Ireland was prett-y, prett-yyy, pretty good

Today is the one month anniversary of the day I left Ireland. I'm sure you were all counting off the days like a fat kid who just wants the chocolate out of the advent calendar. But I've decided this means that I can't justify putting off my final reflections any longer. For the two people who are still reading this, here are the deep, insightful insights that have been stewing in the bowels of my mind for the past thirty days.

My favorite flushers

Irish people are awesome. They are warm, friendly and good for a laugh, just like a big ole cup of Bailey's coffee. They're always willing to help you out and load you up with craic. They love their families almost as much as they love their pubs, and they'll welcome you into both. To my amazing flatmates and LitSoc chums, I have to say thank you for being the best.

Ireland is a beautiful country. On my travels through Ireland I stumbled through ancient ruins, into stormy seas, across quilted countryside and over craggy mountains. The perfume of bog mud and sheep dung I absorbed on these adventures shall linger in my pores till the day I die.

Studying abroad will change your life. I have never been as poor, exhausted and filthy as I was during those months exploring around Europe. Nor have I ever been as happy.

Living somewhere weird is a crucial experience. By transforming from America Kate into Dublin Kate, I learned a lot of perspectives I didn't know existed six months ago. Like Irish people- they see things from a whole different point of view. They put butter on their sandwiches.

Making friends with foreign people teaches you things about yourself. By spending time with buddies from France, Canada, Hong Kong and New Zealand, I figured out things I didn't wish to know and things I'd never hoped I'd find. I really didn't want to know how bad a singer I was and I'm really glad I found my belly button.

There is no serious button on this post. I'm not going to say this was quite the journey and thanks for sticking along for the ride. If this were Oregon Trail you all would've died of dysentary months ago. But I can tell you that I would never have made it through this project without your love, support, suggestions and criticism. Your readership brightened every day of my rainy semester and I will miss the blogtimes we shared together. Whether you popped by to read some idiotic sheep joke or came back to hear me hurl profanity at faerie people, I thank you.

Thank you for spending your time on this toilet.

The Irish experience is a perpetual karaoke night

As you may have noticed, I've learned a thing or two about karaoke since I've been here. Not that the practice provides that much intellectual stimulation, rather the opposite, but it's led me to reflect on something. Today as I scrawled out my Collectors of Song and Music final exam in an abandoned airplane hanger, I realized that to me, Ireland is music. It is the glue which holds all these people together and binds Ireland's past to its present. And like a hypothetical young girl who gobbled the glue covered sugar cubes when she was supposed to be making a model pyramid for science club, I am eating it up.

Yep. That's me in the corner. Just real excited about culture.

No matter what corner of Ireland you travel to, you will find people singing and dancing together. The people embrace music as their tradition and it inspires them to embrace each other. A lot. You wonder why Irish people have such an reputation for being friendly? Perhaps we would all be a little friendlier if we started believing in the power of a choral line other than Journey's once in a while.

Dublin in particular doesn't just produce music, it hums with it. On a casual stroll through the city you will come across harpists, spoon players and even the occasional boy band, and most pubs host live traditional music sessions (seisiúns) at least three times a week. I could say more but I'd rather just show you. Below I have provided a few snapshots into Irish traditional music.

Here are some amazing musicians I found on Grafton street. These guys put their own spin on rocking out, the first with a kerosene can guitar, the second with a bicycle wheel drum accompaniment for his bass.

Next I'll show you what it's like to be in a real Irish pub. Here is a band from Robinson's hole in the wall pub Fibber Magees in Belfast who packed the house and got them on their feet, as well as a wonderful duo who plays every Friday at O'Connors pub in Doolin by the cliffs of Moher.

I know you've been itching to hear about St. Patrick's Day, so let's listen to something from the St. Patrick's festival. All week leading up to the holiday musicians collaborated to play traditional Irish music in the streets, in the mall, in locations you didn't expect, so my friends and I happened upon this group completely by accident. Acts on the Trad Trails route performed 45 minute sets of music and dancing, and this group had both. Here are excerpts from three songs, a lively jig, an Irish ballad and some traditional stepping. And watch out for that kid.

Finally, we have an amazing song, also from the Robinson's pub band at Fibber Magees, which begins with a very slow and haunting flute solo and then at 2:10 kicks up the pace with a tin whistle that will get you on your feet. Trust me, this flute player blows any arrangement of My Heart Will Go On out of the water.

If you are disappointed this post wasn't more negative, I apologize for my happiness. You too will understand when you come to Ireland. Next time you want to plug into a feeling bigger than yourself, try singing along to a few Irish pub tunes. With good friends and good music, we can all be a little bit Irish. Doesn't that sound nice?

Irish authorities will probably throw you in jail

Friends, the Irish have locked me up. No, I’m not actually sporting a prison jumpsuit and trading cigarettes for internet time, but there are instances when security practices here make me feel robbed of my freedom. Below you will find a guide on how to avoid offending Irish security and how to make sure Irish security doesn’t offend you.

The security personnel at UCD would like to courteously request that you refrain from having fun. After fighting long and hard in inspired “save our ball,” Tshirts, the students of UCD finally managed to regain the rights to their cancelled end of the year party, the UCD ball. Though the jury is still out as to whether administration or our brilliant student union deserves the blame for this mix up, the message from administration was clear: you can have your ball, but we’re going to make it a pain in the ass.”

That's the "after" security. Multiply x 1000 and you get the picture.

Our residential dog tags

Whether you had a ticket to the ball or not, in the days between the end of class and the day of the party, all campus residents were required to wear color coded, labeled bracelets, without which they would not be  admitted to their residence area. Note that all campus residences are encircled by a ten foot fence which can only be opened after 10pm with a scanner ID in the first place. Further note that these bracelets changed color every day. Given those details, if you tried to get into your residence area at any time of day with a valid student ID card and your name on a designated list, but had forgotten to get retagged with a different color bracelet by the given deadline, you were not allowed admission to your home. So for my second piece of advice, I would like to recommend you let go of your attachment to dwellings. The gutters of Dublin are more than willing to accommodate you.

Even the woods were blocked off,
bringing distress to young men with full bladders everywhere.

UCD’s “safety” policy meant that even capable adults like my grad student flatmates were hassled and policed by security on their way home from work simply because campus police wanted to make sure that no one from separate dorms could visit any of their friends’ homes. Coming back from campus after finding all buildings were locked, thus confining me to my apartment, I saw a girl from a separate on campus living area get denied from three separate, monitored gates because she wanted to buy bread from a convenience store located in a different residence cluster than her own. Upon explaining this to the officers at the only operational gate, the only reason they could offer her as to why she couldn’t come in was “that’s the pain of having a ball.” Which brings me to my second point: do not consume food. On my five minute walk from res to class I passed twenty five security officers, most of whom were standing stupidly in the middle of fields, watching students picnic as though they might pull out drugs or a weapon at any second. They also made a point of checking the bags of everyone entering the campus. Just walking to the library with a backpack made me feel like a victim of Big Brother surveillance.

Cant’ you just hear the Tina Turner soundtrack?

Although I believe this breach of students’ rights can be pinpointed to UCD, similar lock down procedures do occur at other educational institutions. I was once meeting friends at an entrance to Trinity College in the heart of Dublin, and in trying to reach the entrance we wrongly assumed we could cut through the campus. In the falling sun with the possibility of escape growing dimmer, I mused aloud as to which of my friends I planned to eat first when Trinity turned the campus into a Thunderdome. Joke was on us when, as a last ditch effort, we returned to the orginal gate only to find a man swinging it shut just ahead of us. Luckily for my friends, we made it out with seconds to spare and I managed to locate a sandwich.

Beyond the campus, security continues to pervade Dublin. On St. Patrick’s day fleets of Gardai patrolled the entrances to public parks, checking bags to make sure no person of legal age could actually carry refreshments. Then on Easter too, they lined the streets on horseback and foot, sending churchgoers through checkpoints around the parade route on O’Connell street. 

Which brings me to my next point: do not celebrate holidays. If you do, you may have to choose between being accosted by a swarm of yellow jackets or getting eaten by this dog.

Even all these security officers cannot save you from St. Patrick’s dog of nightmares.

I didn’t think so.

Perhaps it’s just me. My experiences at airport security lead me to believe the European Union may have put out an international Katewatch. It does seem rather odd that every airport I go to wants to confiscate my rocks, question my identity or violate my personal proximity boundaries. But honestly, do I look like a threat to you?

I prefer to believe my feelings of confinement originate in a cultural worldview I do not share. During a recent visit to the Kilmaheim Gaol where famous political prisoners were held and executed, my tour guide took a fondness to two young primary school lads and offered to, at the end of the tour, give them both a present. Hearing this, the younger excitedly exclaimed, “Oh! Is it a gun?!”

I think the dog will eat him first.

Why you will always be confused in Ireland

Dear Flushers,

Sometimes you come across something and you just have to say WTF. Cultural idiosyncracies be damned, I do believe you will agree with me when I say that Irish sign posts are at best puzzling and at worst a waste of space.

Remember way back my first day without supervision in Dublin when an afternoon was royally botched by an incredibly misleading sign for the museum which shall not be named? I had hoped in vain that was the end to my confusions resulting from poorly conceptualized placemarkers. False. ALL Irish road signs point in the vague, general direction of a geographic location without regard to streets or human capabilities.

Yeah, you remember. I did not go in.

My most memorable set of instructions occurred on the way to the Guinness factory. Stopping at a local convenience store, a grumpy, foot trodden pack waited outside while friend Janetta and I politely asked the man behind the counter the way to the source of the sweet nectar of life. He responded with the enigmatic, "Turn left. Walk until you are tired.Then you are almost there." Perhaps we misjudged the shopkeeper. His exterior of a bored man getting his kicks by frustrating young foreigners may have simply been a cover for an existential guru with a special, Spar-based connection to the cosmos. Perhaps he was the Centra of the universe.

All this brings me to my original point, which is primarily visual. Please peruse the images below and reach your personal conclusions about Irish sign culture. As they offer little explanation, I have provided my own.

Please, do refrain from stepping on the birds.

Do what you want,

but don't blame us if someone steals your s#*%.

If one must fall off the Cliffs of Moher,

please do so in this fashion.

If you don't like it here, you can go to Hell, or a Mermaid's hole.

Watch out for the

_________!

flkdsahgoidksl.

Go do The Creep somewhere else.

Come visit Shankill road, where you can get both shanked and killed.

The worn torn area of Temple Bar does not appreciate your bombs. Please take your business elsewhere.

Feck it.

And finally,

my favorite...

Cars do not fly.

A beginner's guide to becoming obese

Lately I've been seeing food all around me. The cars vandalized by chopped vegetables, the men jumping out of bushes strapped to giant soup cans, the tasty looking dog-I mean... sheeps. I figure the universe is trying to tell me something. Is that message "Kate go eat some damn food?" No! It's "Go write a blog post about noms immediately!" So I did.

Here are some great Irish dishes that you should sample if and when you find yourself in the Emerald Isle, with links to recipes if you want to throw a stomach party.

Bangers and mash

Because bangers are more fun to say than sausages. This essential pub grub is a delicious complement to a trad sesh and a pint of Guinness after a day tripping around Dublin. Let the duet of crunchy and creamy make music in your mouth.

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Fish & Chips
If you walk around Cork for long enough saying "I want fishes" repeatedly, a gang of tween hoodlums will pass you on the street with a live goldfish in tow. But this will hardly satisfy your craving for the crisp, golden fish and thick, toasty chips (Freedom Fries) which gleam in the fryers across the island. Serve with a side of mushy peas, which taste much better than they sound.

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Bacon and Cabbage
In Ireland, bacon means pig and rashers means bacon, which is actually Canadian bacon. Bacon is best served with cabbage sprinkled in bacon, which in all honesty just becomes a game of find the bacon (see 5:37 for the power of bacon).

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Smoked salmon

One bite of this sea slipper and you will feel the ocean breeze whipping at your hair. It tastes like adventure. Serve with brow

n bread, lemon and capers.

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Full Irish Breakfast

What better way to start your day

than with meat, meat and a side of meat? Load up on rashers, sausages, fried eggs, fried tomatoes, and possibly a mushroom, and don't forget white pudding (pork fat oat sausage) and black pudding (congealed blood sausage). This is a borderline Epic Breakfast.

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Beef in Guiness stew
There is only one thing

more delicious than the combination of Guinness and stew and that is Guinness in stew. Wash it down with more Guinness.

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Steak and Guinness pie
Sometimes you are in such a hurry that you just don't have time to sit down for a bowl of stew and a pint. That is why God invented the meat pie. Warm, flaky pastry oozing with beer steeped meat juice. Mmm.

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Special notes: If you haven't already guessed, vegetarians are not allowed to enter the country. If you spend any period of time in Ireland, you are likely to grow fat. That being said, I give traditional Irish food two belly rolls up.

This post brought to you by Guinness.