And so on to Dublin.
I am typing this in the Dublin airport after Katy and Tara left me to go back to America. I am being brave and strong, I swear. I'm killing some time before my flight leaves for Berlin and so am updating this because realistically, what else am I really going to do?
So we arrived in Dublin midday on New Years Eve. All the stars oddly aligned for us. We got the early bus that we wanted to get, we managed to get dinner reservations the day of NYE, and we got tickets to a nightclub, also day-of (much more on this later). On our way to dinner (this is not a stars-aligning story, this is a "this is weird" story) we were stopped by a man on the street who asked us if we smoked. When we said no, we thought he'd just let us go, like he was looking for a lighter or something. However, then this exchange occurred:
man: ah, from the States, huh? Whereabouts?
(we all tell him. He seems confused.)
man: How do you all know each other?
us: we went to college together.
man: ah! Where?
(at this point we're starting to think this is a little too personal, but we also didn't really know how to end the conversation. So we kept going.)
us: Notre Dame.
man: Oh! Indiana!
us: ...yes.
man: What did you study?
This was becoming not only oddly personal, but we were going to miss our dinner reservation. So I turned to Katy and said, "Do you remember the name of the restaurant?" in hopes of dropping a hint.
man: Oh, don't worry. I mean no harm. What did you all study?
me: English.
Katy: political science
Tara: pre-medicine.
man (to Tara): Now, you have a quite exotic look to you. How did that happen?
My jaw actually dropped at this point. I mean... really?
Tara: both my parents were born in India.
man: Wow. I really don't know what to say about that.
Okay, two things here. One, you probably don't need to say anything because it's not any of your business and also you shouldn't have even asked in the first place. Two, what in God's name were you expecting her to say? "Oh, my parents are blond Germans?" No. I mean, use your head. Come on.
Anyway. We finally broke free of him and had a really delicious dinner - if you are ever in Dublin and craving Italian, we would all three highly recommend Il Baccaro - and headed off to our nightclub.
Oh. My. God.
Club M.
There is no way to completely explain this nightclub. We all agreed it was never going to translate - you totally had to be there. The best way we can explain it - and this is not doing the hilariousness of the situation justice - is that it was sort of like Club Fever (MICHIANA'S HOTTEST DANCECLUB!) transported to Dublin. But that doesn't really capture Club M. It was... hilariously awful. It was dark and there were smoke machines and we kept running into these same three girls from County Meath and it was the kind of place the stars of The Jersey Shore might frequent... I honestly cannot explain it. At some point we decided to just embrace how bad the club was and we ended up having a riot, mostly because we were laughing at the place. But... if you're ever in Dublin, it is TOTALLY an experience.
We left Club M basically at midnight because after the New Year struck, we lost any mild interest we may have had in being there. We went to the Mint Bar, which was in the basement of our hotel and is actually my new favorite place. We met these three Americans who were lovely (sidebar: I've actually decided that I really like some - key word SOME - Americans abroad because if you meet the right kind they aren't obnoxious jerks and you can bond over your shared Americanness) and we hung out in the Mint Bar until it closed. Then Katy said probably the most clever thing she has ever said. We got back to our room and she was gchatting with someone back in America - I want to say it was roughly 10:30 where this person was - and he said something like, "I wonder what 2011 will be like." Katy's response? "Well, speaking as someone from the future, I can tell you that it's a lot like 2010." It was hilarious.
New Years Day was devoted to some sightseeing. We went to Dublin Castle, tried to go to Kilmainham Jail, walked around the city, etc. We also went to the Guinness Storehouse which was borderline the most intense experience any of us have ever had. First of all, it was awesome, but all these overwhelming things kept happening. We were accosted by a jester on the way in who made us drink fake rubber Guinness with him and then made us take a picture. I know that's a really weird sentence, but it's actually the only way to explain what happened. Tara has pictures of it I trust she will put on facebook.
So now into the factory. The first thing you do in the factory is have this orientation on the ground floor. This really cheerful and upbeat woman named Liz gave us ours, and at one point she said something like, "and on the 5th floor, we have a quiz where you can see how much you know about how your body reacts to alcohol." I thought she was going to keep talking, so I said to Katy and Tara, "ha. Mine reacts negatively." However, Liz did NOT keep talking, so I said this out loud into silence to this large tour group. After orientation, you are turned loose into a self-guided tour of the factory. Liz showed up on every floor that we were on, and every single time, she changed her shirt. It was totally weird. Each time, it was this striped polo that said, "STAFF," on the back, but each floor she was wearing a different color. At one point, Katy remarked how comforting this was that her shirt was marked, "STAFF," because it made her feel like she was at summer camp and would be able to locate a staff member in case she was ever lost or afraid. Which, to be honest, sort of happened a lot. The Guinness factory is totally overwhelming, but in a really good way. Definitely go - it's just huge sensory overload and a lot is constantly going on at once.
That night we went out with my roommate Siobhan (she goes to NUIG with me but is originally from Dublin and was home for the holidays) and she showed us this really cool unnamed bar that is trying really hard and really consciously to be super hip but was still really fun. The next day we did some more cultural sightseeing stuff and ended our trip with a lovely extended session in a pub. I am now in the airport waiting for my flight and they have left and I am really sad. It was the best week ever. I am so lucky to have such incredible friends.
I'm also really glad I'm going to Germany because I think if I had to go to Galway right now I'd be depressed out of my mind. I'm glad I'm going somewhere and doing something. (FYI I'm going to Berlin, to visit my cousin Jay in Heidelberg, then onto Munich and Prague). I start classes on the 17th.
Honestly, also, now that Katy and Tara have come, I feel like I want visitors constantly. Alana (NYC roommate) is coming, my friend Kyle is coming, and my friend Kiel is coming, but if you are not one of those three people, please book your flight ASAP. K thanks.
Showing posts with label guinness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guinness. Show all posts
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Friday, September 24, 2010
Redneck Children Who Eat Pizza for Breakfast
Nothing terribly huge to report, but it's been about a week since my last post and I have awhile before I have to be anywhere, so I figured I might as well update this sucka.
I continue to be amazed at the immense difference in lifestyle between Galway and New York City. Scratch that. The immense difference in lifestyle between Galway and ANYWHERE IN AMERICA. For instance, the other night, at about 9 p.m., someone knocked on our door. We weren't expecting anyone, and I could see through our door's mottled glass that the person on the other side was not someone I knew. My first instinct was, "Well, OBVIOUSLY this man is here to rob us. There is obviously no other logical conclusion. He clearly has a gun or a knife, and as soon as I open the door, he is going to threaten me and then take everything of value that is in this house." I scampered up the stairs and was planning on staying there until he went away. (SEE: The Cherry debacle of 741 N. Eddy St, approx 2008-2009.) I mean, right? That's safety rule #1 - NEVER OPEN THE DOOR IF IT'S NIGHT AND YOU DON'T KNOW THE PERSON ON THE OTHER SIDE.
My roommate Siobhan, on the other hand, is still downstairs. I'm assuming she'll cower in the living room until the man gives up and leaves. What, instead, is Siobhan's reaction? SHE OPENS THE DOOR. I'm upstairs thinking, "God! What is she doing! Why would she open the door for this man? Is she crazy?" I crept to the top of the stairs to listen to their conversation to see if I needed to start googling the Irish equivalent of 911.
Old man just wanted to know if we knew where his buddy lived. He gave us the guy's name (we didn't know where he lived, incidentally) and a long, rambling story about how he left his glasses at his buddy's store but he doesn't know where the guy lives and his store is closed and he can't see without his glasses, y'know, because he's farsighted... omg. I almost died from relief. I wanted to hug that old man for not being Cherry.
(for non-Notre Dame alum readers, Cherry was a...neighborhood friend who knocked on our front door incessantly senior year looking for anything from money to a ride somewhere to... I can't remember what else she asked for. She instilled a great deal of fear of strangers in me, however. That's pretty much her biggest lasting contribution. Oh, also she once jumped in front of my moving car and scared the living daylights out of me. She wanted to use my cell phone that time.)
Anyway. Moving on. Yesterday was Arthur's Day, which is a made-up holiday in Ireland. Who made it up, you ask? Why, Guinness made it up! In America, Hallmark makes up the holidays and we get crap like Valentine's Day. In Ireland, GUINNESS makes up the holidays and we get a holiday where at 17:59 (Ireland is on military time, so 5:59) everyone is meant to have a pint of Guinness and everyone holds up their pint in the pub and simultaneously shouts, "TO ARTHUR!" Arthur was the founder of Guinness, and the brewery was founded in 1759 (hence the 17:59 time). It was a great deal of fun. I went with people from my class and Annemarie, and what started as one pint stretched into the entire evening. It was sort of the first time I've been out with people from my class, so it was really good to hang out when we weren't talking about modernization theory and representations of blackness. Nice change of pace.
During a conversation with my roommates, Rebecca said something that I personally believe to be one of the funniest things I have ever heard. I have tried to re-tell the story and it wasn't received terribly well, so maybe you had to be there, but I'll give it one last shot. I was recounting a story where, earlier in the day, my professor had said (in the context of the reading, this made sense): "Now, do my American friends know what ewes are?" I paused, thinking this was a trick question, then said uncertainly, "A... a female sheep, right?" He nodded assent and said, "Forgive me, but once I saw this television programme where some chef went in front of a schoolroom of American children and held up a potato, and not a single child knew what it was." I was mildly insulted for two reasons: 1) I should hope he thinks I'm more intellectually advanced and worldly than a classroom full of elementary school children and 2) that's just a weird story.
so I came home and told my roommates this. Rebecca was cutting something, and she slammed her knife down and looked at me. "First of all, I SAW that programme! It was Jamie Oliver, and it wasn't a potato, it was a TOMATO!"
Me: Well... in all honesty, I'm not sure that's too much better.
Rebecca: Well, whatever. But the point is, that was a schoolroom full of redneck children who had eaten pizza for breakfast! (she pointed the knife at me) Are YOU a redneck child who's eaten pizza for breakfast??
It may not sound funny now, but trust me, it was. I hope somehow someone found that funny.
Love and miss all of you!
Molly
I continue to be amazed at the immense difference in lifestyle between Galway and New York City. Scratch that. The immense difference in lifestyle between Galway and ANYWHERE IN AMERICA. For instance, the other night, at about 9 p.m., someone knocked on our door. We weren't expecting anyone, and I could see through our door's mottled glass that the person on the other side was not someone I knew. My first instinct was, "Well, OBVIOUSLY this man is here to rob us. There is obviously no other logical conclusion. He clearly has a gun or a knife, and as soon as I open the door, he is going to threaten me and then take everything of value that is in this house." I scampered up the stairs and was planning on staying there until he went away. (SEE: The Cherry debacle of 741 N. Eddy St, approx 2008-2009.) I mean, right? That's safety rule #1 - NEVER OPEN THE DOOR IF IT'S NIGHT AND YOU DON'T KNOW THE PERSON ON THE OTHER SIDE.
My roommate Siobhan, on the other hand, is still downstairs. I'm assuming she'll cower in the living room until the man gives up and leaves. What, instead, is Siobhan's reaction? SHE OPENS THE DOOR. I'm upstairs thinking, "God! What is she doing! Why would she open the door for this man? Is she crazy?" I crept to the top of the stairs to listen to their conversation to see if I needed to start googling the Irish equivalent of 911.
Old man just wanted to know if we knew where his buddy lived. He gave us the guy's name (we didn't know where he lived, incidentally) and a long, rambling story about how he left his glasses at his buddy's store but he doesn't know where the guy lives and his store is closed and he can't see without his glasses, y'know, because he's farsighted... omg. I almost died from relief. I wanted to hug that old man for not being Cherry.
(for non-Notre Dame alum readers, Cherry was a...neighborhood friend who knocked on our front door incessantly senior year looking for anything from money to a ride somewhere to... I can't remember what else she asked for. She instilled a great deal of fear of strangers in me, however. That's pretty much her biggest lasting contribution. Oh, also she once jumped in front of my moving car and scared the living daylights out of me. She wanted to use my cell phone that time.)
Anyway. Moving on. Yesterday was Arthur's Day, which is a made-up holiday in Ireland. Who made it up, you ask? Why, Guinness made it up! In America, Hallmark makes up the holidays and we get crap like Valentine's Day. In Ireland, GUINNESS makes up the holidays and we get a holiday where at 17:59 (Ireland is on military time, so 5:59) everyone is meant to have a pint of Guinness and everyone holds up their pint in the pub and simultaneously shouts, "TO ARTHUR!" Arthur was the founder of Guinness, and the brewery was founded in 1759 (hence the 17:59 time). It was a great deal of fun. I went with people from my class and Annemarie, and what started as one pint stretched into the entire evening. It was sort of the first time I've been out with people from my class, so it was really good to hang out when we weren't talking about modernization theory and representations of blackness. Nice change of pace.
During a conversation with my roommates, Rebecca said something that I personally believe to be one of the funniest things I have ever heard. I have tried to re-tell the story and it wasn't received terribly well, so maybe you had to be there, but I'll give it one last shot. I was recounting a story where, earlier in the day, my professor had said (in the context of the reading, this made sense): "Now, do my American friends know what ewes are?" I paused, thinking this was a trick question, then said uncertainly, "A... a female sheep, right?" He nodded assent and said, "Forgive me, but once I saw this television programme where some chef went in front of a schoolroom of American children and held up a potato, and not a single child knew what it was." I was mildly insulted for two reasons: 1) I should hope he thinks I'm more intellectually advanced and worldly than a classroom full of elementary school children and 2) that's just a weird story.
so I came home and told my roommates this. Rebecca was cutting something, and she slammed her knife down and looked at me. "First of all, I SAW that programme! It was Jamie Oliver, and it wasn't a potato, it was a TOMATO!"
Me: Well... in all honesty, I'm not sure that's too much better.
Rebecca: Well, whatever. But the point is, that was a schoolroom full of redneck children who had eaten pizza for breakfast! (she pointed the knife at me) Are YOU a redneck child who's eaten pizza for breakfast??
It may not sound funny now, but trust me, it was. I hope somehow someone found that funny.
Love and miss all of you!
Molly
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)