Things to Miss

-Really good sanwiches.
The people of Northern Ireland sure do know how to make a good sandwich. The first day that I got here, I went into a cafe called The Sandwich Shop which had so many different choices that I was completely overwhelmed by them and ended up ordering a muffin instead. Although you can't find Eggs Benedict to save your life, the sanwich options are endless.

-Accents.
Boy oh boy. They are fantastic. I think that I am going to have accent withdrawal when I get home. And I may never hear the word 'wee' used again. Or if I do, it will most likely mean something different (you know.)

-Walking.
I could count the times that I've ridden in a car in Ireland on two hands. Almost never. There's no need to drive anywhere in Derry unless it is raining like crazy (it probably is), and you don't have an umbrella. Ooh, and another thing about walking in Derry is that you are likely to see at least one person you know every time you go into the city. True story. I mean, it's a fairly big city (well, the second biggest in Northern Ireland. Which means that it's not big at all.) You wouldn't expect to run into people that often. But you do. It's friendly and great.

-Being an international student.
For one thing, it gives you instant friends or at least friendly acquaintances. There is a certain of bond among people who are all away from home, especially when most of us can't understand what is being said by the Irish people at least half of the time (I'm telling you, the Derry accent is crazy. But in a good way.) Plus, being international makes you more interesting to other people. I like being more interesting.

-Cohn's Sandwich Shop.
I've never eaten a sanwich here, but I have gotten multiple cups of coffee. Ireland can't boast about the quality of its coffee, but for some reason, Cohn's filter coffee is delicious. I get a cup everyday. The shop is in the library, and it has huge windows that look out over the campus and the River Foyle. I generally sit at the window counter three or four times a week and drink my good drip coffee and eat some chocolate (I am trying to try as many different types of UK chocolate as I can before I go home. Because it is so much better here. Way, way better) and look at the window, watching everyone who comes into the library. It's one of the best people watching spots. And sometimes, there is a table full of people behind me speaking Irish to each other. And it's fabulous.

Things I Have Accomplished

Mr. C. Gore was the first person that I met when I got to University of Ulster-Magee. He is the man who works in the reception office and looks like a disgruntled Macy's elf. His job seems to consist of three things: creating poster about various housing issues (like the one by our vacuum cleaner that says DO NOT REMOVE THIS VACUUM FROM THE FLAT!), conducting random room inspections to make sure that we have not defaced our living space by using sellotape on the walls, and giving out mail. I'm not sure which of these jobs is his least favorite (he's pretty dour, so it's hard to tell), but I personally have done my part to make one of them his most favorite. At least I'd like to think so.

I check my mail a lot. Like every day. Sometimes twice. For the first two months of the semester, Mr. C. Gore refused to acknowledge the fact that I came into his office every day. Every single day. He stubbornly continued to ask my name, block number and flat letter every time I asked for my mail, even though he obviously knew who I was. He had to know. Because I came in every single day. Every single day. And each time that I came in, I told him my name, block number, and flat letter.

About three weeks ago, I went to the reception office to get my mail (as I am wont to do), and Mr. C. Gore didn't ask my name. Nope. Instead, he just started searching through the mail for things belonging to me. I still had to show him my school ID (you have to show it every time that you pick your mail up), but I figured that I was making progress.

Now with one week of school left to go, Mr. C. Gore and I get along just fine. We have even progressed to exchanging witty, mail-centric banter when I go into his office to get my post. He has put out some little chocolate oranges for students to take when they come in. I feel like I've made serious progress.

I threw a Christmas party (co-threw, actually.) And it was fabulous, in my opinion. There was a Christmas tree, and pretty lights, and a poinsetta, and eggnog and food (lots and lots), and there was...A CHRISTMAS CAKE! From Marks and Spencer! I bought it myself! And I put fake holly in my hair because if I can't do it at Christmas, when can I do it? It was the first Christmas party that I had ever done, and I was glad. Especially because both of my siblings are having Christmas parties in their new, awesome living spaces while I am not yet at home. So I was like, "Phss... whatever guys! I'll throw my own Christmas party! In Northern Ireland! Yeah!"

And I did.

One Wet Foot and Other Stories

There is only one thing worse than having two cold, wet feet, and it is having only one cold, wet foot. Unfortunately, I discovered that truth this weekend when I was in Dublin. I have this great, super-cheap, pair of brown boots, which I have used so much in the month since I bought them that I have worn a whole in one of them. Only one, not the other. This means that I can't wear them in the rain because the rain will soak through the hole and give me an uncomfortably wet foot. One wet foot is infinitely worse than two wet feet. I know, this sounds wrong. One dry foot should make me happy! At least they're not both wet. I should be counting my blessings instead of complaining. You might be thinking that right now. Well, you're wrong! One dry foot taunts you; it makes you want your wet foot to be just as happy as your dry foot. It makes things uneven. With two wet feet, you can walk anywhere you want and step in any amount of water, and it doesn't matter because both your feet are soaking anyway. But, if one is dry, you have to constantly be avoiding puddles so as to not wetten the dryness, while at the same time feeling (and hearing) your toes squish in your sock that is contained in your other boot. It's terribly distracting, and it keeps you (or at least me) from enjoying myself fully because I am constantly thinking, "I wish I had dry feet. This would be so much better with dry feet..."

Putting all that aside, I went to Dublin this weekend, and it was nice. It was nice to be in a big city, and it was nice to see people walking on the streets after seven o'clock, and it was nice to go into a cafe at nine at night and still be able to order coffee (and still have it be open). It was nice.

Some things that happened:

-The Guinness museum. Quite good. To be honest though, the architecture of the museum was more interesting than the museum itself (at least to me). I liked learning about Guinness, don't get me wrong. I just didn't need five floors of museum to learn about it. I was done learning after two floors (not counting the one that had the gift shop on it). By the third floor, I just wanted to get to the top so that I could retrieve my free pint of Guinness. Eventually I did, and it was excellent, but the bar was too cold to enjoy it as it deserved to be enjoyed.

-Walking. Lots of it. But in a good way.

-Fantastic bruschetta. I couldn't even believe how good it was. I didn't know that bruschetta could be so good.

-Getting carded. For the second time in my life (they didn't even card me on my birthday. Lame!). But they carded me in the the Three Crowns Alley Pub in Temple Bar. I also ordered brandy there. Just brandy. I'm not sure why I wanted to; probably because I was cold (I had this vision of a St. Bernard reviving an avalanche victim with the brandy that it had carried to the victim over a treacherously snowy mountain pass. So I figured that it must have the warming properties which I needed, due to my one wet foot). And the brandy was... strong. And sweet with a soapy aftertaste. I could drink about half, and then the aftertast got the better of me. I can't drink soap.

Post-Thanksgiving

I've stopped taking notes in history classes. There's no point to the notes; I'm not going to be here for the exams and my essays are done, so really, when am I ever going to use them? Never. That's when. Plus I hate taking notes. I can't listen and write at the same time. So instead, I sit in class and draw little pictures, and I make lists of people that I need to buy presents for, and what I am going to make for the Christmas party that I am co-hosting next week (bread pudding, truffles, and wassail.) I feel like it is a good use of my time.

Thanksgiving was the my big obstacle. And now it's over, and I'm relieved and ridiculously proud of myself. Relieved because now I don't have to think about it any more ever again. And ridiculously proud of myself because I made (on my own, single-handedly, with-no-help) *ahem*:
two roast chickens, apple-raisin stuffing, buttery pan rolls, pecan pie, apple crisp, walnut-cranberry-blue-cheese salad, sweet potatoes (delicious), and cranberry sauce! (Hold for applause).

And I arranged a cheese and cracker plate!

Whew.

It was a good day, and now I am done. But now the time is really flying by, which makes me both happy and sad. Thanksgiving was the hump in my semester. Now that I'm over the hump, I feel like I need to start paying attention to every little thing so that I don't forget any of it.

And in the spirit of not forgetting, here is a picture of my all time favorite shop window in Derry. I walked by it every day for two weeks without taking a picture. But I finally did, because I don't want to forget it. I don't even know what this store sells (lamps? Home decor?) but they sure do know how to decorate a window:

Now that's class!

Thanksgiving

On Thursday, I am cooking a turkey. I have never cooked a turkey. I have never cooked any type of meat that still has bones in it. I can do chicken breasts; I can do fish, but can I do turkey? I guess that we'll find out...

I can't decide if I am excited for Thanksgiving or not. On one hand, I am excited to cook a whole bunch of food for people that aren't just me. I don't get to do this often (a.k.a. never). Cooking for one person is boring, so I eat a lot of eggs and yogurt and toast and soup from cans, and when I have money, I eat chicken. Because it's depressing to make some super-good dish that you're really excited about because it's so good and then have to eat it all by yourself. So I'm excited to cook. It will also give me something to do for the next two days, since I have now written all four of my essays (that was my homework for the entire semester. Write four essays. That's it. Now I'm done, and I don't know what to do with myself).

On the other hand, the thought of Thanksgiving kind of makes me want to get into my bed, curl into fetal position and eat a giant bar of dark chocolate while watching "Sex and the City- The Movie." This is a tempting, tempting option. I really just don't want to think about the fact that I am not at home during a major holiday; I don't want to think about the fact that I am thousands of miles away and trying to make a holiday happen all by myself. It overwhelms me and sort of makes me want to cry.

That is why I have invited a random assortment of French and German international students, plus my flatmates (and some of their friends?) over for a traditional, American Thanksgiving. I will not be pathetic and sad on a holiday. No, no, no. As much as I want to be pathetic and sad, I will not be. Instead, I will go out and buy sweet potatoes and canned pumpkin puree, and yes, even a turkey (if I can find one. They have to sell them somewhere, even in Northern Ireland. It's not that behind the times), and I will make Thanksgiving. And hopefully, the turkey will be fully cooked, since I have no meat thermometer. And hopefully, the random assortment of people will mix well and be friends. And hopefully, I'll be busy enough that I won't be sad, and it will be a fun day that I'll look back on and think, "I'm glad that I made Thanksgiving all by myself."

My New Philosophy

I have different philosophies for different situations. In fashion, my philosophy is "less is more" (incidentally, this is not the philosophy of the women of Derry. Their fashion philosophy is probably something along the lines of "wear it with confidence!" But hey, kudos to them for bravery). In social situations, my philosophy is "go with the flow." In Derry, my philosophy is "just say yes" (oddly enough, this is also a song by The Cure which has been stuck in my head for the last two months).

So far, this philosophy has proved surprisingly effective and has brought me many interesting and fantastic things including two (possibly two-and-a-half) dates, free breakfast from a man who may or may not have wanted to sell me pot, and membership on a pretty excellent pub quiz team. Just to name a few.

Tonight, I had planned to sit in my bed, eat candy, and watch all six hours of "The Tenth Kingdom." but because of the above mentioned philosophy, that was not what I ended up doing Well, I did actually eat candy and watch "The Tenth Kingdom." But only for three hours, not six.

Instead, I went a play about The Troubles. It wasn't really a play, because the people in it weren't actors; they were normal people who told their own stories, but it was presented in an artistic, scripted way. It was absolutely the most moving theatre that I have ever seen. It kept me choked up, almost on the verge of tears throughout the whole thing, and I'm not a crier. In a word, it was a good, good play. I was happy that I had said "yes."

How to Get Irish Men to Think That You Are Cute- A Guide For American Girls

-Talk to them in your cute American accent-
Yes, it’s true. You have a cute American accent. This is the huge advantage of going abroad. You get automatic cuteness points just by speaking. Let me tell you, it’s great. It doesn’t matter what you say; just say it within earshot of an Irish boy, and they will think that that you are cute. Personally, I like to use the question method. It goes something like this:
Me: (said while smiling apologetically) Excuse me, could you tell me where the post office is?
Cute Irish Boy: Aye, it’s just around the corner. Are you American?
Me: Yes.
Cute Irish Boy: I’ll take you!
Me: Oh, thank you so much!
Etc., etc. You get the picture.
-Tell them that you speak Irish-
Okay, so this one has a catch. After you say that you speak Irish, they will invariably ask you to say something. And they will think that you are hilarious and cute when you do say something. So you have to know at least a couple of things. But have no fear! I am providing you with some easy to learn and oh-so-handy Irish phrases! Here are some useful ones to know (written phonetically. Because Irish is a crazy language, and it’s looks nothing like it sounds. The spellings are insane):
-Caw-jay more-ah tah-too?= How are you?
- Tah-may go moy.= I am well.
-Aw-will too shingle?= Are you single? (because it’s useful)
-Aw-will too poiw-shtee= Do you have children? (because you never know)
-Ah-fig ah-foisht= Post office (because it’s fun to say)

Really, that’s about it. Or as a last resort, go to a pub and talk loudly within earshot of a cute Irish boy. Then wait for him to ask you if you are American. When he does ask, tell him that you are actually Canadian. And then he’ll feel bad, so he’ll buy you a drink. And who knows what could happen from there?