Surfing in Lahinch

I never understood why so many people loved surfing until last month. Growing up without access to an ocean, I went through the obligatory middle school phase of purchasing my first skateboard, riding around, and jumping off and onto sidewalks. Without ever having gone surfing (and realizing that skateboarding was the terra-based complement of the maritime sport), I was (wrongly) not amused by the idea of riding around on a surfboard toward a sandy beach. After a year’s worth of twisted ankles, cuts, scrapes, and bruises, I gave up the activity, and forgot about it altogether.

In April I visited the west coast town of Lahinch in County Clare with Fagan, a fellow Mitchell, Jonny D., and Sarah M. Unbeknownst to me, Lahinch was a popular destination for Irish people. The town attracts thousands of surfers, kitesurfers, and windsurfers throughout the course of the year. Jonny, who was Fagan’s visiting friend from college, grew up in California and was more familiar with surfing culture. As we soaked in the sunny day and observed the Irish visitors running around the beach, we decided that we would also try to surf.

As we rented our surfboards and wetsuits, the owner of the surf shop meticulously explained how it should work and feel. It sounded simple enough. You ride the wave as it’s approaching, paddle a bit, and as it’s crashing, quickly do a pushup into a standing position. He didn’t mention how tiring the process was. The cold waters were only cold on my exposed hands, and the shining sun kept me warm. In my first attempt I was only quick enough to ‘stand’ on my knees, and unlike skateboarding, falling off was quite simple and seemingly safe. In my second attempt to stand, I fell off sideways and got a mouthful of seawater. I was finally able stand on the board and surf on my third try.

I wasn’t riding alongside a ten-foot wave as you would imagine from watching any typical video footage of surfing. I lacked the long blonde hair surfer look, but I did have the tan (it’s genetic). I was unglamorously floating directly towards the beach trying my best to keep my balance, which was surprisingly not as difficult as I thought before. It felt glorious. Although I imagine it did not look great (who would on a two foot wave?), this was a moment where I realized how unique floating on water on a board feels. The hard surfboard under your feet is not held down to any particular object; it is moving along and resting across a fluid and fluctuating plane. I have always been a fan of frictionless sports. After my partially successful (at best) experience surfing, I added surfing onto my mental favorites list under ‘ice hockey’ and ‘skiing.’

I’m happy to have had this experience before the year ends. I have less than one month left in Ireland. Thankfully, we have a fairly packed year-end experience, which is exciting. In between large group meetings throughout the year, we have constantly visited each other in smaller groups or individually, but it will be good to be together again. We will be traveling to Limerick, which is where Fagan lived and studied, and will return to Dublin for our final ceremony. I always look forward to the following chapter of my life, but I am not quite comfortable with the thought of leaving yet.

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Connemarathon

I always have difficulties with “reflections.”  Thoughts and images that seem so bright and flexible in my mind stiffen when I write them down.  On the page, heartfelt feelings become artificial.

So instead, I’m going to write about the Connemarathon.  The Connemarathon is a race that takes place every year in, yes, Connemara, a wild and rugged landscape less than an hour from my front door in the city Galway.  In April, I ran the half-marathon alongside my husband.  Thousands of people from around the world crowded the winding roads to run the half, full or ultra marathon (39.3 miles) over the course of the morning.  The weather that day was perfect for running: surprisingly dry and mild, but with a refreshing bout of drizzle in the middle.  I am a slow runner (I was lapped by marathoners and ultra-marathoners), but I’d trained, and felt confident I would finish.  After the race, we sat on the grass and ate soup and sandwiches with the other finishers, and watched the Kenyan winner give an interview to the Irish press.  Then we went home on the bus, sweaty but self-satisfied, and I hobbled around Galway with a smug grin for the rest of the week.

The Connemarathon, in its own way, exemplifies what my year in Ireland was all about.  The intense beauty of the course confirmed an insight I’ve suspected from my time in the west of Ireland: that my eyes will never tire of bog, heather, and lambs.  But the race meant so much more to me than that.  I’m a non-athlete (and the family klutz) and wanted to run an intense race to test my boundaries and comfort zone. My year in Ireland started from that same motivation.  I had a terrific path in New York – working as a lawyer in New York – but I wanted to try something new and uncertain.  (That uncertainty continues – I still have no idea where I’ll be living when my course finishes in August.)  Like the half-marathon, in my year as a Mitchell, I found that challenging myself and shaking up preconceptions of my limits, is actually pretty fun.  Not fun in the VH1 meaning of the word, but in the deep satisfaction every person gets from having achieved something she thinks is worthwhile.

I suppose this process of reflecting has its own pleasures as well. “A string of excited, fugitive, miscellaneous pleasures is not happiness,” George Santanaya once said. “[H]appiness resides in imaginative reflection and judgment, when the picture of one’s life, or of human life, as it truly has been or is, satisfies the will, and is gladly accepted.”

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Blaze of Glory

So I feel like it has been a small lifetime since we last spoke. The second half of our year in Ireland started with a mid year retreat in Belfast. Earlier in the year, Stephen, Kyle, and I had met up with Ryan for a weekend in the city. Although we did a bunch of touring we somehow did not spend any time checking out the murals that memorialize much of the troubles faced by the city. I must admit that I have never been a person that is fully moved by art, but seeing the murals of the city you cannot help feel the passion, anger, grief, heartbreak, and spirit that almost tore the city apart while somehow forming the palpable identity of a city in flux. They are incredibly moving and a truly must see for anyone visiting Northern Ireland. On that note, I feel I have been so fortunate this year to see a lot of Europe, but my favorite natural beauty can be found in Northern Ireland (the Aran Islands off the coast of Galway are a close second). The first time I visited the Giant’s Causeway with Kyle, Stephen, and Ryan, I was in awe at the beauty of the cliffs surrounding the water’s face. They are magically green and the way the light glistens off the rock face makes you feel like you are at the end of world. I was so in love with the place that I was a little scared when Jennie told us that we were taking a tour of the Antrim Coast, because I did not want to chance the possibility of losing some of my passion for the place. However, I left the tour more in love and lust with the Coast than before. This trip ended with a double rainbow running over the cliffs just before the heavens were about to open up. It was breathtaking. A huge thank you must go out to Jennie and Trina for planning such a wonderful mid year retreat, and another thank you to Jennie for accompanying us for the weekend. On a sad note, Jennie is leaving the Mitchell Scholars Program soon, and I must say her guidance, support, and love will surely be missed. Thank you so much Jennie for all of your years of service to the Mitchells Scholars Program.

My academic year in Galway has come to a close. I really had a great semester this term, as I got to take two of the most interesting law classes I have ever taken: a class on the Criminal Jury and one of the Theories of Judicial Activism. For all future NUIG students, if you somehow have the opportunity to take a class with the director of the Center for Disability Law and Policy, professor Gerard Quinn, it is a must do. The man is brilliant and so thought provoking. This term we spent the entire semester in “chambers” discussing the Supreme Court opinion we would write on the constitutionality of gay marriage in Ireland, and our final exam for the class asked us to each draft our opinion.

As my academic year has come to a close, so has my Irish sports career. Unfortunately, it did not end in the blaze of glory I hoped. My basketball team lost in the All Ireland finals to DCU, and my boxing career ended way before that. For all future Irish students out there, playing a sport (or 4) was the best thing I did in Ireland. I made so many amazing friendships, was welcomed into wonderful homes, was able to travel the entire country, and got an insight into the Irish culture and people that transformed my year. I am really going to miss all of my teammates, and I thank them for memories I will never forget.

On a brighter note, I am really looking forward to Mitchell graduation. I have not had the opportunity to spend time with my entire class of Mitchells since the mid year retreat, and I really miss them. Trina and Jennie will also be there, so it should be a blast. I will tell you all about it during my next reflection.

Until then,

Joey

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The adventure continues

As January comes to a close, it is hard to believe that we are already on the other half of our time in Ireland. It seems like only yesterday that I ventured onto a Dublin City bus headed for the train station that took me to Maynooth. It has been a wonderful time and our adventures on the Emerald Isle continue.

One of my fondest memories over the last couple of months was preparing for Heather’s and my first Christmas season as a married couple. One weekend, we rented a car and drove an hour south to find our first Christmas tree. We were so early that the man working the farm was unprepared for our arrival. Despite his surprise, we enjoyed roaming the fields in search of the perfect Christmas tree!

Looking for the right tree

What was interesting was the company of some four-legged friends who watched our progress.

Random Sheep in the tree field

It was great to around Christmas trees again! Walking those fields reminded me of my childhood, working on the Christmas tree farm, and coming home smothered in that sweet pine smell and millions of pine needles. Heather and I had a great time looking for the tree that was just right for us. We eventually found it. I have to admit when I went to go cut it down, I missed the chainsaws we used back on the farm. Terrible I know, but I got my lift in for the day.

Found it!

Cutting down the tree

Just like back on the farm

Taking the tree back and then attempting to explain to the car rental company why there was so many pine needles in the car was a bit entertaining. We did get it back though and Heather did a fantastic job of decorating the tree!

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Christmas is such a pleasant time of year, and the atmosphere in Ireland was no different. Walking around downtown Dublin, or even Maynooth, people are scurrying about trying to find the perfect gifts, or simply enjoying some of the decorations surrounding the downtown area. Preparing for Christmas in Ireland was a little interesting in that Christmas decorations become available as soon as Halloween is over. Normally when Americans would be preparing for Thanksgiving, the Irish make preparations for Christmas. This did not stop us from gathering as a class and spending a couple of days to celebrate Thanksgiving. We had a wonderful meal with different dishes prepared by each of the scholars. We ate great that day!

It was in and around this time that Ireland experienced its worst snowfall in years; arguably worst ever. The first of it came down right around Thanksgiving.

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What was interesting was the way the country reacted to it. First, in preparation for the threat of imminent snow fall, I heard stories of last year’s icy winter and the shortage of “grit.” Newspapers started reporting reassuring comments from those in charge that this year’s winter would be different, and different it was. Once the first flakes of snow started to fall, it did not seem to stop till after Christmas. This of course is an exaggeration, but describing how the country reacted to the snow and ice once it was on the ground could not be exaggerated. Though the country claimed to have enough “grit,” it did not stop a layer of ice from forming on many roads, especially the back roads. Schools closed down for over a week and public transportation stopped in certain areas. Despite all the challenges, Heather and I were able to get out and enjoy the chilling beauty that only snow can bring to an area.

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We walked around Maynooth, walked the university grounds, and found time for a few snowballs! There is no doubt it was cold and hard to get around, but we managed to travel into Dublin and stock up on our hot chocolate supply. The one things that we certainly did not stop because of the weather was the school work that needed to be done.

I have learned a great deal about myself over the last few months, especially in regard to my academic responsibilities. Coming to Ireland was a significant change from the regimented system of the Naval Academy. At first this came as a breath of fresh green air, but as the weeks went by I had to learn how to balance all my time with all the things I wanted to do while here in Ireland. My program and the progress of my thesis certainly ranks right at the top of my priorities and areas where I would like to experience the most personal growth. I really enjoy attending the courses throughout the week. It is in these classes that I can put my thoughts and opinions of history and current events to the test. The class discussions we had over the course of the semester taught me a great deal about different perspectives and ways of viewing events or people. The structure of my program affords me a considerable amount of time outside the classroom to work on my thesis. One of the first lessons I learned in writing about history, is to research and write about something that interests you. My research in the South African War in 1899 continues to draw me into its details, leaders, and major events. With us starting the second semester this week, I am looking forward to all that it has to bring.

Outside of academics, I experienced the wonderful world of Irish Rugby. Having never watched a match before, it took quite a bit of explaining to understand the different rules and strategies used by each team. I first went to the Ireland vs. Samoa match with some buddies who had come to visit Dublin from the United Kingdom.

The guys at the match

Aviva Stadium from afar

During the game, though I do not have any pictures to support my claims, the Samoans looked like giants compared to the Irish National team. But, despite the size difference, we end the match victorious! My post-game analysis concluded that I knew very little about rugby, but I was excited to learn more, which meant more rugby! Looking back on the match I noticed that the environment of the game (the fans, cheers, etc.) was not different from what I would have experienced in the United States. We went to the newly built Aviva stadium where the stands were filled, but it was not as packed as I had expected. I was a bit surprised when, after the match, a departing fan told me “the match was no good.” I did not understand him as I had a great time, and Ireland won. It was not until I went to a Munster match in Limerick that I understood, a little better, the difference between an “ok” match and a great one.

Eanna, a close friend in my program, invited Heather and me to travel with him down to Limerick so that we could watch Munster take on the Australian national team. We could not go to Limerick without visiting Fagan so we had dinner with him before we stepped off for the game.

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Everything about that match was incredible! The fans and the intensity of the game (there ended up being three fights) made the experience. We walked into a filled stadium with people on their feet even before the players had walked on to the field. Musicians sang songs while men standing on stilts braved the wind and rain that threatened to blow them over at any moment. Even at half time we were entertained with a group of three men and one of their sons singing “Whiskey in the Jar.” From start to finish we had a great time and, on top of that, Munster ended the match victorious!

Fireworks right before the teams came out

Pre-game music

Australian Stilt Guys

Fight number 2

Heather and Steven at the Stadium

The Final Score! Munster victory!

My time at the Dublin Fire Brigade continues to a great experience and something I look forward to every week. I know I may have said it before, but the more time spend with the fire fighters, the more I recognize the similarities to the Marine Corps. They provide an aspect of home for me that I never thought I would have been able to find in Ireland. Each and everyone of them has taken me into the family. It is a fascinating occupation, with fascinating people. My experiences with the Brigade have exposed me to a side of Ireland that I would not have found anywhere around the university, or anywhere else I might have gone for that matter. These men and women provide a service for Dublin which many times goes unrecognized. It is with these firefighters that I have grown to understand the consequences of the recession in the form of cutbacks. It is from them that I am able to glimpse at how people feel about the current political problems facing Ireland.

In all of our experiences, it seems like over the last couple of months, I have grown closer to the Irish as a people. Initially it was a bit of a challenge to find our place with people as they take time to get to know you; decide how close they want to get. Presently, however, the number of Irish friends I have has grown exponentially. For the month of January it seemed like Heather and I were away each Sunday having dinner at a friend’s house. Even though Heather and I use a prepaid phone service, she teases me that I spend a lot of time texting and talking with friends from school, church, or the fire brigade. The Irish are a wonderful group of people, and I have thoroughly enjoyed establishing lasting relationships and immersing myself in their culture. Heather tells me that I have started talking with a hint of an Irish accent, on top of using words such as “craic, grand, no bother, or whats the story?” I have to admit, I do not notice when it happens, but it does not surprise me. Ireland has very much become home for me, and it will be hard to leave.

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No Longer a Tourist

Every evening these days, we get a knock at the door a little after dinner.  At the door often stand two people, sometimes older, sometimes younger, and they politely ask for a moment of my time.  Am I by any chance voting in the upcoming election?  I have to admit that I’m a bit relieved to tell them that I’m not even eligible to vote, but I’m still interested to hear what they have to say about the issues.  And sometimes we don’t chat about politics at all.  For example, one man who was canvassing for a Fianna Fáil politician told me how he had spent time in Brooklyn, not far from where I used to live, renovating a house belonging to a member of Run DMC.  That’s Ireland for you.  Small country that travels.

Now that I’m more settled here in Galway, I’m beginning to take a deeper interest in the politics of the country.  It’s difficult for a visitor at first to feel a part of the national agenda; you hear the radio stories, read the editorials, but you can’t help but feel at first that you’re still listening to international news.  But then it dawns on you that the state of the Irish economy does affect you, not just because you love the country, but because practical decisions about health care and taxes and immigration have a real effect on your life too.  And that’s when the ears begin to perk up when the news comes on at the top of the hour.

All that is to say that I no longer feel like a tourist in Ireland.  I complain about Irish politics like a Galwegian, but get defensive whenever someone else starts to criticize it.  It’s the same way that you can poke fun at your family, but if someone else does the same– whoa, fighting words.

Along with this new sense of belonging has come a certain, easy routine to my days.  I know which brand of muesli I like, the pubs in Galway with the best snugs, the right place for tea and cake after class, and when foreign films are shown at the local theater.  I run down the Salthill promenade and kick the wall along with everyone else.  My classmates, too, are becoming more familiar; our classes now have the sort of merry feel about them that makes the university a cozy place to be on the dark and rainy afternoons.  Paul and I have lots of visitors these days, and we take them on a zippy tour of Connemara, having narrowed down the grand tour to the highlights (which inevitably include a pot of tea somewhere.)  We’ve made the long and winding trip to the Burren to see Father Ted’s parochial house, and took a photo.

Oddly, the new familiarity with Ireland comes at a time when I have to start to think of what happens for me post-Mitchell.  I hate that I always have to think of my next move before I even have a chance to finish the last one.  I know I’ll be in Ireland at least through June, but where will I be after that?  As Ireland enters an unknowable chapter in its history, for better or worse, I’ll be entering one of my own.

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In Dublin’s Fair City…

An American, a Czech, two Germans, and a Kosovan walk into a bar…  This isn’t the start to a joke; it’s a Friday night in Dublin.  Though the Irish are said to have left the island in droves since the end of the Celtic Tiger, international students continue to cross the Irish Sea to study in Irish universities.  Three-fourths of my M.Sc. program is comprised of international students.  Granted, it is a global health program and more of an international than Irish issue; however, of all the universities in all the towns in all the world, the students came to Dublin to study.  Consequently, the pub frequently resembles a miniature model UN on Friday night.  I have a group of friends that includes Americans and Germans, people from France, the Czech Republic and Kosovo, with the occasional Irish, Welsh, and Canadian mixed in.  Our conversations cover topics ranging from Neo-Nazis in Germany and Spain’s objections to Kosovo to U.S.-Israel relations and bizarre English words.  This is why I am here.  Above all, the Mitchell Scholarship is intended build U.S.-Irish relations, but the intersection at Trinity in Dublin City Centre is one of the proverbial crossroads of the world.

Having the opportunity to study global health in that environment has been incredible.  Not only am I taught by experts from across Ireland and Europe, but also I work with classmates with firsthand experience improving health in countries around the world.  Together we attended the Irish Forum for Global Health’s biannual conference in Maynooth, exploring “Partnerships to Address Health and Diseases of Poverty.”  I spent a summer in Washington, D.C. working with Congress to address diseases of poverty, and adding European perspective to my previous work is an invaluable experience.

After months of stressful thought, my international experience has finally given way to a topic for my dissertation: exploring the role of health within U.S. foreign policy.  Since working in Washington, I have developed a strong desire to work in health policy.  This new experience of living in Europe has given way to a new desire: to work in foreign health policy.  The past fifty years has seen unprecedented improvements in global health.  In the past decade alone, the emergence of new players such as the Gates Foundation, the Gavi Alliance, and the Global Fund have transformed the way that international aid is allocated and directed toward the improvement of health.  There is nothing but opportunity and potential in the global health arena, and so much to be done.  My Mitchell experience has definitely honed my idea of what I want to do with my career.

While my time in Ireland has been wonderful, there are a few bones I have to pick.  The Irish really do not know how to make a proper cup of coffee.  They mix espresso with water, call it an “Americano,” and think it is lovely.  I disagree.  It was 70 degrees at home in Atlanta the other day, but I don’t know what that feels like anymore.  One other thing – the King of Beers should not cost 7 euro.  Ever.

Overall, these past few months have been incredible.  Aside from new friends and career path, I have had amazing experiences.  I have seen more snow while living in Dublin than in my entire life. On Thursday nights, I frequent Casa Sifuentes out in Maynooth for a variety of international cuisine.  Heather and Steven are great friends and hosts.  One evening sitting around their faux fire, we made the impulsive decision to hire a car and trek out west to visit the Cliffs of Moher, the Burren, and Kylemore Abbey.  I liked it so much – and my girlfriend was so jealous – that two weeks later I made the trip again with her.  That week, we visited the Aras an Uachtarain (Irish White House), Guinness, and had a very Mitchell Thanksgiving in Dublin with friends.  This past week I visited Bray and the Powerscourt Estate, and next week I will attend a Super Bowl party at the American Embassy.

I have only a few months left in Ireland.  In just a couple of weeks, I will tell my global health classmates goodbye and begin working diligently on my dissertation.  It is truly remarkable how quickly time has flown by.  Here’s to making the most of the time we have left together.  Cheers.

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Bloody Sunday

Last Sunday, I attended the annual march to commemorate the events of Bloody Sunday, 39 years ago to the day when the British army shot unarmed civilians protesting for their civil rights in here Northern Ireland. As I walked up to the Creggan for the start of the march, I can recall praying that history would not repeat itself that day—a Sunday—as pro-democracy demonstrators continued to make a stand for their civil rights and freedom from an oppressive government thousands of miles away, in Cairo. Since the previous Friday, I had been glued to the news from Egypt, so it felt especially healthy for me to leave the flat to get some fresh air and take part in this historic and meaningful commemoration here in Derry.

This was the first commemoration march since the Saville Inquiry was released, which cleared those killed on Bloody Sunday of wrongdoing. In June 2010, British Prime Minister David Cameron apologized on behalf of the British government, and it was reported that the families and communities of those injured or killed largely felt “vindicated.” As such, for the first time, this year’s march was to continue to its intended destination, Guildhall Square, as a symbolic tribute that the demonstration could finally end. Not all accept this alteration; some families disagreed and want the march to continue annually. This disagreement raises some deeply philosophical questions about dealing with the past and pursuing difficult, dissonant ideas such as truth, justice, and reconciliation, concepts that I am continuing to contemplate.

(My video of the march. Special thanks to Flipcam and Cisco):

The march began amidst marching music, flags, and banners. Last semester in one of my core modules on the Northern Ireland Conflict, I learned a great deal about the significance of events surrounding Bloody Sunday. However, marching amongst thousands of people connected the event with the human voices and stories that can often remain obscured by “big-picture” elements (e.g., political battles). Certainly, the combination of the two made the event even more moving for me.

I found a friend in the crowd, a pleasant chap in his late-30s and veteran of the Civil Rights Movement in Northern Ireland named Deaglán, who had me over to his flat a few months ago for dinner. After our meal, I examined a few prized items on his mantle. What missed my eye at first was something Deaglán picked up and showed me. “This was a rubber bullet I was shot with,” he said. “During the Troubles, I had a German journalist friend who got caught up in the crossfire. I had to go out and pull him back…”

He handed me the rubber bullet. The weight of it caught me off guard—it was heavy and it was huge. I shook my head at my own ignorance; I had previously imagined rubber bullets as a mere annoyance that protestors might brush off. Not so. The object I held in my hand was capable of serious damage. Deaglán confirmed this; “When I was running back filled with adrenaline, I didn’t feel anything, but I must have been shot in the back. For the next two months this was all black-and-blue,” he said, motioning across his entire back.

As I walked home that evening, I reflected on the sacrifice those that fight for their rights and freedom make. Months later, I would think about the use of rubber bullets on demonstrators in Cairo and shudder in pain, recalling the bullet I held in Derry. Sometimes the downside of an academic approach to learning about peace and conflict is that it can miss these moving stories, the ones that touch your heart and soul.

Back at the Bloody Sunday march, Deaglán walked next to me for a while, asking in a low voice about the situation in Cairo (where friends, family, and my girlfriend all live). I explained what I knew from the news and from on-the-ground stories, and what I hoped might play out in the coming days. He listened quietly and nodded, knowingly, at parts. Rather than responding with an unexamined cheer for “The Revolution,” his first-hand knowledge of struggle resulted in a more grounded reply, wishing the people of Egypt strength in their long struggle ahead, and voicing his belief that unified people can never be defeated. As we parted, he did say words that I have been turning over in my head since, “These are good times, too. They are fighting for their freedom, and that is a feeling of being truly alive.”

That Sunday, thank God, there was no “Bloody Sunday” massacre in Cairo. The people of Egypt continued to demonstrate in overwhelmingly positive and peaceful ways, cheering and chanting with their newfound freedoms, and demanding their rights and their freedom. The atmosphere at Midan Tahrir (which means “Liberation Square” in Arabic) was joyful and festive and filled with the beautiful diversity of Egypt’s demographics side-by-side: rich and poor, Muslim and Christian, women and men, old and young. Families were out, picnicking and singing, and hope was in the air.

In the days following, the situation deteriorated rapidly. The oppressive ruling regime sponsored a brutal, violent crackdown on the demonstrators and journalists that continues as I write. With new media (e.g., Twitter) I am able to feel connected directly with those on the front lines and hear their voices as events unfolded. The struggle for freedom against tyranny has produced a candid array of voices of fear, panic, and appeals for help, which tear at my heart as I read and listen. Yet, at the darkest hour, there are moments that display the deepest goodness of humanity—compassion and unity that can overcome the hunger, the pain, the fear. Much of my hope lies in what Deaglán told me, words I continue to turn over in my mind, that the fight for dignity and freedom is to feel alive.

I heard echoes of this idea in a February 3rd email to The Guardian by Amr Sabry, an Egyptian demonstrator: “My last visit to Tahrir Square on February 1 was like a dream, the most beautiful dream I do not even have the ambition to see in my sleep. After yesterday’s very scary crackdown, I am shocked to the bones… I have seen a corridor leading to the light of day, I tasted freedom for one day, and it was like discovering a sixth sense. Tonight the Egyptian people all will not sleep, fear is occupying their beds, a large monster, but the millions who has come out on February 1st, can give you a definition to freedom, that I am sure you don’t even know exists, you the people of the civilised world.”

This is not to romanticize the struggles for civil rights and freedom in Egypt and in Northern Ireland, but rather to offer the humble notion of just how significant a barrier the status of an outsider to conflict can be. This is troubling to the notion of studying peacebuilding, as lived experiences of those within the conflict are difficult to grasp by those outside of it. We might use the same concepts/words (e.g., peace, freedom) but suffer from a cognitive dissonance in meaning. Moreover, we can walk away at the end of the day and decide to stop listening; those within a conflict do not have that luxury. The families of those killed on Bloody Sunday may not be able to “draw a line in the past” as quickly as those not directly affected are able to; the demonstrators fighting for “freedom” in Cairo must have a channel to express what that concept explicitly means for them. While I can see possible, meaningful roles for peacemakers outside of these conflicts, the limitations should not be underestimated.

With that, I leave you at the midway point of my degree in Peace and Conflict Studies: generally at peace, but internally conflicted.

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And Away I went

Robert Louis Stevenson said “I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake.  The great affair is to move.”  Those are words I have tried to live by in the second part of my Mitchell adventure. Since I last wrote, I have become very familiar with the Citylink bus schedule and the 208 kilometers between Galway and the Dublin Airport. My travels have taken me to long weekends in Rome, Madrid, Munich, Amsterdam, and Brussels. Kyle has been my travel companion for many of these adventures, and since neither one of us are huge on logistics every day we have spent in a new city has ended with unexpected and wonderfully entertaining adventures. A couple of highlights include going for a morning run in Rome and literally running into the Colosseum (if there is any better way to improve your running pace than to picture throngs of Romans heading into the Colosseum to see gladiators battle for their lives I have yet to find it), jumping off the high dive and swimming in the same pool that Mark Spitz won seven gold medals at the infamous 1972 Munich Olympics (this continued my adherence to my year long rule of swimming in every body of water I come across), getting to see my first European soccer match in front of a raucous crowd in Madrid, walking through Anne Frank’s hiding place in Amsterdam, and spending lazy afternoons at spectacular Christmas markets (although I am truly biased towards the unique combination of chocolate macaroons, cannolis, ostrich burgers, and live renditions of “Fairytale of New York” that I got to experience every day in Galway’s Christmas market).

As a reformed athlete I have also made it my mission to find a gym in every European city that I have traveled to, and I have had some of my most entertaining experiences while hanging out in the morning by various squat racks (in my humble opinion Amsterdam, strangely enough, has the best gym facilities in Europe). From conversations with the Attorney General of Australia to a Belgian chocolatier, I have learned more about the history and culture of the places I have traveled to and received advice on all the local hotspots by hanging in the gym. And while I fully support taking tours and pub crawling your way through new cities, I must say that this gym hopping idea could get some serious traction.

While on the subject of gyms, my Irish athletic career is still going strong. The basketball season has really taken off, and my Galway University team is going to be a real force to be reckoned with come the inter-varsity championship. All my sports commitments have also been another great way to travel Ireland, and getting my Irish teammates to regale me with family stories of the various towns we play in is a real treat. I must admit though that my boxing career has come to an end without me having my “dare to be great” Rocky moment. My last match ended in an easy decision for the judges, and I made a promise to someone back home that I would retire my boxing gloves before too much damage was done to my face and brain. I think I may replace my boxing training with an April marathon through the breathtaking Connemara Mountains.

My family (minus one of my brothers) also recently made the trip to Ireland. It was great to see them and show them where I have spent the last months. During the days we traveled to many Galway-accessible sites, including the Aran Islands and Kylemore Abby, and at night I showed them how Galway truly shines with a pint of Guinness, some live music, and great conversation by a warm fire. It was a truly memorable trip, and the smiles and laughs that were shared will last a lifetime. So I would just like to thank my family for making the trip to see me. I love you all so much.

I was also very excited for my family to visit, because December brought a harshness to Ireland that I had not yet seen. It was the coldest December in the history of Ireland (so cold in fact that I have taken up crocheting in an attempt to keep myself somewhat warm), and I think it was pretty reflective of the mood of many classmates since England has been called in to bail out the Irish economy. I am in an LLM program this year, so all my classmates already possess their law degrees. It has been really interesting to see the change in their desire to stay in Ireland since the year has progressed. At the beginning of the semester, most of my classmates were excited to find jobs within the Irish legal community after the year ended. Now everyone has been asking for advice on how to get a job abroad in either the United States or Australia. What has also been interesting is that I spend my days with my very young classmates, but my nights hanging out in an “old man” pub. During the day, I hear my classmates blame their elder generation for the current state of the economy and express an unwillingness to fix problems they did not create, but at night my elderly friends tell me how easy my classmates have it and that they should be ashamed to even think about leaving the country. I have no idea which side is correct (maybe they both are), but there is a very real generational divide right now in how the country should move forward.

One last aside before I leave you. With the Super Bowl one week away, I must tell you about my meeting with Ambassador Rooney (who also owns the Steelers). Steven Sifuentes invited Yongjun and me to attend the Dublin Marine Corp ball with his wife, Heather, and him. Besides getting to see Steven tear it up on the dance floor, we all got to meet Ambassador Rooney. I had this idea that if we got to meet him, I could convince the Ambassador to take me to Pittsburgh with him to watch his Steelers in action. Apparently, I am not that charming or charismatic, because although he politely laughed at my proposal, I am still waiting for my Dublin-to-North Texas invitation for the Superbowl.

Until then,

Joey

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A Scattered Traveling Reflection

For the first few weeks in Ireland, I successfully hid my identity as a naval officer through my beard and hair. This was useful because there is a man in my program from Baghdad. Both of us are foreigners on Irish soil so we became friends and tended to sit next to each other in lectures. He knows I am from the States and am married, but I have revealed little else to him. Instead I prefer to ask him about his life in Baghdad over the past many years. I have not learned much to write about yet, but I will say he is tremendously generous and every time I sneeze in class he puts a new tissue on my desk from his pocket. There is also a man from Tokyo. He studied journalism as an undergrad as he is hoping to use a degree in security and conflict to aid his understanding of the subjects he reports and writes about. I asked him if the American military bases on his home islands are frustrating to him. He retorted that Japan needed the US presence and wished that the US base in Okinawa would not be closed.

I recently traveled to Belfast with some other Mitchell scholars to see the sights in Northern Ireland. Our bus driver was a retired police officer in the Royal Ulster Constabulary from 1977 to 2001. As you can imagine, he saw himself, as well as Northern Ireland, as British territory. He was almost militant about it. Terrorism is significantly down in the area and has been reduced to gangs of thugs; both Unionists and Nationalists unite on the depravity of terrorism.

The police in Northern Ireland do not put up with anything. On Saturday night we were walking to our hostel around midnight and a small police van was driving by. An intoxicated, young man gave the police the bird. Immediately the van pulled over and four armed officers jumped out and chased after the drunkard. It was a matter of seconds before he was apprehended and given a strong warning from the officers. Although entertaining, it was a strong example to me of police presence in Northern Ireland.

Southern Ireland is a mix of growth and history. Steven Sifuentes and I played a round of golf on Mahon Point outside the small city of Cork. To the right of the fifteenth tee are the ruins of a small castle. Just beyond the castle is a river bed that smelled of seaweed and compost. Across the river was a herd of cattle grazing on an expansive pasture. To our left was Cork’s main highway that was protected from stray golf balls by a few hundred yards of netting. German-made trucks rumbled by as I attempted to hit the ball straight. The trucks were loud, but I can only blame myself for driving two balls into the river.

My class of Mitchell Scholars traveled to the home of Rory O’Connell, one of Ireland’s famous chefs. He spent four hours teaching us how to prepare a four course meal of Irish classics like soda bread, spinach and chard soup, homemade mayonnaise, and leg of lamb. We enjoyed our meal with a view of Rory’s colorful and manicured garden.

This same weekend we met at the house of  Mrs. Wilson, who talked about Irish political history. That afternoon we ventured to the town of Cobh, pronounce Cove, to see St. Colman’s Cathedral with its disproportionately large spire and the memorial to the 1198 people who lost their lives in the sinking of the Lusitania six miles off the coast of Ireland.

It can be hard to exit the subway at Piazza Duomo in Milan. About ten steps from the top and Milan’s main cathedral comes into view. Its detailed sculptures, enormous size, and white stone façade stopped me in my place. My friend, traveling buddy, and fellow Mitchell Scholar, Stephen Dorner of Georgia was similarly impressed. After gazing at the church and dealing with African immigrants selling bracelets, who would not take no for an answer, we sat down at an outdoor café to have pizza for breakfast. We were in Italy and felt like it was the right thing to do. The café was on Piazza Duomo and we stared at the church for half an hour while enjoying our breakfast.

After breakfast, I attended my first Catholic mass. Stephen explained everything that happening even though the service was in Italian. He went up for the Eucharist while I watched him and thousands of others go up to the altar.

That afternoon we stumbled across a Leonardo da Vinci museum where many of his sketches of war machines were on display. I must have spent an hour gazing at artwork that he might have thought was simple doodling.

For dinner we walked to the Navigili district in south Milan and had a pasta buffet alongside a dried up canal. Our waitress was from El Salvador, and Stephen enjoyed speaking Spanish with her.

On the next day of our trip we took a train to Lake Como on the border of Italy and Switzerland. We walked around the lake and grazed at different cafes. Prosciutto Panini’s were only two euro and lunch was a local meal, peccheralio, a dish of potato pasta and eggplant. We took a boat cruise around the lake, and I enjoyed being out on the water.

I cannot decide if I felt more energy during the hat toss at graduation from the Naval Academy, or in the FC Barcelona stadium for the most important game of their season. I will go with the latter because it is so fresh in my mind. Ryan Merola, a NYPD intel-analyst and fellow Mitchell Scholar, traveled with me to Barcelona this past weekend. The highlight was Saturday night’s soccer game pitting no.4 Barcelona against no.1 Valencia. The mammoth concrete colosseum shook under the feet of leaping fans when Puyol buried Barca’s second goal, giving Barca a lead they never relinquished.

The culture of Barca football is like nothing I have encountered. Camden Yards was empty this summer while Barca’s stadium sells out at 85 Euro a ticket. For all ninety minutes, every time the opposing team’s goaltender touched the ball, 80,000 fans heckled and booed.

My Spanish professor recommended place called La Cataluna Cervercia. On Friday we ordered patatas bravas, two flautas, an egg omelet, and the house wine. The patatas bravas were lighted fried potatoes with a spicy mayonnaise and house sauce. The flautas were crunchy sandwiches easily finished in four bites. The egg omelet was perfectly round and lightly grilled. It felt apart in my mouth and tasted delicious. On Saturday before the game we ventured there again and ordered patatas bravas as well as a tapas with goat cheese and peppers.

Getting to and from Barcelona I had to take a regional train, Renfe. Each way it coasted along the Mediterranean coastline, exposing beaches and old Spanish towns.

I never thought ghosts were real, but the underground city of Edinburgh forced me to evaluate my belief. The Scottish government constructed a building starting on the fourth floor of a medieval apartment structure. Stephen Dorner and I took a tour of the city underneath the city, known as Mary King’s Close, and heard ghost stories about little girls who died of the bubonic plague. In the 1200’s a symbol a wealth was the ability to put plaster on your walls. As I was leaning up against the wall, our tour guide informed me that the plaster was made of water, horse hair, and cremated human remains. I bounced off the wall.

Edinburgh Castle is a magical fort, perched atop a cliff over-looking the city. This Scottish bastion unsuccessfully tried to protect its residents from English invaders, and it is now home to several museums. The best is a display of the Royal Scots Dragoons, the Scottish Calvary Unit which fought for the British monarchy in every British war. And there were many. My favorite part was the militaristic bagpipe music which has been a part of the Scottish military tradition for centuries.

Stephen and I hiked to the top of Arthur’s seat on Saturday morning, a small hill near the Queen’s Palace at the bottom of the Royal Mile. It took some serious climbing but the view at the top was all encompassing. We could see the old city and the Atlantic Ocean. We sat at the top, freezing our butts off, but enjoying the scenery. Mountain tops have a special place in my heart, as I think they do for most adventurous people. If someone says they don’t like mountain tops then I think they haven’t climbed enough mountains.

St. Giles Cathedral, where John Knox preached for over a decade, was a joy to visit. The Protestant symbolism captured in the stained glass and the imposing Gothic architecture was a joy to sit and take in on a rainy Saturday morning. The next day, I went to the 8-am Communion service where I was one of ten people present. The pastor discussed the story of the woman at the well and the nature of the living water. We then took Communion in the Anglican style, in that we all stood around the alter and passed the bread and the cup. People were welcoming even though I was obviously the new guy. They have been attending this service all their lives, and for one hour I got to see a glimpse of their tradition.

After church I took a tour of the Scottish Highlands. The highlight was a boat trip on Loch Katrina, the fresh water supply for Glasgow. The boat was one hundred years old and the only one on the twelve mile long lake. Restricting the type and number of boats is the only way to keep the water fresh. I sat next to a retired Sergeant in the British Army, and we chatted about our lives and where we had been.

At my hostel I met a traveler from Tasmania. We didn’t chat much but she was the first Tasmanian I have ever met.

Ireland has become a temporary home. I feel most at peace when I am with Nicki, but since I can’t have that now, the Emerald Isle is good for me.

During Thanksgiving, one of the largest protests in Ireland’s history took place in the streets of Dublin. My school buddy, Ronan Sweeney, and I got to the front of the march that was supposedly 100,000 strong. The event was peaceful as we were surrounded by children and the elderly. An Irishman I had Thanksgiving with expressed to me the sentiment that Ireland was back in its normal place; oppressed with a loss of sovereignty to outside powers. But this time, it was of their own making. Even in these hard times with demonstrations and calls for socialism, the Guinness flows and the pubs are open. These are the constants of Irish culture.

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Travel and thought

We are well into the second semester, and we’ve settled into an academic groove here in Limerick.  Last semester started slowly but finished strong with a grueling set of final examinations, lengthy papers and tough presentations.  Without a doubt, the intensity of the latter half of the first semester has spilled over into the second.

My studies in Human Rights in Criminal Justice are fascinating.  As we pull apart, and examine, the international legal system in an age of terror, we also study how elements in the international system struggle to balance notions of liberty, security and equality.  As I home in on a topic for my course dissertation, I am compelled by the tangled, and often messy, debates taking place within the international legal community around issues like terrorism and the global drug trade.  In some ways, these debates are frightening because they reveal how imperfect – and sometimes, how inadequate – our responses are to the modern challenges of the 21st century.  But these debates are also invigorating because they reveal the many ways in which we can shape and impact the future.

Equally interesting are the viewpoints and opinions held by my Irish classmates.  Despite the fact that terrorism has long been a part of Irish life, my peers, on the whole, tend toward the left in their political viewpoints:  they vehemently disapprove of the authoritative, muscular States that have emerged in response to the global “war on terror.”  Discussing these matters while also representing the challenges we are confronting at home, in America, in our own “war on terror” has made for interesting discussion in both the classroom and in the campus pub.

Another highlight of the last few months has been travel.  I’ve had the opportunity to explore more of Europe (England, France and Italy) and more recently, Central America (Mexico).  In the coming months, I am looking forward to traveling (again) to Northern Ireland and for the first time, to Belgium.  I am most looking forward to seeing the other Mitchell Scholars again, soon (my life in Limerick is quiet; our Mitchell cohort is…energetic).   The all-time highlight of my time here in Ireland has been organized events with other Mitchell Scholars.  We’ve had tremendous opportunity to enjoy the island (cooking classes in Cork, Guinness Brewery in Dublin) and have been lucky to spend time with a number of Irish luminaries and dignitaries (talking about you, Paul).

On the whole, the last several months have been about broadening my personal horizons through thought and travel.  With trips to N. Ireland and to Belgium rapidly approaching and with my dissertation taking shape (and an increasing amount of time), I am looking forward to more of both.

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Dublin Marine Corps Ball

I am in disbelief that more than half of my Mitchell year has already passed. Apart from a calm and snowy two week period in December, time spent on course work, with new friends, and with Mitchell Scholars has kept me busy.
In November, I had the privilege of attending the 235th Marine Corps Birthday Ball in Dublin with Steven Sifuentes, his wife Heather, and Joey Graziano. The ball began with drinks, introductions with the Marine Corps soldiers stationed in Dublin, and a video presentation of the history of the Marine Corps by General James Amos, the current Commandant of the Marine Corps. The presentation included black and white images and video footage of Marines in the Korean War to present-day Marine Corps operations.
Despite my Korean heritage, my historical understanding of American involvement in South Korea is not as comprehensive as I would like it to be. The video was an important reminder that I may never have been an American if President Truman had not decided to enter the Korean War. Before the closing of the 38th parallel, my maternal grandfather and his family left their hometown in North Korea to enter and remain in South Korea for the rest of their lives. My paternal grandfather may not have been able to grow his business in a communist South Korea, which would have impacted their ability to send their son, my father, to study in America. The Americans’ traveling to fight in Korea also brought with them the idea of the ‘American dream.’ My parents eventually took one giant step toward that dream by moving to the United States and—having never forgotten their cultural history—they have continued to work towards their goals.
America’s foreign policy has undeniably effected tremendous changes throughout the course of history. I grew up in small-town Indiana surrounded by anti-government neoliberalism and attended college with left-wing anti-establishment pacifists. What will forever remain unchanged is my respect for those Americans who served in Korea, which led to my growing up in the United States. Unfortunately, we may not know the long-term impact of American military intervention in Iraq and Afghanistan for some time, but the Marines that I met have sacrificed their time, energy, and lives with hopes for a more stabilized region. Although nothing will bring back the lives that were lost in these wars, I hope that our intervention will eventually lead towards positive effects for Afghans, Iraqis, and Americans alike. Whether it was the September 11th attacks, President Bush’s request for support, or Christopher Hitchens’ justifications for entering Iraq, and regardless of the climate of fear that existed in the last decade, these soldiers enlisted to offer their assistance in defending our country from serious anti-American militants.
The Mitchell Scholarship has not only offered me this opportunity to better recognize Irish life, but has also pushed me to learn more about military issues since both Steven and Kyle are serving. In the next few weeks I will meet them again along with all the other Mitchell Scholars in Belfast, and I assume we will start new conversations about American and Irish politics, our respective Irish experiences, the ongoing Middle Eastern revolution, and other global affairs.

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A New Home

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Sheep Auction

Cliffs of Moher

What can I say that pictures cannot?  They describe family, friends, travel, and experiences that I can never hope to convey in words. Heather and I arrived in Ireland at the beginning of September and have loved every moment of being here. It has not been without its changes, but the meshing of the two different cultures is a welcomed experience.  Ireland is a beautiful country with wonderful people.

We started our journey flying out of Washington Dulles International on September 1st The red-eye flight landed us in Dublin early in the morning of the 2nd. Originally from Washington State, walking outside to cloudy skies and the feeling that it might rain was, in a strange way, a comforting feeling of home. Yet we were still in another country, and we some how had to get ourselves and the ridiculously large bags we brought with us onto the bus, then onto the train, then to our new apartment somewhere in Maynooth, County Kildare. The size and number of bags we brought with us was our first lesson of living in Ireland: we brought too much with us! We had four large suitcases, two carry-ons, plus a personal bag each. One would not believe the number of stares we received as we managed our way out of the airport to the bus terminal. The bus driver looked in disbelief as we hauled our luggage onto the bus, filling up the only space there was available for bags. We told him where we wanted to go and he said he would “give us a shout” when it was time for us to get off.

The train station was an even more humorous adventure as it was hardly distinguishable from the outside, not to mention the very narrow pedestrian bridge we had to cross in order to get to the correct platform. Once in Maynooth, getting the six bags across another bridge proved just as entertaining as the first, but we had made it to our new town and our new home.

Home in Maynooth

Home in Maynooth

Home in Maynooth

Home in Maynooth

Home in Maynooth

It was surprisingly easy for both Heather and me to make our small apartment in Maynooth home. With three different grocery stores and a number of small restaurants, Maynooth is a wonderfully small town that really provides everything we could possibly need. Having decided to not get a car while in Ireland, we walk everywhere we go. I have to admit, there is not quite as much to do socially in Maynooth, aside from four or five pubs, but that is what is so great about where Maynooth is situated in relation to Dublin. Whether by rail or bus, we can get to Dublin in about an hour or less. There is lots to see and do around Dublin’s center, on top of the fascinating history that is still visible just walking around. At the General Post Office, for example, bullet holes from the 1916 Easter Rising still remain in the pillars at the front of the building!

I have not been stationary since living here and have made every effort to see the country as much as possible. Within the two weeks of being in country, we traveled twice out to Galway to visit Joey. Taking a few of the different local tours in Galway, we had the chance to see the Cliffs of Moher, the BurrenConnemara, The Kylemore Abbey, the Arran Islands, so much more. The pictures tell it all, but these places contain a beauty and majesty that I have seen only a few times in my life. Check out some of the slideshows below for pictures from all our trips.

Cobh

Heather and I did not make all these trips on our own. Throughout the pictures there are many of the first friends we made in the Mitchell Program: the other scholars. It was great coming to another country with eight good friends. It has been a blast getting to know the other scholars! Heather and I are fortunate that we live close to a few, and not too far away from the others. During the Convocation in Cork, we gathered for the first time since our initial meeting in Washington D.C. I had a great time getting to know the other scholars, and I have enjoyed getting to know them better since. We go out to eat together, travel together, and have a great time. While in Cork, we spent some time at the Ballymaloe Cooking School watching a culinary master make a delicious meal. I had a great time there! We also traveled out to Cobh where we learned a great deal about it history from Mrs. Wilson. It was a charming small town on the water. Experiences like those two made it a wonderful weekend with the other scholars.

The scenery around Ireland is unbelievable, and with every place we went, there was a story that came along with it. The picture below is of a cottage on the Arran Islands that we passed. As we were passing the cottage, our driver told us about the “Daylight Tax” that existed for a time while the British were in Ireland. People would be taxed for based on the number of windows they had in their cottages. So it was either pay the tax, or brick up the windows and deal with less light.

Arran Islands

Out in Connemara, we passed this beautiful stream that fed into a lake on the other side of the lake. I cannot remember the name of the lake, but if you look closely, there is a little house on the edge of the water. It was in this building that an government official would live in order to watch for and prevent people from fishing the lake.

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During the famine in Ireland, walls like the one below were built around the Burren, and other places in Ireland, in order to provide work to the Irish. We saw these walls everywhere and the interesting thing is that they served no functional purpose besides providing jobs.

The Burren

The Burren

[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lMO1BE29Zfk[/youtube]

The tours we took were awesome. It was great to hear about the different places we passed and the stories that described their history. Better than that, we we were learning from people whose ancestors were a part of that history.

Traveling is not all that I do. We have just been able to do quite a bit because we arrived in country three weeks before my program at the National University of Ireland even started. My program has been equally as enjoyable as living in Ireland, and it is exactly what I was looking for coming from the Naval Academy. Many of my instructors teach at both the university and  the Irish Command and Staff College. There is also a number of students in the program who are members of the Irish Defense Forces. The diversity of the students allows for really interesting discussions and perspectives different from what I might experience in a master’s program in the U.S. The material is interesting, as it covers a broad range of strategic theory and issues. We will receive approval for our thesis proposals soon.

One of the aspects of living in Ireland that has been particularly interesting has been getting to know the Irish people. They are a warm and welcoming group of people. I have already made a few Irish friends from my program, and actually had one over for dinner a couple weeks ago. Outside of school, I have made a number of other friends in Ireland, in particular with guys from the Dublin Fire Brigade.

A couple of weeks after arriving, we were encouraged to seek out an internship in an area or field that interested us. With my background being that of an infantry Marine, I looked for something similar to that of the Marine Corps. Through the U.S.-Ireland Alliance, I was able to secure an internship with the Dublin Fire Brigade, which has been one of the most interesting things I have done thus far in Ireland. Serving strictly as an observer, I have been able to integrate myself with the different members of the DFB. The organization and brotherhood is quite similar to that of the Marine Corps, and I have to admit to a certain feeling of home that I thought I would not have in Ireland. They are a great group of men, now friends, whom share a common interest in service and familial relationships that develop due to the nature of the service they provide.

Business hours for a coffee shop in Galway

Irish Time

Arran Islands

Arran Islands

Cobh

Cobh

All in all, Ireland is wonderful and exciting place to live. I am fortunate to be apart of this program and have the opportunity to assimilate myself within the Irish culture and people. Already, time has flown by, but not without having experienced the beauty of Ireland’s landscape, the welcome of Ireland’s people, and the promise of many more amazing experiences. Continue reading

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