So, here I am: procrastinating on my history paper, by procrastinating cleaning my room, by procrastinating the Kilkenny update, by writing an update on this past weekend. It's a long line of procrastination, but whoever told you I'm a girl with my head on straight and my priorities in order was a dirty liar. And if it was me, well, I am a dirty liar. Am I even in Ireland right now? How do you know? [cue suspenseful music]
Okay, no, I am in Ireland. I only lie about funny things (like pretending to be a former nationally-ranked junior figure skater), and in embarrassing situations (like not being able to speak English). I am in Ireland, and since we've established that I ramble like an idiot when I've nothing interesting to say, let's begin with Friday.
It was Salthill: Take II for Megan and I. We took off after our classes on Friday since the weather was nice enough for just a light sweater and even sandals! On the way, we devoured a bag of jelly snakes (which, by the way, may/may not be in the mail soon for all my favorite herp enthusiasts back home). It was a delightful walk, and since it was so warm, we decided to get our toes wet........which, with the incoming tide, meant that our feet, ankles, shins, and knees also got wet. It was more surprising than cold though, as you can see from my face in the picture below--totally candid, I might add.
We walked a little further in our wet shoes, because if there's one thing you should do in Salthill, it's kick the wall. It's a tradition that (apparently) started when this English dude came along and built his house there. The Irish didn't like it, but they couldn't stop it, so they decided to kick it. They figured that if every person went and kicked the wall every day, it'd eventually fall down "by accident" and no one could arrest any one person for the crime. Well, it's still standing, and the people are still kicking. It's a fun tradition and a fun story, but I'm skeptical. For a dirty liar, I'm awfully gullible, so who knows if this is true or not.
my contribution.
After Salthill, it was off to Austrian Night at my friend Sophie's place in the City Center. It was an amazing time. I was hanging out with all these Erasmus students I met at The Crane a few weeks ago at the Trad Fleadh, then I taught their dance lesson as an impromptu substitute for Gillian, then I met more during the Gaelic weekend in Carraroe. Basically, we hung out eating yummy Austrian food and listening to (questionable) Austrian music, whilst Sophie and her friends wore traditional Austrian clothes. I had an excellent time! :)
yummy but blurry schnitzel and kartoffeln!
I didn't really do much on Saturday outside of finish my ice cream, visit the market, and poke around Charlie Byrne's Bookshop, but on Sunday, I went on my first hill walk! At first, I thought I wanted to do the long hike with Sophie, but then the leader convinced me to go on the medium walk with some of the other Erasmus students, but then I psyched myself out looking at the range we'd be walking. Little girl from Ohio = not topography savvy. So, I opted for the short walk, and I'm glad I did. It was still gorgeous, and I could appreciate the beauty because I wasn't dying on my feet, you know? It was a great group of people, too. Here are some pictures from that adventure:
our group at the top!
"in memory of the man who died here during the famine years."
the lake after the sun came out!
if memory serves, we were walking around maumtransa north in co. mayo.
baaaaaa!
It was really an excellent, although tiring experience. You can walk really quite a long distance when you're wandering through the glacial till of Ohio, plus we have paths guiding you and helping your feet. It takes so much energy to get yourself up a hill without a path through a bog trying to find the best way but still keep moving. It was life-changing, really, and I'm only sad I probably won't be able to do it again when I'm over here. My faithful boots, those wonderful things that got me through last year's herptastic spring break and a summer as a Naturalist in the Glen and a rainy semester in Oberlin, have finally kicked it. The soles are peacing out, tearing off from the rest of the shoe, way before I'm ready. So, boo hoo, but I'm glad I had this experience when I did.
(And as a side-note, the title of this post translates directly to "woman of the hills" but it's pronounced "banshee" with a soft d-sound at the end. It's actually where the word "banshee" came from, because in fairy-lore, a woman from the hills would come keen for you upon your death if you were native-Gaelic and had served your people well, but she wouldn't wail for the English. Just your random, interesting factoid of the day.)
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