The Bells : Dublin Week 6

    Each string I pulled set off a glorious note ringing through the city. It was a weird feeling connecting to something so big through a small action. I guess that is the way we would like the world to work, to be able to project our presence through the millions of others sharing this crowded space.
    After a sleepless week where at one point I think there was only pure vessels of caffeine keeping me awake, the climb to the top of St. Ann’s cathedral in Cork provided a moment for me to pause, see the city, and hear the bells.

    The week started out with a trip to one of the local TV stations. A few in my broadcast class and I got to watch the midday bulletin from the production room and received a tour from the news editor himself. I was surprised at the calm and friendly way we were received in spite of all the commotion and stress that goes into making the news. When we stepped into the TV studio, I got a kick of adrenaline. There were few differences from an American station, the main thing I noticed that sets Ireland apart is it’s connection with the entire country. Sometimes it feels like America is a collection of countries instead of states. In Ireland, because it is so small, celebrities and important contacts feel more in reach. The visit definitely reaffirmed that broadcast journalism is something I want to do-whether I’ll have the thick skin and patience to hack it out will be a different story.
    While we were down-town waiting for our bus, we were approached by an older woman who asked us how much sleep we had the night before. Thinking she was harmless, we all answered and she began to ask more personal questions. When my friend stopped answering, she called us all colonists with imperialist attitudes. She went on a rant over how the English committed a mass genocide through the famine and thankfully our bus came shortly. Although the woman was obviously crazy, my friend was offended by her accusations. The famine had taken place over a century ago, but my classmates said they still knew relatives who felt the impact.
    Throughout the week I learned more about how this famine she spoke of had impacted the culture and shaped the history of Ireland while working on three research papers for my Irish history course. Getting my ADD self to focus was a challenge, but once I did it helped me piece together the bigger picture of Irish culture. How I had not been aware of all the characters, plot and setting of this country which has such a large international presence before now seems weird. The truth behind the happy leprechaun and flowing taps** was a people who struggled to form an identity, and were often seen as the underdog in the shadow of its British neighbors. While I still have a lot to learn, the research helped me establish a lens to view this new world which can often seem similar to my home on the surface.
    When my friends invited me to visit Cork with them over the weekend, I was definitely ready to break out of my dorm room. So although I wasn’t completely done with my assignment, I met boarded the earliest bus from Dublin Saturday morning and met them at the hostel. Along the way, I ran into a friend from class who was coincidentally staying at our hostel. This worked out nicely, because in the impromptu decision to leave, I had not yet booked a room. I stayed with her and her friends from Spain and France. It was an interesting experience being in a room where three different languages were spoken at once. We had some interesting conversations about  how they perceived the US and Ireland.
    During the day, we had the typical tourist experience, kissing the Blarney stone which is at the top of a castle and rumoured to bestow the gift of elegance on those who kiss it, and taking a lot of pictures. Along with it’s legends and castles, Blarney’s landscape seemed to come straight out of a fairytale. Wild flowers, waterfalls, and green paths lined the area.

 Out of all of Ireland’s traditions, its care for its land that is my favorite. That night we scrounged down a good fish and chips joint and played some pool at a pub across the street. We learned shortly after arriving at the hostel that a huge group of students from DCU were staying there as well. They invited us to go dancing with them to end of the night.
    After the brief moments of peace the bell tower experience and ride home had provided, it was time to work on the assignment again. Once that was over with, I had the chance to meet up with my international friends I had stayed with in Cork. For our dinner, I made the only true American food I could think of-mac and cheese. I slowly learned that when compared to international cuisine America fell on the bottom of the totem pole. The selection of brochette, quiche, crepes, and other delicacies had left my dish untouched until after some prompting my new friends scooped some up and politely made some enthusiastic thumbs up. Although I was the only American and I should have felt very out of place, everyone there was very welcoming. Later that night, I had a chance to sample some of the live music in Temple bar. We were a little late heading out and so after a few sing-alongs at Auld Dubliner, we caught the signature last song, “Galway Girl” at several other bars.
    It’s funny how no matter where you go some sub-cultures stay the same. I went to a hip-hop class put on by the dance society not sure what to expect. It turned out to be very similar to what I was used to. A fast-paced warm-up, routine that seemed impossible at first and sent half of the class to the back of the room, and nervous giggles when the instructor asked if we could do it on our own. It was great to be in my element-as cliche as it sounds dancing really is a universal language. Earlier that week I had gone to an Irish dance class which consisted of some other Americans, a girl from Australia and myself. I felt like I was heading back to basics in learning a new style. The style combined a lot of foot work I had learned in ballet and tap in a completely different way. I felt like learning Irish dance was a lot like adjusting to the culture, a lot of similar elements but a completely different form.

    Saint Patrick’s day brought more Irish dancing in the form of a Céilí Festival. A group of “fusion” dancers hit the stage first combing Irish dancing with what looked like eighties pop. Like other art forms, it seems Irish dance tries to stay relevant by mixing with other styles. In this case, I feel like it was a bit of a failed experiment, but fun all the same. We ran into some friends from DCU and my friend who does traditional French dancing navigated the various steps of the Céilí with me. I found it funny how all trad partner dances tend to have a similar feel. Thankfully there weren’t as many spins as two-stepping and so I was able to keep up.
    What through me for a loop later that weekend was the St. Patty’s day parade. Street performers wore crazy costumes that seemed to coincide with plays I had never seen or heard of. All together it was great “craic” and a unique experience. Ferris wheel rides, giant pizza and trad music made their way into the mix of the weekend. Trying beers at an international pub down the road finished my St. Pat’s weekend off right.

    With a trip to the west of Ireland ahead and student race day (horse races that is) coming up this week, that’s all for now!

May the Road Rise to Meet You: Dublin Week 5    

    To my left a St. Bernard dog follows me with his large droopy face and muddy paws, to my right hills of green gleam in the sun outlined by windmills and hints of the distant sea. After a night of good Irish fun at my roommate’s 21st birthday, I woke up before the others to take a Sunday morning walk along the country road. Again there are similarities, I swear I’ve seen these ditches searching for caterpillars on my childhood friend’s farm in Iowa, but when I look up the hills and green are overwhelmingly other.
I didn't get a picture-but it looked something like this....except with more sun, windmills, ect..

    Last week started off bittersweet, I had the chance to experience the musical Once which takes place in Dublin. The music from it is written by an Irish and Czech musician who starred in the original movie. The light-hearted and subtle nature of the performance seemed to capture the Irish spirit well. I couldn’t properly enjoy the beautiful music because of a stomach ache (bad salmon) but it was worth it nonetheless.
    In the story, the Irish man known simply as “guy” write beautiful songs, but because they reminds him of his broken heart, he does not play them often. The Czech girl urges him to record an album and go back to his love. Guy is paralleled with the city of Dublin and presented as an underdog. As I’m learning more about Irish history and its people, I’ve noticed this is a common theme. While powerful institutions such as the Catholic church and United Kingdom have tried to define the Irish people, they have expressed their independence through their art and culture. Yet it seems pride is not something Irish people wear comfortably. Humility and borderline complacency sometimes cover those talents.
    The next day I got to feel more like a foreigner. We went to the immigration bureau in city centre to get our visa cards. The place was packed with a variety of people. Some were families with small children, and it made me wonder what had brought them to Dublin. Behind every face there was a story, a place that was left, a home that was shifted. Dublin is my home until May, but I can’t picture it as my home for life.
    Later in the week my group and I got a taste of home at an Australian karaoke bar which served pina coladas by the jug. We sang “friends in low places,” danced with some Dublin boys and had a great time. This was only a starter for Saturday night. Back to my roommate’s party, which was at her home outside of Wexford. Although I was in a house of people I don’t know being the only American, it didn’t feel that way. Everyone was very friendly and laid-back. We partied and danced all night and in the morning enjoyed a traditional Irish breakfast made by my roommate’s mom (or I guess I should say mum here). I had my first experience of going to a pub on a Sunday afternoon, which was surprisingly pretty packed. There I was feeling completely comfortable with people I had just met. It was great “craic.” (here that means fun, not the illegal drug).