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?

I Don't Do This at Home

I never leave my flat without my umbrella. Ever since it has turned too cold to wear my raincoat, my umbrella is my constant companion and new best friend. It is made of clear plastic and has black and white trim around the bottom. It looks like I am wearing a jellyfish on my head when I have it open. I have never been an umbrella carrier before; even in Portland, where it rains all the time, I usually just brave the wetness, but here, I don't. Instead, I take my umbrella out with me and swing it jauntily as I walk.

Before now, I avoided malls like the plague. But I make an exception here. In fact, I probably go to the mall once a week. Or maybe twice a week. Perhaps even three times. Because they are Irish malls, not American malls. So they are obviously much better and more entertaining.

Actually, this is true. Everyone goes to the mall in Derry. It's the hip-happening place to be, especially on a Sunday afternoon. Everyone and their grandmother (and their small, screaming children) are at the mall. Not just the teenagers. Everyone. And I think that that is why I go there. It's great for people watching. It's also the absolute best place to go when I want to be around people, but not with people. At those times, I go to Starbucks in Foyleside shopping center, and I sit at the table in the middle (with the chessboard on it), and I write in my journal/ read a book/ spy on the people around me. Because it's an Irish Starbucks, not an American Starbucks. So it's obviously much better. And they serve fairtrade coffee. So there you go. I also have a teeny crush on one of the baristas (I have dubbed him 'Damian'). He is adorable. Actually, way too good-looking for me (but I don't actually know him, so it's fine).

I have gone to at least one movie a week for the past eight weeks. I even saw 'Couples Retreat' (shameful, I know). I never go to movies at home unless they cost $6 or less, or if they are cool, semi-indie films that are playing at Fox Tower. But here, they only cost four-and-a-half pounds! Which sounds cheap (I never convert back to dollars. I prefer to live in ignorance). And the candy is fantastic. And there aren't that many other things to do, except go bowling. Sidenote: Derry is home to the nicest bowling alley on the planet. It is awesome. There is an actual, real, Spaghetti-Factoryesque restaurant! Inside the bowling alley! What!?!.

And Now...Christmas

Santa has come to Foyleside shopping center. He brought with him a two-story, white plywood castle, a "Christmas Grotto," and at least three very short, men (women?) dressed in reindeer costumes. And a lot of twinkly icicle lights and Christmas cheer.

Derry is holiday-crazy city. It has at least, at least, five Halloween costume stores just on the main road, and there was an entire, full-size haunted house inside of the mall. It was Halloween in the beginning of September, and now that Halloween is over, it is instantly Christmas.

At first, this worried me a little bit. What was going to happen to all the Halloween stores? Where there owners going to starve? Or maybe they were going to migrate south for the winter? But then I realized that all the costume shops had converted (overnight!) to “Christmas Shops.” Phew.

Just a little piece of Christmas magic, I guess.

Every time that I walk down Strand Road, I notice that they have put up more decorations. It started small; just some subtle lights here and there, but now that we have passed the Halloween hurdle, there is no restraint. In the middle of the day, grown men are standing on ladders in the street, wrapping tinsel around lamp posts. Don't they have jobs that they need to be doing? How do they have all of this free time?

I like it.

I have never been one of those people who could listen to Christmas music at the beginning of November; it seems so wrong. What about Thanksgiving (just because you don't get any presents, and it celebrates that fact that Americans basically wiped out the Native American population, is that any reason to shortchange it? Come on, what's better than the Horn of Plenty and a rousing chorus of "We Gather Together?")? Doesn't Thanksgiving get it time to shine? It has always been a hurdle that prevents me from having early-November Christmas joy.

But they don't have Thanksgiving here. So that's not a problem anymore. I can celebrate Christmas from November 1st onward, and no other holiday is going to get its feelings hurt! I can download "All I Want For Christmas Is You," and listen to it continuously on my iPod for a whole day! And I can watch "Love Actually!" Twice!

I am liberated!

And soon, I shall buy a Christmas cake. What a great day that will be.

Reminders For Me

Sometimes I forget that I am in a different country. Everything feels so naturally normal now that I occasionally need to remind myself that I am in a new place, and it's great. Whenever I forget where I am or stop appreciating the fact that I am somewhere else, I sit and listen to the people around me talk. Even though I've been here awhile now, I still can't get over the accent. Every single Irish man gets automatic attractiveness points, just for the accent. And there are so many different ones (Derry is the hardest to understand; Belfast is musical). Yes! And I love the distinctly Irish phrasing of things. And that people say "cheers" instead of "thank you" and "what's the craic" instead of "what's up." And "youse!" I certainly do love "youse." I wish that I was cool enough to start using Irish phrases, but I don't think I am. Besides, I have to keep sounding American so that people will think that I'm exotic and interesting (Hahaha. Not).

If I was going to start smoking, swearing, or drinking a lot, this is the place where I would do it. I bet that a good third of the people here smoke, and they make it look cool. Smokers in America have sort of "social pariah" stigma about them; that is not the case here. I know a ton of people that smoke. I bet that half of my friends here do. And even though every single pack of cigarettes has a warning on it that says "SMOKING KILLS" it doesn't seem to faze anyone. Hmmm... it's an interesting phenomenon.

They also swear. A lot. But it's friendly swearing! I really enjoy, actually. If someone calls you a f***ing b****, it means that they like you. In fact, if people aren't swearing a lot, it makes me feel uncomfortable. It probably means that something is wrong, or that people are trying to be super-polite because I am an American. And that's no fun.

Just Things

Halloween is tomorrow. I am going to be a peacock; a crazy, vogue-esque peacock with fun hair. It thought of it one night when I couldn't sleep because there were people outside of my window, singing (this actually happens a lot. Quite a lot. It irritates me and amuses me at the same time), so I was laying in bed, awake, for a long time. Apparently, Derry is the place to be on Halloween, which is pretty cool, I guess. Oh golly.

I love it here; It's pretty much great all of the time. But I do miss going out to brunch. You can't find French toast in a restaurant to save your life. Or waffles. I could do with a good waffle.

I hear that it is snowing already in Spokane. All I can say is, "Hahahaha! I'm soooo glad that I'm not there!" Not nice, but true. It's actually been super-warm of late; it's almost November and there's been Christmas things out for a month, but it's about sixty degrees outside. Maybe a tiny bit colder. But not much.

I wrote a paper this week. It's awful, but written.

One thing that I especially love about Derry is the doors (and doorknobs). The doors are made of wood and usually painted a fun color, and well over half of them have a doorknob right in the middle of the door. Not on the side. In the middle. I feel like I'm in Wonderland (you know, like Alice. That Wonderland).

An Adventure

Last night I learned that there is a movie called, "Plant a Watermelon on My Grave and Let the Juice Flow Through," and that it is possible to mime to words "Encyclopedia Britannica." It was an epic evening.

I spent the weekend in Portstewart, because I figured that I needed to go out and do something by myself to gain some confidence. So I booked a hostel for two nights and planned to see the Giant's Causeway, Dunluce Castle, and the Old Bushmills Distillery and then go back to Derry as a savvy and experienced traveller. Well, I saw that Giant's Causeway on Saturday morning. It was raining like the dickens and the wind was so strong that my umbrella turned inside-out four times; I ended up being more of black-and-white flowered windshield than an umbrella. The Causeway was nice and magnicifent. I stayed for ten minutes and then wandered around the gift shop for forty-five. Because it was honestly too wet to do anything else with myself. Oh, and I went to a pub (voted best pub in Northern Ireland 2009-2010! Neat!) and got Irish coffee because it was cheaper than anything. And quite delicious. Not as good as Baileys coffee, my new favorite thing, but still good, and I sat by the pub fire and wrote in my journal until the bus came to take me back to my hostel.

Rick's Causeway Coast Hostel is a wonderful place. It has this great front room with a coal-burning (what bliss!) fireplace, and it is full of comfy, squashy chairs covered in white slip-covers. It is also the abode of a large and placid orange-colored cat called (appropriately) Ginger. This is where I sat for most of the day, reading British Cosmo (I was on vacation, okay?) and eating fruit pastilles. Then some lovely and hilarious Irish and Australian people came in, and we played Charades until 1;30 in the morning. And Neesha (A boy. His name isn't actually spelled like that. It has some crazy-cool Irish spelling) and I were Team Awesome. And Sean, Eric and Kathy were Team Redmond, because that was all of their last names, because they were all related. And that's were I learned about the Watermelon movie, because I had to mime it. And I tried out my Irish phrases on Neesha-not-spelled-like-that and Sean, and they laughed (Apparently I can say "Where are your children?" in Irish. It could be useful, right?).

At 2 a.m. a group of slightly-drunk Swiss and German au pairs came in, and we all sat and laughed at each other for a while, and then we went to bed, where I discovered that it almost impossible to sleep, because the au pairs kept whispering in German and then laughing, and I kept wanting to know what they were talking about (I asked them this morning. They said that they were talking about using nose spray. Really), and because there were several Portugese guys in my room, and one of them was snoring really loudly, but it was fine, because I was having such a good time.

Now I am ready for anything.

Christmas Thoughts

Confession: I want to buy a Christmas cake. There is one in Marks and Spencer that I am dying for. I go in just to look at it. It is October, and the stores have been selling Christmas-y foods for the past three weeks. Normally, I would scoff and say, "I can't believe that they are already selling Christmas things! That makes me sick!," but since I've been here, it has felt like Christmas. I don't know. I can't explain it.

A nice red-headed man named Gavin opened a bank account for me today. I almost didn't think that it was going to happen. Ever. And it gets better! I now have ... a library card! Ta Da! There was a warm glow in my soul when the librarian handed it to me. Today was a good day for sure. And on Monday, I can withdraw money, which I will then recklessly spend on all of the things that I have been looking at and wanting to buy for the past five weeks. And also groceries.

I am taking a weekend trip all by myself. I am excited, but I am also afraid that I am going to be terribly lonely and feel really lame, because it will just be me. And people seem to think that people by themselves are lonely and pitiful, and I don't want to make this thought true. I am going to Portstewart for two nights, so that I can finally see the Giant's Causeway and Dunluce Castle and the Old Bushmills Distillery (where they make whiskey. With an "e"). But, I am a strong, independent woman! I am not sad and pathetic! I am great! Yes, that is what I will tell myself.

This solo weekend trip is a test run for me, to make sure that I can travel by myself. My flight back home leaves on the 21st of December, which gives me a week or so after my classes are done in which to go around and do whatever I want. I had big plans for this week; I was going to fly to Paris and eat in a super-fancy restaurant and wander along the Seine and drink exceptionally good hot-chocolate. I really was. But now that I'm here, that sounds a lot harder than it did when I was at home in Portland, surrounded by people that actually know me and enjoy my presence. People that I have history with. So, if anyone feels like flying to Ireland mid-December and travelling around Scotland/England/Wherever-the-heck-we-want, just give me a call.

But if no one wants to (or doesn't have an extra thousand-or-so dollars laying around), it's okay. I understand. Just putting it out there.

Derry>Spokane>North Dakota

I miss very few things about Spokane. It is not my favorite place (understatement), but one thing that I actually, legitimately miss about it is the North Spokane Library. I love that library more than anything. I will always, without fail, find good books there 100% of the time. It's like magic! I was determined to get a Derry library card when I got here, but you need proof of address (phone bill, bank statement. You know. Things I don't have) to get one. Believe me, I tried. They wouldn't even take my passport (who doesn't accept a passport? It's a passport! Come on!) So for the time being, I am making do with various books from the super-cheap bookstore(= great), and the non-interesting/depressing books that I checked out on Stephen-My-Flatmates card. I always get some books that don't look like fun but that will make me look smart when I read them in public. Because I always look at what other people are reading, and I don't want someone to look at me and think that I'm a loser because my book has a dumb cover/could possibly be classified as "chick-lit." I should stop doing this, because once I am done with the funny, interesting books (the ones that I don't read in public), I am left with all of the depressing ones, and frankly, that's not what I need right now.

I love libraries. Today I went to the campus library and did research for two hours. Wow. That is quite impressive, considering that I haven't done any sort of homework at all since May. True story. I don't even feel like I'm in school anymore. Unfortunately, that leaves me with all this free time in the evenings, which is when I get lonely and depressed and look at other people's facebook pictures for hours on end, because I don't have any books to read, because all of mine are literary and depressing.

But, hey. If I'm going to sit in my room and be lonely, at least I'm sitting in my room in Northern Ireland. Infinitely better than sitting in my room and being lonely in Spokane. Because almost anything is better than Spokane! Except maybe Wyoming. Or Nebraska. Or North Dakota. Yeah, Spokane is way better than North Dakota. I've never been there, but I can imagine.

People Thoughts

I think that most people look like animals. Or if not animals, than they look like characters. For example, I know a Peter Pan, a Strawberry Shortcake, and a Dora the Explorer. I also know several bears, a lemur, and a flamingo. My Irish choir director is a gopher. A somewhat volatile, talented gopher who tends towards large, semi-frightening mood swings. One of my professors is a rumply elf, and the other is a cross between a newt and Professor Binns from Harry Potter. Irish girls tend to be mice or rabbits. I'm not sure what the men are yet, but I have seen a lot of elves. We'll see.

Other observations on people:

-All women wear boots, and it's great. I have seen almost no one in a hoodie or in any form of sweats. The girls have very straight, styled hair that always looks good, regardless of the weather. Most of the time, their hair is not it's natural color.

-The old people seem happy. Both times that I've taken the train, it has been full of old married couples and groups of old ladies going shopping in Belfast. They sit in the train seats that face each other and eat packets of crisps and talk about their childrens' problems and what they are going to have for dinner when they get home.

-Kids who swear are funny. Don't judge. You know it's true. But kids who swear in Irish accents are funny and completely adorable. Because they're Irish! And swearing!

Ode to Mullers

From now on, the only groceries that I'm buying are apples and yogurt. Ahhhh, Irish yogurt. Is there anything better? No, and again no. I have tried buying ingredients for actual food (the kind that requires cooking), and it is not for me. Actual food needs too many ingredients. I know that if I buy what I need for say, feta and spinach pie, the spinach is going to stay in the freezer for a month while I debate whether or not I should buy shortening to make crust, and then once I actually actually make the pie, I will eat one piece and then freeze the rest of it, because I feel guilt about throwing away leftovers, but at the same time, I never want to eat them. The pie will then stay in the freezer for the rest of the term, gradually getting freezer burn because my tupperware (free when you get Chinese take-out! It doesn't come in the little pagoda boxes; it comes in tupperware. Very convenient for people who don't want to buy their own a.k.a. me) is too cheap to keep it fresh. Meanwhile, the feta will sit quietly in the fridge, waiting to be eaten, but eventually getting donated to another international student's Greek salad.

Muller's (actually, the name is German. So it has those two little dots over the "u." Just so you know) yogurt, on the other hand, is always fresh, because I eat it too quickly for it to pass it's expiration date. And it comes in so many flavors! Banana-chocolate, strawberry-shortcake, dark-chocolate cherry, and my particular all-time favorite, milk-chocolate digestive. And it is full of protein and calcium and all good things.

I am not going to fight it anymore. Bring on the yogurt! I will eat it every single day and will be a happy girl.

Reasons for Happiness

This morning, I saw a dog with a cone around his neck and a broken leg lolloping happily down the street. I was walking behind two (good-looking) Irish men, and as this dog joyfully limped past, all three of us looked at it and smiled.

All of my "preparing for your time abroad" information warned me that the three week mark is when home-sickness begins to creep in, and things aren't quite as fun and charming as they used to be. I admit, the past few days have not been my best. I blame this mostly on my lack of bank account, which I opened three weeks ago but still can't access. As of now, I have a gorgeous, fat stipend check full of lovely money sitting in my sock drawer which I am unable to cash because Ulster Bank has not yet set up my account.

Aside from that though, I don't really have anything to complain about. In fact, here are some things that have made me happy of late (besides the three-legged, cone-head dog):

-School uniforms. All school kids who aren't at university walk around in them. Adorable little pleated skirts (or pants, if they're male) and knee socks and blazers. It's fantastic. I can't get enough of it.

-My hairdryer. I finally gave in and bought one today-the one that I brought from home threatens to burst in to flame every time I turn it on-at Argos (this store completely baffles me. You look through this huge catalog of products and type little numbers into a calculator-esque thing to see if the product is in stock. After this, there are several other steps before purchasing which I have yet to master. Fortunately, they employee nice (and cute) workers, who always take pity on me. That is why I continue to shop there.)

-Pick and Mix candy at the movie theater. I confess that this is the reason that I want to go to movies. There's about fifty bins of every type of candy that you could possibly want to eat (some of my favorites: foam mushrooms, white-chocolate pig heads, jelly babies, and strawberry toffee), and you get to put whatever you want in a little paper bag, and then the candy-counter guy weighs it for you to see how much it costs. It feels like a Roald Dahl book.

Religion (and elves)

Sometimes I wish that I was Catholic. Today I went to Long Tower Church and sat on a pew, smelling the smells and looking at the crazy-beautiful altar, watching the light come in through the stained-glass windows. Several people came in and lit prayer candles; I wanted to light one, but I didn't feel quite right about it. It looks like a comforting way to pray. Just drop your 20p in the box and light the little wick, and then your prayer is no longer your problem. I took a surreptitious picture of the altar because I liked it so much.


Pretty fantastic.


I have been checking my mail every single day for the past week, and today I finally hit the mail jackpot! Not one, not two, but three (yes, three) letters. And I'm sure that no one was happier about the fact that I had mail than the man who works in the accommodation office. Here in the Duncreggan Student Village, we don't use individual mail boxes. We're much to classy for that. It works like this: every time that you want to check your mail you go into the accommodation office and ask the man who works at the desk there (who looks like he should be working in Macy's Santa Land as one of Santa's little helpers. He would be the bored elf in stripy tights and pointy, bell-toed shoes that puts the little screaming kids on Santa's lap for their annual Christmas photo) if there is any mail for you. Then you stand in suspense while he looks through all of the lovely, fat manilla envelopes and letters, looking for one that might possibly be yours. And then he will invariably say that you have nothing. But not today! No mail-rejection from the accommodation guy for me today!

Speaking of elves, I seriously contemplated skipping Irish today, but in the end I just couldn't do it. My conscience is too guilty to allow me to skip class, and I didn't want to disappoint my adorable, elven professor.

It Is Fall

Most houses in Ireland have little, glassed-in conservatories attached to the back of them, and I understand why. Not only can they use these rooms to grow various sort of potted plants all-year round, but they can also go sit in their window-full rooms and look out on their beautiful country all of the time, regardless of the weather. That way, they never have to miss out on the scenery, even if the weather is bad (which it probably is.) That's what I would do in my conservatory, if I had one.

This weekend has felt like fall. It is fall, technically, but this is the first weekend that has felt like it. Both yesterday and today alternated between furious bouts of rain, and shining, cold bursts of sun. It was the kind of weather that had me freezing and putting my hood up, and then taking off my coat because I was too hot.

I spent yesterday in Antrim. I was planning on just going down to the bus station and getting on a random bus to somewhere that I'd never heard of, but I found an Antrim tourist brochure in the Arts Centre, and I decided that it was a sign that I was meant to go there. So I went there. It seemed like every Irish family that had an unhappy, irritating, screaming small child also decided to go to Antrim yesterday. How nice for me.

Actually, the real reason that I wanted to go to Antrim was because it is the home of a round tower from a 10th century monastic settlement. Which was pretty fantastically awesome. I walked around the tower and touched it, and I thought, "I am touching something that was built over a thousand years ago." It felt nice and kind of holy.

On the train ride back, I eavesdropped on the three old ladies next to me, watched a happily-married couple flirt with each other, and listened to the names of each town that the train was going to stop in being read off in the automated voice of an English women. My favorite
name was Cullybackey. Say it to yourself. Cullybackey, Cullbackey.
It's a fun word, right?

I Don't Know Anything

The United States issues great passports. Each one has a lovely, glossy-golden opening page with an inspirational eagle on it and the Preamble to the Consitution written in blue italics. And it doesn't stop there! Every page is illustrated and numbered for easy access, with various patriotic quotes written above the blue and pink line drawings (there is even one of a bear eating a salmon! Nothing says "America" like bears and salmon.) If you have never had the opportunity to look at a U.S. passport, I highly recommend it to you. It will make you feel patriotic; I guarantee it.

Last night, I learned that I don't know anything about politics (I already knew this, actually. It was just reiterated.) My flatmates were talking about politics. Not just Irish politics, or United Kingdom politics, but English and French and American politics. I was very impressed; I sat there listening to them for an hour without saying anything because they all knew so much more than I did. Then we all pulled out our passports (Me too! I contributed!) and compared the British and Irish passports, trying to decide which was better (The Irish one. Because it has harps on it.) Mine was much admired, which is why I now have this new appreciation for it.

It sounds like the people of Northern Ireland get screwed over by Britain. They don't even get to vote. Pretty lame, right?

"Nothern Ireland is like the red-headed step-cousin of England."

That's what Stephen said. I liked it; it gave me a very clear picture of things.

On a different note, Irish men as a whole, regardless of age, are better dressed than American men. I have not seen a single pair of badly fitting jeans or New Balance shoes. Good job, Irish
men!

Oh, and that is not a picture of my personal passport. Because I am not a middle-aged man. Just FYI.

A Dilemma Solved

I used to want to teach myself to speak Welsh. It never really panned out, despite the Welsh dictionary and the "Teach Yourself Welsh" book that I bought at Powells one day when I was feeling inspired. I learned from this book that there are four (five?) ancient languages still spoken in Britain and Ireland: Welsh, Manx, Scottish Gaelic, and Irish Gaelic (and maybe one other that I can't remember.) Anyway, the point is that although I am probably never going to teach myself Welsh, I am going to learn to speak Irish (but I won't teach myself this time.) Yes, I am taking an Irish language class. Now when I go to Irish speaking (Gaeltacht) regions, I can communicate with the local people! I can use my huge, new Irish vocabulary. We will have scintillating, thought-provoking conversations with my newly learned Irish phrases, including (but not limited to!):

How are you?

Fine. How are you?

Good. Thank you.


Ah, yes. It will, indeed, be excellent.

At first, I wasn't sure that I wanted to take Irish. I was planning on taking a class on Irish narrative (I'm still not exactly sure what that it. I basically just signed up for classes that had "Irish" in the title), but when I went to it, it turned out that it actually didn't exist. This did not surprise me; things like that tend to happen over here. It's part of the charm.

I was left without a class. I had two, but I needed three. What to do? What to do? So I figured that I would give Irish a try. I will not regret it.

If I was forty-five or older, I would want to date my Irish professor. As soon as I saw him, I knew that I wanted to take his class. He looks like a sweet little elf with messy, very grey hair and rimless glasses that almost disappear against his face, and he has an under-stated, apologetic sense of humor that I find appealing. I want to give him a hug.

My Destination Wedding

I have picked a location for my wedding. It is called Mussenden Temple, and it is one of the most beautiful places that I have ever seen in my entire life. There it is in the picture. So now I need to find a fiance, preferably Irish because otherwise it would be a super-expensive, destination wedding. If I marry an Irish man, than we will only have to fly my family over here, instead of both of our families! Yes! Problem solved!

Here is a lesson that I learned today: I should not wear my rainboots when it is not raining. Even though I am living in Ireland. Today, unfortunately, I put on my rainboots even though it was not raining, drizzling, or looking like it was going to precipitate in any way.

"I'd rather be over-prepared than under-prepared," I said to myself.

Wrong.

Here's what I should have said to myself:

"Don't wear your hot, black, rubber, waterproof, lined-with-fleece boots unless it is absolutely necessary, because if you do, you'll regret it!"

Which I did. Regret it, that is. But other than that tiny blip, today was fantastic. Today was the day that I finally left Derry and went to another place! And it was great! And there was a coffee shop there that served real coffee, coffee that had never been dehydrated! Neat!

I work at the Whitworth Library when I am at school (in Spokane.) Each employee of the library has a row of shelves they are responsible for; we have to make sure that they are neat and tidy and in proper Library-of-Congress-cataloging-system order. Anyway, I had the travel books last year, so whenever I could, I would go into my section and read the Ireland guide books. I saw a picture of Mussenden Temple, and I said, "I want to go there!" So I did. Today. And it was the most beautiful place. Really, really, realllllllllyyyyyy gorgeous. Go there.

Bits and Pieces

Donegal is the part of the Republic that is closest to Derry. Before I got here, I thought that it was pronounced like this:
DON-uh-gull.
Not very interesting, right? But now I know that it is actually supposed to sound this way:
dawn-ee-GALL.
It is a very lovely and musical word, and every time that I hear someone say it, I get a little wave of happiness.

Last night, I went to a real Irish pub! With real Irish people! I have pictures to prove it! And I got some cider and listened to sweet music and felt like I belonged here.

I have learned an important lesson: pancakes in America are not the same as pancakes in Ireland/Britain. Keep this in mind if you are ever there. Pancakes here come in little pieces of plastic, and you stick them in the toaster and eat them for breakfast. They are not made from a bisquick mix on a griddle. Or you buy a small package and follow the instructions and make your own pancakes. But these pancakes are not really not pancakes; they are actually crepes. It is all quite confusing. Muffins are also not muffins. And scones are not of the Starbucks variety. They are like biscuits. In fact, they are biscuits. But over here, biscuits are cookies. And cookies are non-existent.

This Is a True Story

This morning an old Irish man told me several things: he loved America and had lived there for forty years, that his name was Tom Dooley (like the song), and that smoking pot makes you empathetic. He also informed me that his decision to smoke pot was the best the he had ever made in his life and was rather shocked that I myself did not smoke it.

I decided that I would got into town this morning and get some tea, probably write in my journal, maybe write some postcards. Wandering down Strand Road, I saw a little cafe that was actually open (on a Sunday!), so I went in. I ordered tea. An old man (Tom Dooley, of course) invited to buy my breakfast if I would sit and talk about America with him. Of course I wasn't going to say no. "It's going to be a real, cultural experience!" I thought. Which it was. In a way.

He told me about working for American Airlines, and how he had lived all over the U.S. After we'd been sitting there for about 20 minutes this is what he said:

"Don't let this question ruin our friendship, but do you smoke marijauna?"

I said no. He then proceeded to tell me that he had been smoking it for forty-five years and tried his best to convince me how great it was. I listened politely (hey, he was buying me breakfast) and smiled and nodded in the right places. At the end of our conversation, he gave me a napkin with his name and phone number on it. Just in case, I guess.

Things I Now Know

1. If you go into a cafe and are given a choice between having tea with your meal or coffee with your meal, take the tea. Don't get the coffee. Ever.
2. Apparently, people in Germany know about the Portland Trail Blazers. At least, two of them do.
3. Grocery shopping has always been a soothing activity for me, but grocery shopping in the UK is even better. The groceries come equipped with more interesting names.
4. When walking in Derry, don't bother to use the crosswalk. No one else is going to. Just go with it.
5 As far as I know, no one actually drinks Irish breakfast tea in Ireland. And they don't sell it in the grocery stores. Awww...
6. Irish college students go home when they are not in class. At least I'm assuming so, because I haven't seen any of my Irish flatmates for two days.
7. "What's the craic?" = "What's up?"
8. People in Spain have crazy-pants sleeping schedules.
9. Bill Clinton was the first U.S. president to visit Derry. Or maybe to visit N. Ireland at all. Can't quite remember which. But one or more of those statements is true.
10. Toffee flavored yogurt is delicious; I have never had yogurt that even comes close to matching it.

Sheep and Such

There are a lot of sheep in Northern Ireland. In fact, they were the very first thing that I noticed when I arrived. There are so many sheep that I could see them from my window as the plane was landing. And then one the bus ride, I saw more! And more! I rode the bus from Belfast to Derry, and then got a taxi to my school, Magee College. It was the first time that I had ever ridden in a taxi, so I didn't know how to go about it exactly, and I didn't even know where on campus I was going. Fortunately for me, my taxi driver was nice to me and helped me find somewhere to go, even though I could only understand about half of what he was saying, and I kept having to ask him to repeat himself.

Thus began a day in which many, many things happened and I didn't know what the heck I was supposed to be doing most of the time. But, I did get a room in a flat with four Irish kids and a British girl. Huzzah! I went to bed my first night at about 8 o'clock and was horribly overwhelmed and felt terrible and cried (a lot), but then I woke up at 4 a.m. and listened to the people doing drunken (I'm assuming) karaoke on the football pitches in their sweet Irish accents, and I called home. And then I felt much better.

Summary of Wednesday: I got some classes and became and official student, was filmed for the pilot of a BBC game show, and I bought food. My food shopping pretty much consisted of me buying the most un-American sounding things that I could find, including such items as champ, wee soda bread (that's actually what the package says), and rhubarb flavored yogurt. Wrap-up: Wednesday was a pretty good day.

Thoughts on Flying

Observations on my way to Newark:
a. Flying is like being in a state of limbo. You’re not really anywhere at all. It is also a wonderful thing for people who don’t like to make decisions. All that you have to decide is what beverage you would like and whether or not you want to complimentary peanuts: you don’t even get to choose your seat! Awesome!
b. I hate listening to other people cough. It drives me crazy. I realize that coughing is involuntary and not their fault, but nonetheless, it annoys me.
c. Besides getting into a plane crash, the only real worry that I have while flying is whether or not I will have to use the bathroom. Especially in the window seat. Because I know that if I do have to get up, I’m going to force the whole rest of the row get up with me, and then I’m going to have to squeeze past them all, and that’s just kind of awkward. Fortunately on this flight, my rowmates and I seemed to be in sync on this issue. We all would get up at the same time and then stand right next to each other in the lavatory line. It was quite cosy.
d. When (if) I have a small child, I will not take them on a plane. Ever. Or if I, for some crazy reason, have to, I will first give them NyQuill. It’s drinkable! Everyone (including the kid) will be much happier that way.
e. Cumulus clouds resemble pulled-apart cotton balls.
f. The Newark sky-line looks a little bit like an apocalyptic wasteland.

In Case You Are Wondering

So, I'm going to Northern Ireland for three months. And I said to myself, "Hey, I should have a blog, because then I won't have to send out huge mass emails to every person that I know. Cause I hate to write emails. So, I'll make a blog. Actually, I'll have Jessica make me a blog. Awesome."

One day, Jessica and I were sitting in Vivace for a lonnnnggg time. And we said, "What's something funny to name my blog?"

I said, "I sure like gnomes. They are neat. Travelocity has a gnome as their mascot; Amelie sends a gnome on a trip around the world. Hmmm... gnomes... traveling. Ahhh."

Then we made a list of all the things that could have gnome in the title. Gnome Sweet Gnome? The Long Road Gnome? Gnome Is Where the Heart Is? And we settled on Gnomeward Bound. See the connection?