Home, Full Circle

I arrived in New York around 9pm last night and have spent the past nine hours in the lovely JFK airport. It’s not so terrible once you get to know the ropes. JFK and I had our differences at first; it was rough, but I feel like we have a mutual understanding now.

I’m also entirely convinced that British Airways is the best airline to fly. My flights there and back were probably a couple of the highlights for my England stay ;) I was ecstatic to receive my second little packet of miniature toothpaste, toothbrush, socks, and eye cover thingy (I should figure out what those are called). Also—don’t judge—I watched three movies and three TV episodes during the flight. AND they fed me, not once, but twice. I had chicken tikka and raspberry chocolate mousse and then later a chicken sandwich. So I watched more entertainment and had more food in that eight-hour period than my span of three weeks (not really on the food, but that definitely got me excited).

One thing, though…I might have stolen one of their blankets. I know you’re not supposed to, but all I could think about was my long, cold night at the airport and couldn’t help it: I stuffed that blanket in my bag Bonnie-style. I was seated toward the back and waited, to be safe, till the rows behind me filed out. Did this result in the very last spot of the line going through customs? Yes. Did I feel like my backpack suddenly became see-through to unveil my criminal habit? Yes. Was it worth it? At midnight in the ever-decreasing temperature, huddled on a bench with a BA blanket (that’s British Airways…this blanket isn't that cool), I thought, “Yes, of course it was worth it.” At 6:00 this morning as I was getting ready to head to my terminal and realized I left my Ireland, organic cotton, ridiculous-amount-of-euro scarf under the seat in my frantic state to get away scot-free with the blanket I thought, “Nooo, that was so not worth it.” Karma.

As I type this, however, I am waiting for the Lost & Found of BA to open so that I can hopefully retrieve it. I will give them back their blanket and offer to make them a hundred more as long as I get my scarf back.  

My ticket: First I thought, "World Traveler. That's really cool." Then I realized "world traveler" is just a nice way of them saying "Yeah, you're in coach, sucker."

Well, in just over an hour I fly to Portland. It feels like I’ve been gone forever, and yet my trip seemed so short. I had the most amazing time, met some of the best people, and got to see more of the world—this is what I love, and this is what I’ll be waiting for as soon as possible.

I left my glasses, SIM card, and heart in Ireland (“lost” my be a more fitting verb for the two former) and some day I will go back for them.

Now for me to find my lost scarf. Fingers crossed.

Update: I take it back. British Airways is not the best airline to fly. They did not return my scarf. Serves me right.  I got a number for the UK lost and found at BA, though, and they will hear from me very soon.
Also, a tidbit of very unnecessary information: I'm pretty sure I have gained at least five pounds in the past 30 hours. It's like I'm some kid just out of Auschwitz who is suddenly surrounded by reasonably priced food in a money system I actually have (I know it's not really like that at all...). Regardless, I'm going running tonight.

London, Second Time Around

I really did come back to London with an open-mind, sure that my second experience would far exceed my first. It was better, yes, but I think it’s safe to say I will never live in London or go back any time soon.

Some journal entries from couple-day stay:

September 23, Thursday

Accomplishments:
• I finally saw the touristic sites of London
• I gave another tourist directions on how to get to the station
• I managed to get a place to stay
• I smiled at a fireman
• I Got my adapter back from Stefano
• I gave another tourist directions to the station (I know, I just felt this one needed repeating)

Failures:
• Ended up in the ghetto of the ghetto in London
• Did not get to see Hannah :(
• Er, I still suggested the tourist to ask a local…just to be sure. So maybe that didn’t deserve a two-time mention.

London is SO great that…

London is so great that when I had to register online to use wifi at McDonald’s, my disposition sitting in a lonely both stranded in who-knows-where, London, wondering where I would sleep come night, inspired the password of—in asterisks for the sake of delicacy— ****London (you can put it together).

London is so great that it has rained hard three of the four days I have spent here.

London is so great that I wanted to stay in a public restroom (a fairly nice one, granted) because it was the warmest place I’d come across all day.

London is so great that instead I spent a large portion of my day in a department store testing out furniture, smelling every single candle, and people watching to avoid said rain.

London is so great that I got stuck in the doors of the subway (yeah, I'm gonna call it that because that's how anti-London I am right now) three times because of how very crowded it was. Also, chivalry is dead here. Don't bother, boys, offering your seat to the distressed girl with the huge backpack on her shoulders getting stuck in the doors. You just keep listening to your iPod while I hold on to this railing above my head.

The first time I got stuck, my Hollywood-polluted mind freaked and I thought I was gonna end up mangled in the tunnel. Instead the doors just opened again, rather anti-climatically.

London is so great that I went to three different libraries because the first one was freezing and the second one charged entrance for non-members, which I feel entirely defeats the purpose of a library.

London is so great it has significantly heightened my sense of sarcasm.
 

This woman in the pink sweatshirt tried to sell me a tissue paper flower for “the children.” When I said “No thanks,” she walked away and said, “Yeah, you wouldn’t.”
Excuse me for being more poor than your manipulative guilt trip of imaginary children that I choose not to afford myself the luxury of your tissue paper flower on this rainy day. Truly.

 Here the pink-sweatshirt woman has acquired her target while I innocently capture her in a picture...minding my own business.

And here she is, angrily walking away.

Meet Manuel

He hosted me for my stay in London and saved me from sleeping outside :)

He made me the best toast and had the coolest red shoes.

And I will miss his silly self.

Well, I think London was a necessary thruway. In Ireland, I did not want to go home. In London, I could not wait to be home. It all works out. 

The Inevitable...

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Perhaps I’ve been putting off my blog the past couple days because each recap and journaling signifies one more day gone. Tomorrow I leave Ireland and head back to London for a couple days before I’m stateside once again. I have never not  (so serious it requires a double negative) wanted to leave a single place this much. Even when I was in Italy—which I absolutely loved—I was about ready to go home by the end of three weeks. I could live in Ireland. I was warned this would happen, so I suppose I came at my own risk. Leaving is worth the time I had here, though. And I know I’ll be back. No question.

Not a lot has happened lately. I got back to Dublin Saturday night. Dublin, Cork, Killarney, Galway, Dublin. It’s been my favorite city, actually. Killarney is a close second, but they’re so different.  Total I’ve spent over a week in Dublin and I feel really comfortable getting around. I go running along the Liffey every morning and see the same coffee stand workers along the docks overhanging the river, the same bums against the hard walls of the sidewalk (Michael from Transylvania is my favorite—he gives me a thumbs up each time I pass by), the same woman running the Famine Ship Museum with her usual cup of coffee and newspaper, the same slab of marble bench I lay on halfway through my run to stare at the ever-changing clouds…this morning I overlooked the apartments and chose which ones I would live in when I come back. They’re darling—dark wood with blue shutter panels and overhanging flower boxes in cubby windows. You can all visit me whenever you’d like, of course.

Right now I’m sitting in a library surrounded by students doing homework. It actually makes me want to go back to school. So despite my unwillingness to leave Ireland, there is learning to be done, and I do look forward to getting back to my new house, attending my new school, and waiting for the next adventure.

I’ll be sure to keep up on the posts till I return home.  I’m meeting Hannah in London and I’m sure there’ll be stories to share.

P.S. I DO miss all my family and friends, and cannot wait to hug you all.

A Little Bit of This and That

Some tid-bits taken from journal writings, some just to update you with pictures :) 

#1 September 14
"In no right mind should anyone put buttons on a pillow. I mean, for goodness sakes, really? Honestly, I didn’t hold much of an opinion on the matter until around 4:30 this morning as I awoke, unable to lift my head from my pillow due to the mass of hair attached to this nonsensical excuse for comfort. After minutes of fighting with the entanglement that was once neatly braided before bed, I yanked the button off the pillow without the slightest remorse. And if the hostel questions me, I will tell them exactly how I feel about their choice of décor."

#2 I now know where the “other side” is. I’m in it. 

The grass is greener in Ireland.

#3 Most awkward/embarrassing moments thus far:

A)   On my last day in Dublin I actually got up for the hostel breakfast. I sat with three French boys, and after a few minutes of talking they asked me where I was from. **It’s essential to note that the night before, I had been wearing my Ducks shirt with “Oregon” written across the front. It’s also important to note that, come morning and unbeknown to me, I was no longer wearing that shirt underneath my button-up sweatshirt.**

Continue:

French Boy: “What part of the states are you from?”

Me: Parting my sweater to proudly display Oregon, “Oregon.”

French Boys: Puzzled, perhaps slightly uncomfortable.

Me: Looking down, mortified to see that I’m wearing my black tank top and realizing I just gave a horrible impression of Oregon girls.

Well, I may have encouraged more tourists to visit our beautiful state. So...you’re welcome?

*B)   I’ve found that, for the most part, dancing in clubs is just an excuse for people to get away with raunchily rubbing up against the opposite sex as much as possible without requiring a room. The most skill that came from me on the dance floor in Dublin was a strictly skilled technique I like to call “Dodging the Drunk Kiss.”
For some reason, a boy who shall remain nameless, thought it’d be okay to make his move on the dance floor, which then caused me to do this matrix-esque back bend followed by a Rush Hour-Jackie Chan head/shoulder roll with as much tact as possible (a high level of talent required, of course), topped off with my response of, “I don’t kiss boys.” I figured he could interpret that any way he wanted. Awkward moment for sure.

C)   I had to use the restroom at the station in Limerick before switching buses to Galway. I’m not sure if we have these in America, but in some public restrooms in Europe they have these long cords hanging by the toilet that you can pull for assistance or in case of an emergency. So I’m using this bathroom in the middle of the station, and I accidentally pull this cord.  All that was running through my mind as this annoyingly high-pitched alarm was sounding was, “Oh my goodness. Some man is gonna come bustin’ in this restroom—there’s no emergency, and I’m definitely in no need of assistance.” I’ve never left a restroom so fast. As I was bolting, a rather old man (I’m still trying to figure out how he’d assist an, ideally, equally old person) was coming to make sure everything was okay. Red-faced, I nodded and apologized for the inconvenience. My very short stay in Limerick left an impression.

*D)   I hate to make men seem like dogs, and most, when not under the influence, are perfect gentlemen. But last night I was having a fine, even enlightening, conversation with a redheaded Irish guy sitting with our group. He was from Dublin, just taking a couple days off to visit Galway with his friend. Much later in the evening, as everyone was heading out of the pub for closing, I’m talking to another man from the area when all of a sudden someone grabs a handful of ass—this is no flirtatious tap mind you, but just full hands-on, and I screamed. You can imagine, as most of you know how well I deal with startling situations, the attention that drew. I turned thinking I’d see Hannah or another girl from our group and here stands this redhead. I hit him on first instinct and told him if my palm weren’t cut up I’d slap him. He apologized after seeing how much I did not appreciate the gesture.

*Note to men: please don’t ever treat proper ladies like examples from B or D. Thank you.

#4 I can’t prove it, and I know more logic is stacked against my theory than anything, but I’m still pretty sure Hannah and I were separated at birth.  We mesh like none other, and I love her sincerely. We’ve laughed so much together. One of THE funniest moments we’ve had was in Killarney. My camera can be set up to take three consecutive pictures after a ten second pause, so we set it up on my bicycle and ready ourselves for the pic. Keep in mind that it’s awfully windy, and as we’re waiting, my camera tips slightly. This being my brand new, fairly nice camera, I completely bolt from Hannah’s side to rescue it. And she follows after me. We thought the three pics had already been taken, but after I grab my camera and look back, we realized the three pics caught us in our frantic rush for it. I know this may be one of those moments you have to be there for, but I promise you, I haven’t laughed that hard in a long time.

Shot #1, our facial expressions: priceless.

Shot #2, running for it

Shot #3, got to my baby

#4 A few of the most entertaining minutes of my stay here have been walking behind these three girls in Galway:

First of all, in case you cannot tell, it’s not exactly sunny in Ireland. Nobody is wearing shorts and skirts, some (like we were this day, and most other days) are wearing coats and jackets, and absolutely no one is wearing neon-colored, Hawaiian-printed, stretchy pieces of clothing that barely cover our bodies. These girls definitely thought they were the best things to hit Galway’s streets. Best, most entertaining expressions received. Ever.

#5 I live off these protein bars. Enough said.

#6 Please take full notice of Hannah’s irresistible quirkiness here:

Situation: We have finished our long bike ride. It is raining and very cold, as you may be able to tell from the pedestrians, and yet Hannah decides it’s a perfect time for soft serve ice cream and a mango soda. Ha.

#7 And the award for tiniest hostel room ever goes to…Bru Bar & Hostel, Cork. You can see the post of my bed, and my butt nearly touching the wall. Now I know I have an inherently large backside, but c’mon, what an awkwardly small space, especially with four people! 

 #8 Holes in the flesh make several things uncomfortable … I’m healing up pretty good, though. 

 Also, for any future flying references, British Airways provides the cutest miniture toothpaste for your convenience (airplane socks, eye cover thingy, and toothbrush also provided--not as cute, obviously).

Bicylces are not Mountain Bikes, Gravel is not Dirt, Jaimie is not Wonder Woman...But Killarney IS Beautiful.

Killarney Lake

September 14, Tuesday night

Hannah and I got to Killarney around the same time. I was happy to see that she’d survived her camping adventure with the guys. We settled into our room and went out for dinner, both of us starving.

Later that night we went out to a pub across the street from our hostel. Honestly, we’re getting low on our money, so what I posted earlier about living by one’s looks…yeah, we were hoping that might get us by. We walk in to this pub, however, and let’s just say it was not the most happening place. We were, by far, the youngest in the crowd. A sweet American couple, probably in their thirties, sat down next to us and the man, after hearing about our poor plight, bought us a drink.  Also, this old man sitting next to us, completely drunk beyond means of even speaking properly, kept insisting on buying the hat off my head. He told me he’d pay me double what I bought it for. And after telling him I wouldn’t sell it for less than 100 euro, you’d think he’d back off. But with one too many drinks, he was not to be deterred. He also inquired about Hannah’s relationship status, asked to see my legs, informed me that he was still spry, and followed us out of the bar…ah, such a funny old man. 

September 15, Wednesday

Okay, so on to the part that actually refers to the title of this post: Hannah and I rented bikes today. We decided to cycle around the gorgeous lakes and scenery of Killarney. I’m pretty sure we’ve been looking forward to this since Dublin. We chose a route, got a map, picked up some bikes, and we were off.

I can’t even begin to describe how gorgeous it is over here. It takes your breath away, really.  

Alright, so we get to the end of our fairly easy bike trail and ask directions on how to loop back to Killarney and a man pointed toward a steep gravel incline that was a “safer route than the roadside.” Many would agree that I’m not exactly cautious when it comes to outdoor activities. So we’re pedaling up these hills, cruising down, I start going really fast down one of the hills, and all of a sudden, BAM, this rivet-type ditch thing comes out of nowhere. I swerve to avoid it, which brings me dangerously close to the edge of the path, and going too fast for much reaction time, I biff it…hard. I haven’t fallen that hard in a long time. Hannah gets off her bike and comes running toward me, much more distraught than I was I think. I’m hurting everywhere and I don’t even know where to look first. I came out just fine, though—a scraped up palm, bloody knee, bruised ankle, and a few other sore spots, but nothing terrible. It could have been a lot worse. 

See how deceptive this looks? Nice and even and then...

AH, Stupid Rivet

One of the wounds

You can't really really tell, but my bike stopped right at the ledge of a little drop off.

Ha, I have no more band-aids left, so let's hope for no more falls.

 Anyhow, managing to dust myself off, we made it to Torc Falls and then back to Killarney. Despite the injuries, it was one of the best things I’ve done since I’ve been here. Absolutely amazing!