Throwing a fit because I didn’t get in the hotel I wanted? Brooding because a friend wants to hang out with her secret boyfriend? Nuremberg, Prague, Budapest, Vienna...no wonder I was so tired this week. Could explain some of the crankiness.

The latest from my 1997-1998 study abroad journal. As always, spelling, grammatical, factual, and emotional errors have been preserved from the original journal. Today’s comments are in red.

 

20 Avril 1998

This whole study tour has sucked so far. Break was ok but I’ve realized I don’t much care to have Steph as a friend. She tried to force me to stay in a hostel because I missed the 11:59. Ryan was nice enough to let me stay there. I slept in Brad’s bed. Friday we went to Pub 13 and I bummed three pints of Guinness off of people. [Saw an awesome Irish band Wednesday the night before we left.] The bus ride to Nurenburg Yeah, I spelled it “Nurenburg” went quickly as we watched Never Ending Story and Ransom.

25 Arvil 1998

Saturday in Nurenburg. Went to the Volkfest and ate a ton. Went with Molly, Erika, & Ellie. The rest decided that they didn’t want to be around Molly so left. We stayed at the Volkfest for an hour, then walked around Nurnburg, which is an awesome city despite its Neonazi population. Um. Just because some hooligans spray paint swastikas on walls doesn’t mean the entire population are Nazis. Good lord. And a city is “awesome” even if it’s full of Nazis? Ignorant much? I love Germany. I wish I would have spent more time here. There’s that grammatical construction again. Ugh. Not that I would trade any weekend, but I just never realized how much I loved it until Strasbourg. I was getting sick by then. Erika, Emily, Julia, & Molly were in the room.

Sunday on the bus watched Goldeneye. We got no food for 12 hours. Emmanuel the bus driver never stopped for a bathroom break. We had three + hour long stints at times. We got to Prague & immediately went on a city tour. It was too long. The hostel sucked. There were no shower curtains. The beds were like sheets on plywood. It reminded me of girl scout camp. Andrea & Matt were in our room when we arrived. I guess they had a good time in Italy. Molly had to stay in our room again because of the problem, whatever the hell that was. I do not know what "the problem" was, but it sounds pretty funny now.

We saw the concert right after the city tour Eine Kleine Nacht Musik & Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. It was good but not memorable. It was an awesome setting though. I do vaguely remember the setting, but I don't have to remember the music - those are two of the most overplayed pieces in the entire history of music. Vivaldi's "Spring" in particular makes me want to throw stones at new baby birds. Then we went for great cheap food. Andrea, Matt, Ellie, Erika, & Molly separated from the group & ate cheap. I had pork, red cabbage, dumplings, apple streudel, & good beer. We walked around a bit then headed for home. By this time I felt like shit.

Monday found it hard to get out of bed. Monday was also Terezin day. It was mostly a POW camp, most Jews were deported to Auschwitz. Then the museum came next. The pictures were ok, THE PICTURES WERE OK??? They were drawn by children who were forced into the camp! but all we did was see a ten minute film, look at them, fail to find something decent to eat, More concerned about food than what happened at a concentration camp? then left for the speaker who was owner of the Globe. A former Miami student. He was a bad speaker. Really dull. Typical Miami student type, & still hasn’t grown up. After that, we had free time. It was Andrea, Matt, Erika, & Molly. We ate at some restaurant with a seven dollar cover. What a ripoff. The food was good though. We sort of split up after that. Andrea, Matt, & I went to an Irish Pub because we couldn’t find anything else. I ended up cashing guilders & Swiss francs for beer money. When I came back from the bathroom, I swear I saw Matt & Andrea holding hands. I don’t know though. Good lord. Why did I care so much???

Tuesday morning brought a long bus ride to Nitra, Slovakia. I felt like shit again. I had to sit by Erika downstairs & we had volume wars. I could barely hear my headphones at times. Another pissy day. We went to hear about the ORVA project though I still haven’t much of an idea what it is. We went around with Slovakian students. Andrea & Matt hogged my student. I just sat there like a dumb ass.We met with university students from the school there. I remember it being somewhat awkward, but don't recall why, except I think that it wasn't very well organized and there was a language barrier.

Budapest Parliament Building, taken by me but not on this particular trip

When we left, we headed for Budapest with only ice cream to hold us till we got there after 9pm & actually found a place to eat (McDonald’s) after a long walk. We were all in pissy moods & everyone ate a lot. We got an awesome hotel. Me & Andrea were going to room together, but there were so many groups of twos that I got stuck with Molly & Erika and Andrea chose to go with Holly & Nikki. I thought we’d have problems with having a tv in the room, but there were none. Good sleep, not enough to keep me awake for the speakers. I don’t even have a  clue what the second one was talking about. I couldn’t hear or understand her. This is funny to me. I don't recall that day or either of those speakers. Went to Burger King for lunch. Went on a bus tour of Budapest. Stopped at some monument Heroes Square and also an awesome church St. Stephen's and a panoramic view of the city Fisherman's Bastion & the parliament building. Then we walked around the city centre looking for an outfit for Molly to wear to the ball. It was annoying. The best part of the trip was the ballet at the Budapest Opera House with the presidents of both Hungary & Greece. We got to see Giselle - it was a great choice by our professor. That was after cramps from hell & Wendy’s & Molly’s taxi. I guess that was the point of just being absolutely annoyed with her. I don’t know why I didn’t want to take a cab. We got there the same time we would have by walking. But then we got to the Opera House, which was amazing inside. The ballet was awesome, the highlight of the week. Giz got pickpocketed before the show, Rosemary was sick after Amy McKay had tonselitus, but the ballet was awesome. Sounds like everyone was doing SO well...

Afterwards, I sort of waited around for Matt & Andrea to see what they were going to do, but I felt extremely uncomfortable around them like they wanted me to go away, but I also felt unwanted around the other group. The feeling has yet to leave. I ended up going with Andrea, Matt, & Molly to Marsall’s down the street from our hotel, where I had French fries & good beer. Slept well but not enough. In the morning we were on the road to Wien. We got a little extra sleep but the bus ride was long, especially after we had a detour, wait, that was to Salzburg, nevermind.

When we got to Wien, we all had to eat chicken & coke at McDonald’s. Then we found our two separate hotels. I was going to have to stay at the other one, but I dug my bag out & almost was crying because everyone I knew was in this hostel. Good lord, this is juvenile. You can skip over the rest of this paragraph to miss all of the non-dramatic drama. Then Andrea wanted to switch to be in the same hotel as Matt. That really made me mad. I even said meanly to her that she would rather be at the other one, meaning to hurt. But it was ridiculous. And I’m still mad about it, even though me & her shared a room and talked half the night about her & Matt. Erika was there at first though she wanted me out. I threw a fit about it. We tried to drag out some secretes. I just want to be trusted to tell things to. Why is it that after the first week I felt like I had known Andrea all my life? And now she has become one of the best friends I've ever known, & only after three months of knowing each other. Too bad this is all over soon. I wish I hadn't been so tired so I could have had a better conversation with her. But that was all after a pointless lecture at the Celtes & awesome dinner (gas included). HUH? Great beer - Gosser, sauerkraut, potatoes, sausage. But Matt pulled this little stunt. First it started off with a comment by me, a joke to Andrea that hurt her. For that I am sorry. But I started off the discussion, and Matt obviously heard, for he started sulking, though nothing bad was said. Andrea went off to look for the restaurant she was told about in the chocolate store (Mozart balls - red - best chocolate ever). Instead of talking to us, he just wandered off. Then he said he was just going to go home after dinner, so Andrea took him to coffee. She asked me to go, which of course I wasn't going to do. So I got stuck with Erika, Julia, & Emily. We toured Vienna's ring. It was very beautiful at night. (Julia's "what do you know about romance" comment pissed me off.) We finally went back to our separate hotels. I shared a room with Andrea. Erika was there. We had a conversation about Matt & forced Andrea to tell us some things. It was just as we already knew. After Erika left Andrea talked to me for awhile. I was extremely tired and wish I could've stayed awake longer. Friday morning came too soon, but I'd rather stay up & talk to Andrea any day and be tired in the morning. We had to listen to a lecture at the Celtes again, though it was so hard to keep my eyes open. We had great sandwiches for lunch, however, and giant cans of Coke. Andrea & Matt stayed in Wien, while most of us went to Salzburg.

Why, oh why, didn't I write more about what I was seeing??? I referred to the Heroes Monument as "some monument" and didn't even bother to get the name of the church. I talked about nothing in Vienna or Prague! Nothing! You'd think I got nothing out of this whole experience! What a shame!

If we had blogs in 1998: Woman from Aran

Cut off the Ireland trip for some reason. Here are the last couple of days of that particular trip. We went to Galway, the Aran Islands, and back to Dublin. It's the latest installment from my 1997-1998 study abroad journal.

As always, spelling, grammatical, factual, and emotional errors have been preserved from the original journal. Today’s comments are in red.

14 April 1998

Inishmore, Ireland

Dark clouds circled around us on Easter but never dumped on us, fortunately. The sun was in the center of a blue hole in the sky, making it a good day. We walked a good 5-6 miles upon returning to Galway, where we ate at Fat Freddy’s. I had an awesome pineapple pizza. Then the search for a good pub and “You’re not 21,” my blunder. Then the Lisheen, three pints of Guinness, and some music including Christy Moore covers. Everyone was singing along. Awesome craic. I had fun, though Steph was bored. I don’t know if Ryan was having fun or no. Then afterwards I called Grandma’s and said I was in Scotland, which was dumb. Hmm. Lying to my grandmother for no apparent reason. Guess I didn't want anyone to know I'd been to Belfast. Oh well. Then I slept. Next morning we got tickets to the Aran Islands – Inismore. Cool place. 15 miles of walking. First was the Black Fort and its amazing cliffs. Plenty of pictures. We ate lunch there. Then the walking to the other fort. You could see the cliffs of Moher. Where did the sheep go? No sheep visible on the island that day, so how'd we get Aran sweaters? Ha! Atlantis. Sundial. Spar. Mainistir House. Galway this morning. Oh yeah, no electricity. Freezing for awhile. On train to Dublin. Stream of consciousness? No, just too lazy to write it all out. Back then, I thought I’d remember every detail always. Perhaps I remember more than most, but it has slipped away.

The Aran Islands are an interesting place, to say the least. They are a group of three islands in Galway Bay off the West Coast of Ireland, directly across the water from the Cliffs of Moher, famous for the winds that hold you up even as you lean over the 700 foot cliffs, the only force keeping you from plunging to your death into the sea below. (They were also featured in The Princess Bride as the "Cliffs of Insanity.") The limestone you see on the islands dates back 350 million years and is full of the fossils of ancient sealife, and glaciers had a heavy influence on shaping the landscape. The strange environment supports arctic, alpine, and Mediterranean plants, making it one of the most bizarre places to see flora, if you're into that kind of thing, which I wasn't at the time of this trip but am fascinated by now. Ancient forts and stone walls are found on the islands, as well as some monasteries and some ancient beehive huts from the early Christian period.

The islands served as refuge for Catholics from the tyranny of the British, particularly in the time of the Cromwell conquests. The towns make the feel like you've gone through a time machine, as the people still speak Gaelic and there's not a Starbuck's to be found. It's a little piece of heaven for those weary of modernity, but then there are the tourists. Among visitors are literary types and artists - I can see how you'd be inspired by spending some time there, especially in the spring or fall when the tourist hoards are fewer and you can spend time in isolation. Rock-climbing, fishing, and diving are among the popular activities in the summer months. We went in mid-April, so there were few tourists, but the wildflowers had begun to bloom among the limestone, making it a wonderful time of year to visit, though they say May is the optimal time to view them. 


I'd love to go back and see them through older eyes, even for a few weeks to do some writing.

15 Avril 1998

Dublin last night. Check in at Brewery Hostel. Eat at sandwich shop next to The Norseman. Good ham & cole slaw sandwich. Sat on steps in Temple Bar. A little chilly but not bad. Ran around Temple Bar looking for music. Went to Oliver St. Gogarty’s. Mark the dancer was there with his perma smile. So was the guitar kid. But the others were good. 2 pints of Guinness. Cereal dumb comment. Have NO idea. Went home pissed. (not drunk) Getting sick of travelling, I think. But this is Dublin. I wish Andrea & Matt were here. Maybe Andrea would appreciate this more. (Ok, now crazy lady comes in with 3 guys – all male room, blah blah blah. I hope she doesn’t make us move.) We're in a hostel. Anyway, I woke up this morning first & ate breakfast alone. We left around 11am & got our plane tickets at USIT, then headed over to the embassy so Ryan could use the fax. Brought back memories of U2 weekend. Then I dragged them to the National Museum to see the Viking exhibit & the Rebellion exhibit. Then we got sandwiches & ate them in St. Stephen’s Green. Nice day. Took them down Grafton Street & stopped in St. Anne’s church & received a long winded tour of the stained glass windows. Then spent two seconds at Trinity College (Protestant comment). Don't know what this means, probably some pro-Catholic sentiment involved. Stopped at Golden Discs, bought the Coors & Warm Jets before Trinity. Went to Virgin Mega store, bought Audioweb. Steph had to find Irish music. I was actually ready to go. She wants to go see music again tonight. I’m shocked. She always acts so bored at the pubs. Ryan got pulled off a stool last night and danced a kick line. Minus coordination. Anyway, we’re leaving tomorrow.

Temple Bar is an area in central Dublin that has managed to preserve its medieval street pattern. The streets are narrow and cobblestone, and at one point it was a center for secret revolutionary activity. The area fell into urban decay in the early 20th century and was left for dead. At one point, the powers that be were going to tear it all down, but cheap rents began to attract artists and small shopkeepers to the area, who then fought to save it, as artists are wont to do. As a response, the government set up a non-profit organization to preserve it, and now it is a hub for Irish cultural activity. And lots and lots of tourists. Next time I visit Dublin, I may take a stroll through the area, but I doubt I have a pint in the area due to the volume of them.

I did spend a lot of money on music over the course of my time in Europe. A lot of it was native to the country I was in; some was not. I was, like so many other aspects of life, learning about music. I had already evolved somewhat - my first album had been Milli Vanilli (probably 4th-5th grade), and my favorite bands had been Def Leppard (6th grade), Winger (7th grade), Poison (8th grade)...you get the picture. Ugh. It wasn't until I discovered U2 (thanks to the song "One") when I began to realize how bad that other stuff was. At this time, I was still looking for new music, trying to discover new bands no one in the States had heard of (I was hipster before hipster was cool?) I had a lot of misses. A lot. I can excuse the Coors because they were native to Ireland and it was before they completely discarded what had made them unique - combining traditional Irish music with pop - and became just another crap Top 40 band. I can't excuse the other two I list. I should have bought more Chieftains or Dubliners if I bought anything. Or Pogues. Why didn't I buy more Pogues?

Pretty pathetic journal entries. We did a lot that week, and I hardly recorded any of it. I did have a great time during the week (see previous entry.) The Aran Islands were fascinating. Was beautiful to be at the ocean. 

How I miss the ocean. Any ocean. And the Mediterranean Sea. Especially that.

Read more about my adventures in Ireland here!

If we had blogs in 1998, I’d be hunted by Scottish trolls

Edinburgh. Oh, and I get to be in Belfast for the Easter peace agreement and am unaware of its significance. The latest from my study abroad journal way back when.

As always, spelling, grammatical, factual, and emotional errors have been preserved from the original journal. Today’s comments are in red.

9 Avril 1998

Bus writing leads to shaky chicken scratch.

This week has not begun the way I thought things would go. I took the 6:08am from Differdange, took the 6:56am to Bruxelles, and the 11:01am Eurostar to London. LONDON. I still cannot believe I was there. I fell in love with the city, moreso than I ever thought I would. I will definitely return someday. And I have, multiple times, most recently in March 2011. I’m not in love with the city. And Heathrow is probably the worst airport on the planet. I basically just saw the sights. London. I was there. Wow. I met Steph & Ryan at Waterloo with a McCoy Palm sign. We got to Victoria, found the coach station, ate at Victoria, went back to the coach station, and took a horrible overnight bus to Edinburgh. Sleep was lacking, necks were hurting, and I spilled Coke on Steph’s shoes.

We arrived in Edinburgh without accommodation, big mistake, for it has changed our plans totally. We were turned away from the High Street Hostel but found beds at the Edinburgh Backpacker’s Hostel. (Beds ok, showers scalding) We had to wait until noon to get beds, so we set our stuff down and walked the Royal Mile. Being not yet 7am, we had plenty of time to kill while we froze in the cold air of Scotland, so we bought baps at one place, hot chocolate at another, saw Holyrood Palace, the Queen’s Scottish residence, then hiked back up to Edinburgh Castle, where we spent £6 but it was pretty cool. They still use it.

Well, anyway, at noon, we went back to the hostel and slept till 6:30. It was a much needed rest, & I could feel a difference. We went to a pub to eat dinner. (I’m now staring out at snow covered mountains sprinkled with sun. It’s really incredible…) I had fish & chips & a pint of the black stuff. Ryan had hagas. Steph had a baked potato. She’s so picky it’s annoying. Dinner was great. Then we went and saw live folk music. We walked into Dirty Old Town. I had another pint. It was better than the first. The two guys called themselves Skiltron and were part of a bigger band called the Prodigals. There was a guitarist who sang like Garth Brooks, and an awesome violinist. We watched them for a few hours and then went & crashed. Despite the nap, I felt it was a productive day. Steph felt otherwise, I’m sure. But this is a vacation. No need to kill ourselves. Today was stress overhaul day. To relax is nice. Today we woke up without a place to stay. Nowhere in Scotland. So we’re heading for the Emerald Isle. It’s been hectic. We’re staying in Belfast, at least, that’s the plan. The bus ride has been beautiful, but Scotland just feels like fake Ireland. I don’t like it so much. It’s lacking something, maybe spirit. It’s probably been killed by being labled British. Shh…don’t tell the Scots I ever said that! Or the Brits! Ha. Really dumb comment.

12 April 1998 EASTER

Arrived in Belfast about 1am, stayed in Queen’s University dorm rooms. Each of us had our own room, which was strange. The Stena line ferry took 3½ hours – we thought it was 1½. We got two pints of free Guinness. I felt kinda sick at one point. So did Ryan. He didn’t even finish the 2^nd pint. Fears were finally laid to rest when we found a place to sleep. With morning arrived Bizarro World. Belfast. We walked around the main shopping district for an hour, then left.

13 April 1998

Belfast was creepy, come to think of it. The people seemed Irish in appearance, but their manner was quite different. It was as if they were prepared for something evil lurking around the corner. They were cautious, tense, and reserved. Apparently it didn’t occur to me that a major peace agreement had been signed that day and that yeah, things were going to be a little weird. I did pick up a Belfast paper that had a copy of the peace agreement in it. I still have it. I should frame it, because it’s a beautiful thing they did in Ireland, finding peace and all.  It was an uneasiness, a place that told you to get out before dark set in. We saw a rally at the unionist headquarters. I heard on the radio that there were nationalist demonstrations yesterday. The whole thing is very bizarre. I can’t wait to read more about it.

I have neglected something very important here – that we went to a restaurant that was like an American sports bar to eat, and there was something on the menu which I ordered that was called the Cincinnati Reds, which was just spaghetti with some bad tomato sauce. Thank god I remember this very important detail of being in Belfast on the day of the peace treaty signing.

When we were leaving Belfast central, we saw the peace line, a wall built between Shankill & the Falls, the unionist & nationalist neighborhoods; I don’t know which is which. Barbed wire covered every wall, every fence, and graffitti was something to be taken seriously. Wonder how long the agreement will last.

We crossed the border without any passport checking. Dublin was alive and well. Cold, with snow on the mountain tops and hail from its skies, Dublin did not fail to charm. We arrived at Connelly Station & walked forever to the Avalon House. I was embarrassed as I took a wrong turn. Duh. I was so worried about getting it wrong that I did. Oh well. We set our stuff down and headed out to eat. First we stopped for groceries, assuming everything would be closed Easter Sunday. Wrong. Tropicana Pure Premium. Ok, this is about the millionth time I’ve mentioned this orange juice, so I’ll explain. Orange juice in Europe, at least at the time, was sour. I’m talking about northwestern Europe. I’m sure down in the Mediterranean area, especially in Spain, you can find freshly squeezed OJ everywhere. But Luxembourg is not Mediterranean Europe, so any time I found the Tropicana, I bought it. Bad Ass Café is too expensive. Bewley’s café sucks. Elephant Castle too long of a wait. Salmon at an Italian place. Salmon good, too much lemon juice. Dry potatoes & carrots & broccoli. Not worth £10. I left my camera; Ryan left his wallet. We were fortunate to retrieve both. Scary moment. Then we went to Gohgerty’s. Too full. So wee went to Fitzsimon’s, and the St. Paddy’s band was there, so we stayed. Crowded, but good. Not fun, really, but still good.

Slept not enough, caught the 9:10 to Galway (not Gal Way as Steph says). Found a hostel (The Galway Hostel). Nice people. Walked around the shops. Some open. Ate at the Cobblestone Café. Ham salad sandwich. Walked along the coast. Beautiful. Listened to Bad while looking out over the water.

I failed to grasp the significance of being in Belfast the day their lasting peace was brokered. We're really blinded by youth, aren't we?

 

If we had blogs in 1998, mine would have been poorly written

April in Paris. What more do I need to say?

As always, spelling, grammatical, factual, and emotional errors have been preserved from the original journal. Today’s comments are in red.

le 6 Avril 1998

Leaving Paris. I glance back for one last look at the city’s symbol, the Tour. The spirit has attacked my existence, challenging me to conquer it. Alas, I have no control, and have only to look toward the next venture to the city. Insanity was lost upon arrival; insanity returns upon departure. Good lord. I’m glad I’ve since learned how to write.

Friday, the debate about whether to go or not found the yes side a winner. Despite no guarenteed accommodation, we set out any way. Upon arrival, we sought a tourist office for booking, but found nothing. A stop in a hostel found us marching to another hotel, which proved to be successful. A venture to the Champs Elysées for Burger King, however, was not, as Burger King exists no longer. Yay! McDonald’s won. Boo! At least we got to see the Tour at night. We sat up till 2:30am. Yanni was on the telé, and we actually watched. We got a late start in the morning, about noon, & headed over to the Latin Quartier for eating, after I semi complained because we always go to the same places in Paris – the touristy ones. I don’t understand why, if Paris is Matt’s favorite city, why he won’t explore it. So we went to the Latin Quartier and passed by a Jean Louis David. Andrea got her haircut for $30 there. It looks awesome. After that little adventure, we found a café and ate good panini, croissants, et great chocolat chaud. Then we wandered. Through the rain. In April. In Paris. What more could you want from life?

I avoided using an umbrella, not just because Andrea kept hitting me in the head, but because the rain felt awesome. No words can describe April in Paris. No words I knew at the time, anyway. Apparently the only adjectives I knew then were incredible, awesome, and amazing. There I was, in this fabulous outdoor museum flavored with all of the spices of history, and I can’t find words to describe April in Paris? I mean, here is a city that smells of fresh bread every morning, that houses many of the greatest works of art ever conjured up from the souls of man, that has practically become synonymous with romance, and I can’t find any words. Geesh. We walked through Luxembourg Gardens, just wandered until we sat for awhile until wandering past the Arc down champs elysées, where we bought tickets for L’homme avec le mask de fer, version orignale. The Man with the Iron Mask. Was that Leonardo DeCaprio? While waiting, we ate at Haagen Daas, then saw the movie, which was good, except the end, which said Louis XIV was the greatest French king. It was quite embarrassing, really. French people in the theater actually laughed when that statement was made. Metro returned us to place de Republique, where Andrea prostituted herself before we went to McDonald’s. (A guy on the street offered her a credit card for some reason.) Oh, I forgot about Perry/Paris, the flour filled balloon. Enough said. No, not enough said, because I have no idea what this was. Anyway, we got back after 1:30am and crashed. [UGLY FRENCH GUY STARTING AT ME DESPITE BEING A METRE AWAY]

Got up late again this morning. Went back to the Latin Quartier against the wishes of Matt. Our café was closed but we found the Grand Bistrot with menus for 42 francs. Incredible food. Salade, turkey with Normandy sauce et frites, desert. A whole desert. Must have been dry. Fairly cheap. We hadn’t realized how close we were to Notre Dame and its scaffolded front. Every time I see it, it gets more incredible. Walked to Musée D’orsay. Line was too long. Listened to a violinist busking. It was awesome just sitting there, listening. It started pouring. I was wandering. We met back together after an hour and headed over to Gare de l’est but waited an hour to avoid the supplement on the earlier train. And here I sit. This was the best weekend of the entire semester.

There's something enchanting about Paris that you don't find in other places, but I can't put my finger on it. It's like you go in there with certain expectations, and you expect those expectations to be unattainable as expectations usually are, but it's as good as advertised every time. I've had similar feelings about New York. Sometimes you find yourself awed at the fact that you're there, as if it were a fantasyland that had come to life. I love Paris in a different way than I love most places, but I would say it is similar to how I feel about New York. I suppose you could say that there are certain places on this planet where there are things "happening," where people write books and paint masterpieces and somehow manage to capture what this thing is we call "soul." And I think the reason that Paris and New York are different from other places of the arts, such as Florence, is that they are the cultural and economic centers of their respective countries, whereas a country like Italy has its soul scattered over Florence, Milan, Rome, and others.

I feel like I've been sent back to 1998, because I'm struggling to find the words for what I want to say.

If we had blogs in 1998: What’s the French word for “hangover?”

And here we are with a night of too much beer in Strasbourg, France.

As always, spelling, grammatical, factual, and emotional errors have been preserved from the original journal. Today’s comments are in red.

29 Mars 1998

What a weekend. Strasbourg has to be one of my favorite cities in Europe. It’s the best of German France. Known as Alsace-Lorraine to the educated among us. La Petite France. Great company. We went to visit Andrea’s host brother Akky (spelling?) He goes to University of Strasbourg. Friday we got there about 5pm. We picked up Seck (still can’t figure out his name.) and went to a restaurant/bar where we ate flamkooke which is really a thin pizza type thing & is excellent. Drank some beer. Then we went to a birthday party – Jacques & Matthew, I believe. It was pretty crazy. I only recall bits and pieces. Lots of beer. Losing a chugging race. Putting U2 New Year’s Day On. Then having Pogues and Ash. Not mentioned – the host getting mad at me for changing the music. Claude. Can’t believe that one. making out with strangers I can’t believe Andrea & Matt found out. I’m embarrassed. I don’t remember smoking, as Andrea later informed me I was doing. I do remember tequilla. I remember meeting Olivia, who was all over Andrea. Quite strange. I remember the guy who looked like Scott Anthony, though I don’t know his name. I remember the gnome and the big kinder eggs and the answering machine present, which was a great idea. It was a garden gnome – someone had given it to one of the guys as a birthday present. I think it was some kind of joke. I still remember the gnome. I passed out as soon as Andrea made my bed for me. I don’t remember that.

Next day, walking around Strasbourg. Felt like shit. It’s a great city, it really is. I wish I could have enjoyed it more. I almost puked and passed out, while walking around, after we visited the cathedral. excessive misuse of commas in that sentence The cathedral was amazing. It had this awesome clock inside. I didn’t like the skeleton at that top, though. That was creepy. But I felt sick even before we walked up and down the 330 steeps in the spiral staircase. The view was worth it. Perhaps the building that stood out the most was the European Parliament building. It looked like something from space. After we climbed down, that was when the sickness was at its peak. Andrea got me some water from the Haagen Daas store. I wish I could have had ice cream. Bailey’s. Anyway, after that I felt ok. We bought postcards and saw an anti-Front Nationale demonstration. Front National is the rightwing, racist, extremist party of France. Think Tea Party with better food. Then we walked to La Petite France. It was an incredible day – warm, sunny, all the things you could ask of a spring day. I tied my fleece around my waist, leaving nothing but a mere t-shirt to block the spring air from my body. We got bratwursts. We had coffee at a café in a square on the terrace with a fire juggler as entertainment. I had Coke, but I didn’t drink it. I was doing the withdrawal shivering thing in response to the alcohol finally leaving my blood stream. Claude was there. I didn’t look at him. Mostly because I felt inferior. I didn’t want him to be like what the hell was he doing. I hope I didn’t hurt his feelings. I wish I would have talked to him. We looked at CDs. We shopped for wine and cheese. I bought Tropicana Pure Premium. It made me feel better, but then we walked around forever. But it was a great day. We ate French fries at akky’s. Lots. Then everyone came over for wine and cheese, mostly wine. I had none. Andrea had a bottle and a half. She was flirting with all the guys but denied it. I was bored and tired. But it was funny. I told her how I thought the Matt thing was annoying Friday. I hope she’s not mad. She pretended not to be. I felt drunk Saturday night though I hadn’t touched a drop.

We got up at noon Sunday. I could have slept longer. But now I can’t sleep at all, and it’s one o’clock am. Akky drove us home. Nice change of pace. He’s a really nice guy, very thoughtful and considerate, funny, tidy. I find it difficult to believe those guys were from Luxembourg.

1 April 1998

Actually, it’s 2am on 2 Avril. I’ve been writing my bullshit ITS paper, which actually is just good writing practice. I took care of most of the Ireland arrangements today. I can’t wait. Mostly I can’t wait for the Aran Islands. I hope that works out. Maybe I’ll try to call. I keep flip flopping on whether my EDP story is good or bad. I’ve finally figured out some themes. I hope she doesn’t mind the length. I’ll be turning in over 30 pages, twice what it’s supposed to be. I’ve enjoyed it, mostly. I hope Andrea will go to Paris this weekend. I know Matt won’t go without her, and besides, I don’t want to go with just Matt. It’d be too wierd, too much small talk. I won’t be suprised if it happens, though. I don’t know why I chose to write tonight. I guess I’m just in a writing mood. It sucks that I have to go to bed now.

Things I couldn't spell in college: weird, surprised.

Ahh, college.

 

If we had blogs in 1998: St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin and Erika whines way too much

In this episode of my 1997-1998 study abroad journal, I go to Dublin for St. Patrick’s Day. I got two days off school for it because I wanted to do “research” for my project. Which was true, to an extent. I was there to learn something cultural about a holiday in the country that was the focal point of my research. Unfortunately, I traveled with two people who weren’t compatible travel partners. If you’ve traveled a lot, you understand there are certain people with whom you can travel and some with whom you just can’t. I’m a wanderer; I don’t do schedules and itineraries. Some people can’t travel without having every minute of the day planned. I enjoyed this time in Dublin, even if at times it doesn’t seem so.

As always, spelling, grammatical, factual, and emotional errors have been preserved from the original journal. Today’s comments are in red.

*drawing of a clover* 17 March 1998 St. Paddy’s Day

What an interesting weekend. It started in Bruxelles; I should have known it would be disappointing, esp. since Andrea didn’t come. But Friday night wasn’t that bad, nor was Saturday. We touched down and went directly to the crappy hostel with the girl scout bathrooms and the fifty million people in the rooms. And it took forever to walk there. So on Saturday we went on down to Grafton Street to window shop and walked around. I don’t much remember the day, but it was a good thing we went into the tourist office, because we picked up the event guide for the holiday. There was actually loads of great stuff to do. However, it wasn’t quite organized. The Irish are actually new at it. I mean, America’s big cities have been celebrating it for a number of years. They didn’t even have St. Patrick’s Day t-shirts, though they had a logo. Saturday evening posed the greatest of all evenings. After a dinner at Beshof’s, we saw a wonderful fireworks display, brought to you by Aer Lingus. It told the story of St. Patrick. I only wish I’d known more of the story. Saturday afternoon proved to be expensive, as I bought the second part of Christy Moore’s Collection, & 2 U2 bootlegs, one of which I hope Andrea will buy. After the fireworks, we went to Fitzsimmon’s at Temple Bar to listen to some Irish music played by kids our age. It was great. By misfortune we happened to run into Roach and some other MUDECers, who followed us to Fitzsimmon’s. The place was jam packed, full of Guinness drinkers, as was I. I was full of Guinness drinkers?!? We finally got a place amonst the people who could actually see the musicians. It was grand.

Sunday came around; with it came Howth. The cliffwalk was well-worth the extra miles we walked following it. I’ve photos. I was pleasantly suprised by the place. I hadn’t figured Howth would be so grand. I’d been south before, but this put Bray to shame. Too bad we had to get off the path and walk past all the rich houses. We kept walking & walking till finally Emilee asked a lady where the hell we were. The lady drove us all to the Sutton DART station because we were so far. It was cool, because the Luxembourgeois, being the caring, friendly people they are, would have never offered a lift. That was one of the highlights of the trip. I love the Irish!

We ate a packed lunch on the train heading to Bray. Bray’s beach was great for looking for rocks – beautiful despite the absense of sand. I wanted to climb the hill, but fatigue had taken us hostage on Howth Head, and another hike up a hill was not in our futures. So we stopped at a place for coffee (& apple juice). Then we went back to the hostel for a rest. I can’t remember when the anger started, but I believe it was around this time. See, I was pretty upset about a lot of things. And it didn’t help that I was so tired & PMS was affecting me. But that’s when Erika started dictating what we would be doing. She refused to borrow money, so we had to go cheap everywhere. Well, that leaves out most of the great things about Dublin, i.e. great music and craic. So instead of going to a great place, we ended up eating in this shitty North Side café. (It really sucked staying on the North Side, because they thought the North Side was Dublin. Let me just say that of all the things I love about Dublin, the North Side is NOT one of them. I feel like such a snob saying this, but working class neighborhoods are not my idea of wonderful.)  

I feel I should inject a comment here, because this was a stupid thing to say. First of all, I never got far enough away from the city centre to be in any "working class neighborhoods." In 1998, however, there were still neighborhoods throughout Dublin who had yet to see the mighty paintbrush of the Celtic Tiger, so we were in a part of town that wasn't so pretty. Traditionally, the working classes lived on the north side of the river, while the wealthier, more fortunate people lived on the south side. I knew this at the time, most likely because I knew that U2 had grown up on the north side, and so, without any other knowledge about where I was, I came to the conclusion that wherever I was, it wasn't worthy of a visit. My comment wasn't just snobby, it was ignorant.  

So anyway, we’re eating at this working class café, the food’s shitty and more expensive than anyone thought. I mean, I paid £5 for the driest chicken I’ve ever had, and the next night I paid £5 for some awesome broccoli, cheese, & mushroom streudel. So we finally swallow the food, and then we headed over to Grafton Street to watch a carnival parade. We got there early but people piled in front of us, because the thing was poorly organized. & instead of enjoying the moment, Erika complained the whole time and was more worried about getting a picture than just enjoying it. I wish more people would have been dancing. Then I started thinking about how Erika wouldn’t shut up throughout the fireworks, sounding like a dumbass when she was trying to guess what was going on, not knowing anything about St. Patrick. It was quite annoying and somewhat embarrassing. Another thing that was somewhat embarrassing were the Shamrock shakes at McBathroom. When the end of the parade came up, we followed behind it. But then Erika ran up ahead just to get pictures. She didn’t even try to have fun. We went to bed then.

Monday morning – day of hell. There I was, in my favorite city’s big day, and having to spend it with the moaner. I don’t think a word passed without a complaint from her mouth. My foot hurts. I can’t afford it. (Then why the hell did you push Andrea for her ticket!?!) She put me in a foul mood – her confidence was no match for my mouth. I have no idea what that sentence means. Emilee was pissed, then I started taking it out on her. Put she kept saying, shouldn’t we ask and was all worried because I wouldn’t use a map. Just because she didn’t no where the hell she was going…That all pissed me off. If you know me well, you know I have an uncanny sense of direction. By this time I’d been to Dublin several times, so I knew the layout of the city pretty well. Another thing was, she kept asking "shouldn’t we ask...?" instead of just asking, which was annoying to the point that I started getting snotty with her. We saw Christchurch & St. Patrick’s, which were incredibly disappointing. (Oh, another thing on Sunday that pissed me off. Erika found 50 pence in a Coke machine, & spent it on Pepsi. So someone's choice of soda pissed me off? And she kept rudely asking for my candy. If I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t have bought it.) Those churches need to be given back to the Catholic church where they belong. Catholics in Dublin use a temporary cathedral because the English reformation took Christchurch from them. Same thing happened to St. Patrick’s. Erika didn’t go in because they cost money. This was me during the previous semester. I should have understood her concerns. I think it was the way she went about whining aloud and dictating what the rest of us could do. I just whined in my private journal, but I never prevented people from doing things - I just told them I'd meet them later if they wanted to do something I couldn't afford. Then came the eating fiasco. Another working class café. But that came after the Loving Spoonful shithole, this might mean The Lovinspoon, which is well-loved and the attempt at Mother Redcap’s. What is the obsession with goddam markets? All fruit looks the same.

*I had yet to learn to appreciate markets. I had yet to understand that markets represent the life-force of the world. I couldn’t see the beauty of a pepper or an apple. My comment above surprises me. I remember going to European markets and loving them. I loved the fact that the markets were located in some central spot in cities and how everything was fresh and how locals came to purchase food for their daily sustenance. Going to a market when you travel is the most local experience you can encounter. How many photographs have I taken of mounds of bananas or fish on ice or rows of tomatoes?

Mother Redcaps was a treasure and I didn't even know it. It had a tavern dating back to 1760 attached to it where many Irish musicians had played. The market moved out of the old place in the middle of the last decade. Many in Dublin got rich in the nineties and instead of restoring and conserving so many culturally significant places, they started demolishing them to build soulless highrises, the fate of so many cultural and historical places across the world. I found this petition to stop the demolition of Mother Redcaps. Not many signatures, I'm afraid. When we knock down historic landmarks, a little piece of our identity dies with them. What a shame.*

But the Factory Café (it was actually called that) was good. I had potatos with mushrooms & spaghetti sauce. And it was cheap. A good find for the situation, but no place I’d go back to. Next was the National Gallery. I saw the Irish artists then went and sat in Merrian Square and walked down Baggot Street. I so wanted to go to the Baggot Inn or Kitty O’Sheas, but no. We have to go to a cheaper place, but Erika didn’t even eat, which pissed me off even more. Because I spent £6 at this Cornicopia place, when I could have gone to Baggot Inn for just a little more. This was after St. Stephen’s Shopping Center, which I really didn’t want to go to because I had a wonderful Baggot Street experience and wanted to walk around the area more. But I decided to go in & ended up buying a sweater & an orange shirt, and I didn’t tell Emilee or Erika because then they would have made me show them. I still have the orange shirt. I think the sweater fell apart years ago. I was already getting tired of getting my stuff out for Erika’s use. I hate being inconvenienced constantly. Once or twice doesn’t bother me, but once or twice and hour bugs the hell out of me. So after St. Stephen’s I threw the dinner fit. Then Erika wouldn’t let us give her money and made us feel guilty the whole meal. I think I was secretly laughing. Then we went to the night parade (Bailey’s night parade), and stood on the wrong side of the street, but it was still really cool, despite the disorganization. The fireworks were excellent. It was all very exciting, but then Emilee again pissed me off by wanting to leave before it was over to go see more traditional music, and kept asking should we leave, which was even more annoying, and I was fuming. It’s ST. PATRICK’S DAY. Trad can be seen any night of the year. And what are the chances of being in Dublin for St. Pat’s? Besides, I’ve been to Ireland a number of times. I wanted to do something I wouldn’t normally do. I WANTED TO DO THE FESTIVITIES BUT GAVE IT UP BECAUSE THEY HADN’T BEEN TO DUBLIN, AND I’M PISSED. It wasn’t worth the time. Erika always thinks she’s right. Did she notice the train to Namur got in at 20:42 LIKE I SAID. How come everyone thinks I’m stupid. THEY’RE THE IDIOTS! *really thick exclamation point* I HATE PEOPLE WHO THINK THE WORLD IS ALL LIKE CUSHY SUBURBIA! *really thick exclamation point* FUCK THEM ALL! *really thick exclamation point* THEY CREW UP IN THEIR FUCKING NAÏVE CUSHY LITTLE (BIG) SUBURBIA HOUSES AND HAVE NO FUCKING CONCEPT OF HOW THE WORLD WORKS. I don’t understand this rant about suburbia. It may have had something to do with how they seemed afraid to do anything, like growing up in secluded suburbs made them afraid of cities. I don’t know. I don’t even want to be friends with Erika. She’s no fun and a one sided conversationalist. I’m sick of it. We remained something of friends until we had both moved to DC years later. I'm the one that encouraged her to tell Ryan she liked him during our senior year of college - they eventually married. But she had to stick her nose into something she had no business being involved in, and I haven't spoken to her since. I thought I saw her a few years after that when I was on a bike ride. She was whining on the side of the trail to her husband about how something hurt. I laughed because I remembered the whining all those years ago.

So that brings us to looking for a pub after the night parade. We went to Temple Bar & they were all crowded. Then I looked up Bars in Let’s Go. Big Mistake. (“That’s not going to help” – E) FUCK ‘EM. They don’t know what fun is. What horrible company. And you will definitely get skin cancer for being out in the sun for 2 hrs. THAT PISSES ME OFF. IT ALL DOES. The parade was awesome. I took a whole role of film. That’ll explain the actual parades & its American High School Marching Bands. (Oh – I forgot. The Guinness Brewery Tour was a waste of £2, except for the Guinness. The ads were cool. The tour was cool if I had been with different people. I wish I could have gone with Steph & Matt & Andrea. We got there at 8:30am and were in the front row. Cops were standing in our way because some bratty mouthy girls were back talking to them, after the group Boyzone, I think, passed. There was a kid that kept waving a flag in my face. But it was great. St. Paddy’s Day in Dublin. U2. Enough said. My flash is dead.

While this may sound a lot like it's whining about not getting my way, it's not exactly that. The thing is, I was interested in the history of Dublin City, and there were many historic places I wanted to visit to understand the city better. The point of the trip was to do just that, for it was central to my research project. These places included restaurants and pubs, and Erika didn't seem to understand this. While it was nice that they didn't want to go to McDonald's all the time like Andrea and Matt, popping into just any old place was missing out on the history of the city, its soul. Music and literature in Ireland are the pride of the people. To get to know the place, you need to go to the places Joyce went, the places he describes in his books, places like Davy Byrne's Pub. You need to know where Bob Geldolf and Christy Moore and U2 played their gigs in their youth, places like Baggot Inn. 

Of course, I didn't know as much about the city as I thought, because I didn't understand the significance of a place like Mother Redcaps and couldn't appreciate the "working class" neighborhoods. But how could I? I had never read Ulysses at that point. In fact, aside from reading Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man as a senior in high school and Paddy Clark Ha Ha Ha as a sophomore in college, I'd never read a single thing by an Irish writer. That was changing, as my research project required getting to know the culture and I had purchased several books, including The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde and Dubliners. But that hardly scratched the surface of the brilliance that is Irish literature. Eventually I began to understand. Today, my bookshelf is lined with books by Irish writers. I've pored through Ulysses three times. Heck, my online name for my first blog was Daedalus, not for the Greek architect, but for Stephen Dedalus, the alter ego of Joyce himself. By the time I began my internship at Glencree Peace and Reconciliation Center in the Wicklow Mountains, I'd become well-versed in Irish history. You had to be to understand the conflict that had consumed the Irish people for centuries.

History is not about the past. It makes us who we are and has shaped our world. It is a guide to the future. Often that guide tells us what not to do, but hey, that's just as useful as telling us what to do. The Irish stopped using their history as an excuse to fight and instead used it as an excuse not to fight. I think that's a damn fine idea.

 

If we had blogs in 1998: Skiing in the Alps

It’s been a couple of months, I know, but I’m continuing my 1997-1998 journal from my year abroad in Luxembourg. In this episode, I’m getting tired of feeling like a third wheel as two friends go off on their own on a ski trip to Interlaken in the Swiss Alps. The thing is, I’d never skied before – five of the six who went on the trip had never skied – and we needed the one who had to show us how.

As always, spelling, grammatical, factual, and emotional errors have been preserved from the original journal. Today’s comments are in red.

6 Mars 1998

I haven’t been this pissed in quite awhile, and it’s another New Year’s anger, but it’s one of those things that keeps building till you explode. I have no idea what “New Year’s anger is. It sounds rather juvenile. I don’t want to explode, but this whole Matt & Andrea thing is making us all feel invisible, and I’m getting real sick of it. And now it’s almost one in the morning and they’re still not up here, and we’re going to be getting up in five hours and skiing for a day. So I’ll be in a shitty mood – even worse than I have been all week. I shouldn’t have even come for the weekend. What’s the point? Matt & Andrea prefer to be by themselves anyway. I guess we could have a just fine weekend with the four others, though none of us know how to ski. I’m just getting sick of this, & I’m beginning to wonder if it’s even worth it, I mean, putting myself through the feelings of invisibility. I hate feeling left out. Speaking of that, I wonder why I haven’t heard from Lynn in forever. It’s no surprise, people are always ditching me. I guess I’m destined to be alone until I find a suitable husband, if it ever happens. LOL. I don’t remember ever having that concern, so it’s funny to see it written here. [And how can I ever stay angry.]

The train ride today was long & uneventful, with Matt & Andrea once again isolating themselves from the rest of us. I’m beginning to realize why Erika felt the way she did, & I’m beginning to agree with the monopolizing part. Why did I not realize it before, when I could have told them when they asked me? Now I just have to sit & watch it, & I hate it. I hate the way things have to work. I wonder how much they’ll separate themselves from us tomorrow. When we went to Scott’s last night, Andrea wasn’t going to go because Matt wasn’t going. Then we changed our plans for the weekend because Matt didn’t want to get in at 6am on Monday, though what’s the fucking difference between getting in at fucking 9pm Sunday night & 6am Monday morning. It’s fucking ridiculous, & it pisses me off. Ooh...cursing. Because two friends have a secret relationship that everyone knows about? Dumb. I’ll never be able to sleep in this kind of mood. This sucks. I wish I would have stayed home. “I wish I would have.” Grammatical genius right there.

8 Mars 1998

Well, I’m leaving Suisse – on the train right now. The place was incredible, the company less so. The best time I had was skiing through the woods alone. Skiing is great, & it’s pretty easy. I would love to do it again in this country, minus the people that couldn’t do it. I can’t understand that. It was really quite simple. I fell a few times, but really not that many times. 

We dragged ourselves out of bed about 7am and left Balmer’s at 8am. It had been a late night on Friday, because Matt & Andrea didn’t get in till late, and because we had the long train ride before and because Thursday night we went to Scott’s the bar in Luxembourg City. Erika smoked. It was funny. But anyway, we should have been tired. But we were too anxious to be tired. We were scared, really. Andrea was excited. Poor Andrea, had to try to teach us all to ski. We took a train to Grindelwald, where we rented our skis & headed for the mountain top. I bought a pair of sunglasses. We finally got to the top about 11-11:30. Andrea had to teach us all. It was quite easy to attatch the boot to the ski. Then we started off on a really steep slope, so we all wiped out. First it was Matt, who slid on his butt down. He was pissed. Then Andrea had to go down to get him. Then Brad went down & wiped out, then I went down & wiped out, then Steph wiped out, then Lucy wiped out, but it was before she even went down the slope. It was all humourous. Then we practiced some snowplowing. After a long time, I decided I wanted to go down. So I took off. Brad & Steph came too. Every so often we’d stop & wait for the others, but they were incredibly slow. We never saw them again.We never saw Andrea and Matt until the evening, either. Apparently Matt has limited athletic skills and never got the hang of the skis, so he never even skied down the mountain, if I recall correctly. Andrea had my camera in her bag, so I didn't get to take any photos that day.

We took off and got to the train station at the bottom in over an hour. The trip was incredible, going through the pine, along a mountain stream, snowcapped peaks looming overhead, you feeling the peace that the setting has to offer. I felt incredible. We all took the train back up to the top, and zoomed down again. It only took me 25 minutes to get down, and I waited for Brad for ten-fifteen minutes after that. It was great. I wiped out on the second run, on account that I was going too fast and freaked out. I went fairly slow down a lot of it, not wanting to break things, logically. I bought a Sprite from the restaurant down the hill and waited. Steph didn’t go back up, but Brad and I did. By the time we got to the top, it was snowing. Tons of people were in the Teepee Bar, I guess because the ski conditions were bad. But we went down. I’m glad I had my sunglasses, because the rain beat against my face like life beats against my being. It was quite symbolic, actually. Me, in solitude, speeding past everything, and getting beaten by the rain. I took a different path down the third time, much like I have taken a different path throughout my life. Terrible metaphor disease strikes again. Also youthful stupidity. I wiped out badly, hitting a spot of grass, rolling a ways, losing my poles & my hat. My skis never came off. I hit my back, & it still hurts today. A bunch of people came over to me to see if I was ok. I would have liked to lay there longer, but I didn’t want to look like a fool. I wiped out again later on, and a bunch of kids passed by. I got to the bottom where Steph waited. We waited for Brad, then went down to Grindelwald, turned in our skies, & waited for the others at the train station. I neglected to mention that the people who asked if I were ok did so in three different languages, which I found delightful.

13 Mars 1998

As I often find myself doing, I’m writing this while sitting on a train. I never finished about the weekend, but basically it ended when we went down the hill. We went to a Swiss restaurant, which was excellent (rösti is a sort of hash brown dish – it’s wonderful.) Slips into present tense. So then we go back to Balmer’s and shower. Slips back to the past. Then we had to go to that horrible pub downstairs, where I stood there, not even in the circle, downing a beer so that I could go upstairs. Then Matt came down, though he had been sleeping. I’m sure he just had to rush to Andrea’s side, though much to his dismay, I’m sure, she was talking to another guy. Ha ha. I went upstairs first and went to bed. Steph came in last after talking for quite awhile to a guy from Kent State who was studying in Florence. We dragged ourselves out of bed Sunday morning. Andrea bought an expensive Swiss Army Knife. I almost forgot about the words I exchanged with Lucy. We were riding back from the slopes. When we came to our stop, we didn’t know we were supposed to get off. The conductor came & knocked on the window, and Steph & Lucy screamed, but Lucy’s scream started a dog barking and a baby crying, and I commented on that, so she went off. Everything seems fine now.

Andrea was sick all this week, and she’s not coming to Dublin. I wanted to cry when I found out because I was so disappointed. Erika’s taking her place. Back in the day when you could use someone else’s plane ticket. I wanted Erika to come anyway, but with Andrea and NO MATT. Poor Andrea, got ditched for spring break this week as well. I wanted so much to be able to help her. The thing that killed me, though, was when she was emptying her pouch, and she pulled out the shell that I gave her, and I had been so horrible to her all week, and I almost started crying. I swear, I’m a baby sometimes. But I just get so emotional.

Being at MUDEC was like being in high school. It was a small group of students - 100 at that time - who were thrown into new cultures and new experiences, sometimes with very little sleep, so these type of petty issues came up fairly often. Matt and Andrea were my friends, but we were all put off by their isolating themselves and pretending they weren't in a relationship when everyone knew they were. It seems rather humorous to me now. Andrea married her high school sweetheart, not Matt, and Matt disappeared to Boston, where I know through internet research that he is a professor of English at Boston College (I think). He also did some work with the Red Sox on archiving, and he presented a paper on something to do with travel themes in Victorian literature, which I found interesting because it's more evidence that the travel never leaves you. The last time I saw him we went to a Yankees-Red Sox game at Fenway more than ten years ago. He has no web presence, like he's actually living in the Victorian age about which he teaches. I'm sure he's married with children by now. He wanted to name his kid Britney Alexandria. I hope his wife said no to that. 

Matt, if you ever read this, I still owe you some baseball tickets. Come down and see Boston when they play at Nationals Park. Or I can meet you halfway at Yankee Stadium.

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.