So you wanna hear about the authentic St. Patrick's Day experience?

Happy late St. Patrick's Day! I've been swamped with studying and essay-writing, so now I finally have a chance to sit down and tell you all about my St. Patrick's Day in Ireland... what some would say is the "real" experience.

I would like to start off by saying that I actually partied less here than I usually do in the States. The day was dedicated more to cooking and socializing rather than getting inebriated beyond all coherence. Don't worry, Irish car bombs were still involved in the nighttime events :)

Commence cooking breakfast at 10am!

Our exquisite meal: Chocolate chip pancakes, Smithwick's (beer) potatoes, bacon, scrambled eggs, and Irish coffees!

The view of the Cork parade from JQ's deck

Downtown Cork...I've never seen it so packed!

The crew at Reardan's (it's 5pm somewhere!)

A bonafide Irish sunset. (Photo cred: Rebecca!)

Like most things in Ireland, St. Patrick's Day was very laid-back. You could see throngs of families with their children hanging out in pubs all day long, which was quite an interesting sight. The day was mostly spent eating, drinking good beer, and going out at night. I even made guacamole and fried chips from scratch (thank you, Kate!) for snack food and chicken tacos the week before. It's happening...I'm starting to really enjoy cooking!

It's hard to grasp that I'm in my last week of school. Today I had my last Step Dancing class in preparation for our exam next week, and I'm still mourning the experience. We were paired off with the partners that we will dance with in front of the examiners and did a kind of mock-performance. I almost forgot how much I love performing in front of an audience and how much I thrive off of that pressure. I feel so comfortable with all three of the dances now, especially the hornpipe. After class ended, our teacher Peggy was telling us the history of this dance and it only added to my pride in taking up Step Dancing in the first place. Apparently in 1912, the first Step Dancing competition took place in Cork and women came forward to perform the hornpipe, which was seen as uncouth for ladies to partake in during that time in history. Ever since then, only women have been allowed to perform the hornpipe in competitions, so in some oddly relatable way I feel that I have a lot to uphold next Monday. I was also talking to a fellow dancer and she told me that Peggy (who I estimate to be in her 80s) was a national Step Dancing champion for Ireland in her 20s and even danced in the ceremony celebrating British withdrawal from Ireland in 1938. It is a beautiful thing to witness the strength of a woman who has carried her love for dance with her into her 80s, and will only stop once she's grown too old to stand. I can only hope that in old age, I will be just as vivacious and graceful as her. This has been just another learning experience in Ireland that I will take with me and remember for the rest of my life.

I was talking to my flatmate about his fiddle-playing the other day, and he related that he feels extremely lucky to have found something he can completely lose himself in. As I descended the hill from the UCC music building where I have my dance practices, it dawned on me that I've found this in dancing. I may not have amazing technique, or even maintained a fraction of the flexibility I used to have, but I can honestly say that I love it and never want to stop. I wish I could really detail how I feel when I dance, but I think the best way to impart the experience is that I'm completely relaxed and immersed in this otherworldly place that is devoid of judgment or constraint. I'm sure this has been a huge factor of my happiness in living here. Dan and I have also voluntarily decided to start doing a creative-writing type exercise where we periodically exchange a piece of creative writing and critique each other on it (this is what happens when you throw two English major nerds together in a living situation, in addition to constant pun-age and word play). I'm working on parodying a specific poetic style at the moment. Before writing this blog, I also sat down with my other flatmate who is a French-speaking, Computer Science major (talk about opposite end of the spectrum) and vocally edited his Computer Science thesis paper for a big project he's been working on all year long. It was a really effective way to critique and gave a me a good opportunity to hone my editing skills. I think that in addition to the dancing and writing, I've been thoroughly enjoying editing my flatmates' papers and could really see myself doing this for a living. 

...and the self-realizations just keep on commin'...

I'm finding that this whole study abroad blog is starting to morph into one big journal outlet, but I think I'm okay with that.

Next week is Paris, and after that, Rome! Get ready for lots of description of my travels in Europe (it'll be my first time traveling out of Ireland since I've arrived here). I betcha can't tell just how elated I am. Till next time!

How to train your body to loath you (while still having fun, of course!)

One may ponder the most effective way to disable one's own body. Well, have no fear, I have a step-by-step guide on how to make your muscles scream, your legs cramp up, and your feet lose all functionality due to blisters and calluses. It's pretty simple...

Step One: Spend your day sitting on a bus for four hours, then walking around a city for a couple more hours, then trekking to the ocean.

Step Two: Take another three hour bus up a winding mountain, then hike up cliffs for another two hours. Miss the bus back, so take a superfluously long tour bus (let's estimate about four hours).

Step Three: Once getting back to the city, take another four hour bus just to get home. Shower in a rush and fall into bed.

Step Four: Wake up at the crack of dawn and take a three hour bus ride. Hike to the base of a mountain. Climb to the first peak. Brief rest. Climb to the second peak. Your lungs are bursting now. Climb to the final, third peak. Collapse in a heap and drink your body's volume in water. You've just conquered the second highest mountain in Ireland, at a height of 840m. Bravo, but you've still got to descend and walk three miles back to the bus. Not to mention a thirty minute walk back to your apartment once you've been dropped off at the stop. Is a shower really necessary at this point?

Step Five (and you thought there couldn't possibly be more steps): Wake up early, peel yourself out of bed, walk in a blind stupor to 8 AM class. Stare longingly at neighbor's coffee. Trek up to the music building (a good mile long walk up into the hills) for an hour of Step Dancing, in which the teacher feels any break is entirely unnecessary with a final examination coming up.

I've just described to you my jam-packed weekend in a nutshell (it really was glorious, despite the exhaustion I'm still recuperating from!) Galway was just gorgeous...it reminded me of an Irish version of Santa Cruz; a very artsy, alternative beach town. Kasey and I had a lot of fun exploring the city, eating their renowned fish n chips, having a tea party at a local tea shop, and even playing with a chocolate lab we encountered on the beach (we're having serious animal withdrawals). I also stopped into a jeweler and bought a famous sterling silver Claddagh ring, which symbolizes love, friendship, and loyalty in Irish culture.

Touching the Atlantic

Our buddy for the day. He even did a bit of diving!

Downtown Galway

Kasey and I had our own little tea party complete with Galway cream tea and scones.

You can't get any more rustic than this, the wallpaper is literally peeling off in this pub. Oh, how I love you, Ireland.

The best fish n chips I've ever tasted.

Saturday was spent at the Cliffs of Moher, in County Kerry. I thought the bus would drop us off at barren land and we would get to explore the cliffs ourselves, but it turns out it was quite a touristy attraction. This was a little disappointing, but understandable, because the scenery was breathtaking. In true Irish (uncommunicative) fashion, Bus Eireann never told us that they had stopped their 14:30 pick up time at the Cliffs, so we were temporarily stranded and had to catch a random tour bus back to Galway.

Kicking back at the Cliffs of Moher.

Looking down, down, down...

It turned out to be a beautiful, sunny day.

Words honestly can't describe my final hike with the Mountaineering Club on Sunday. It was altogether torturous climbing not just one, but three mountains, yet I can say this was the most fulfilling experience of my life. Sounds like a lofty statement, but I have never been that challenged physically, mentally, and spiritually. I describe this on a spiritual plane because the moment we reached the third peak, Mount Brandon at a height of 840m (2,755ft), I reverted to a state of complete calm and mental blankness. I'm sure it was the endorphins mixed with the high altitude, but I've never had that much psychological clarity and perspective on my life. To add to the experience, we hit the top of the peak right as the sun set over Dingle Peninsula. We had to climb the narrow ridge of the peak to descend, and that was so awe-inspiring to look down its face and realize that my life could end in an instant. I think that being surrounded by towering pieces of topography and rock formations really made me perceive my relative insignificance in this world. Again, it's hard to communicate how I felt in that moment or really even capture the images of the hike in mere digital photography. Not only did I have a personal epiphany, I also connected strongly with my three other friends; Kasey, Laura, and Britt. We had to rely on one another to keep ourselves motivated and hydrated to successfully complete the hike, and putting that trust in others is a real risk you have to take. I'm so thankful for their guidance, and honestly don't think I would've made it through this journey without their hilarity and determination. Talk about an experience of a lifetime.

A view of Dingle Peninsula from the bus stop.

The crew: Kasey, Britt, Laura, and I.

The black mare that wouldn't stop following us in the beginning of our hike...all he wanted to do was play!

The base

Climbing to the first peak.

We literally climbed this wall of rock. I still can't believe it.

View of the peninsula from the second peak.

Climbing to the third peak. We were completely submerged in fog.

Rory and Britt

Finally reaching the third peak, Mount Brandon, greeted with an Irish sunset. Amazing.

Climbing over the steep peak to begin our descent.

The descent...nearly twisted my ankle!

So, all in all, quite an amazing weekend. My feet are still killing me as a write, but it was completely worth it for everything I got to see. I feel that I really should write a manifesto for the fledgling hiker seeking exhilaration and, well... total exhaustion. It's bittersweet to realize that I won't have any more of these hikes to kick my butt, but I think my body will be thanking me in due time!