Bank Holiday Weekend In Da Capital

Ellen, Sven the Great, Swedish Supermodel Ann, Swedish Supermodel Caroline, and I are off to Dublin for the three-day weekend. Sven recoiled in trepidation upon hearing that we'd be in a giant room with about 25 people at our hostel tomorrow night. No! says Sven, but Yes! says my blog.

Photo Of The Day: Ireland Cliff Jumpers

"No more shearing!" promises one bloke to the other before taking the plunge, as part of the 2005 Wool Rising.

Quote Of The Day: Seamus Heaney

"W.B. Yeats is a mountain range on the horizon under which I live." -Seamus Heaney, when asked how he feels he fits in with W.B. Yeats For any of you pseudo-wannabe literature dorks like myself, Nobel laureate Seamus Heaney came to Mary Immaculate to read some of his poetry and field some questions this afternoon in a packed lecture hall. I'd never read any of his work, other than his translation of Beowolf, but he's a literary icon over here and is regarded as one of the best known poets in the English-speaking world today.

Gaeilge Exam Caps Off Busy Week

Imagine that. I've been working hard all week, I promise. Wednesday, I had a presentation on Wordsworth and Shelley in my Romanticism class, along with my Irish language exam. Hard to believe it's getting to be exam time, but my first one is in the books. I can't promise you that I'll remember a ton of the Irish I learned by the time I make it back over the pond, but I think I did well enough yesterday. Just so you don't worry about me not being a total bum around here (for you, Mom and Dad), here's what I have left to do for school: -Irish culture exam next Thursday -Justice & Peace exam in two weeks -Rough version of documentary due 13 May; polished product a week later (ours is on a Limerick domestic abuse shelter) -- this is my major thing to finish -Irish music essay due 20 May -Romanticism exam TBA, around 28 May (might try to take it earlier so I can travel at the end of the semester) Okay, that's enough about school for the next week or so.

(Potentially) Deep Thoughts From A Dingle-ite

Sitting at Murphy's Bar in Dingle having my Sunday lunch, I started talking to a old man who looked like he could have founded the town himself. We spoke a little Irish, mainly about the beautiful weather, but let's not kid ourselves, I could only really communicate with him in English. When I found out he had lived in Dingle his whole life, I decided to try out a joke I had read somewhere. Not really a joke, but just a comment about life on the peninsula that I thought said volumes about the line of thinking of the locals.

A tourist visits Dingle one day and starts up a conversation with a local. Eventually the tourist asks if he has lived on the peninsula for his whole life. "Not yet," says the Irishman.

With a faraway smile in his eyes, my friend slowly says, "no, that's not quite the answer," and then says nothing else until we say our goodbyes when I get up to leave. I'm hopelessly confused by what he meant, even as I'm writing this today, but maybe it'll hit me one day.

A Weekend Of Firsts

A few "firsts" from my weekend in Dingle:

1. Playing piano...in a pub. This happened at Dick Mack's - a leather shop by day, packed pub by night. It's a weird pub with several different rooms to it, like you are walking through someone's house. In the back room is a beat up piano, the girls with us urged Felix and I to play some tunes. I was hesistant about it at first, but when the bartender came back to collect empty glasses, he didn't even say anything about our sweaty drinks on the piano, let alone telling us to stop pounding away, I knew we were okay. As I was leaving, I even got a nice compliment from some guy who had apparently been in earshot the whole time.
2. Getting called a local. Near the end of our bike ride Saturday, after the final big mountain climb and before our three mile coast downhill back into Dingle, Megan, Holly, and I took a break. Some Aussie stopped and got out of his car, obviously in need of some directions. We helped him out and he said, "great, always nice to run into some locals." Maybe my accent is coming around after all.
3. Hitchhiking. Well, Ellen and I had already gotten a lift back from Croagh Patrick earlier this trip, but this was the first time that I have ever walked along the side of a road with my thumb out. It was about six miles from Dingle to the top of a mountain, called Conor's Pass, where you could see the width of the whole peninsula, and John and I decided to get a little help going up it. It took us about 45 minutes to get picked up, but eventually two guys in a BMW helped us out. Then on the way back down to Dingle, we got a lift with a young couple from Chicago.
4. Sunburn. I'm actually a little bit red from the weekend in Dingle! I knew I'd be going through a lot of things here in Ireland, but I never thought to put sunburn on that list. Obviously, we lucked out on the weather, again, which seems to happen every weekend when I want to go somewhere. No complaints from this one.
5. Sleeping with Sven. No typo there. The Germans, Sven and Felix, were my roommates on Saturday night, and lucky for Felix, he walked into the room ahead of us. Immediately throwing his bag down on the single bed, he left Sven and myself to stare at the remaining double, at each other, and back at the bed like a scene straight out of Planes, Trains, and Automobiles. Nice. That was definitely a first.
6. Irish-language Mass. As Dingle is located in a Gaeltacht, a designated region where Irish is the official language of day-to-day life, Sunday morning Mass was in the native tounge. Didn't understand much at all, and got a sinking feeling about my language exam on Wednesday, but other than that it was a cool experience.

Tour de Dingle

Tour de Dingle
Originally uploaded by bgilmor.

This weekend the International Student Society teamed up with the Irish Society and we all boarded a bus for Dingle. I spent an afternoon in Dingle with Mom and Dad when they were in town, but liked it so much that I didn't at all mind having the chance to spend another two days there.

Right when we got to Dingle on Saturday, I ducked away from the masses going dolphin-watching to head off on a slightly quieter, but intense, mission. Megan and Holly joined me, and we rented bikes to head out around Slea Head Drive, the road that takes you around the Atlantic coast. I saw how beautiful the trip was when I was with my parents going around in a tour bus, and knew that doing the path on a bike would offer a different perspective.

The 30 mile path took us through rolling hills and the occasional steep climb, but the trip validated my contention that the Dingle Peninsula, and specifically the westernmost fringe of it (and of Europe itself), is the most beautiful place I have ever personally seen. To be alone on a bike, on the outskirts of European civilization, with the sounds of Atlantic waves crashing into cliffs and sheep bleating, smelling crisp, clean air and grass...and getting a nice workout, as a bonus...was simply incredible.

The only downside to the whole affair was the lack of cushion in the saddle, so my posterior has been a bit sore today. Eight euro for the rental was the best 8e I've spent yet, though, I'll tell you that much.

Poor Time Management

Originally uploaded by bgilmor.

Living with Sven hasn't done anything but reinforce stereotypes about the precision of Germans, that's for sure. To illustrate, here's some of our conversation from before we left for our choir concert Sunday evening:

Me: "I'm gonna go finish getting ready, Sven. What do you say we leave for the church in about 15 minutes?"

Sven: "Mmmm...nooo...we should leave in 12 minutes."

Okay, whatever you say Svenster, 12 minutes it is.

Twelve minutes later, though, I was ready, waiting for him, and he wasn't close to being ready. In fact, I'd say it was at least another 7-8 minutes before we stepped foot out the door.

Luckily, they didn't castrate us then and there for walking in three minutes late, but Sven might have been sweating it a bit.

Photo Of The Day: Concert Attire

Public Service Announcement: Just Stay In Bed

As Ellen suggested to me, days when you oversleep just never seem to amount to much more than a big headache. Just one of those weird quirks of life that rings true. After getting up half an hour late today, I should have known better. I had to hurry my leg/hip combo (I've been told I really have no butt) to get ready and make it to class on time. This was the same class I missed last week when I overslept by three hours (see stupidity in previous post), so I didn't want to miss it again. Turns out, I missed the memo that class ran for an extra hour today, so when I walked in the door and thought I was right on time, I had actually missed the first hour. Later on, I read an email from my flaky theology advisor back at Loyola that says I shouldn't be taking an upper-level medical ethics course next year without a background in a similar entry-level course. Thing is, last fall she specifically TOLD me to sign up for this particular upper-level one precisely because I lacked the ethics portion of the theology degree. So, when registration opened earlier this week, I went ahead and signed up for it. Now, after everyone else at the college has registered and my schedule has been more or less finalized, she tells me to change it. Then, following the trend of an ever-growing black hole in her memory, she questions me on whether or not I'm taking a course here in Ireland that could count for upper-level credit for my degree. This, after lecturing me before I left about how I could go ahead and take a theology course here if I wanted, but because she couldn't trust the quality of the professors or the courses it wouldn't be proper to count it toward my degree. As I'm stewing over the absurdity of her email, I then realize that I forgot my Irish homework at home, so, of course, that means an extra four mile hike just to retrieve it and make it back to college three minutes before class starts. Fittingly, to top the whole thing off, I had a restless night's sleep, so the catalyst of the bad day didn't even stop me from being tired for every minute of it. Oh sweet irony. Even though the weather admittedly is quite nice today, that can only do so much for you sometimes.

Lost In The Flood

You know those plans of mine to see Bruce when he and his guitar visit Dublin on May 24th? Shit, I never told you, did I? Well anyway, trust me, they were fantastic plans involving me, the Boss, and 7,499 other lads and lasses. Denied. Tickets sold out in 40 SECONDS. In the immortal words of Robert Goulet, "that's crazy!" Who am I kidding, anyway. It wouldn't have mattered if it were 40 seconds or 40 minutes. I set my alarm for 7:30am that morning and didn't wake up until 10:45, 45 minutes after tickets went on sale. Bruce could have sold out Central Park by then.

Choral Concert

Sunday night marked my choral debut in Handel's "Acis and Galatea." For those of you not up on your Handel, here's a quick rundown of the story found in the program, slightly paraphrased. Galatea is this half-divine sea-nymph, and she thinks this shepherd, Acis, in a neighboring field has it going on, so she falls for him. They are eventually united as they run through the fields in slow-motion and leap into each other's arms. It's not happily ever after though. There's this huge monster, Polyphemus, and he's all pissed off because he can't get any girls. So naturally, he falls for the beautiful Galatea, and we have ourselves a love triangle. She's all into Acis, though, and hardly impressed by the giant stature and smelly breath of Polyphemus. This pisses Polyphemus right off, and to protect his woman, Acis steps in to fight the monster. Bad idea, dude. Polyphemus interrupts when Acis and Galatea are having a private moment and crushes Acis with a giant stone. Galatea is crushed (no pun intended) over the loss of her man, but remembers her powers, as a half-divine sea-nymph, and turns her dead lover into a fountain. Got it? It was a cool experience, but I can't say I'm going to miss it too much. There were a couple hundred people in the church, to see us and the Limerick Baroque Players, and they seemed to enjoy it. I wouldn't mind wearing a suit like the one I had on more often, though. I'll post a picture soon. When I went to take the suit back on Monday afternoon, the lady asked me if I owed anything. "Um, I don't think so, ma'am, the college was supposed to be picking up the tab for me, right?" "Ah yes, that's grand. No worries." Apparently even the salespeople are in on the trusting, laid back vibe that is Ireland.

Back In Business

Back from a great weekend in Galway. It's got a notably different feel than the other cities around Ireland I've been to; a very international, European flair to it. Pedestrian shopping streets jammed all day and night, street musicians around every corner playing everything from bodhrans to wood blocks to upright pianos, outdoor cafes - basically, just a cool city with so much happening. Highly recommended. We really lucked out on weather, too, and had a sunny weekend. And, though I may not hit all the pubs in Ireland while I'm here, we damn well might have gotten most of them knocked out in Galway. Friday we took a day trip through Connemara, which, along with Dingle, is the best scenery I've seen. Rugged mountains, lakes, green fields, isolated sheep-infested roads...you get the idea. Along the way, we stopped in the island village of Cong, which is famous for two things. First of all, Cong is where The Edge from U2 has lived. Secondly, it's home to The Quiet Man everything, the 50's film with John Wayne and Maureen O'Hara. It was shot in the area, and the town is quite willing to let you know that and make a Euro off of it. We had lunch at the The Quiet Man Cafe, which apparently the Duke hung out at back in the day, but who knows. Points to those ladies for serving sour cream 'n onion Pringles as a side to my toastie, though. The waitress at the cafe directed us to what she called "the best pub in the country" in Maam, a short drive down the road. After shooting the peat with our squeeky-voiced bartender for about 45 minutes, who filled us in on everything from how to properly hand-wash an Aran sweater to how televisions in pubs have been ruining the social scene, we set off to find the Kylemore Abbey, an impressive structure nestled within the Twelve Bens mountains that started off as a present from a 19th century tycoon to his wife, became a WWI refuge for Belgian nuns, and is now a girls' boarding school run by the sisters. We came across a few of the students, but when I told them that I was thinking about taking a class or two there, they thought that I was too old. Too bad. Friday night, I saw my second U2 tribute band, Rattle and Hum. Both of the ones I've seen have been musically spot on, but this Bono seemed to have much more passion in his voice. Saturday, we walked around Galway before taking in more of the nightlife. If for no other reason, being one trips like the one I am on is amazing because of the people you come across. Some nice ones, some weird ones, and some crazy ones that you could never even dream up with a Guinness-soaked imagination. Thanks to John, Martin, and Nederino (when we saw him) for letting Ellen and I invade their hotel room for a couple days and for giving us a great weekend.

Meeting The Birthday Boy

Tonight Ellen and I are bussing it to Galway to meet Birthday Boy John, Cousin Martin, and Nederino. Be good while I'm gone. I don't want to hear stories about people misbehaving. See you Sunday.

Quote Of The Day: John Milton

"The mind is its own place, and of itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven." -Satan, from John Milton's Paradise Lost

Photo Of The Day: GilMartin In Ireland

Nederino, Cousin Martin, Brother John, and myself in the Grove Island courtyard. More to come this weekend, but here are some pictures of their first day in Ireland. After leaving Limerick, the three of them went to Dingle, Dublin, the Cliffs of Moher, and are now in Galway for the rest of the week. It's John's birthday on Thursday, and I (and possibly Ellen) plan on taking a bus to Galway Thursday night to join them for the weekend. It promises to be quite a good time.

Best Barber In The World, Est. 1946

best barber in the world Originally uploaded by bgilmor.

Today was the first time I've ever gotten a haircut while being out of St. Louis. No prolonged deliberation over this baby; I had some time between classes this afternoon and decided it was just time. Didn't hurt that I was going to Pat Stapleton, the best barber in the world. No, really, that's what the sign on the door said. A picture of him cutting the hair of former taoiseach (Irish prime minister) John Bruton didn't hurt his cause either. I walked up three flights of stairs, peeked in a room that looked like a converted bedroom, and was immediately ushered into the barber chair by Pat's wife. Pat himself was the next to enter. He was an old man, and had trouble speaking, but he got out "how much off?". Within 60 seconds of walking into the room my hair started falling to the ground. The cut lasted about 15 minutes and I'll be damned if a word was said the whole time. I'm telling you, this guy was a cagey pro. He had the room decorated with all sorts of pictures of him and his family, along with ribbons from agricultural fairs and other fun pieces of flair. On the mirror was a simple sticker that said, "Quiet. Genius at work." Plus, he had a microwave in front of the chair I was in; not sure why that adds to his prestige, but it just does. At the end of the cut, again without a word, he held a mirror up so I could see the back of my head, like a proud artist displaying his masterpiece. Check. Then he hands me a towel and brush to clean up with. Again, only a few words uttered. After the whole experience, and especially after only being charged 10 Euro for the cut, I get the sense that I'll be blown away if I ask him the next question, so I go ahead and do it. "How long have you been doing this?" "Since 1946." For those of you scoring at home, that's three years older than the Republic of Ireland itself. Yeah, I guess after 59 years of doing something, you really start to get the hang of it. Talk about some serious dedication. Needless to say, I like the cut, but even if I didn't, I wouldn't have the heart to complain. So, if anyone's looking for a barber, come to me. I know the best barber in the world.

Adventures With Food

Recap of some culinary adventures from my weekend in Galway: Ever try to make gooey butter cake with carrot cake mix? I thought I'd bring a taste of St. Louis to my gracious host family, and that's all I could find at the store. Needless to say, it didn't taste quite the same, but I pulled it off okay and didn't poison anyone. They seemed to really enjoy it, and we polished off a whole 9x13 pan of it that weekend. I need to work on getting the baking time right, though. Slightly well-done, but still quite edible. What did I have for dinner on Friday night? Lamb liver. I knew it was liver before we got started, but only after I happily polished off two plates of it did was I informed that I could have been hearing Mama Sheep ba-ba-baaing in the field next to the house while I was dipping Baby Boy in soy sauce. After another feast on Saturday night (beef cooked in oyster sauce), we had the traditional Sunday afternoon "lunch" at the Sture's. Two full birds (chickens), three different kinds of potatoes, veggies from the backyard garden (leeks, spinach, carrots, parsnips), and for dessert, English pudding. Lunch? Thanksgiving dinner, more like. And before you ask, I still haven't stumbled across any haggis. That's a Scottish thing, anyway.

Dingle Gallery Up

My Dingle photo gallery is ready. Check it out. Edit: Props to Reader Hunter for pointing out the absurdity of this statement. Obviously, even the best of us let things slip past our radars every once in awhile.

Halfway Home

Two months from today, I'll be arriving back in Chicago. Time has gone by pretty quickly, but I would hardly say I feel cheated of any time. So far, I've done everything I set out to do before I came. I'm happy with what I've done and what I've learned, but I know that there is more ahead of me. This has been a great experience and it will only get better. Bring it on! -Brian

Quote Of The Day: P.B. Shelley

"Poetry turns all things to loveliness; it exalts the beauty of that which is most beautiful, and it adds beauty to that which is most deformed; it marries exultation and horror, grief and pleasure, eternity and change; it subdues to union under its light yoke all irreconcilable things." ~P.B. Shelley, 'A Defence of Poetry' Only reason this quote makes the blog is because even though I liked it a lot, I couldn't find a proper home for it in my essay on the aspirational quality of Romanticism. I just didn't have the heart to send it off into the cold and dark cyber space abyss.

Photo Of The Day: Slea Head

Slea Head, at edge of the Dingle Peninsula, is the most westerly point in Europe. There are 500,000 sheep on the Peninsula alone, so it's no surprise to see a few more out working on their tans.

Quote Of The Day: Anyone And Everyone

"If you don't like the weather in Ireland, just wait 20 minutes." ~Anyone who has ever lived here Oh, how true it is. I thought I understood this sentiment; I really did. But today proved that I really didn't know jack about what I was talking about. Without one bit of exaggeration, here's today's weather pattern. Right now, it's approaching 6pm. From my count, it's rained at least seven times since I woke up at 9am. How is that possible? Well, it rains once, the clouds dissolve into a bright blue sky, and next thing you know you're being pelted by hailstones. Huh? When I started to walk home from school, it was sunny with nice puffy white clouds. After I come out of the bank, the rain is pelting down diagonally. I run down the street, my umbrella flipping inside out three separate times, and make it into the grocery store. I spend about 20 minutes in there, come out, and the sun has returned and there are no traces of the rain clouds. Just as I was getting home, I see dark clouds coming again, run into the house, and ten minutes later it's pouring rain. I wonder why the weather forecasters here even try.

Opening Day 2005

"You always get a special kick on Opening Day, no matter how many you go through. You look forward to it like a birthday party when you're a kid. You think something wonderful is going to happen." ~Joe Dimaggio Right about now, the Cardinals are kicking off their 2005 season in Houston. Thanks to loyal blog reader Hunter for making sure I was aware of this. Don't worry, I wore my Cardinals hat and league champion t-shirt today. Once you've lived in St. Louis, Opening Day is a celebration no matter where you go. It won't be long until a summer night is spent under the stars at Busch or listening to the Moonman poolside. Now that is something that I can't wait to get back for. Go Cards!

Ireland Spring Break

Though my spring break didn't set any wildness records, it was a fantastic one nonetheless. To start out, I joined Mom and Dad at a house in Killarney in Southwest Ireland. That served as a base for day trips all around the region; the Ring of Kerry, Dingle Peninsula, Killarney National Park, Bantry Peninsula, Tralee, and many small towns in between. As I mentioned before, Southwest Ireland is quite beautiful. And that's on the bad weather days. If you catch a break and get a sunny day, the land suddenly transforms into something almost magical. It really only rains twice a week in Ireland, though: once for four days and the other time for three. We did manage to grab a day that our Dingle tour guide called "one in 50," an easy consensus as the highlight of the trip. I'll get pictures of that up in the next few days. Much of Easter Sunday morning was spent in St. Mary's Cathedral, after being an hour and a half early due to a completely unknown Daylight Savings Time snafu of ours. Ooops. We managed to recover, possibly picking up a little extra holiness along the way. So we got that going for us...which is nice. After Mom and Dad left for home, I went to Galway for the final weekend to stay with Caroline and her family, an English friend of mine that has lived in Ireland since she was three or four. I got a walking tour of the city (an important Spanish port city way back when), met some of her friends, hung out on the beach in front of Galway Bay, watched some movies, and just had a generally relaxing, really nice weekend. Thank you, Sture's, for your warm welcome in taking me in. And thank you, Mom and Dad, for a wonderful week. It was a great opportunity to be able to spend it with you. Now that spring break is behind me, it's back to school. I have an essay due on Thursday about some Romantic critical essays, which will be my first piece of work that I've handed in so far. Amazing. I hope I haven't forgotten how to write a paper. More later, including pictures and a story about lamb liver and carrot gooey butter cake. Mmmmm.

"Where Where You When..." Moments

There have only been a few of these time-stopping television moments (sorry, Groucho) that have stuck with me in my own life. I wasn't around for JFK, of course. But where was I when Princess Diana's car crashed? At home, celebrating my birthday. Where was I when the news of the 9.11 attacks broke? Watching the reports on a classroom television at SLUH. Where was I when Pope John Paul II died? I was in Galway, at the home of a English family that moved to Ireland 16 years ago and joined the Church of Ireland. After dinner, we were sitting around and the news of the pope's death came up on the TV. Keeping in mind the 800-year history between England and Ireland that frequently included the repression of Irish Catholicism, I decided to ask Caroline's father what he thought of the man. His reply was brief but assertive. "He was a great man," Mr. Sture said, "and will be quite hard to replace." I only pass that story on to provide one small example of how certain people are able to transcend history and beliefs; certain people who speak to the hearts of people everywhere. Love or hate what he stood for, Karol Wojtyla was one of those people. A man that will be missed.