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?