How to waste a week in Ireland

I've sort of been dreading this week since we arrived on the scene here in Dublin. I knew it was coming, I just didn't know when - it was a waiting game.

This week was spent in bed. Sick. Sniffling and coughing and aching.

It was unavoidable, really. Dorms are breeding grounds for germs. Common area kitchens, toilets, and showers, none of which are cleaned by me in my OCD fashion.

We were a miserable bunch this week and thus I am without any good stories for this post. Kalli spent the first half of the week suffering from a terrible bout of food poisoning, likely picked up from a fondu restaurant in Paris. The day that she finally recovered, Aditya and I were struck by the flu. Liz and Holly were safely out of the country and escaped the germiness, but the three of us were a sad bunch this week.

I dreaded this iminent week for two reasons. First, because there is nothing worse than being sick in a dorm. Second, because it meant wasting a week in Ireland. We all had to cancel travel plans due to illness, and none of us was happy about it.

Because Kalli has been healthy since Tuesday, but Aditya and I have been bed-ridden since Tuesday, none of us have really left this campus in about a week. By Saturday night cabin fever was in full effect. It was the night before Halloween and though we were without costume, Kalli was desperate to leave the dorm and Aditya and I were just healthy enough to make that happen. We ventured to main street, Blackrock, for a Halloween pint (or, in my case, a Halloween Jameson).

It wasn't actually a problem that we were without costume. Of all the people we saw out that night, it wouldn't take more than 5 fingers to count the number of them in costume. We were sort of let down. Though we weren't partaking in any Halloween debauchery ourselves, we were really hoping to witness some. No such luck.

I'm a silver-lining kind of a person, and there is one here. Because we've been cooped up in close quarters for a week and because we've missed out on adventure for a week, we'll approach this week with renewed vigor. The three of us are intent on having fun and making memories - and this will be a good week to do so. Kalli jets off to Prague on Thursday and Aditya and I are hoping to take a bus out west at the end of the week. We all promise to have a good time, make some good stories, and take lots of pictures to share with you in the future.

Cheers!

We made it!

With the proper attire and Aditya for company, we went back to Bray and made it up the mountain today (but not without coming across a grazing horse first)! The view was entirely worth two trips and the deliciously greasy burger and chips we had after coming back down was a fantastic finish to the excursion.

8 hours in Belfast

We started Saturday bright and early - our bus left around 9am, and train track closings for construction required a bit of a hike for us. We set out eager to see the city, though, and Elizabeth was excited to show us around.

After arriving in Belfast at about 11:30, our first stop was the apartment of Liz's friend. After stepping out of the train station, we rounded a corner to head to the apartment. Liz said, "We're going to have to walk through Sandy Row a bit to get to the apartment." This statement meant absolutely nothing to me, but the next thing I know, we're rounding a corner and suddenly staring at this:

I was at an absolute loss for words. A mural of a masked paramilitary trooper isn't what you expect to see in a middle-class neighborhood in the United Kingdom, but sure enough, there it was. I found it very intimidating; there was no mistaking this as anything but a Protestant neighborhood and the image of the paramilitary trooper creates the sense of a very protected area - despite the pledge each side made to put down their arms. I found the sign hostile in every respect and was at a loss for words. I stood there agape and only after Aditya asked Liz if it would be proper to take a photo did I realize that yes, I need a picture of this, if only to always remember what it felt like to come around this corner. I fumbled with my camera and snapped a photo. I didn't make much attempt to line up a good shot or to get the perfect angle . . . I simply stood there wondering what else was in store for us.

I went to Belfast on Saturday with no expectations. Before arriving in Northern Ireland, I admittedly knew only the bare minimum of information about the Troubles. I certainly didn't know what to anticipate about the current state of the city, both mentally and physically.

Physically, the city is in great shape. Cathedral Quarter is still in some disarray, with buildings blown out that haven't been rebuilt:

The rest of the city was in normal condition. Even those bits that were still in a state of rubble were often adjacent to new townhouses or stores. Overall, Belfast had lots of shopping, restaurants, cafes, banks, offices . . . it looked as you would expect a major city to look. I did notice a lot of it was starkly newer than other parts of Europe I've seen. A consequence, I suppose, of having to rebuild a city time and time again for 40 years.

After a brief walking tour of the city - we saw City Hall, St. Anne's Cathedral, Europa Hotel, Queen's Bar - we stopped for a brief lunch in a market. It was full of booths and tents of every imaginable food: pulled pork sandwiches, Lebanese food, paella, cupcakes, bread, tea. All of it tempting, and I'm sure all of it delicious. We couldn't do much rummaging, however. We had to scarf down our lunch and head back into the rain to meet the driver for our Black Cab Tour.

Fred was a wonderful man. He gave away a hint of a bias, but this was to be expected . . . no one could have lived through these events and given an entirely objective account of the facts. Overall, the Black Cab Tour was the best touristy thing you could possibly do . . . anywhere. You have the advantage of a guide who lived through what he is telling you. He intimately knows the details and has memories relating to everything he showed us.

Fred was never a paramilitary member for either side. As he told us, his father used to tell him that if you join a group you will end up in one of two places: (1) in prison or (2) six feet under.

Fred took us through the Protestant neighborhoods first and it became readily apparent that mentally, this city has a lot of healing left to do. We went back through Sandy Row and saw many more murals, all of which, I realized, were painted on the sides of townhouses. I found this somewhat eerie, and each time I looked at a mural on a home, I thought of the children inside and what it must be like to be a child growing up in an area still so shaken up by a very violent, recent history.

Next we went to the walls that divide up Belfast. Cement barriers have fences built on top with barbed wire on top of those, in the style of the Berlin Wall. They prevent Protestant and Catholics in lower-class neighborhoods from living next door to one another. All are lined with murals. The first wall that we came to (which was almost two miles long) was painted by New York graffiti artists last Easter - they came to Belfast to teach their art to children here.

After signing our name on the wall, we passed through a security checkpoint (this one appeared to be unmanned, but the one we drove through later, to re-enter the Protestant side, was manned). We drove into the Catholic neighborhood and went along the other side of the wall. Notably, on this side homes were built up against the wall. To prevent damage from objects thrown over the wall, protective barriers were built, screening in the back of the houses and guarding them from flying objects.

At this point, Fred's bias began to shine through a bit, as he asked us to imagine what it's like to live with such contraptions on the back of our home.

From there we went deeper into the Catholic neighborhood. We saw murals of Bobby Sands and the 9 other hunger strikers who died. We saw the peace wall and the international wall. We talked with Fred about the integration of schools and the hope this provides for the future.

It was a somber hour, but it was fascinating.

Fred dropped us off by the botanical gardens. A steady rain had been falling all day and we were quite wet; we found our way to a coffee shop and partook in some tea, stew, wheaten bread, hot chocolate, and a sugary desert called "fifteens." I can honestly say that one of the first things I will do when I'm back in Minneapolis is bake a loaf of wheaten bread. It was amazing.

From there we headed to Ulster Museum, a hodgepodge collection of history, science, and art. We spent enough time here to fully absorb a display about the Troubles and learn the timeline of all that we had just seen. Fred's tour was emotional, real, and intriguing. The display was an entirely unbiased, factual account of everything that happened and was a solid history lesson. The display and the Black Cab Tour made for a sober visit to Belfast, but we went there for an education. And we got it.

The museum was followed by another coffee shop (because, yes, it was still raining) followed by a Chinese buffet with some of Elizabeth's friends. Aditya and I were back on the bus by 8 and in Dublin again by 10:30.

Overall, it was a truly fascinating trip. Many thanks to Elizabeth for being our tour guide! It was a short day with lots crammed in, but I wouldn't have had it any other way. I'm so glad we were able to go to Belfast and I only wish that we had more time to spend in the city.

Let's see what's in Bray!

Well, it's Sunday, a typically a Boring Day. Yesterday was fantastic - Aditya and I went to Belfast with Elizabeth, who gave us a Cliff's Notes view of the city. We had a great time and really enjoyed learning about the area. It rained for most of the day, which was unfortunate, but we managed to take a Black Cab Tour to learn about the Troubles, spent some time in Ulster Museum, (a catch-all museum of art, history, and science, all in one) and bonded over tea in various cafes. All in all, a wonderful trip to Belfast.

Today, however, I woke up with nothing to do. Elizabeth is still in Belfast, Kalli is sick, Aditya is being studious, and Holly is with her family. What's a girl to do?

Inspired by an NYT columnist who sought to get lost in Ireland, I pulled out a map of the DART train stops and decided to take myself to Bray. A coastal town south of City Centre, I had absolutely no idea what was there, but why not check it out anyway? It certainly beats sitting in my dorm room, which has the warmth of a refrigerator and offers little more than laundry and sleep for entertainment. So - TO BRAY!

Bray, I must begin, is breathtaking. It's about a 30-minute trainride south of Blackrock, and after riding through a short tunnel, the train pulls into open air above the coast of the Irish Sea, and the Wicklow Mountains are trailing down the righthand side. It's a truly gorgeous entrance to the city.

After arriving, I headed straight for the main street (by this time, I've been to enough coastal Irish towns to know that it's homes, homes, homes, main street, local tourist attraction, more homes). Most of the shops were closed for Sunday, however, which was quite disappointing. I wandered into some residential neighborhoods and allowed myself to gape at the views of the moutains behind these homes (and to become thoroughly jealous that these people woke up to this sight every morning) before deciding to head for the coast.

Bray comes alive on the coast. The rest of the town wasn't empty - in fact, there was a good number of people out and about considering the small number of shops and cafes that were actually open. But the coast was crowded and busy, despite the cool temperature and whipping wind.

As I oriented myself to the seascape, I tried to figure out what to do with my time. Gelatto? It was kind of cold. Aquarium? I've sworn off aquariums after watching "The Cove," and the 12 euro price tag wasn't worth compromising my morals. Thus, gellato in the cold won. I picked out a flavor called "biscotinni" which was a delicious mesh of vanilla, chocolate, coffee, and what I can only assume were bits of biscotti. It was positively delightful, but my hands (and insides) were frozen solid by the time I was finished. I hurried to the trash can to dispose of the cup and in the process caught site of a cross on the top of a mountain in the distance.

Perhaps I should explain my geography. The Irish Sea was to the east and the Wicklow Mountains were running east to west, south of where I was located. The view was stunning.

As I tried to warm up from the ice cream, I noticed on the top of the mountain closest to the sea a large cross, almost imperceptible in the above photograph. I looked at the cross, thought to myself, "Well, I need to warm myself up somehow . . ." and set out to find a way to get to the top.

It turns out there is a path which will take you all the way up there - and I use the word "path" lightly. It started out just fine - a paved way with some stairs takes you up about the first 1/4 of the moutain, which was just dandy for boat shoes and kahkis. Soon it turned to just a dirt path, then a mud path, and then suddenly I found myself working through tree roots and stones, completely unprepared.

It wasn't an impossible path by any means; it wasn't even that difficult for those around me in the proper shoes. A few slips on rocks, however, and I began to realize a legitimate risk for twisting my ankle. I decided I wanted to make it back to the dorm in one piece. Eventually the muddy path dead-ended to a wall of rocks to climb, and my stubbornnes gave way to practicality and I turned around.

As I carefully turned around, I came upon one of the most breathtaking views I've had in Ireland yet. To my right was sea as far as the eye could see; to my left was a chain of mountains as far as the eye could see. It was a phenomenal view and if there had been more than a 2-foot wide clearing to stand in, I would have plopped down and sat there all day, just staring. I felt as if I was looking over all of eastern Ireland.

I safely climbed down the mountain and found my way back to the DART. Needless to say, I am now determined to make it to the top of the mountain. I want to see the view from the tippy top, and I want to find out why the heck that cross is up there! If tomorrow is at all sunny, I'm heading back with the proper footwear and a buddy to finish that mountain. Can't wait to see what's up there!

Stone upon stone upon fallen stone

The Guinness Storehouse! It takes up several city blocks just west of city centre and you can smell the hops from easily a 1/4 mile away. Before you can even tell you're in the neighborhood, a slightly sweet - yet slightly bitter - odor greets you and you think: Yes. Hops. We're close.

The tour was crazy interesting and you learn all that there is to learn about the history of Guinness. The tour gives a real taste for the craftsmanship that has been used for decades to brew Guinness. Aditya and I were transfixed for 20 minutes by a video of a carpenter making barrels for the beer. A black and white film from several decades ago shows a warehouse, filled to the teeth with wood shavings, planks, and tools; each barrel was made by hand. There was an unmistakable look of pride on the carpenter's face when he finished: that feeling that you only get when you've created something with your own hands.

Of course, let's not forget the process used to make the stout, from the barley:

To the hops:

To the yeast (which is supposed to be the same yeast used by Arthur all those years ago):

To the water:

And let's not forget drinking the freshest Guinness you'll ever have! At a max of 2 weeks old, it's smooth as water and as rich as ever. Bartenders teach you the art of the "perfect pour" and I tell you, I think that having poured it yourself makes it even a bit better to drink.

There was an unmistakable pride among the Irish in the presentation of the Guinness Storehouse. It's clearly as much of a part of the history of this country as the Easter Rising or the famine. When we first arrived here, I was surprised to see the locals drink Guinness as often as they do. I thought maybe it would be a stereotypical Irish ideal, that those who live here surely must have microbrews or other imports which they enjoy as well. No. Everyone here really drinks Guinness and really takes pride in it, and after visiting the Storehouse, you understand that a bit more.

TOMORROW will be a very exciting day and you'll hear more from me soon, I'm sure. Liz is giving Aditya and I around Belfast for the day. We'll take bus up to Northern Ireland, then spend our day absorbing some history: a black cab tour to learn about the troubles and visit sectarian neighborhoods. It's bound to be a fascinating day.

Cheers!

Madrid!

Four days in Madrid is not nearly enough time. It was a fantastic city and we had a fantastic trip. Let's get some photos out of the way, however, so I can get down to the business of describing the best part of Spain: THE FOOD.

My favorite tourist destination of the entire trip was Templeo de Debod (below), an Egyptian temple given to Spain in the 1960s. I know only the most basic Spanish so I didn't glean much history from the tour, but I did see real hierglyphics, which were amazing (and only heightened my desire to get to Egypt someday). The temple sat on the Nile in Egypt, was deconstructed, shipped to Spain, sent by rail to Madrid, and then rebuilt in a beautiful park in the middle of the city. Coming upon an Egyptian temple in the middle of Madrid is a truly breathtaking site. The line to enter the temple was looooong and we just barely made it on time - we arrived 40 minutes before closing and had just enough time to walk through and soak it up.

We saw many other tourist sites: Palacio Real (Royal Palace), Almudena Cathedral, Plaza Mayor, a monestary, the Reina Sofia art museum, and the most breathtaking basilica I've ever visited. The sites were a blast and learning the history (when it was in English) was fascinating. The most interesting part, however, was the liveliness of the city. Siesta shuts down many shops and restaurants for the afternoon, but the evening is electric. Regarldess of whether it's a Monday or a Saturday, plazas are full of people, sitting, talking, strolling, eating. Bars and restaurants are packed. The streets are crowded. It's an energy that makes it difficult to go to home!

We missed out on the club scene, which is unfortunate as Spain's clubs are supposed to be incredible, but we did soak up some live Latin jazz music. Monday night Jerry Gonzalez performed at Populart Jazz Bar and the crowd was huge. People were standing shoulder to shoulder, but we were lucky enough to nab a booth in the back. Too short to see anything, we stood on the bench to catch the show. The line was out the door and down the block for two solid hours.

Our visit to Populart brings me to my favorite part of Madrid - eating!

We went to the show with Edu, a friend of a friend, who was a truly wonderful peson to hang out with. Genuinely nice, somewhat shy, and a decent English speaker, he was a great guy. Edu invited us over for lunch on Monday and roasted a chicken for us. Because we lack an oven, a decent stovetop, and refrigerator storage space larger than half a shelf, we haven't had a good home-cooked meal in a long time. Edu's chicken made up for that. Roasted with potatoes, onions, and a rosemary seasoning, it was the perfect meal for a rainy day.

We started each day with breakfast at a deli near our hostel which has given me a new definition for fresh food. Day 1: I ordered a glass of orange juice with my meal, at which time the bartender walked over to a juicer, popped in 3-4 oranges, and then poured me a glass of juice. No water, no sugar added. Straight orange juice, it tasted like biting into a large Valenica. Amazing. Day 2: The meal shall remain nameless as I cannot remember what it was called, but it consisted of: toast, tomato spread, and bacon, one on top of the other. Upon ordering this, the waiter promptly walked over to a dried pig's leg on a spit (hoof and all), picked up a large knife, sliced off some paper-thin pieces of bacon, placed them on top of my toast, and brought it to me. This was, without a doubt, the best bacon I have ever had. It wasn't cooked to a crisp, nor was it raw and slimy. The bacon was perfectly tender with the right amount of chewy-ness. It wasn't so covered in salt that you couldn't taste the meat, and it didn't have large strips of fat in it. Perfect. Bacon.

Our two favorite places for dinner/lunch were Diurno and Bazaar. Located in trendy Chueca, Madrid's boystown, the restaurants were beautiful inside. Honestly, if I could design a restaurant, it would look like Bazaar. Diurno was good for cheap sandwiches and phenomenal deserts, but Bazaar - Bazaar had the wine. Wine in Madrid is outrageously cheap. Our first night in the city, we ordered (what we thought) were two glasses of wine. After our order, however, the waiter looked at us oddly and told us that we just ordered two bottles. At about 9 euro each, the bottles were priced equivalent to glasses in the States. Needless to say, every dinner from that point on was accompanied by an entire bottle of red. Wine shops sell bottles for 1 euro a piece, and I'm still sad we weren't able to stock up on wine to bring back with us.

For all those in Minneapolis: we are really starting to miss home over there! Coming back to Dublin from Madrid just didn't feel right. I may have been coming back to my own bed, but it wasn't my bed. Europe is beautiful and we're having wonderful adventures, but it's safe to say that we're all pining for our own apartments, Uptown bars, and familiar streets!

My, how time flies!

I can't believe that it's October 7 already! We've been here for a little over a month and all I can think about is how little time we have left. December 22 might sound far away, but we're planning trips abroad, expecting family visits, and listing places in Ireland that we still have to visit. Frankly, 3 months doesn't sound like enough time!

Classes are in full swing and we're starting to feel like students again. The reading is beginning to pile up and assignments are quickly becoming due. Balancing classes and travel is becoming a bit tricky!

The deeper into classes we get, the more apparent it becomes to me that we really aren't in Minnesota anymore, Toto. A few stark differences:

1. No Socratic method! As painful as the Socratic method is, any good law student can tell you that you don't really learn the reading assignments if you know you don't run a risk of being drilled on the material. Another benefit: the Socratic method avoids those painful, awkward silences in class when a professor asks a question and no one responds. They always feel interminable.
2. No hypotheticals! Anyone who has had Carpenter for Con Law I or II knows how this goes: "Ms. Chambers, please use a Case X analysis to defend Case Y's outcome." Or, [long list of hypothetical facts]: "Ms. Chambers, under Case X, please tell me the outcome." Er . . . . Here, there is a much greater emphasis on just learning the black letter law. Finals are predominately in the form of papers of topics of our own choosing. This is certainly a benefit for us, as we're never going to be forced to apply Irish law to a client's situation, but I fail to see how it helps future Irish lawyers.
3. Undergraduates! My God. I know I've only been out of college for a few years now, but oh how quickly we mature. Here, a law degree can be received as an undergraduate and a master's degree in law seems optional. Hence, we're amongst youngins'. Two of my courses are graduate level, one is undergraduate, and it moves painfully slooooooow. The professor is forced to stop and explain all of the basics - stare decisis, voir dire - things we take for granted. And the students . . . oh the students. At one point, a student in the front row fell asleep, and after being awoken by the professor, was entirely unapologetic.
   
4. No laptops! It seems only the international students tote around laptops day in and day out. Irish students still write notes by hand. Gasp!
5. No casebooks! The law section of the bookstore is ridiculously small, and professors simply post case citations in the syllabuses. We don't need to buy 150-euro casebooks, which is a true financial blessing. This also means that the cases we read aren't edited, which, if you have ever read an Irish Supreme Court decision, you would realize is actually a very terrible thing.
   
6. No gunners! Save for a few excited undergraduates, my master's level courses do not have any gunners. It is truly, truly refreshing. Truly.
   

Yes, Irish law school is incredibly different from all that we're used to in the States. It's not a bad thing - it is, after all, why we came here: to experience something new. Between my Irish classes and conversations with international students, however, I have a new respect for the rigors and unique nature of the American system.

When we aren't studying, however, we are still finding time to have fun over here! Last Thursday we found our way to a karaoke night in town (and yes I got on stage, but no I was nowhere near the microphone - I left the singing to Holly). Saturday night Adi and I found some tasty Indian food. Today was the first adventure we've had a while, though.

Adi, Kalli, and I toured Malahide castle this afternoon. It's just north of Dublin in Malahide, Ireland and is unique in that it is a fully furnished castle. The tour was the cheesiest touristy thing I've done yet in this country - it was actually audio recorded, and each new room in the castle brought speakers blaring "period" music and a gentle Irish voice telling the history of Malahide. It wasn't the best production. The castle was fairly impressive. It has been in the Talbot family for 700 years and was actually inhabited until - get this - 1975. Unbelievable!

The best part of Malahide though??? THE PLAYGROUND. We were all instantly five years old again because, I promise you, this was the Best Playground On The Planet. Swings, ziplines, and the tallest slides I've ever seen:

Not to mention, a very challenging (and slightly scary) jungle gym:

We would have played in that playground all day if we could have!