Yo, Belfast! How YOU doin’?

Posted on December 8, 2010 by Ryan Merola - Queen's University, Belfast

Ecoutez et Ecrivez

Let me start by stating the obvious: I’m one lucky son of a gun, as my grandfather would say. Returning from a weekend in Barcelona where I attended my first ever football match (FC Barcelona 2 – Valencia 1), organized by Kyle Krieger (pronounced in my native tongue as Kree-GUH), I think this is the perfect time to reflect on the first leg of my time in Northern Ireland as a Mitchell Scholar.  For anyone wondering why I’m writing this on the plane ride home instead of sleeping, which I need to do at some point, I’d direct your attention to Season 2, Episode 7 of the West Wing (yes, I’m a West Wing nerd, and thankfully so are a ton of people I’m in school with in Belfast), where Jed Bartlett asks Sam Seaborn to rephrase his reason for loving long plane flights, and Sam pointedly concludes that on planes, unburdened by the ground, we can “be poets.”  Anyone in my family or friends’ circles who read my early attempts at poetry and non-academic prose would know that when it comes to personal reflection I need all the help I can get, so here’s to hoping that flying above the Earth helps this reflection.

I’m titling this post as a head nod to a former chief in the New York City Police Department (NYPD) who mentored me for a time. Very early on at the NYPD, this chief sat down at my desk and told me the most valuable thing I could do as a new employee for the police was to listen and to write. Back then, I remember thinking that was a curious order, and that my abilities at hearing and taking notes were more than adequate. I had, though, missed the point of the instruction. My chief was trying to tell me to carefully listen and analytically observe, not simply hear and acknowledge, all that was happening around me, assimilate it and produce useful thoughts that were relevant to my office’s work. Once I realized what my chief meant, I became a better observer and critical thinker.

What’s the point of that anecdote? I’m in Northern Ireland, specifically Belfast, to study past acts of violence and police responses to them with the hope of learning more about tactics, methods, and the impact of policing on communities where political violence is a reality. I need all the powers of observation and critical analysis I can summon to do this right. However, with only six weeks under my belt here, none of my observations on those topics are ready for reflection. What I can offer is a brief bit on my experiences in Belfast and the incredibly inclusive community of Irish, Northern Irish, and fellow university students who’ve so far made me feel right at home.

Coming From America to Northern Ireland…

Right off the bat when I landed on September 15, a member of the Police Service of Northern Ireland (PSNI) approached me as I was grabbing my luggage (I resisted the urge to tell him that seeing a police officer made me feel at home) and quizzed me on where I was from, what I was doing in the airport and why I had so much luggage (this induced flashes of my father who engages in mocking me for packing too much… maybe I didn’t need a suitcase entirely full of books that weighed over 50 lbs but really who’s to say?). That was the first time in my life a law enforcement officer ever stopped me to ask me questions. When I left the airport to hail a taxi cab not ten minutes later, another police officer stopped me to do a similar thing. I could not help then but wonder whether or not my time in Belfast was to be marked by the presence of law enforcement in such a way that I didn’t think was the case anymore.

Fortunately first impressions remain just that and from when I arrived an hour later on campus at Queen’s University Belfast I’ve seen a city that everyday reminds me of my beloved borough, what I underrate by only terming it as God’s gift to mankind, Brooklyn. Safe and walkable, Belfast has presented me with a city that I feel relaxed in. The people here have been beyond friendly and impressively diverse; most are disarmingly welcoming, witty and many have an attitude that bespeaks a huge pride in their background. And everyone (at least to me) has an outrageous accent that makes them completely unable to be understood at times – a commonality that I share with them as I have found myself able to confuse people from all backgrounds because I “talk” like a Brooklynite.

Queens is a remarkable school. International students aplenty, there’s a vibrant and active community for almost any issue you can name. Since I began here, I’ve found a home in the fencing club, the hip hop dance crew, the want-to-be-scotch connoisseurs, the international and post-grad students who enjoy cheap movies and pub visits to see who is worse at pool, and the group of people trying desperately to finish applications to things beyond Queens for next fall before we jump into volunteer organizations and community work. One thing I’ve been grateful for is the number of Irish and Northern Irish natives who’ve befriended me so far. The intro to Northern Ireland they’ve given me exceeds any expectation I had – invitations to persons’ houses, tea with their siblings, late night conversations about what it was like to grow up at the end of the Troubles, and more. I’m learning about Northern Ireland from the source I’d hoped to, and that is its residents (just like I hope people learn about New York City not from books or articles but rather New Yorkers).

At Queens, I’m a student in the School of Politics, International Studies and Philosophy, studying in its violence and terrorism masters degree track. The program is the first time I’ve jumped into studying terrorism or security academically. Till now, I’ve learned on the job with the NYPD. Here though, with a slew of experts in the field, I’m studying under persons whose scholarship informs the field. More important to me, my class is a mixture of opinions on every issue we’ve considered. It’s been three years out of college for me but the debates in my courses these past six weeks helped me remember why I enjoyed my undergrad days at Brooklyn College. I’ll say more next time on the opinions expressed and hopefully how they’ve evolved and grown over the time spent in class and studying as I’ve found the discourse on everything from terrorism, its root causes, the role of America in either combating or fostering terrorist sentiments fascinating, frustrating, and eye-opening.

On an aesthetic note, anyone who takes a trip to Belfast or Northern Ireland should stop to see a few things: the primary building on the Queen’s campus (the iconic red brick original school building); the Giant’s Causeway; and the Bushmill’s Factory. I wouldn’t recommend the famous Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge unless you want, like me, to have a mini-heart attack after you cross a seemingly bottomless ravine. The QUB main building is a thing of beauty. Constructed almost exclusively using red bricks and giving Queen’s the much-talked-about-on-the-streets status of the university in the UK with the most red bricks, the building is a museum, a banquet hall, an administrative building, a teaching facility, and a constant reminder of the prominence of Queens in Belfast, in Stormont, and all over Northern Ireland. The Giant’s Causeway, a natural wonder of near-identical hexagonal rocks on that formed on the shore of one of the most northern points of Northern Ireland (maybe the most northern point…?), was breathtaking. The rocks are able to be traversed and visitors can scale the surrounding hills and cliffs. In fact, doing so leaves you atop heights of more than 200 ft with an endless view of water and rolling farm land. Admittedly I couldn’t help but think of how many houses and skyscrapers an architect could fit in the area. Finally, the Bushmill’s factory. To quote my family from Cork, it was brilliant. I had never seen a true distillery and Bushmill’s whiskey is a crowd pleaser everywhere.

To Be a New Yorker in Belfast

To conclude, I want to share one observation on the people here that I think will tie in to my work in many ways I cannot yet predict. And that is the impact my being a New Yorker has had on the natives of Northern Ireland that I’ve met. At least once a week, and for the first few weeks easily every night, I encountered people who wanted to know where I was from. Why? Because they heard me speak and, to quote one person, “Man, what accent is that? Never heard an American sound like that. I don’t know what the hell you’re saying!”

After saying that I’m from New York and Brooklyn, universally people have expressed excitement and/or quasi-kinship (many persons have relatives that moved to New York), and more than a few have quickly followed-up with, “Then how’d you end up here?” Further to my surprise, after hearing that I’m from where I’m from, every person has proved willing to speak to me about any topic I’ve asked so far, including such experiences that involved violence during the Troubles. New York as a place, as an idea, seems to evoke a sense relief in people’s minds that transcends any thoughts they have about Americans in general. It’s truly unclear to me why yet this has been without exception, but I’m curious and probing to find out why. However, understanding the effect of being from New York aside, I’m happy to take the good will that seems to come my way after this revelation.

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Welcome to Galway

Posted on December 8, 2010 by Joseph Graziano - NUI Galway

As I got off the plane at Dublin airport, I remember the strange looks of those around me as I started laughing to myself that I was actually moving to Ireland for a year. You see, a combination of lack of resources, a college baseball career, and a large Catholic family had limited my overseas travel to the year I spent running a non-profit in the Dominican Republic. Most of my previous knowledge of Ireland came from my love of “Chick Flicks” (P.S. I Love You and Once are two of my favorites).

When I was 13, I started to create a bucket list of dreams, ambitions, problems I wanted to attack, people I wanted to help, and things I wanted to do in hopes of becoming the most interesting man while dedicating myself to serving the world around me (I am still waiting for my royalty check from Dos Equis for stealing my thunder for their commercials). So upon my arrival, I decided to create a very simple rule for myself. I was not going to stop moving this entire year in an attempt to see it all and put a little dent in my bucket list.

Although weary from travel, I immediately knew that the Irish and I were going to get along famously. My first conversation in Ireland with customs went something like this: “Your surname is Graziano! Well how in the heck do you spell that?” (I felt a little more comfortable when the first shop I ran into in Galway was Feeney formal wear, which bears my mother’s maiden name.)

Upon arriving to Galway, I set about finding a way to fulfill this “never stop moving,” rule of mine and immediately ran into the Galway Tour Company and my current Irish partner in crime Declan. I have introduced Declan and the Galway Tour Company to most of the other Mitchells and we have used the Company to travel to the Aran Islands, the Cliffs of Moher, Clonmacnoise, Connemara, Cong, and the Burren. I have spent so much time on tours leaving from Galway that I convinced the Company to let me be a tour guide and get a little microphone time as we traveled (if I do say so myself, I give a wonderful tour). Time on tour buses has also given my fellow Mitchells and me plenty of opportunities to talk about my “most interesting man” dream, and at their urging numerous new activities have been added to my bucket list.

To further see Ireland, I recently spent a week driving (the other side of the road takes some serious getting used to) through the south of Ireland and visiting places like Dingle, the Ring of Kerry, Kenmare, and Doonbeg. For those of you out there that are thinking of ways to woo your significant other, I would highly recommend Doonbeg. It has some of most exquisite accommodation that I have ever stayed in, with picturesque views of the Atlantic Ocean.

Speaking of water, on my first tour to Clonmacnoise I fell in love with the Shannon River and decided right then and there to create my second rule for Ireland, “whenever I see water, I must jump in regardless of the temperature.” This rule has led me and sometimes other Mitchells (that occasionally needed some slight cajoling) to jump into the Shannon River, the Atlantic Ocean, Galway Bay, Lough Corrib, and Dingle Bay. There is certainly more water adventures to come, as I just signed up to attend surf school in Lahinch during Christmas break.

My travels have also led me to wonderful weekends in Dublin, which we have used as a meeting point for most of us to spend time together, a fantastic time in Cork for convocation, a weekend where Ryan Merola hosted a few of us in Belfast that ended with us taking in a sunset above the Giants Causeway, and most recently to London to see Van Morrison in concert.

When not traveling, I make my home right outside of Shop Street in Galway. I have become more than a little obsessed with Galway. I have never been to a place so in love with its own voice, and music seems to be everywhere. I grew up with traditional Irish songs constantly playing at family gatherings, and to be able to walk down the streets of Galway and hear the bands playing these same songs and dancing away the night is a dream come true.

On one of my first nights in Galway, I found my “Cheers.” It is a pub where the average age of the customer is 65, two lads named Wayne and Rory have such beautiful voices that their rendition of the “The Town I Loved So Well” can bring you to tears, and the conversation regarding politics, religion, and gals (the three topics Sammy Kershaw said never to discuss) is spectacular. I spend most of my time begging the lads to play my favorite song, Steve Earle’s “The Galway Girl.” On that note, during my Mitchell interview I jokingly told Ambassador Michael Collins that one of the reasons that I wanted to go to Galway was to find the Galway Girl whose hair was black and her eyes were blue. And he lightheartedly responded, “Son, she does not exist.” Well sir, I would beg to differ.

My time in Galway has also let a former athlete relive some of his “glory days.” I am currently on the University’s cricket, basketball, rowing, and boxing teams. It is great to be part of a team again and to train towards a single goal of winning intervarsity championships (although my foray into boxing has left me a little battered and bruised). I have also started to learn to play golf, and am taking lessons from a former American pro living outside of Galway. My golf game is still all over the map, as I think I was on pace to shoot a 300 while playing in Doonbeg. I am hoping that I can only get better.

More adventures to come.

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Alive, alive, oh!

Posted on December 8, 2010 by Stephen Dorner - Trinity College Dublin

Shortly after I arrived in Dublin, whenever I spoke to a stranger I often received a puzzled look. For a while, I thought it was simply because I am American.  There are mixed opinions of American politics in Europe, and I am from the American South, after all. But no, “y’all” was not the problem, and it wasn’t my funny shoes either. Apparently, I am an imposter. The Irish genes passed down from both sides of my family converged to create what is undoubtedly the worst possible combination for the blazing sun of a Georgia summer: pale skin, freckles, red hair, and blue eyes.  So, whenever I open my mouth, Dubliners expect that I am a local – or at least more of a local than I actually am – and to their overtly apparent surprise, I am indeed not.

Though I hail from Georgia, I find myself strangely at home in Ireland. The crisp air and cool breeze ever at your back, the clouds that form over Front Square as the sun sets to the west, the Guinness and music that pour out of pubs in the evening. They say country music can trace its roots to the Irish countryside, and maybe that explains my feeling of comfort away from Dixie. Whatever it is, I am intent on exploring it for the next nine months while I make Dublin my second home.

At home in Dublin, I sat down to write this reflection and thought back to where my mind was at this time last year. In the weeks leading up to the final Mitchell Scholarship interviews, twenty or so hopeful finalists will be dissecting our every word to gleam some hints to take with them to D.C.  I hate to break it to you that there are no hints here – only anecdotal evidence of why you need an especially good tie on November 20 (hint! Just kidding. But seriously…).  I will, however, do my best to give you a window into just how amazing this experience is.

There are nine Mitchell Scholars in Ireland this year. Deirdre is the shining light among a group of eight men hopelessly striving to be gentlemen and scholars. At least the Mitchell got us halfway there. Never before have I met a group of such concentrated accomplishment and aspiration. It is truly a privilege to be a part of this class, and to have the opportunity to participate in their endless discussions ranging from politics to military funding and Michael Phelps.

We kicked off our year together in Cork just a few weeks ago to the sound of endless church bells orchestrated to play The Final Countdown.  We shared tea with Mrs. Mary Wilson in her gorgeous home built by Welsh merchants that may actually be my distant relations. The Irish Foreign Minister, Micheal Martin, formally welcomed us at a reception held at University College Cork, where he eloquently stressed the value and importance of international exchange.  I was particularly excited, however, about the cooking lessons we received at Snugboro. Until that point, I had exhausted all possible variations of milk and cereal – the extent of my cooking abilities.

This year is sure to be an incredible adventure. Granted I am a little biased, but the other Mitchells would undoubtedly tell you that I have the best address in Ireland. Trinity College has the ideal location for exploring Dublin and her nightlife, as well as the rest of Ireland and the continent. Halloween was one of the few weekends I spent in Dublin since I arrived. I have been to Belfast, Cork, Milan, Edinburgh, and have plans to visit Galway, Dingle, and Kerry in the weeks ahead.

When I travel, I ride on buses listening to Damien Rice as we pass through endless fields of Kelly green, rain beats against the windows, and an overwhelming sense of peace comes over me. Essentially, I have taken a circuitous route and am living out my dream while furthering my career in the land where my great, great grandparents once lived. My family is originally from Co. Cork, and I hear rumors there is even a statue somewhere in Dublin, though I have yet to find it.  As I peer out over the countryside, I also feel a great sense of gratitude for the opportunity that has made this all possible. Thank you to the US-Ireland Alliance, its many supporters, and the American and Irish governments for giving me this yearlong opportunity. I look forward with much anticipation to the months ahead and all that this experience in Ireland has to offer.

Until next time…

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Settling in Galway

Posted on December 8, 2010 by Deirdre Mask - NUI Galway

I took a trip to the “chemist” yesterday and a woman across the shop, a woman I didn’t recognize, called out my name.  “Deirdre!” she shouted, with obvious affection.  I nearly dropped my small bundle of purchases.  Now, who was she, again?  I racked my brain as she ran toward me – and then swished past me to another woman waving at her outside the shop window.  Another Deirdre!  I always knew Deirdre was an Irish name, but the Irish astound me with their unerring ability to spell and pronounce it without my assistance.

Galway now feels like home.  I live in a neighborhood about a twenty-minute walk from the university, filled with friendly families and small children I wave to while I take my laundry off the clothesline.  (Coming to Galway from a small apartment in New York, I find drying clothes outside a pleasure — though not so much having to run outside to grab it when it rains, or, in other words, all the time.)  My husband and I are renting a house from a professor who is away on sabbatical for the year, and her family home now feels like ours, with a fireplace and better cookware and utensils than we ever had before.

And I’m so happy to be a student again.  I spend my mornings struggling over fiction assignments, but I haven’t strayed from my previous life as a lawyer entirely; I’m writing a non-fiction essay on a legal case from Galway in the early 1900s, searching through old newspapers and university records to piece together the story of the trial.  (I have come to know and love the librarians in the Special Collections department at the university – thank you Vera, Geraldine, Marie and Hugo!) I’m also taking a course on Irish theatre, where I attend a play each week and write a review of it.  In October, the class went to the Dublin Theatre Festival, where I spent my evenings at the theatre, and my days hopping between museum cafés.  I loved the hum of Dublin, but I missed Galway while I was gone.

Still, even now I find myself lost in the narrow, winding streets of Galway, and I often have to stop to lean against a stone wall to get my bearings.  I don’t mind getting lost, though, even in the rain – it’s somehow atmospheric.  The days are getting shorter, and I noticed just today that the Christmas decorations have gone up in town, an outward symbol of how quickly time is passing for me here.

I think about travelling elsewhere in Europe – my fellow Mitchells are always off to some fantastic destination, and my list of places to go is long, too – but I find there’s always a play on in Galway I want to see, or an arts festival I want to attend, or time I want to spend sitting on the rocks on the Flaggy Shore.  Just as often, it’s the lure of the fireplace or a pub that keeps me in Ireland for the weekend.  Somewhere where everyone knows how to spell my name.

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Athmhachnamh

Posted on December 8, 2010 by Kyle Krieger - Dublin City University

I have never truly examined who I am, what I stand for, and in what I believe. My first two months in Ireland have not revealed concrete answers to these questions, but this time has given me the opportunity to ask them.

My mind wanders to these questions as I explore the Irish countryside by bicycle. I have grown up on the bike, and Irish cycling is simply the best. One of my favorite places to ride is past the little village of Malahide, about twenty kilometers north of Dublin. Estuary Road meanders along the water and occasionally I have to stop for swan crossing, as seen in the picture. These animals are enormous, and I think their size is bolstered by the locals who come to this spot to feed them bread. My other favorite cycling spot is the Wicklow Mountains, south of Dublin. It takes me almost an hour to get out of the city because I have to start in the north and ride through it, but I am happy when I do. The rolling green mountains open up in front of me as I lightly pedal through the lush countryside. I encountered all types of weather during my latest ride to the south. First is was bright shining sunlight, then that sideways sort of rain which stings the cheek, next came about five minutes of hail. I was lucky enough to get some shelter at a bus stop. Although relaxing and sometimes surprising, no bike ride has ever given me the answers to the questions I ask.

I guess the one thing that I have figured out for sure is that I do not like being alone. It was difficult to move to Ireland and have my own room. Growing up I lived with two brothers, for four years at the Academy had the same roommates, and after leaving the Academy I married the love of my life. I have never been alone. After a few days of this mental agony, I met my roommates. Alan Armstrong, a native Dubliner of the Blanchardstown area, took me to a local pub where we watched the all Ireland Gaelic Football finals. We got to know each other over Guinness and Irish stew. A few days later Elvin Gjevori of Albania moved into the other room in our flat. Although we each have our own room and bathroom, we spend most of our time in the common area. Elvin and I have grown a tight bond of friendship. We trade the cooking responsibilities between each other. Elvin worked as a cook to put himself through college, and he has taught me how to improve my chicken, potatoes, and pasta. One such lesson is to make the pasta in the same water used to boil the chicken.

The transition from physics to international security and conflict studies has been a good one. I brought my analytical thinking skills from physics to the papers I am writing for my classes. Elvin reads over them and exclaims that I write like a scientist, only the facts and specific opinions are written. I recently submitted my thesis proposal, “Could the Use of, or Threat to Use, Nuclear Weapons Ever be Legal?” I am doing my dissertation in the realm of international law because I believe it will allow me to think broadly about this issue. I have no presupposition as to what the answer might be.

My program is good because of the material presented, but what makes it great is the diverse classroom. I am the only American in my class of nearly twenty five. Sadik, the only Iraqi in our class, is a lawyer from Baghdad looks who looks at issues from different angles than anyone else. Jotaro, a journalist from Toyko, is taking the course to better understand the world he writes about in his newspapers. The rest of our class is mostly from Ireland. A few guys are in the Irish Defense Forces and others are trying to get into the Garda, Ireland’s police force. My closest friend in the class is Ronan, and he hopes to work for the UN when finished with the program. Our class on International Law is heavily focused on the UN and what it is able to accomplish in the world. My International Security class seems to be taught from a realpolitik perspective. The course I am taking in Conflict Resolution is centrist in its dialogue and focused heavily on the new academic work in the subject. I am glad to be learning in an international environment about issues that I am passionate about. I tend to leave class either excited or depressed. Excited about the future and the possibility for great things to happen in the world, or depressed about some of the actions taken by my country over the past decade. I support my country and I will fight and die if called to do so, but reflecting on the Iraq War with Sadik has sobered my thoughts.

No reflection would be complete without recognizing the difficult nature of living in a marriage separated by half the world. My wife, Nicki, is on deployment on a frigate off the coast of South America. We communicate by email and although I do not get to hear her voice, it is good to know she is well and doing her best to lead her division. I could not be more proud of her, and I anxiously wait for the day we get to be together.

Sitting at the western most point at the Eastern most corner of the Cliffs of Moher with my roommates made me truly grateful for the opportunity I have here. Looking out at the sea gave me a connection to my wife who is gazing upon the same water. Ireland truly is a special country and hopefully over the course of this year I will get to answer my questions.

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Quiet life in Limerick

Posted on December 8, 2010 by Fagan Harris - University of Limerick

Living in Ireland has been a complete, and welcome, departure from American life.  Life is simpler, and I am so grateful for the opportunity the Mitchell Scholarship has provided me for meaningful reflection and further engagement in my academic life here in Ireland.

Since coming to Limerick, I tend to do one thing at a time.  My new habits stand in stark contrast to the multi-tasking life I lived at Stanford.  Internet access is limited throughout the university, and I’ve resisted the temptation to move my American smart phone to an Irish network.  When I surf the Internet now, it is a deliberate act – not a passive reflex.  Technology is a wonderful thing, but having distance from my previous life in America’s Silicon Valley, where the use of technology is pervasive and nonstop, I am disturbed by how much mental bandwidth those technological habits consume:  it’s refreshing and liberating to not check one’s Facebook page, Twitter feed, email and favorite news site every hour of every day.   My brain is freed to think; my eyes to see; my ears to hear.  Ireland’s green countryside is ripe with wonderful sights and sounds, and the people of Limerick possess an extraordinary and kind character that becomes all the more apparent when engaging them in conversation.

Grocery shopping is my new favorite past time.  The Irish have managed to keep their food systems disaggregated:  there are numerous markets with fresh vegetables, countless butchers with fresh meats, and discount grocers with everything else in between.  The produce and meat contain far fewer chemicals and preservatives than what is often offered in the United States.   The resulting freshness of many of the foods makes for great home cooked meals.  It takes time to identify and pursue the best deals hidden throughout Limerick each week, but it’s well worth the effort.  In many ways, food convenience in America always made it easy for me to not actively scrutinize the food I was putting in my body.  The act of shopping for fresh food sold by specialists engenders a different, healthier mentality around food consumption.

My coursework at the University of Limerick has been a strong complement to my studies at Stanford.  My course on Human Rights in Criminal Justice has opened my eyes to the compelling and important debates raging around some of the world’s most pressing issues:  terrorism and security, the social and cultural challenges created by a world rapidly converging in economics and the law, and the basic, largely unrealized rights of those living in extreme poverty throughout the world.  Better understanding the international mechanisms that are currently in place to advance the agenda of human rights is helping me identify how I can have the biggest impact moving forward.  In an increasingly complex world, the international consensus surrounding these tough challenges is evolving and is constantly in flux.  Much of what I am studying is about negotiating uncertainty and attempting to resolve some of the tension found in these debates, so that a degree of progress can be achieved.  Undoubtedly these are invaluable skills, which will only become more important moving forward.

Finally, my internship at Limerick’s Regeneration Agency, Europe’s largest regeneration effort, has provided additional dimension and texture to my experience in Ireland.  While my work at the Regeneration Agency has only just begun, I am grateful for the insight the internship lends into Ireland’s pressing social concerns and the political challenges inherent in attempting to address these problems.

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Dublin Marathon

Posted on December 8, 2010 by Yongjun Heo - University College Dublin

Early in the morning on October 25th, I hopped into a taxi and rode towards St. Stephen’s Green to see hundreds of runners gravitate towards Merrion Square Park, the location for both the beginning and end of Dublin’s annual marathon. I walked onto the crowded street where everyone else seemed to know exactly where they were headed. I followed and heard several languages being spoken around me. In the forty degree (Fahrenheit) weather, I stretched, jogged, and observed those around me who seemed to be mentally preparing for the 26.2 miles ahead of us. In my minimal singlet and running shorts, while applying petroleum jelly all over my feet to prevent blistering, I looked over in envy at a man dressed up in a full, head-to-toe, Buzz Lightyear outfit – he must be happily warm – equally warm and hilarious.

There seemed to be individuals from every country and continent. From teenagers to elderly women, each age group seemed well represented. A handful of people around me were running the marathon for charity, while others appeared to run in their silly and entertaining costumes. In this eclectic mix of people, what unified all of us was our desire to feel like jelly for a week. We are all determined masochists, and our means of self-degradation was running. As the race began, after the first mile, I could already feel myself gradually losing feeling in my legs – fantastic.

Typically, long runs allow me to over-analyze, reevaluate, and better understand or sometimes misunderstand what is happening in my life. While running through the beautiful and green Phoenix Park, with the image of runners frantically finding a tree for relief, I knew that day-dreaming and reflecting would be a good strategy to forget about what made my left cheek feel uncomfortably more solidified than my right cheek. Almost two months have passed since I first landed in Dublin, and I have been gradually getting to know the eight other Mitchell Scholars who are placed all throughout the Republic of Ireland and Northern Ireland. We represent most corners of the United States, and we create a unified tapestry from the various opportunities that have allowed each of us to mature and better understand the world around us. My living and learning at University College Dublin is another opportunity for me to fully humanize Ireland by developing the close relationships that will put a face to the name. There were hundreds of people: my family, friends, professors, advisors, and mentors, who have shaped my once-limited worldview and provided the platform for me to develop new ideas and new passions. This experience in Ireland will be another significant experience that I hope will spark other unknown passions and allow me to thoroughly learn about the life experiences of many Irish friends as well as those of the Mitchell Scholars.

Leaving the United States for the first time and living abroad last year in Vietnam made me realize for the first time in my life, how American I felt. It allowed me to understand that an incredibly active and dynamic world existed outside of our borders. I am gradually learning more about how the Irish people and culture fit into this globally connected network. And despite their current economic problems, hope for the long-term future seems to continue to exist.

After four hours of continuous running, I was back in the city center ambling around Trinity College’s campus. Dubliners and international visitors lined the sidewalks and were cheering all the runners on. After I crossed the finish the line, I could only shuffle awkwardly from one point to another. This was the completion of my first marathon, and it was certainly well worth the work. For the following week, with swollen ankles and weak knees, I would take twice as long to walk anywhere, but the pain was a gentle reminder of how enjoyable the race was. I cannot wait for the next one.

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Craic from Stroke City

Posted on November 1, 2010 by Ibrahim Elshamy - University of Ulster, Magee

Many folks think of where I am in contextual terms–perhaps as the site of the outbreak of the Irish Troubles in 1969, or the site of the Bloody Sunday Massacre of 1972, or perhaps as the UK City of Culture 2013. Much like anything here in Northern Ireland, it depends on who is doing the talking, and who is doing the listening. I am truly in “Stroke City.” This funny nickname comes from the “/” [called stroke, not slash, in British English] present in the politically-correct city name of Derry/Londonderry, lengthy but often necessary in order to not alienate one group or another that live in this area. To us outsiders to L’Derry, we arrive in medias res, in the middle of an ongoing story (and conflict) stretching back hundreds of years, which makes everyday life a learning experience.

I am studying Peace and Conflict Studies at the University of Ulster-Magee, and the relevant setting is a central reason for why I came to Northern Ireland. Not merely for its beauty, but to live amongst a society (or societies) recovering from damaging conflict, and understanding the roles of narratives, development, and reconciliation in creating a brighter future. In Derry, memories of the past are omnipresent, and different ways of remembering history continue to create tension. It reminds me constantly of what one of my undergraduate Native American Studies professors, Colin Calloway, would always remind us: “History is not an account of the past; it is the stories we choose to tell about the past.”

Our academic studies have been tested with real-life examples of threats to a peace process: in the past few months, there have been two destructive car bombs here in Derry (see my map and more information, here). In response, cross-community coalitions have joined in solidarity to emphasize that peace is the path the vast majority of the population have committed to for a brighter “shared future,” and not violence. A rally against dissident violence was held in the city centre, at Guildhall Square, and I was able to capture much of it on video (here). After talking about the violence in class and with lifelong residents of Derry, and seeing grassroots organizing around peace, I feel safe and hopeful that these are minor blips on the radar–the oft-repeated theme is, with economic downturn things like this just inevitably happen by dissatisfied parties. The successful long-term road to peace will embrace a vibrant economic component, and everyone is hoping that the current economic depression ends soon!

The opportunities I’ve been blessed with have been staggering. Here in Derry, I have learned so much from illuminating museums and tours (often free), chatted with Nobel Laureate John Hume (also recently named “Ireland’s Greatest Person“), and attended cross-community dialogues. The program at University of Ulster is excellent, and I learn so much from every lecture and extra-curricular experience. I attended our Mitchell Scholarship convocation in Cork (and other fun events, like going to a cooking school), and I have been awed and impressed by my peers. Even with only a few days all together, I love each person for their distinct and complimentary personality, and I think our tight-knit family of nine is a highly wonderful group!

I have left Derry often: to visit other Mitchells, to attend an Irish-Muslim entrepreneurship conference in Dublin, to hear Bill Clinton speak in Dublin, to speak on a non-profit panel at the Dublin Web Summit, to attend an Islamic feminism conference in Madrid, and will attend a two-weekend intensive mediator training in Belfast later this month. Whew! It seems like a whirlwind looking back, but it hasn’t seemed that way to me; rather, each opportunity has arisen organically and been so rewarding in its own way.

Despite ALL this, my favourite part of my year so far has been the chill, self-reflective part of my life. My unique setting cultivates this possibility. Stereotypically, one may think of Ireland as a misty island, full of open, green, and quiet places–the perfect environment for introspection and reflection. I find that around Derry, this is indeed true! I bought a used bicycle and I have been using it (not nearly enough!) to explore less-accessible parts of the Northwest and find calm and solitude in those places. I have been cooking and reading again, things that took a large-scale hiatus for my undergraduate college years. I sleep more. I am able to sip coffee and just think more. I have the time to reflect, explore, and re-examine foundational philosophies and spiritualities. It has been a meaningful journey in only a very short time, and I am continuing to learn, think, and reflect with much of my time. It is good for the soul.

I’ll end with a quick story, and I am not just making this up for hyperbole. Last week, I returned from a visit to Madrid to see a close friend, and had a lovely time there with her. As the plane circled above Dublin before landing, I looked out of my window and my heart suddenly swelled with happiness at seeing beautiful Ireland below. After touching down, I joined the sizeable crowd walking down the long airport corridor to immigration–and after joining in lock-step for some time, I could not contain myself–I ran! My heart racing with emotion, I went through immigration and then ran again until I got to the airport exit and was out in the fresh, Irish air. There I stood still, breathing deeply, inexplicably happy and smiling bright. I laughed with joy.

I felt like I had come home.

(For further reflections and descriptions, including pictures, of my experiences please visit my blog, here. Some entries are also hyperlinked above, and will open in a new window.)

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June 2010 Reflection

Posted on June 1, 2010 by sshah10

I have finally arrived back home in the states with a whole year in Ireland now behind me. While I will return back to Ireland fairly soon for my thesis defense, being back in the states for just a short time has given me a bit of perspective about my time there. In general I feel that my appreciation of both countries has improved as a result of my year in Ireland.

Since my previous reflection I have been busy writing my thesis. One of the most important things I’ve learned about myself and my work this year is what I precisely want out of my work and my career. I am no longer so sure that pure theoretical physics research is for me. However, I’ve been exposed to many other options of other career options I can pursue through the Mitchell Scholarship. This program has placed me in contact with people of all different backgrounds with many varied career paths. It has been like entering a completely different world from where I came from.

My feelings toward my work and my goals have also changed from some of my work and volunteering experiences. I worked at the Science Gallery during its Hyperbolic Crochet Coral exhibition. I spent my time talking about math and science to visitors to the gallery and led hands-on workshops where people can make their own hyperbolic spaces out of paper. I even made a piece of hyperbolic coral myself. I found that I really enjoy talking about science and the big philosophical ideas of science with the general public. I also volunteered at Fighting Words, where we helped guide young children in writing their own stories. I tremendously enjoyed working with young creative kids and felt inspired to do some creative work myself.

The Mitchell Scholarship has been the best thing that I’ve ever received. Not only have I made connections to people doing interesting work, I’ve also traveled and broadened my cultural interests tremendously as a result of my time in Ireland. Most of all I’m appreciative of the friends I’ve made and all I’ve learned from them. Near the end of the scholarship some of us wondered what it will be like to return to life after the scholarship. What I’ve realized now is that the scholarship prepares you to continue living the sort of life it engenders long after it has ended. Just because the year has passed doesn’t mean anything is over.

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June 2010 Reflection

Posted on June 1, 2010 by nferron10

On the notion of endings.

There are endings. Endings are not just new beginnings. People die. People leave town. Phone numbers are lost and not found again. And in this regard, my year as a Mitchell Scholar is at an end.

(It is a bit difficult to be asked to write a “final” reflection when I’ve still got another month in the country–a bit like being asked to review a film before you’ve watched the last ten minutes. But this is not a scripted film. There’s no guarantee of a climax or a poetic wrapping up. Really, how much more can happen?)

This is the question I’ve been sitting with recently–how much more can I experience in my time here? It’s too early to kick back and sort through old photos (listening to Sir John tell stories of children murdering old barons). It’s too late to start up a big project. The reality is that my list of plans is far longer than my time so I’ve started a process of letting go.

First, I need to let go of my list of projects.

I wanted to go to daily mass in every church in Dublin. I wanted to read an Irish play every day. I wanted to take up boxing. I wanted to make a documentary short about my friend and former-Mitchell Scholar Nick Johnson learning to recite Beckett’s The Unnameable while walking from Trinity to Stephens Green. (Nick’s a Beckett devotee and attempting a nearly impossible task would be a perfect window into his relationship with the very profound and very dead Samuel Beckett.)

There’s also the unexpected relationships that I need to let go.

Last week, I met a former IRA-combatant at a karaoke bar in Ballycastle. He thought I looked like a young Gerry Adams so he invited me to come see his childhood home in Belfast. He wanted to tell me stories and show me photos. This would be an amazing experience, but I don’t know if it will happen. Might never. Or it might. But, honestly, I’ve got such little time.

Then there’s the deeper relationships that will fade. Half the Mitchells are back in America. It hasn’t been that long since I’ve seen them, but already the distance is felt. Alec is busy in New York. Lauren and Jon are hopping all over the States right now. (Michael are you in India still? I don’t even know.) These eleven people have become dear to me. And the reality is that distance will take its toll. There will be reunions. But the year is over.

And this is where the reality of an ending rears its head. The projects come and go. But the joy that I found in my fellow Mitchells–that’s something that’s a bit harder to let go.

…

I’ve been looking through my hard drive. Over the past year, I’ve created a mess of brief documents–small notes, like digital post-its, nothing on the page but a few sentences. An example from this past November:

“We’ve got a wild suspicion that you, in this day, can make something happen for us. My brother misspeaks.”

I’ve returned to these fragments before and turned them into stories or scenes. But many of them, like the one above, are too vague for me to return to. Or sometimes they never get opened again.

This is how Ireland has been for me–I’m leaving with a mess of brief moments. Listening to Sir John Leslie talk about children cutting a Baron in half with a broad sword. Talking to a Trinity janitor about being unable to have children. Watching Irish men swear at televisions on a GAA game day.

I don’t know what fragments will turn into stories or scenes. Some stories retold for family and friends. Some will be forgotten.

…

I can choose to feel underwhelmed. Why didn’t I make that film with Nick? Why didn’t I spend more time in Galway with Lauren, Jon, and Michael? From here on, I won’t be in the same city as Nick. I won’t be in a country with the Galway Michells. These are lost opportunities.

I can also look back on the year, and–if I allow myself to feel pleased–I can feel pleased.

I wrote a full-length play that is unlike anything I’ve written before. And I earned this one–lots of late nights, lots of self doubt. The result was a script that Marina Carr said “reads like a male fantasy/nightmare/vaudeville/catastrophe/horror train crash.” This is possibly the greatest compliment I’ve received yet. And from here, I move into producing it in Seattle.

As for the other Mitchells, I suppose if they mean as much to me as I say they do, I have let them into me. I don’t think I “carry them with me” or that “they are a part of me now.” But they have marked me. I am not the same as I was before them. How? A few examples: It seems like Alec reads the entire New York Times every day. That man loves what he loves, and he works hard. I find this damn inspiring. I find myself being motivated to work harder because I’ve been around this man. Lauren Parnell-Marino. I’m not sure if I can pinpoint a single instance, but she makes me want to be a kinder person. This sounds so simple, but it’s not. When you’re exposed to a world of high-functioning people (or any people), you meet a lot of jerks. Being around Lauren is a reminder of how wonderful people can be, and I find myself wishing I were more like her.

Films end. Bus rides end. We end. To be honest with an experience, I think one must acknowledge that it’s come to an end. And so I’m left with that feeling I get when I’m nearing the end of a good book. I drag my feet–I get up to go to the bathroom, I read slowly. I try and stave off that last page. And here in Dublin, I’m dragging my feet. I’m excited for my life and my job back in Seattle, but I’m hesitant to talk about leaving. I don’t want to sell my stereo. But it’s happening soon enough. And when it’s over, I’m going to be filled with gratitude for a challenging year spent with inspiring people.

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June 2010 Reflection

Posted on June 1, 2010 by cfaust10

Classes have finished, grades have been distributed, and writing for my thesis is well underway. Although I’ve grown academically, when I look back upon my year I don’t dwell on the hours spent in Erlich Suite, the Global Health class’s secondary home, or library cram sessions. Rather the pace of life, the conversations with locals and fellow Mitchells, and the spontaneous adventures make me miss the Island more than I could have imagined. I had always heard of the natural beauty and charm of Ireland’s people, so I didn’t doubt that I would enjoy my year in Ireland. To my (very) pleasant surprise, I fell in love with the countries and people and had a much harder time leaving than I had anticipated.

Time flew by second semester. Classes were taught for shorter periods and when I wasn’t in class I hosted several visitors and did a lot of traveling within Ireland. After finals ended, Bradam, Alec, Neil and I escaped our cloud-covered bog world to the farthest south Aerlingus flew- Tenerife, one of the Canary Islands. Beaches, sun, and volcanic rock galore. It was a wonderful change of scenery from my preferred library cubicle.

We were able to dodge Eyjafjallajökull’s wrath and made it back in time just to say goodbye to some of the other Scholars at our End of the Year Retreat. The week started at the President’s Farmleigh Residence with a lovely reception. We enjoyed the company of friends of the Alliance and President MacAleese gave a wonderful speech. The next day we followed the signs to THE WEST to have one last adventure in Ireland as a class.

It’s amazing how many things you accumulate in just a year- and you quickly regret it when moving to another country. Just before the last retreat, I traveled by bus, train, and taxi to a new home in Belfast. Luckily a friend was foolish enough to help me move my belongings and bicycle (thank you!). Maynooth was a lovely town, but I wanted to experience life on both sides of the island before returning to the States.

My short stint in Belfast was filled with unusual beautiful weather, World Cup matches, and lots of laughs. I’ll never know the city as well as Scholars at Queens University, but I deeply love Belfast and its residents. The Mitchell Scholarship allowed me to explore a region and culture that few Americans see during their tours through their homelands.

Graffiti on the Falls Road in Belfast in the 1980s stated:

To those who understand, no explanation is necessary. To those who will not understand, no explanation is possible.

I won’t claim to understand the intricacies of the cultural, social, and political conflicts in Northern Ireland, but I am much more informed and sympathetic to arguments on both sides. As an ecologist and aspiring conservationist, I am constantly thinking about conflicting interests between local communities, natural resources, and wildlife populations. In both situations compromise is challenging and drawn out, instead we should look for novel solutions in which tradeoffs are minimized for all parties.

It’s an exciting time to be in Belfast, there was so much growth that I was able to witness over my visits throughout the year. I’m looking forward to returning to the island many times. In a few years, I have an excuse to go back and see the redeveloped Titanic Quarter. I convinced Adam (and Bre) to jump off cliffs into the ocean and now we have a date to bungee jump off Samson and Goliath (Belfast’s characteristic H & W cranes in the old shipyard).

In my first reflection, I mentioned the correlation between the amount of green and the happiness in my life. Yet correlation is not necessarily causation and I’ve been looking for reasons why I have been so happy in Ireland. Not that my life hasn’t been happy in the States, far from that, but I’ve felt special joy during my time in Ireland.

Oftentimes social pressures encourage success as a valuation of happiness in ones’ life, whether it’s a high salary job, accolades, or a large family. Because of this, my spare time in the States was often spent updating websites, filling in extra applications- whatever would yield the most results in the shortest amount of time.

Yet in Ireland, I had already finished the series of projects I had failed to say ‘no’ to back in college and started with a clean slate. Without a schedule planning every waking moment, I took advantage of gorgeous days with a walk and was able to savor tea with Heather when we needed brain breaks from the library. It was a few months before I realized never to ask what time something started at. Rarely would we set times to meet at the pub, eat dinner, etc. Schedules were so relaxed that I would simply send a short message when I had left my house. If no one was in the pub when you arrived, you could strike a conversation with the person to your left or you could find someone you knew in the corner, at least in Maynooth.

The day before an exam paper was due, I enthusiastically accepted an invite for homemade crumpets and tea (who wouldn’t?). I planned to spend an hour or two for a study break. Eight hours later, after the sun had set, I decided to return home to wrap up the paper. Fortunately for me, a fellow classmate had also gotten caught up in social plans and we kept each alert by exchanging YouTube videos throughout the night. Enjoying the company I was with rather than focusing on how much time until the next engagement made me enjoy the present.

My mother is always telling me to quit doing so much and sleep more. However, it’s not that I do so much in my life that makes me unhappy, rather that I never really enjoyed moments as they happened. I had to photograph them to remember than in retrospect or plan excessively for future memories. Perhaps I’ve been blind to a lesson that’s been in front of me all my life, regardless a change of scenery and culture made all the difference.

With the year in Ireland at an end, the only thing keeping me from being entirely depressed is the knowledge that adventures will continue with the Mitchells (and planning my next trip to Ireland). I’ll always remember our start in Ireland though. In the meantime, I’ll miss Lauren’s infectious smile and her Jon’s ability to keep up with Alec in livid debates in their living room. Their Galway home had so much love and laughter (and swans) associated with it. Michael introduced me to long distance running and I will forever curse him on mile 15 for that (only joking). I hope one day to earn your Goblet of Distinction. Rebekah is an amazing cook and was always fun to visit in Galway and Belfast. The Dublin boys are too cool for school, yet one feels like he can overcome this through another decade playing the role of student. His particular homebrews were almost as good as his descriptions of the brewing process. Much to my joy, Matt’s laugh became more like Sir John’s throughout spring. Alec’s identity will be forever intertwined with winks and bagels. Neil and Sarang’s relationship blossomed into something more beautiful than any of us could have imagined. Shane is staying in Ireland, you lucky dog, but we will always claim him as a part of our class (hands off, Class of 2011). I look forward to hiking in Glacier National Park with him in a few years. We are all indebted to Jon for practicing massage on us, and I’m excited to be only 50 minutes from his new business and old home in Philly. Lastly, Bre and Adam (Bradam), what can I say? We can pretend I moved to Northern Ireland for the cheaper groceries, but we all know the truth- I’m madly in love with you both.

I’m now back in my official homeland, but I feel blessed to be able to identify Ireland as a home too. I had the best welcome back to the States I could ask for- two beautiful, healthy 3-month old nieces, yet I still find myself missing parts of Ireland. I plan to bring the twins to Ireland one day (with their parent’s permission of course), but until then I’ll tell them tales of Leprechauns and mermaids and true stories of the wonderful friends I made there.

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June 2010 Reflection

Posted on June 1, 2010 by jbrestoff10

“I think I’ve to cut back on my potato intake.” These are the words of an Irishman, not just any Irishman but one who takes his passion for potatoes to new heights. On most nights for the past year, Sean, one of my two roommates, burned a steak on the frying pan and mashed four massive potatoes that were subsequently piled in mountainous form on two-thirds of his specially designated potato plate. Somehow he was able to squeeze his nuked beef meat, a small pot of microwaved frozen vegetables, and a tiny tin of Heinz baked beans on his potato plate, but how he managed such a feat will remain a mystery to me. When his standard fare bored him, Sean reheated approximately two tons of his mother’s stew in the microwave, a device that was thereafter rendered Out of Order. As the stew bubbled, mashed potatoes spewed over the edges of his potato plate in Eyjafjallajökull style. Just as European airspace was closed temporarily after each Icelandic eruption, so too was the microwave in Victoria Lodge #56 when Sean’s stew took on heat.

Initially, I met Sean’s love for potatoes with timidity. I had never been terribly fond of the spud and preferred to it the sweet potato or yam. Although my first reaction was quiet amazement (and staring), I quickly changed tactics and began heckling. It is only in retrospect that I can say that my reactions were rooted in fear of the spud; upon my arrival in Ireland, I was not ready to face their starchy blandness. My relatively extensive background in nutrition led me to consider the potato purely in the context of the few nutrients it provides, namely complex carbohydrates like those found in refined white bread and, should the skin be eaten as well, modest amounts of vitamins B and C. Although it is widely said that one can survive on just potatoes and Guinness, the former is probably added only for the purposes of providing bulk and substance.

In viewing the potato with this perspective, however, I was inadvertently overlooking the potato’s cultural and historical contexts. Sean’s heaps of potatoes represented not just sustenance but also a connection among current and past generations of Irish people. Although most people probably are not cognizant of this facet of the potato, the importance of the potato in the current Irish identity is incontrovertible. Ireland remains famous for the potato, not just because of the famine years two centuries prior but also because the island is internationally recognized as a potato-loving country. Some have even gone as far as to suggest that the potato famine was responsible for fostering the family-oriented social networks that are still characteristic of Ireland today. There may be some merit to this argument. From an anthroposocial perspective, food has always been and will likely always remain a central element of our social lives. When food is scarce, a natural human tendency is to protect food security for oneself and one’s family. The degree of the potato’s importance in shaping Irish culture is debatable, but that the potato was an important factor is not.

With this realization, my intrigue for the tuber grew. Perhaps my perspective of the bland, starchy vegetable was tainted and needed refreshing. In my opinion, one of Cork’s greatest features is the Olde English Market, an indoor standing farmers’ market with local fare, and it was to this venue that I turned to reorient my relationship with the potato. At the western entrance of the English Market is a stand with an array of fruits and vegetables that out-competes even the nearby Dunnes Stores and Big Tescos. There I found half a dozen varieties of locally grown potatoes, from the waxy red Irish potato to the baby golden Russet. With some of each stuffed in my backpack, I returned home and placed them on the counter above Sean’s 7.5 kg bag of potatoes, all of which he devours in the course of two weeks, save the brown paper bag (although sometimes I wonder because, firstly, I never saw the bag in the bin and, secondly, Sean is a superb eater and could readily handle the fiber).

When Sean muttered the words that now form the first line of this reflection, I was cooking some of the local potatoes from the English Market. Although his knowledge of the potato is proportionately small in comparison to his consumption of the tuber, his absolute knowledge of the crop is far greater than that of the average person.

“You better trim the sprouts, Jonny,” said Sean as I was rinsing my russets.

“What?” I responded. Sean is from Waterford, and I can hardly understand the man when he speaks quickly.

“They are so small, though. What’s the difference?”

“When the potato sprouts, it starts to produce neurotoxins that accumulate in your body.”

“So is the toxin produced in just the sprouts or the whole potato?” Sean is a biochemist, like myself, so we often celebrate our nerdiness while in the kitchen.

“Well, I can’t be too sure of that fact, but those sprouts should not find their way into your pot.”

Off came the sprouts, but I left the skin on my potatoes because they are much more nutrient rich than the interior. In retrospect, this probably wasn’t the best plan I’ve had because the toxins produced by the potato are most concentrated in the proteinacious layer just under the skin. The sprouts of the tuber and the leaves and fruits of the potato plant are the main toxin producers, but it’s unclear whether the toxin is distributed throughout the subcutaneous layer of the potato tuber or in localized areas underneath the sprouts. The most precautious step would have been to remove the skin entirely, but my knowledge of the situation at the time was too sparse to have made such a judgment. So let it be said now that a sprouting potato should probably be completely skinned, even though potato toxin-induced illness is exceedingly rare.

That potatoes produce toxins makes the plant, in my mind, much more interesting. Over the past several millennia, humans have used plants that produce biologically active substances for medicinal and recreation purposes. This tradition is represented just outside the Blarney Castle, where a poisonous plant garden contains a wide variety of toxin-producing greenery. Perhaps the potato deserves a plot. Now that I have returned to the United States, I find myself craving the spud and curious to experience the nearly 4,000 varieties grown throughout the world. And when I bite into a properly cooked potato, a food that is sometimes a challenge to find in Philadelphia, I do so with a deeper appreciation for the superficially simple vegetable. Its history, its cultural influence, its worldwide consumption, its taste, and its biochemistry come together on a plate in such a subtle manner that we almost invariably overlook its complexity.

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