A Gentle Farewell

I am sad to say that my time in Ireland has come to an end.  Sitting on the plane as I write this, I am surrounded by the familiar American accent.  While I am happy to be going home to my wonderful family and friends, I am also already homesick for Ireland.  It is a peculiar feeling, really.  The desire to be in two places at once is a difficult emotion.  I have begun to make a list of the things I will miss most about Ireland.  Here are just a few:

The accents.  I have long been a lover of Irish accents, even before my venture to the island.  To me it sounds like a beautiful breathy song.  Having the opportunity to hear this day in and day out was one of my favorite parts about living in Ireland.

The people.  I can honestly say that I have never met a more kind and giving culture of people than the Irish.  From day one, I was welcomed to their country with open arms.  For them, no one is a stranger and to treat a person as such would be, as they would put it, “bad form.”  The ones whom I have the great honor of calling my friends have touched my heart in such a way that I shall never forget.

The landscape.  Ireland is truly just as picturesque as you could imagine.  I was lucky to live next to one of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen, Ballybunion.  I may be biased, but Kerry has to be the most breathtaking county in Ireland.  And I must say that out of all the towns I visited in Ireland, Listowel was certainly my favorite.  I was incredibly lucky to be placed in the center of such a colorful and bustling town.

The pubs.  Particularly Kevin Broderick’s.  I love how the pubs are a wonderful mix of young and old—some of the best conversations I had while in Ireland were in these pubs.

My students.  I know that as an educator, it is my role to impart knowledge.  However, these girls taught me more than I could have ever imagined.  They somehow managed to both humble and make me feel incredibly special at the same time.  Because of them, I have improved not only as a teacher, but as a person.  I will be forever grateful for them.

I spent my last Irish night in a seaside Dublin hotel.  At sunset I took a stroll on the beach to watch the incredible mix of blues, purples, pinks, and oranges in the sky.  The wind whipping my hair back and forth, I could feel the soft sand pelting my shins.  I lifted my wingspan and could almost imagine myself flying.  Ireland has given me so much.  Before I came here, I was exhausted both emotionally and physically.  Now I am going home feeling as though my soul has been recharged.  In many ways I am a changed person.  A great friend of mine who resides in London told me that I am very likely to go back to my American ways once I return to Kentucky.  Perhaps she is right, but I hope I will never forget this feeling of satisfaction.  Because of this experience I have more confidence in myself, and I don’t think that is something that can easily be washed away.  Yes, I am sad to leave, but I know that my time here is finished—at least for now. 

 A farewell sunset in Dublin.

A Peep Through the Blinds

I am totally like the creepy old lady who watches people from her window.  But I can’t help it!  Watching Listowel from the comfort of my second-floor living room window is one of my favorite past times.  I have a wonderfully wide windowsill which allows me to turn it into a desk once I pull a stool up.  I sit on my laptop and watch as Listowel bustles beneath me.

 My favorite pub, Kevin Broderick’s is situated across the street from me and is the source of much of my entertainment.  During the weekdays the pub is filled with an older crowd—the same old men and women frequent this bar on a daily basis.  One man in particular always seems to catch my eye.  He always wears a full suit and tie.  But why? I wonder.  Surely he is retired.  I suppose he does not see this as a reason to look anything less than his best.  The nights typically bring a younger crowd around the pub, and I giggle myself as the twenty-something men and women do their best to gain each other’s interest.  I have heard some impressive renditions of Maroon 5’s “She Will Be Loved” at three in the morning.  The pub lends the free space above to anyone in town who needs to practice for upcoming plays.  As I am writing this, I am watching a rehearsal occur.  From my view, it looks as though the characters are having a disagreement at the breakfast table.  I suppose I’ll have to head down to St. John’s Theatre this weekend to see if I’m correct.

A line of honking cars will alert you to any win that Ireland may have in a sporting match.  Men hang outside the windows cheering and waving their team’s flag.  My favorite part is watching the elderly women come outside the pubs to clap as the cars pass—quite a sweet scene, really.  And occasionally you will hear the clomping of horse hooves on the pavement.  The sound always sends me running to the window so that I can watch the beautiful beast pull its owner in a sporty carriage from behind.  I resist the urge to run downstairs and request a ride.

Looks like the actors just pulled the curtain to the window across the street.  Did they spot me?  Oh well…

The view from my window.

Thank God for Eggs

I’ve always been a firm believer of the idea that things happen for a reason.  No matter how difficult or upsetting a circumstance may seem, I can normally reflect back upon it and understand why it had to happen.  After all, life is just a series of experiences.  It’s the “messy bits” that we tend to learn the most from.

Listowel is a town that I feel incredibly safe in.  I can go jogging at night without fear (which is something I probably wouldn’t do in Kentucky).  However, Limerick does not have such a safe reputation.  When I decided to spend the weekend there with my girlfriends from back home, the teachers at school all warned me to be careful.  “Make sure you girls stick together, now,” they cautioned.  How bad could it be? I wondered.

Friday evening we caught the bus from Listowel to Limerick.  We should have known there would be trouble when an intoxicated man holding a beer can set next to us.  I won’t bore you with his drunken ramblings, but let’s just say we quickly became his target for harassment until the next stop twenty minutes away.  I think everyone on the bus breathed a sigh of relief when he got off the bus.  A pretty blonde girl around our age looked at us, mortified, and asked, “Are you girls okay?  I promise not all Irish people are like that.”  I assured her that this was the first time I had encountered anyone like that in three months of being in Ireland. 

We all felt a little irked afterwards, but did our best to shake it off when we finally arrived in Limerick.  After settling into our hotel room a couple miles outside the city center, we realized how hungry we were.  The bus stop was only a short walk away and, although it was dark, it still wasn’t too late.  We decided to not allow a drunken fool ruin our night, so we took off for the stop.  We sat down on the bench and the sky seemed to be a lot darker than it was before—we were the only people in sight.  Suddenly a car with three teenage boys pulled up to the stop.  They rolled down their windows and I felt something hard hit my shin.  What was it?  A block of ice?  A rock?  I looked down and saw a smashed egg’s yolk running down both my legs.  I’m not sure who looked more surprised, us or them.  Were they disappointed by our lack of reaction, or could they, themselves, not believe what they had just done?  They quickly spun away as I silently kicked the lingering shell from my boots.  Then I reacted in a way that I had not expected—I laughed.  And once I started, I couldn’t stop.  My friends cracked up (excuse the pun) too as we crossed the road and started walking toward the gas station down the road.  We soon saw the bus approach the stop, but by that time it was too late to catch it.

We had nearly reached the gas station when a group of about ten men in their twenties approached on the other side of the road.  Their whistles and shouts of approval were enough to send us into a sprint the rest of the way to the station.  Inside and safe, I wiped the yolk from myself and the station attendant called a cab for us—the feeling of security was well worth the cost. 

I keep replaying that night over and over in my head.  My friend said, “Maybe that egg was a blessing in disguise.”  And you know something?  I think she’s right.  Maybe we weren’t meant to get on that bus—a much worse fate could have been waiting for us at the next stop.  Or, perhaps, the egg was a way to get us on the other side of the road and away from the group of hooting men.  So instead of feeling angry when I look down at the egg-shaped bruise that still remains on my shin, I thank God.

 Limerick is not at all intimidating during the day!  Quite pretty.

Spring is for Lovers

What is it about spring that makes us want to fall in love?  It is as if the sudden burst of sunshine warms the chill from our hearts after a disappointing Valentine season.  Or, perhaps, is it the enthusiastic chirping of birds and the first sighting of lambs in the fields?  As I admire the beautiful scenery of Ireland, I often think that this would be a wonderful place to fall in love.  How come it hasn’t happened for me yet? I wonder.  It always seems so easy for everyone else.  I am in the phase of my life where many of my friends are getting married and having children.  A quick glance at my Facebook news feed reveals profile pictures of infants and weddings.

Today I walked down to the river to bask in the warm weather.  Transfixed by the glittering water, my concentration was broken by a passing golden retriever who had just gone for a swim.  I smiled as he went running for his owner, flicking the water from his fur.  As I took a deep breath of the sweet scent of freshly mown grass, it occurred to me that I am already in love.  I am in love with the way water rushes over the rocks in riverbeds.  I am in love with the way my skin seems to absorb sunlight after months of Vitamin D deprivation.  I am in love with stray dogs, Irish accents, and my cheeky students.  But most of all, I am in love with this time in my life and all of its imperfections.

 How could you not fall in love with this?

Just Go With It

I do not like going to the movies by myself.  It’s true.  I believe the distaste for doing so began when I saw 27 Dresses by myself on a Friday night—I know, I know, that was just plain stupid.  I remember feeling like a lonely loser, only, at the time, I had a boyfriend.  He refused to see the movie and I said, “Fine, I’ll go alone.”  That was the first and last time I went to a movie by myself.  That is, until tonight.

Sitting in my apartment, I realized I had run out of things to do.  Nap?  Check.  Eat? Check.  Watch horrible Irish soap operas?  Check.  Do some Facebook stalking (oh, come on people, we all do it)?  Check, check, check.  I had a sudden craving to watch something American, and seeing as I do not have a DVD player here, I realized I would have to go to the cinema.    So, just like I would at home, I threw a bottle of water and a package of gummies into my purse and headed out to watch Just Go With It.  It felt good to see the familiar faces of Adam Sandler and Jennifer Aniston.  The movie ended up being quite good, actually.  Completely predictable, but that’s how I like it.  I sat in the theater, feeling comfortable with being by myself.  After the movie, I slowly meandered in the direction of my apartment, enjoying the brisk spring evening.  As I lifted my face to the sky, I closed my eyes and realized something—I am at peace here.

My brother said to me once, “You can’t stand to be alone.  You can’t stand to just sit with your thoughts.”  For so long, this was very true.  I have always kept myself extremely busy, often times spreading myself too thin.  And, in many ways, I think that this was a way of running away from myself—go so fast that you can’t stop to process your thoughts.  Coming to Ireland has forced me to slow down and sit with my mind.  I eat breakfast, dinner, and lunch with myself, I go running with myself, I ride the bus with myself, I go shopping with myself, and now I go to the movies with myself.  I am my sole companion and, in the process, have gotten to know myself in a way that I never thought possible.  That is not to say that this has not come without moments of sadness and self-pity.  But when I start feeling sorry for myself, I stop and remember how lucky I am to be here.  So many people dream about doing something like this—there is much to be grateful for.  And this state of aloneness is necessary.  Had I come to Ireland with a friend/boyfriend/husband, this experience would be completely different, and probably not nearly as profound.  It would be corny to say that I traveled to Europe to “find myself,” but, like it or not, these experiences do tend to lead one down the road of self-discovery.  And then I remember my family and friends back home.  Being alone is so much easier when you know that you have an incredible support group like I do.

It turns out seeing a movie solo is not so bad, after all.

Ugg Boots and Sperry Loafers -- It's All the Same

I just realized that I have gone this entire time without actually explaining why I am in Ireland.  I am completing my masters in education and I have come to Ireland to do my student teaching in the local Catholic all-girls secondary school.  Considering I am not Catholic and had never stepped foot inside a single-sex school before, coming here was certainly a transition.  But let me tell you, the students are incredible.

The first day in one of my classes, I had an out-of-body experience.  My cooperating teacher had not yet arrived, so when I walked through the door, the students were sitting on their desks, eating snacks, and chatting away.  As soon as they spotted me, they immediately jumped to their seats, put their bags away, and waited quietly for me to approach the front of the room and speak.  I had never experienced anything quite like this before.  At first the students were little shy around me, but as they became more comfortable, they wanted to know all about America.  And what were they most curious about?  Cheerleaders.

“Miss, do you really have cheerleaders in America?”

“Do they wear their uniforms to school everyday like they do on television?”

“Do they only date the jocks?”

They listened with fascination as I described what cheerleaders in America were really like.  It had never dawned on me that there are no cheerleaders in Ireland.

“Oh, I want to be a cheerleader!” one girl sighed.  Several others also sighed in unison.

“Miss, were you a cheerleader?” another asked.

I paused for a moment—should I admit to it, or should I say no? 

“Yes,” I replied finally.  All the girls erupted with joy.

And I have gotten some other funny questions, including, but not limited to:

“Miss, who’s your favorite singer?  Is it Justin Bieber?”  (She was quite disappointed when I told her that he was not.)

“Do teenagers in America look older than us?  They look so old on My Super Sweet 16.”

“Do you just eat fried chicken in Kentucky?”

“Are there really ‘cliques’ in American secondary schools?”

“Have you ever met anyone famous?” (I don’t think they quite realize that Kentucky is not exactly California).

The other day, one of the girls asked me how Irish teenagers are different from American teenagers.  My answer?  Not very.  Just like back home, Irish teenagers wear their Ugg boots and Sperry loafers, giggle incessantly about boys in the halls between classes, sneak their phones into school, gorge themselves on candy, roll up their uniform skirts when the nuns aren’t looking, and are constantly fighting for their right to be independent.  It’s comforting to see that this is all a part of growing up, no matter where you’re from.  And I love that I can have a part in this stage of their lives.

A Ruff Life in Ireland

The people of Listowel love their animals.  Go for a walk in the park and you will find plenty of hounds running around without leashes, tongues hanging, tails wagging.  A quick sharp whistle from their owner sends them dashing back, knowing exactly who they belong to.  It’s these times that I miss my dog the most.

But there are also dogs in Listowel that are not so lucky.  For a few hours every afternoon, the same collie walks into town and stands in front of the pub across the street from my apartment.  He is brown and dingy white with kind eyes and walks with a limp.  He stays out of the way of pedestrians and never tries to go inside the pubs.  He just stands there, looking very sad and lonely, and occasionally sneaks a drink of water from a nearby water drain. 

Yesterday I came across another stray as I was walking home from the grocery store.  This one was a brown lab and was soaking wet.  It had not rained, so I was very curious as to how he had become so drenched.  Next to him lay a wet tree branch that had to have weighed fifteen pounds—he must have gone swimming for it in the river that runs through town.  As I approached, he nudged the branch in my direction, looked me in the eye, and whimpered.  This dog was not a beggar; he was working for his food.  I reached in my handbag and retrieved a dog biscuit.  The dog politely waited for me to lay it on the ground in front of him before seizing it hungrily. 

Everyday I resist the urge to pull these sweet babies into my tiny apartment and shower them with affection.  Although I am not in the position to become their foster mother, I will continue to buy treats for them and pray that they are able to find shelter at night.  I wish there was more that I could do.