Bon Appetite

(icanhascheezburger.com could be worth a quick gander...)

Bon Appetite...what our French roommate, Muriel, says to Brianna and I every time we’re cooking aka bangin on pots and pans, setting the smoke alarm off and feasting like we’ve never had a hot meal in our lives (ever since the French got here they are constantly making us look bad with their stylish ways and their "let me just whip up this 6 layer lasagna for 10 people" skills... plus their cool accents). Since we came to Dublin, I have developed a great appreciation for food. All kinds. After a long day of class, shopping, walking or the exhausting process of laundry in this ridiculous facility, any meal we make turns in to a “grand feast,” whether it’s a grilled cheese or a 3 course meal. The essentials: the ever-easy pasta (what would any of us do without it?), eggs, balsamic vinegar (what can’t you put this on and make it taste better?), baguettes (I don’t think I’ll ever know why they taste so much better than regular bread-or is it just because the word is so fun to say?), granola (or what Brianna refers to as bird food… she may or may not have found a trail of this from the kitchen to my room last week), crepes (this is a once a week splurge at the Saturday farmer’s market), hummus (another farmer’s market must-have), CHICKEN (fried chicken, grilled chicken, chicken sandwich, chicken salad, chicken pasta…etc), and McDonalds…

Mickie D’s.

This disgusting cesspool has quickly found a place among my taste buds across international waters. Listen, I don’t know why but I find that armpit of America 10 times more appealing in Dublin than back home. It may have something to do with the fact that it’s American, maybe the fact that it’s literally fast food and I don’t have to cook it, but most likely because the 1 euro apple pies here are fried instead of baked and that makes allll the difference...Last week I yelled through the wall separating Bri and I's rooms (a very thin wall) "Babs, you want some McDonalds or what?" She said, "WHEN!?" I was craving it so bad, and there was only one 3 things that could satisfy me at that point in time: vanilla milkshake, fries, nuggets. So we bundled up and set out to what was supposed to be the closest McDonalds to us... ended up being an hour long journey in which we stumbled upon 1. A horse in someone’s backyard that we named Saddle Back Jane (Brianna swears that we passed saddle back J pulling two gypsies on the street yesterday) 2. 3 teenie boppin girls with attitudes bigger than the Guinness factory who yelled at me for not donating to their charity but having enough money to go to McDonalds (yes… McDonalds, that’s where all the people with money are) 3. an old man who blocked our way around the corner to the finish line with his cane and after staring us down for a good 30 seconds, dropped his cane, started laughing and walked away (keep in mind this was about 30 minutes into our walk when we had finally reached the golden arches... you could imagine how weirded out and mad we were at this man blocking our way) and 4. The best and most well deserved milkshake and fries I could’ve ever asked for.

Dublin is very much a melting pot of different cultures, and actually the largest amount of immigrants in the last few years have been Polish (does anyone else find that random?). Walking down the street you hear all types of languages (and rarely Irish Gaelic), and this definitely shows through with the restaurants- Asian, Middle Eastern, Italian, Indian and of course American fast food (that is all we have to offer this country besides reality television and Paris Hilton). If you want a real Irish meal all you need is 3 potatoes- mash one, bake one, and make the other into chips. If you want a good meal, there's plenty of international food here. My absolute favorite that I've had has been sushi at Yamamori, which is kind of sad because I'm in Europe, which is known for its food...Ireland I guess not so much... but it seems to be that I'm either eating a 2 euro budget baguette (I'm really splurging if I decide to get feta cheese for 50 extra cents) or a delicious 3 course meal (obviously paid for by the program... or a generous Irishman).

Here are some pictures to emphasize my new found passion of food and my upcoming obesity:

While coming home from the farmer's market last week Kate made me stop and turn around while crossing the bridge so that she could capture the pure happiness on my face and in my heart for this nutella crepe:

Caught in the act of legitimately having a moment with their food:

One of the better meals that has ever been created for me (cheers ben and alex... and you too babs)

Now that I have officially made myself and others look like your typical filthy american mcdonalds addicts, I will depart and go to sleep. Maybe tomorrow I will be thinking of something else besides food...

legenDERRY

So most of us students here are on the "college budget," but see taking that budget to Europe makes you approximately 1.44 times as poor. We American students will hunt for the best bargain in town... 2 euro baguette sandwiches at Londis, 3 for 1.50 buenos bars (HEAVEN in a chocolate bar... I am officially an addict), free glass of wine between 5-7 the whole month of january at a new wine bar down the street (I've already gone twice...I hope they didn't notice), "free" packets of salt, sugar, pepper, brown sugar, vinegar etc, 1 euro shoes (black wedges that I bought yesterday that made me feel slightly less guilty about the amount of money I spent last weekend), and of course if a roll of toilet paper happens to fall into someones purse in a public restroom... they most likely will just bring it back to their apartment accidentally...

the contents of my purse:

Naturally, you could guess how excited our group was to go on an "all-expenses paid" trip to Northern Ireland (Derry and Belfast) this past weekend. We weren't just a little excited... we were THRILLED, jumping around acting like this was spring break (Bri and I even packed bathing suits in case the hotels had pools... they didn't). We left on Thursday morning- we dragged ourselves and our luggage across town to the bus (and by that I mean Bri and I got a taxi and everyone else walked across town... if there was ever a time for a taxi that was it. We were packed heavily for this 4 day fiasco). Fell asleep on the bus in an awkward, uncomfortable position which reminded me of field hockey and lacrosse trips in high school, and woke up in Northern Ireland.

ignore my delirious bus friends:

First stop: LUNCH. Everyone was so hungry that all the bread and fruit was gone from tables in a split second and there were a few small fights over a pear and a banana... no big deal though. Everyone was cranky from the bus and pissed that we got portions the size of peanuts, but we pressed on. Keep in mind I had NO idea what the itinerary was for the weekend because it was sent out a few days before and a few people never got it (obviously me), so I was literally just getting on and off the bus as I was told and everything was a great big surprise for me! I finally found out that we were in Derry for the 1st night then Belfast for the 2nd and 3rd. Second stop: Carrick-a-Rede (meaning "rock in the road" in Scottish Gaelic and "road" meaning the route for Atlantic salmon). The rope bridge that we were soon to cross was strung for over 350 years by fishermen and used as the best place to catch these salmon. As you can see it was no piece of cake...

crossing the bridge was harder for some:

and VERY VERY windy:

3rd stop: Giants Causeway. Even more windy than the bridge. After another long journey down to the water, we're there. Standing on about 40,000 different rocks that are the result of an ancient volcanic eruption. To be quite honest, I did not have to stay an hour and a half there and look at the rocks while getting wind burnt and nearly slipping to my death 5 times... but it was nice!! :)

4th Stop: HOTEL. Thankkkkk goodness. warmth. food. drink. the best 3 course meal ever paid for me: soup, grilled salmon, chocolate raspberry dessert. I love Derry. After dinner we chatted it up with the hotel bartender, Gareth (garth not gareth obviously) and went to a local pub called Mason's with him to listen to a band and enjoy our "vacation." We quickly found out that Gareth is a nationalist and that we were at a nationalist bar. There are very distinct differences between the cultures of a nationalist and a unionist (nationalists want political independence from UK and unionists want to continue to be under the Queen's rule). Nationalists are typically Catholic and Unionists usually Protestant. We stayed out until closing and magically made it to breakfast at 8am (well some of us), just in time to stuff our faces and purses to get us through to the next free meal, dinner. That morning we went on a tour of Derry (not just any tour, Martin's AWARD WINNING tour) and heard a lot about the Bloody Sunday tragedy (1972 civilian shooting by British forces in Derry). We saw the "Protestant communities" and "Catholic communities," and they are clearly separated. It makes me grateful to live in a place where the topics of religion and politics are not as tense and defining. We visited the museum, saw a documentary about Bloody Sunday and no big deal, we were featured on a BBC Northern Ireland special with our tour guide (I will for sure post it/brag about it on my blog when it is released).

Martin McCrossan's award winning city (and oh so witty) tours:

We got lunch (I ate my stolen breakfast for lunch) and were off to Belfast, the country's capital!

Smile... You're on Katie's Camera!

After a few weeks of being in dublin and me carting around my "telescope" (as my friend john calls it) everywhere, a little jig has developed for whenever I whip out my camera...

Alex Ben and Bri waking me up on the bus in Northern Ireland:

And here are a few defining photographs:

this guy saw my camera and proceeded to point as himself with the cheesiest smile I've ever seen. after the picture was taken and his light turned green he rolled his window down and yelled his phone number at the top of his lungs:

Mark at the DART station:

hilarious little hooligans we met on the beach in Bray:

more hooligans outside of the Belfast Castle

(don't ask about the BMX helmet... must've been some extreme cycling):

Meg and her lunchbox... gotta love her!

Ben and Alex from across the rope bridge (paparazzi):

Just a little pre-class photoshoot

(my computer's camera still counts as my camera):

this wouldn't be complete without a shout-out to my roommate

(Hey Brianna!):

So smile... you never know when you might get caught!

Beautiful Day to Get Lost in Bray

Yesterday I had to go register myself at the Irish immigration office (aka pay the country 150 euro because I am in Ireland for more than 3 months... basically paying 150 for one ID card with a terrible unexpected photograph):

If this picture doesn't describe the day before, I don't know what else would.  We woke up around 11 and decided to get on the DART and explore another town for the day. We didn't actually decide where we were going until we got to the train station. The next train went to Bray, so we took our 2 euro baguettes (basically a delicious steal of a meal) and went... we had no idea what was even in this town, but we knew there was a beach which was good enough for us...

Alex, Ben, me and Tom at the DART station
(my very first dart experience):

We get off the train 30 min later and realize there actually is NOTHING to do in this town, besides sit on the rocks, almost lose your phone in the Irish Sea, meet a group of 12 year old teenieboppers,  talk to them about American television (the Irish love to talk about random American shows) and school, then hike nearly 10 miles of 80 degree mountain terrain and get lost in the dark whilst straddling a large creek of mud (that is the "trail") hearing random horse noises every once in a while.... oh and finally find a place that sells fish n chips. Then go home.

Mark and I with our 13 year old buddies we met at he beach (they were cracking me up talking about Southpark and L.A... but very smart and personable for their age... if they didn't have to go home to their parents they would've climbed Bray Head with us):

A scenic stroll quickly turned into an intense rock climbing adventure once we found out that we had gone the wrong way and that the path we were on led to the next town over... convenient. Brianna (aka Babs) started regretting her decision to wear moccasins at this very point but justified it by identifying with Pocahontas? sidenote: these shoes are in our garbage can right now.

"to the top!"

After a LOT of struggling, falling, attackings of the thorns, "I don't think we should go any further"s, and "Don't let the girls come up here"s from Alex and Ben (thanks a lot... and by the way BOO YA), we finally made it to the top... at sunset (which we thought was the perfect time but soon found out that the negative side of seeing this gorgeous view at sunset was that the way back down was pitch black... and even more ridiculous terrain than the way up).

The whole group at the top (aka victory photo)

Babs, Ben, me, Tom, Alex and Mark:

Well we got lost on the way down (inevitably) and straddled a 4 ft wide mud creek down the mountain, but made it to the bottom eventually... I think our whole mountain adventure was approximately 4 hours (not including the extensive time it took to remove thorns from our bodies and mud from our clothes afterwards, and the pain that I am feeling in my thighs right now).

This picture of us on the DART ride home pretty much explains it all:

OK back to the immigration day:

They told us at the airport that we have to register in the first 30 days, but some people got lucky (like my roommate... I am still holding a grudge), and just didn't have to go. I asked her to pay for half of mine but it was a no-go. Anyways, I was the last person in line at immigration (because when we were about 30 into our walk there I realized I forgot my acceptance letter to school and had to go back), so I ended up walking back to the apartment alone. I didn't mind because I was planning on jumping on the LUAS (a small train that runs through the city) right back to our apartment in Smithfield. I ended up walking because I didn't want to wait for a train. I didn't think anything of it, but in the middle of my walk I got a little eeked out, realizing I was alone in the city past dark. Suddenly I came upon a group of about 12 children around 11-13 years old riding the most ridiculous scooters I have ever seen:

They were not trying to be cautious by any means on these devil riders. They were like a children scooter gang, and I won't lie... I was scared. One boy looked at me and revved his engine with his eyes... He did not think twice about running over my right foot. Scooter tracks on my new boots are not ok. Another girl swerved in front of me and gave me some Irish sass, then I ran away. I will not return to the scooter gang spot... In fact I will go out of my way to avoid it.

Here's to you Mrs. Robinson...

Ha Ha Ha... sooo happyyyy... NOT. 

Iris Robinson, pictured above, is what we call a cougar (cougar: Noun. A 35+ year old female who is on the "hunt" for a much younger, energetic, willing-to-do-anything male. The cougar can frequently be seen in a padded bra, cleavage exposed, propped up against a swanky bar in San Francisco (or other cities) waiting, watching, calculating; gearing up to sink her claws into an innocent young and strapping buck who happens to cross her path. definition courtesy of urbandictionary.com example: demi moore and susan sarandon). Iris Robinson is a member of Parliament of the UK in Northern Ireland, and is pictured here with her hubby, Peter Robinson, the First Minister (Prime Minister) of Northern Ireland (which is a different country than the Republic of Ireland which is part of the UK. The Republic is what we simply refer to as Ireland).

It was our first day of class yesterday at Dublin Business School. 1st class: Politics. 1st teacher: Seamus (not Seemus, SHAYMUS). 1st lesson: Robinson scandal. In the last week 60 year old Mrs. Robinson has admitted to having an affair with a 19 year old Kirk McCambley and for aiding this wee-lad entrepreneur with a 50,000 pound loan for his business. Obviously we erupt in laughter (which may or may not been acceptable... but when in Ireland, when in doubt LAUGH), immediately thinking of a story of a familiar cougar coincidentally named Mrs. Robinson... As for politics, Mrs. Robinson is expelled from her party (the democratic union does NOT take any of that crap) and Mr. Robinson is on a 6 week temporary leave from his First Minister position with Arlene Foster stepping in (her glorious 5 minutes of fame... at least someone's happy here).

"Kirk McCambley told the MP wife of Northern Ireland's First Minister that the illness (forgot to say.. he claims to have a disease... probably rabies...) was threatening his life and affecting his sexual performance after she began to bombard him with text messages and love letters, said the Irish Independent newspaper.

She had helped the young businessman, who is 40 years her junior, obtain £50,000 in loans that was not declared to Parliamentary authorities." - Irish News

What a story to walk in on on the first day of school. I felt like I was in a celeb gossip class... but Seamus was loving it (probably just because it was Northern Ireland and not his home country... they are all so fascinated with international juicy gossip because as a country about the size of West Virginia, they don't have enough scandals to keep themselves busy so they laugh at international nonsense and watch crappy American "tellie"). The rest of the day was just your average history and politics lessons... 

Soooo were you thinking that the Iris, Kirk and Peter situation sounded a little familiar... ?

 I'll end with a favorite Simon and Garfunkel song of mine:

And here's to you, Mrs. Robinson
Jesus loves you more than you will know (Wo, wo, wo)

God bless you please, Mrs. Robinson

Heaven holds a place for those who pray

(Hey, hey, hey...hey, hey, hey)

Crazy Americans

It's a common Irish thought when a herd of young American's are seen, most likely imitating their accent and giggling, entering a bar and ordering a round of Guinness (apparently it's not as popular here as we thought...rookie mistake), standing in the middle of their tiny sidewalks circling a large tourist map while pointing in random directions or expecting free refills on sodas at a restaurant (nothing is free on the euro). Crazy Americans, always thinking they're the center of the universe (wait... they're joking though right... we are?) and always acting like they are entitled to things (free refills are not much to ask for ok).

If you think that Irish people don't watch Wife Swap and the Hills (and love it) or listen to Jay-Z, Eminem and U2 then you are so wrong. It's no wonder most foreigners tend to think American Girls are "easy" as they call it... we're being represented by Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan, Britney Spears, the Playboy Bunnies and Girls Gone Wild (I mean all superb people... but not quite the norm). An Irish man we met the other day named John said to me "Spring break! Now what the hell is that about?"....WHERE do I even start with that! These are the intellectual (also big words like intellectual are frowned upon here... I like this... ) things that people are watching on MTV about us and dying to know more about. Little do they know that it is all a cover and we are normally really like this:

They have McDonalds, Burger Kings, and even the most pathetic excuse for fast food, KFC. If they didn't have Subway then I would be mad that our food was being represented poorly (I'm not gonna lie, I'm looking forward to seeing what's on that 1 Euro menu at McDonalds... I here great things about it). They also have American Apparel, H&M and Aldi (that small random grocery store that I am now so happy exists because its cheap... for here at least). Have I mentioned that this city is ridiculously expensive? Anyways, last night a group of us were hanging out with a few Irish people our age and offered Miller Light's... what is that about?! We come over here trying to fit in by ordering Guinness, Beamish, anything as long as it's Irish. Little did we know they're drinking Budweiser, Miller Light, even Smirnoff. Well at least it wasn't Natti Light I guess...

My Top 3 Moments of Stupidity (so far):

1. WIPING OUT hard core on the sidewalk along the main road with like 5 brand new friends witnessing the whole thing (not to mention strangers on the street who got a good kick out of it) on our way home the other night... andddd I might as well not lie and tell you that was my second fall of the day. Everyone keeps asking me if I've been abused judging from the 4 large ugly bruises on my left arm. Yes, abused by their lack of street salt.

2. After about 5 solid minutes in the Customer Service line at the grocery store my roommate and I realized we were not in fact in the check out line. Obviously we were laughed at, then I proceeded to get in line for self check out (because I thought that it was all they had), taking maybe 10 minutes to check out 6 items. I was most likely getting a lot of dirty Irish looks from the 5 people waiting in my line but I couldn't look at them because I was so embarrassed.

3. Stepping on what I thought was an escalator... little did I know it was going to all flatten out into practically a 45 degree slope and scare the crap out of me. I thought I was going to fall, but used my instinct defensive lacrosse skills (judy schmidt would be sooo proud) and bent my knees, thankfully keeping my balance.

There are many more where those came from... and I'm sure this won't be the end of it.

Every Girl Should Have a Little Black Drink

It is so weird going from Elon, a place where the driving force against alcohol is so harsh and unnecessary, to a place where alcohol and culture are greatly intertwined and that aspect is acknowledged, accepted and joked about (but what isn't joked about here? I'm beginning to wonder what class is going to be like... wait why am I thinking about class yet?). Our program directors and leaders at the Dublin Business School all encouraged us to go out to the pubs and be social. One man said just that then looked around the room at about 50 tired sad and confused Americans and said "or maybe you've already discovered that..."

Guinness.

Everywhere you look. So yesterday we hike 23043 miles to get on a city bus for a tour of dublin (led by the ever so knowledgeable Nile the great). As we step in Nile asks, "how many of you are sober?" "hee hee hee all of us" "Well that's good cause I'm not." I still think that he was drunk for real. Anyways... after a few stops and a constant stand up show from Nile (why is every single person so funny? Does that mean that Americans aren't that funny?), we enter the tall, majestic grounds of the Guinness Factory, which by the way *fun fact* the Guinness family leases for 45 euro a YEAR on a 9,000 year lease that started in 1759 (aka the world will probably explode by the time the lease is up). We went in the factory for a quick peak and a gander around the gift shop, where I got this for my sad empty box I call my room:

As we're pulling out of the factory down a small alley road, good ol' Nile starts swerving and singing some random irish jig, sneaking in a fake hic-up every minute. "It's a good thing I only had 15 pints, because on the 16th I'm usually drunk." He loves his job. It's perfect.

Last night a group of us from our student apartments walked down the street to a local pub called the Glimmerman, where I had my first pint o' Guinness....and my second.... which would explain why I'm back in bed on my computer right now getting ready for a nap. Orientation was a blast at 10am. After getting lost, finally finding the building, finding out the meeting place had switched, finding the other building, and all the while NOT falling on the 2 inch think sheet of ice that we refer to as a side walk (I DID wipe out eventually... pictures of the bruise I will get tomorrow to follow). As if I don't stick out already... I really need to fall on my bum right outside of a restaurant. Whatever. Met some more Irish peeps last night... they really are the nicest, funniest people I've ever met, genuinely. Everywhere we go we ask people of the street for directions and they'll stop, pull their ipod out, and explain for you, if not actually walk with you. So so sweet!

My guinness it's getting late and my eyes are closing slowly but surely for a great nap. If I get out this cozy haven to shower or go out it will be a miracle.

CHEERS :)

Quay to My Heart

Ahhh the Irish accent... full of sarcasm, charm and the scent of sweet fresh Guinness.

I received this lovely gift from Ms. Brown, my grade school principle, when she found out I was studying abroad. I don't know how, but she knew that I would be in desperate need of some help with a good fake accent... I wish I could say it helped, but I did not get good feedback. This will need some work.

It was like a switch that someone flipped. As soon as our plane landed everyone started speaking with an accent. I was hypnotized by their voices... I wonder if they thought it was weird that I was staring and smiling? nahhh. The guard at customs was a bit more relaxed than I anticipated... As he handed me a card and told me I had to pay 150 euro for extended stay insurance, he smirked and said that if I didn't... "Ehh well next time you come to Errland you'll be locked up for years and beat with a leather strap... ha ha ha..." NOT funny. but oh so charming. OK in the country legally. Next mission: COFFEE. Head to the cafe/bar and ask a nice old man for a cup o joe. He says "coffee? Are you sure you're not ready for a beer? (then muttered something most likely highly sarcastic and full of weird slang). It was 7:45am there. He was quite the wise man... told me all I needed to do to have a good time was go with the Irish flow... he also told me that "tomorrow is a holy day, holier than most... I'm not quite sure why but it is... sunday's are pretty holy... Christmas is pretty damn holy. It's too holy that people don't even act holy anymore. There's too much holiness going on." annnddd I'm out. I just google irelanded it and tomorrow is the day of Epiphany.

Ali, our bus driver, took us down the "Quays" (pronounced "keys:" main streets that run parallel to the Liffey River) to our new apartments downtown Dublin. He single handedly made sure that our luggage fit in our bus, even if it was stacked 6 ft tall all the way down the aisle. Fire hazards were not a huge concern for Ali. After a lot of unpacking, testing the electricity cards (ughhh), shopping for the necessities and getting to know everyone in the program, I fell in love right on the Quays. Yes... approximately 12 hrs into my trip and I'm in love with an irish graphic designer named rob. For the record he does not have red hair. Ok well I might just be in love with the Irish accent.

Taken to Dublin

I told myself I wouldn't watch it, even after countless people suggested it as "friendly advice" to a soon to be study abroader (including my mom). Well somehow this fearfully intense and anxiety attack inducing (and surprisingly really GOOD) movie appeared on Sasha's TV the NIGHT BEFORE I left for Ireland. Of course once it was on I had to see what it was all about, and ever since I stepped foot out of my mom's car at the Cleveland airport I haven't looked a man in the eye without this predictable paranoia... and no I am not flattering myself by being scared of being stolen, and no I'm not holding it against my father that he is not a government agent with incredible martial arts and gun skills. I just keep telling myself that irish men are sooo much nicer than those french jerks. ughhh.

Well good news is through all the taken scares and the mounds of snow, I thankfully made it out of Cleveland and Newark on time. When we got on our humungo plane in Newark I had every intent of passing out right when I buckled up...until I saw the temptress touchscreen TV that had my name all over it, complete with on demand movies, shows, games and music. WHO could ever sleep with that in front of them??! worst idea ever. Dexter, sleep, computer chess, dinner, The Office, sudoku, sleep, music, sudoku, breakfast, watch sunrise over Ireland, land, top o' the mornin!

First sight of Dublin: